We split our duties on arrival at a new BnB. Pauline packs the supermarket supplies away and starts thinking about dinner, while I set up the charging stations and Internet connectivity. For security I use a Unifi Travel Router (UTR) which joins the local wifi, then sets up an encrypted VPN tunnel back to my home network in Waihou. All our devices then connect to the UTR. Nice, simple, functional and secure.
Except at the Bottom Pigsty it wasn't. They have an unencrypted public wifi network with a captive portal. This introduces major privacy, security, and connectivity issues, exactly what the UTR is designed to overcome. But not all portals are VPN-friendly, and this one certainly wasn't. I could connect briefly, then dropouts. After getting in touch and explaining the issues our host came to the rescue with a standard SSID/password, and all is now working fine. I gave our host a bit of ICT consultancy advice so they could assist other guests - after Thomas this is starting to become a habit!
Day 1 - Yorkshire environs
Both Pauline and I had been to Yorkshire before, but in both cases it was a whistlestop transit through York enroute to Scotland. We hadn't had the time to explore the moors, dales and little towns, and now we have our opportunity. A dozen waypoints are mapped out via the back roads.
The North York Moors are a high plateau, not dissimilar to what you see from the Desert Road at home. The general impression is tussock, but pink and purple heather add blotches of colour in amongst the bracken, sedges and grasses. The dales (valleys) contain green pastures and meadows with stone walls dividing fields.
Local folklore says the Hole of Horcum was created when Wade the Giant scooped up a handful of earth to throw at his wife. In reality it's a huge natural amphitheatre carved by water erosion. I think I like the giant story better.
Sheep are everywhere. The roads through the moors are unfenced, so sheep regularly cross the road or graze beside it. Following my motorcycling instincts I initially slow right down and gave them a wide berth. But they're used to cars and not nearly as skittery and unpredictable as NZ sheep, and over time I cautiously go a little faster.
Cast your mind back to 1993. Were you a fan of Heartbeat on TV? Goathland aka Aidensfield is a quintessential Yorkshire village.
Goathland also hosts a wonderful railway station as part of the North Yorkshire Moors Railway heritage services. Unfortunately we miss the steam train by half an hour.
A different style of bridge down in the valleys.
Thornton‑le‑Dale is another beautiful, tranquil Yorkshire village - a must-see according to the guides. And we can see why - looks just like a postcard. But there's a caution for all the little villages sitting in valleys - they're prone to flooding. The Thornton Beck (stream) flooded badly back in 2007, with water up to the windowsills. With El Niño intensified by climate change imminent, I don't fancy their chances this winter. Hope they're well-prepared.
We come across a weird monolith in the middle of nowhere on Snod Hill. Nothing is marked on the map.
After a bit of sleuthing and noting its proximity to the RAF Fylingdales base we determine it's a military radar station for ballistic missile detection and space surveillance. Hope the Russians aren't reading this.
That completes Saturday 12 September. On Sunday we stop looking at villages and go looking for rocks.
Day 2 - piles of rocks
Today we're off to see the Brimham Rocks, a bit north-west of Harrogate. It's a fantastical jumble of rocks perched precariously on top of each other, formed from coarse sandstone laid down over 325 million years ago, and progressively worn away by wind, rain, frost and ice.
It's hugely popular with both tourists and families, and a perfect environment for kids to develop their risk management skills in comparative safety. The rocks are solid enough, but not sharp or crumbly.
The slight drizzle adds to the great light and moodiness of the place.
The heather we see all over the moors is available for close inspection.
Next stop is Rievaulx Abbey not far from Helmsley, and as usual we've mapped out a route on narrow back roads. The Yaris is great on these, but today there was an event on and caravans were forced onto them too.
Needless to say, large vehicles coming the other way had no way through. We lost half an hour while those in front decided who was best to reverse to a passing spot.
Founded in 1132 by monks, Rievaulx became one of the great Cistercian monasteries of medieval England. It grew in land and wealth until sacked by the Scots and later dissolved by Henry VIII in 1538. So all we have left is a pile of rocks, or more correctly, sandstone blocks.
But what's left is certainly impressive. The monks were excellent water engineers too. Fresh water was supplied from the River Rye in lead pipes, and waste water from the latrines was flushed away through a controlled river diversion, gravity‑fed channels, and purpose‑built drains. People tend to underestimate the importance of sanitation and public health engineers, but they are hugely instrumental in civilisation's advancement.
As a side note, the people of Helmsley downstream from the Abbey were not so impressed by their water quality!
The flying buttresses look very thin and fragile, but apart from some minor weathering over eight centuries they are as per design, and effective in keeping the thin unreinforced walls from toppling.
Pauline's working on improvements to the kitchen design.
Interesting that the monks ate in complete silence, apart from a sermon from a pulpit in the side wall. Conversely, our conversation over dinner sees us bounce some ideas around, but the coast is definitely in the picture for tomorrow.
Day 3 - of wind turbines and other scenic things
Not again! Haven't I been rabbiting on about wind turbines enough?! Not quite...
We head towards Redcar Beach as Pauline sings "I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside". The turbines get larger and larger as we approach, and it's not surprising. At just 1,500m off-shore you could just about swim out to them. 27 turbines form a tight cluster, and pump out 62MW, enough for around 50,000 homes. So why don't we see more of these in NZ? In the South Taranaki Bight, off Kawhia, Raglan or Port Waikato? Don't get me started or I'll bore you with inadequate forward planning and policy settings, a broken electricity market and nimbyism.
Staithes is a lovely little town a bit to the south. Essentially a village in a gorge.
It's also where we reacquaint ourselves with Captain James Cook. As a teenager, Cook worked in a shop in Staithes before moving to Whitby to begin his maritime career. Local tradition says that looking out from the Staithes coast inspired him to pursue a life at sea.
Interesting that the signboard says his voyages are reassessed for their role in colonial expansion and its impacts on indigenous peoples, echoing what we saw at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich.
Back in the 1600s-1800s this part of the coast was also important for alum (a double sulphate of aluminium and typically potassium) production, important for dyeing and tanning. Shale was quarried from the nearby cliffs, burnt with water, urine (brought in from far and wide) and kelp. It was labour‑intensive, extraordinarily smelly, and environmentally destructive, but extremely profitable. Previously alum had to be imported from the Mediterranean - both expensive and politically uncomfortable.
The coffee isn't deteriorating as we head north - good news. And sunny skies and balmy temperatures continue.
On to Whitby on the River Esk - a popular tourist spot so I'm glad we didn't visit in August. The Whitby Abbey, a skeletal Gothic ruin, is worth the 199 steps up the hill.
Just like Rievaulx, Henry VIII dissolved the abbeys in the 1540s. It was an audacious move that broke the power of the Catholic Church and secured huge wealth for the Crown. Unfortunately centres of learning and manuscript production, hospitals, and architectural masterpieces were destroyed in the process.
Notice anything close to home?
That's harakeke growing in the foreground, and it's well-established around Whitby. Ships returning from the Pacific in the early 19th century often carried botanical specimens, which is likely its source.
Talking of home, wouldn't it be lovely to send lots of postcards to friends and family back in NZ? Blogs, emails, Messenger and WhatsApp are all very well, but nothing quite rivals the excitement of opening your letterbox and finding something other than a bill or leaflets. Something hand-written, personalised, with love and care. Sorry folks - we stopped in at a Post Office and the cost of a stamp to airmail a postcard to NZ is £3.60. That's an outrageous $8.30. So the grandkids might get lucky. The rest of you can read the blog!
It's a lovely town, and we had to walk to the far end of the harbour entrance to take a look back.
The locals are friendly too.
That wraps up our third day in Yorkshire. Our last view of the moors and dales before we head west tomorrow.
Cumbria has a reputation for being the wettest part of England. Moist Atlantic air arrives from the southwest, straight off the Irish Sea, and dumps on the hills. Sounds a bit like the west coast of the South Island. We look at the long range weather on the Met Office app - misty tomorrow, but sunny breaks Tuesday to Thursday. We may be in luck, at least initially. Stay tuned.
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