Wykey Wykey!

Lie in until eight and awake to a fine sunny day, in the "rabbit field", thousands of dandelions have developed seed heads, but the field is to the east and the prevailing winds usually out of the southwest. After a full English breakfast, with Taylor's Yorkshire tea, shower and dress and set off for Scarborough by shortly after ten. I take the road past Leven, Bridlington and Filey, the contrast with yesterday's rain could not be more marked. Today is a perfect spring day, the trees in blossom and with fresh green leaves, bright yellow fields of oil seed rape and spring lambs in abundance in the meadows. I am in no hurry and, perhaps as a consequence, arrive at our rendezvous, the A64 "Park and Ride", ten minutes late. Fortunately my cousins arrive five minutes after me, delayed by the heavy traffic to the coast. The fine weather attracts Yorkshire folk to the seaside. We skirt round the west of Scarborough and onto the Whitby road, arriving at Hayburn Wyke by a quarter to twelve. There are five of us, three cousins, one spouse and one son, we lost cousin Beverley, who lives in Scarborough, she phoned in an apology as we set off. The Hayburn Wyke pub is off a steep path on the Cloughton to Ravenscar road, it is conveniently placed, as the Cleveland Way and the Whitby to Scarborough cinder track, both run past it, and hence perfect for our circular walk. We descend down the path past the pub, through the woods to the fast running stream, which has become a torrent after the rain. In the woods my cousin Irene's son, Andrew, picks sorrel and wild garlic, which we chew as we climb down to the bridge over the stream. At the point where the path meets the coastal path, we begin our ascent. The climb out over the Wyke is almost vertical, up a series of wooden steps and at the top, the path continues to climb, but more gently, for the next three miles to Ravenscar. I have stripped off my sweater for the climb up the steps, intending to put it on again at the top once cooled down, but the midday sun is strong enough to counter the cooling sea breeze, so I leave it tied round my waist. As we make our way along we somehow keep changing walking partners and so I manage to have a nice chat with everyone. Most of the land adjacent to the cliff top is given over to sheep farming and there are hundreds of lambs, mostly they ignore us because the path is busy this time of year. Irene's husband, David, spots a small adder basking in the sun, but he wriggles off as we approach. At the only bench along this section of the walk, underneath a display of the layout of a WW2 radar station, someone has left a digital camera, we take it with us hoping to meet it's owner or, failing that, post the pictures from it on Facebook to trace them. We needn't have worried, as we approach Ravenscar, a young man in jeans and sweater, comes running down the path towards us, and the camera is reunited with it's owner. We stop for tea and scones at the tea room, about two hours after we set off, and consume these sat outside in the sunshine on the tables and benches provided for the purpose. The cinder track runs less than 50 yards from the tea room, it used to be the Whitby to Scarborough railway line, but is now a long distance walking and cycle path. On this circular walk it's benefit is that all the difficult terrain and climbing has been done on the outward leg, and the return is a gentle downhill stroll between hedgerows beginning to flower with May, and the woodland of the Wyke. We arrive back at the pub at a quarter to four, four hours exactly since we left and buy pints of beer, which we drink outside in the sun. A couple of young guys, they look about eighteen, are expertly picking melodies on their guitars and they are playing togeather really well. The pub is packed, the car park full, and about fifty of us are sat outside listening to the music. We are told there is live folk music every weekend, and that it's well attended. Reluctantly we leave after half an hour, as we have provisionally arranged to meet Beverley at "Mother Hubbard's", in Scarborough, probably the best fish and chip cafe on the east coast. In the event she can't make it, but the haddock, chips, mushy peas, tea and bread and butter, perfectly cooked and promptly served, hit the spot after an afternoon's exercise in the bracing sea air. And all for the bargain price of £7.25p per head! After tea they drop me back at the "Park and Ride", and they head back to Copmanthorpe. We are meeting again on Tuesday to visit another cousin, George and his wife, Val, in Ossett on Tuesday. Irene and Michael's father, Jack has a memorial tree in a park there, he was Aunty Marion's husband and they lived together there most of their married life. Jack has been dead some twenty years, and I have offered to fund a tree for her to go alongside his, if this can be done.
Another wonderful day, friends, family, food and sunshine to share, and a store of fond memories for the future. Real treasure!