Settrington Beacon - Ganton
As
the forecast had predicted, it was raining first thing. It must have rained hard in the night too as
the roads were covered in big puddles and the dried-up beck that ran along the
front of the beer garden was now full to the brim. All the same, the forecast had improved
overnight and they were now saying that it would stop raining late morning and
be good for the rest of the day. Good
news.
On
cue, the rain stopped and we set off at 10:45.
The lads, fresh and eager, were a little quick off the mark for me, with
four days’ walking in my legs, and I lagged behind a little. Despite the grey sky it soon warmed up. On the outskirts of Winteringham we found
Dave and Sue sitting by a pond. They
told us tales of woe at the Middleton Arms in North Grimston (poor food, poor
beer, poor rooms).
Beyond
the village a pleasant climb through woods took a serious turn. A signpost, jutting skywards, warned of a
‘steep gradient’. It wasn’t
kidding. My calves were twanging at the
effort and the path was partly made up of chalky scree, which didn’t make the
going any easier. The reward at the top
was one of the many pieces of art: an arrangement of red wooden poles around a
gravelly area and a small pond, next to which were some whitewashed standing figures. I don’t know what it all meant, but I liked
it.
We
were now on the edge of the northern escarpment, giving views over the Vale of
Pickering up to the North York Moors.
The views were rather hazy for us though. The path took us alongside many fields and a
lot of the time it was rather overgrown with grass and cow parsley, the flower
heads of which were holding a lot of water.
This water was readily transferred onto our clothing. Ahead of us, along a lane, a number of hares
were running around. One started towards
us, saw we were there, hesitated, then decided it probably ought to run the
other way.
Our
route wound up and down the hills’ edge, seemingly arbitrarily adding to the
distance and giving us more climbing to do.
As the weather was good, we pushed on past Sherburn towards Ganton. Jill texted to say the pub was shut but she
would wait there to meet us. Ganton is
the location of a fairly posh golf club – old-fashioned, hard to get into – but
around the path above the village someone had set up a more accessible nine
hold course. In extreme contrast to the
main course, this one was intermingled with a pig farm, lending a rather
pungent quality to the air. It was a bit
of a slog getting through this section.
Given
that the Ganton Greyhound was shut, we drove to Sherburn to find the East
Riding open and serving a nice pint of pale ale. Jill wanted some money and, after a couple of
pints, Rick suggested we go to Malton, where he grew up. It’s a pretty town full of pale stone
buildings. The market square has an
attractive old church in its centre and there is still, for the time being, a
livestock market nearby. We called in at
the Spotted Cow on the edge of this market for a quick pint. Rick used to play darts there, he told
us. It was dark inside, and atmospheric,
and served a decent pint.
That
evening was the last overnight stay and I celebrated by having a very good
sticky toffee pudding in the Star. And a
few pints.
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