Manx Rover's Ramblings

The heavens, having rained themselves dry, radiated a pale greenish glow which brightened the tumbled stack of cottages that is Robin Hood’s Bay. The higgledy-piggledy houses appeared to cling limpet…

Getting lost wasn’t easy, but we did. After a wretched time battling the quagmire of bog holes and waist high tussock grass, we arrived where we started, and, knowing the place for the second time, f…

The trek from The Lion Inn to Glaisdale was the shortest section we’d walked and so we had time for a little sightseeing at the North Sea fishing port of Whitby. This seaside town is high on the tour…

There was no need for sunscreen this morning. The besieging mist limited visibility with a veil of damp greyness that chilled the face and numbed the hands. The opaque blanket clung low to the soggy …

The air was heavy with the scent of heather and the musky tang of damp moorland soil. For miles around the yellow, green, russet and purple/browns fused like the dusty autumnal tones of a well-worn B…

From the beginning, Peter and I had regarded the trek as a sort of quest, a diversion from the norm rather than a test of our fortitude or stamina. As our journey progressed, it evolved into an on-go…

“You’re not having another shower are you?” our diminutive landlord protested in dismay. “You had one only yesterday.”

Later, we chanced upon Hugh of Gibbsland who was still grappling with the myster…

In a secluded corner a slightly groggy and bewildered beast stood next to the path. It watched over a calf lying on the grass trying to raise its head. Both animals were exhausted and bloodied. Clear…

Further on, the landscape changed. Stone walls gave way to hawthorn hedges, cattle replaced sheep and fallow meadow were tilled and sawn. We had entered the Vale of York, the long flat wooded plain b…

In the space of two hours we’d glimpsed garlic heaven and endured culinary hell. No mean achievement for a Friday night in a small North Yorkshire market town.

The landlady proved to be a gem. Her he…

Walking at a steady pace in the rain promoted a pleasant feeling of detached solitude, a state of mind similar to meditation. The rhythmically paced footfalls became the mantra that freed the observe…

From Keld, there was little doubt we’d make it to Robin Hood’s Bay provided we avoided accidents or the hailed Rumpsfeltish – unknown unknowns.

Keld is the only place where the ‘best’ walk in England…

The cool breeze strengthened to a squall, pressing clothes close and tight. A light drizzle flurried in the air making it a woollen-hat-over-the-ears day. Mother Nature had called to say “hello” and …

It was easy to visualise a stagecoach and four rounding the corner on a quiet Sunday afternoon, and draw to a halt at the steps of the King’s Arms Hotel.

The Cumberland Sausage at the Black Bull was …

A nearby cairn marked the final resting place of Robin Hood. What with Robin Hood’s Chair overlooking Ennerdale Water, Robin Hood’s grave at Wicker Street, and our final destination of Robin Hood’s B…

“To come here, I disregarded my doctor’s advice, pooh-poohed my son’s pleas, and didn’t once pray for divine intervention,” stated Bryn with defiant steeliness. “And you know what? I don’t give a Con…

Dew Drop, or Bryn as we later learned, was lively and engaging company. It took only a couple of pints to transform the mischievous rapscallion of the mountain tops, into an independently minded nonc…

Our farm-stay digs were a foxhunters Mecca. Mounted above the sideboard, in a display cabinet, a fox sat perfectly still amidst a stage-set rural scene. The stuffed animal fixed would-be diners with …