Although the day begins beautiful and hopeful, it turns out to be a rather discouraging enterprise. The sun is out when I catch the bus from Whitby to Staithes. I love riding across the moors. They are so vast and empty and stunning. I’d love to go walking there one day.
Maybe I can walk from Staithes back to Whitby, but I’ m not sure yet. It’s quite a long walk, almost 20 km with some very steep climbs. But to Sandsend is doable. After climbing up to the coast path south of Staithes, the view back is mouth-watering beautiful. Such a lovely, quaint little harbour town. But consequently also very busy with tourists. So when I reach the cliff top, I’m relieved to be the only person who decided to walk the coast path today. I take my time to look at the sea and breathe in its fresh, salty air. This is why I love to walk here, on my own. This space, this freedom, the endless horizon, the ever changing seas and coastline.
I know it’s going to rain around midday, but the weather man said it would be just a shower, so I’m not in the least daunted by the prospect. Besides I have my waterproofs in my rucksack. Also, I hope to reach Runswick Bay to find some shelter from the worst of the rain and eat my lunch at the same time. But as misfortune would have it, after a light drizzle, the full force of the shower starts when I have to turn West, to reach Runswick Bay and face the wind and rain head on. Not cool!
The tarmac road down to the beach, where the coast path leads me, is a very steep, 25-30% gradient descent. And what I hoped to find near the beach, a bit of shelter is not available. No cafe or pub, not even a dry bench to sit on. While I stand leaning against the wall of a – during winter months – closed cafe under a small protrusion, a couple climbs up from the beach looking for some shelter as well. We huddle together and start a conversation. They walk these parts of the coast regularly and helpfully point out to me where I have to head up the hill at the other end of Runswick Bay beach. ‘Mind you,’ they say, ’there is no sign there, you just have to find your way along the little stream. It’s very slippery, especially in these wet conditions. You’re lucky the tide is out, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to get to the path at all, as the high tide overflows the stream and path next to it. But even so it’s not easy, you really have to watch your step. Also, the climb up the bank is the steepest of all ascents on the Cleveland coast path.’ After maybe half an hour the rain starts petering out. I decide to get going again, before my legs get too cold from standing still. Armed with their expert opinions I head for the stream with renewed energy, although I didn’t have a chance to eat my sandwiches.
They were absolutely right about the slippy path along the stream. The rail which could have given support, lies broken aside. I slip and almost fall down, but manage to stay upright and get safely to the bridge over the stream. Next I have to negotiate the muddy steps up the steep river bank on the other side. As the rain starts pouring again. I find a bit of shelter on the way up underneath some thorny buckthorn bushes and small trees. But as soon as I reach the top, where the wind has free reign, it feels like the flood gates of heaven have opened. I am already wearing my waterproof jacket, and doubting if I should put on my trousers as well. I’d have to pull them over my already wet and very dirty boots. Which won’t help keeping my pants dry and clean. I decide it’s not worth the trouble and hope (and expect) the rain will soon stop.
The thing with a headland is, it’s very open and wind swept. Although I have the wind and rain at my back, I still get soaked. The coast path is a mud nightmare. Luckily there’s also a gravelled farm track, on which I can walk as far as the tiny hamlet of Kettleness. It takes me some 20 minutes to get there, and still the rain hasn’t stopped. Again no a shelter in sight, so I have to continue on the mucky coast path. I try to avoid the mud as much as possible, taking short cuts, crossing fields diagonally. But the inevitable happens, I slip and tumble to the ground rolling over my rucksack to a stand still. With dirt on my face, hands and clothes I damn this day, this rain, this walk and my entire existence. I cry out to God, to stop the rain, but nothing happens. I’ve had enough of this, I hate it and I’m raging with anger against everything, the weather, the path, the universe and God, that seem to be plotting against me. Furious I pound on, crossing every boundary I can, my vision blurred by rain and tears. And even though the rain deminishes after a while, I don’t stop walking. Though my legs get numb with cold and I can hardly feel my sore feet anymore I press on till I’ve reached Sandsend. 16 km underfoot (10 of which non-stop through rain and mud and what not), drenched, dirty and drained.
The village lies basking in the evening sun as if nothing has happened and there isn’t a care in the world. It’s as if I’ve just descended from another planet. One full of turmoil and uproar into an alien peaceful world. ‘Wits End’ is the cafe I find right where the coast path comes down into the village. Very appropriate, because that’s exactly how I feel.
My heart starts to thaw, when I drink the cafe’s excellent coffee and eat some cake sitting on a bench in the setting sun. I’m grateful I have made it, but I also feel out of my depth. I realise I’ve been fighting against myself and the elements. Many times staring into a black hole, imagining falling of a cliff, or sliding down on a landslide. Seeing the headlines and hearing the news in my head about a woman missing after a cliff collapsed. Too often during this walk I have looked death in the eye, sometimes even beckoning me. I don’t want that anymore. I want to live! Today’s hike has changed me and I know now what matters most to me: the love for my husband and children and I don’t want to loose them. Or leave them behind in grieve. I want to live! Who says I have to walk the entire, crumbling, slippery, coast path along a precipice? No-one and I’m not doing it anymore. I take a bus back to Whitby. I don’t care about no coast path no more. The only things I want right now is a hot shower, dry clothes and a good rest. I’ve had enough.
