Staithes to Whitby: E2 Day 67

Another murky day walking along cliff tops above a turbulent sea.

Leaving the attractive, narrow cobbled streets, old terraced houses and harbour of Staithes, I began the steep climb back up to the cliff tops. Mist again hung in the sky, wind blown drizzle occasionally caused me to pull up my jacket hood. Looking down from the path, way below me on the muddy sea, the wind threw streamers of white foam. Waves broke into white spray as the rollers grew then collapsed on their approach to the shore. Vertical rock extended down from the cliff's top, below which landslipped rock, jumbled outcrops and terraces of shale often spread out above the sea. In places slopes of unstable clay topped the layered rock faces, on which grass and plants made a temporary home. I imagined slipping down the wet clay desperately trying to stop before dropping over the cliff edge into oblivion. A few seagulls hung in the air on currents forced upwards when the easterly wind, racing across the sea, hit the abruptly rising land.

The sea beneath the cliffs.

More people were about today, being Saturday I suppose, when dogs are taken for longer walks, and families, friends and walking groups coalesce for a breezy hike. As on the section I walked yesterday, informative notice boards spoke of iron mining, iron works and alum shale quarrying, activities that once took place in the area. Runswick Bay was a small settlement with a beachfront café (of which I took advantage) at the base of a steep descent. At the far end of the sandy bay there were "caves" called Hob Holes, the result of mining for jet, a black mineral used in local jewellery. Just after these excavations the Cleveland Way turns up a narrow gully, over wet shale. Fortunately steep steps have been cut to take you out of the gully and back to the top of the cliffs, any alternative would have been slippery and muddy.

Entrance to gully at far end of Runswick Beach. 

Whenever I walk the gorse always seems to be in flower.

Sandsend was the next settlement, located on the seafront after a section of trail on an old railway line. After the village the Cleveland Way follows the road. As I walked parked cars and campervans were on one side of me and the raging sea and later a calm golf course on my other side. As the outskirts of Whitby came in sight I joined a path beside the houses which sat at the top of a groomed grass slope leading down to a promenade and the sea. The houses become guesthouses, and the walkway reached an art installation representing a house shelled in 1914, complete with unexploded shell. Curiously the noticeboard did not say who did the shelling, why or when. A little beyond was a statue of Captain Cook, the local lad who made good, at least in the eyes of the British Empire. Spotting a gap between people's photography, I walked beneath a whalebone arch and headed down towards the harbour area. Being well past my lunch time and associating Whitby with fish and chips, I entered the first place offering such food. Foolishly I had not checked the prices first. It was very expensive fish, chips, mushy peas and bread and butter, good but no better (and the batter maybe less crunchy) than fish and chips from less expensive, less pretentious places. I suppose the view of waves crashing through the breakwater added to the cost.

Captain Cook.

After a little wander with the many tourists by the remaining fishing boats moored in the harbour, and among the jet jewellers, gift shops and traditional shop fronts of the narrow cobbled streets south of the river, I climbed the many steps to the ruins of Whitby Abbey. Tucked in beside the abbey was the Whitby Youth Hostel where I have booked a bed for the night in an old, rambling building with views back down to Whitby.