Strolling to Robin Hood's Bay
A slow start, munching toast and tea drinking. Then Sam, Jade Lorraine and I decided to go for a six or seven mile walk along the cinder path (as recommended by Matt) to Robin Hood's Bay. It followed the course of an former railway track, and began pleasantly tree-lined, then crossing a viaduct over the Esk to be out of Whitby then two or three hours walking. After the first hour or so we paused at a slightly banjo strumming pub to discuss Aristotelian ethics and a beer (S & J) and soda and limes for Lorraine and I. Enjoyed the sight of a dog lapping top from a man's pint of bitter. "He only likes the head, but it makes him sneeze," said its owner proudly, who then happily drank the rest.
We continued along the track lined by wildflowers, a caravan site and big stretches of stone walled fields sloping down to the sea. Eventually we turned a corner to see Robin Hood Bay stretched out before us at high tide.
We called a halt at The Victoria Hotel, where we found Beth and John pre-established in the beer garden. Yorkshire folk and dogs everywhere. There was a beer festival, (i.e. a few barrels and people serving good ale in a tent) on Sam's recommendation I had two pints of Guzzler, a pleasant watery beer that lived up to its promise. Nearby an area of owls and other raptors, that Beth and I enjoyed, especially an astonished looking one that gulped a lot.
Down the steep hill into the gorgeous little town of Robin Hood's Bay, a bit like a Yorkshire version of Under Milk Wood. We found a characterful old pub called Ye Dolphin, where we drank more beers, played increasingly competitive six handed euchure, Sam and Jade assimilating its rules almost faster than I could remember them. Then a large supper, where I thinned out a few of the local scampi, and followed this with a large plate of a tart-shaped Yorkshire pudding containing chicken, stuffing, chips and gravy, served with seasonal vegetables. An enormous meal I engulfed without a qualm although felt sorely laden afterwards.
Now dark, we lurked by the slipway, marvelling at how far the tide goes out here, until taxis driven by cheery drivers arrived to ferry us back to Whitby.
A snap on the walk; approaching Robin Hood's Bay; Sam, Jade and John heading down into the town; milling about on the slipway; children playing on the slipway at high tide; Beth and John.
We continued along the track lined by wildflowers, a caravan site and big stretches of stone walled fields sloping down to the sea. Eventually we turned a corner to see Robin Hood Bay stretched out before us at high tide.
We called a halt at The Victoria Hotel, where we found Beth and John pre-established in the beer garden. Yorkshire folk and dogs everywhere. There was a beer festival, (i.e. a few barrels and people serving good ale in a tent) on Sam's recommendation I had two pints of Guzzler, a pleasant watery beer that lived up to its promise. Nearby an area of owls and other raptors, that Beth and I enjoyed, especially an astonished looking one that gulped a lot.
Down the steep hill into the gorgeous little town of Robin Hood's Bay, a bit like a Yorkshire version of Under Milk Wood. We found a characterful old pub called Ye Dolphin, where we drank more beers, played increasingly competitive six handed euchure, Sam and Jade assimilating its rules almost faster than I could remember them. Then a large supper, where I thinned out a few of the local scampi, and followed this with a large plate of a tart-shaped Yorkshire pudding containing chicken, stuffing, chips and gravy, served with seasonal vegetables. An enormous meal I engulfed without a qualm although felt sorely laden afterwards.
Now dark, we lurked by the slipway, marvelling at how far the tide goes out here, until taxis driven by cheery drivers arrived to ferry us back to Whitby.
A snap on the walk; approaching Robin Hood's Bay; Sam, Jade and John heading down into the town; milling about on the slipway; children playing on the slipway at high tide; Beth and John.
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