An ex-army guy, about 8 or 9 years my senior, he was a bit well-trained, and liked to do all kinds of outdoorsy stuff, but usually it involved a serious amount of yomping – if not worse… but that’s a story for another day!
If he saw me now, he’d be somewhat disappointed in how I turned out – very much built for comfort – but in those days he used to drag me along, mostly willingly, on some of his escapades.
Anyway, at the age of about 15 – me that is! - he decided I should accompany him on the Lyke Wake Walk.
Now, I confess, I might get some of the specifics following slightly wrong or out of order, but forgive me, it was nearly 30 years ago… indeed while I was still in compulsory education!
For any not familiar, the Lyke Wake Walk is a walking route crossing North Yorkshire from Ravenscar to Osmotherly (or vice versa) of 42 miles and which should, correctly, be completed in under 24 hours.
There is some history to the walk, with which I am not at all familiar, other than the “Wake” in the walk is the obvious funereal reference. (I feel a trip to Wikipedia coming along!)
Anyway, we were walking from the coast inland, so, as an organised event we rolled up in Osmotherly on the back of his motorcycle, and were transported to our starting point in Ravenscar.
The walk was supported by the RNLI, if I remember correctly, and it was a group event with small groups having staggered starting times.
There were walkers of mixed abilities and experience, and those with experience were grouped with some who were not, in the interests of safety along the way. As such, we were paired with a husband and wife, and were last group to set off 12.30am.
The only team behind us were a professional support team to ensure stragglers were not left behind.
I don’t remember exactly the time of year, but it was certainly summer, and the night was pleasant for walking, even if it was rather foggy.
We were provided with details of the route, pretty much in long hand, so you couldn’t go wrong.
Anyway, after about 5 minutes, we went wrong.
I recall we had to turn right immediately after the churchyard, and then about half a mile along this path we would come to a mast, where we should turn left, and head out onto the open moor.
Now, in our defence, this is what we did, but after trudging along the path for about a week and a half, we decided we would’ve spotted the mast by now, or at least passed it, and if we turned round, we’d surely spot it on the way back.
In our further defence, half way back to our original turning point, we met up with the professional support team, who had similarly followed the instructions to the letter, and also gone the wrong way.
Anyway, back practically at the start, we reassessed our situation, figured we must have taken the right route, as per the instructions, but clearly the wrong route for the walk. We boldly decided to bypass our turnoff, and search for another.
Fully ten feet later, we found it… and soon reached the elusive mast.
Well… it was DARK! And FOGGY!
The walk was extremely well supported, and there were numerous feeding stations along the way, that also allowed the option to stop if anyone was feeling they had taken on too much. However, once committed, the first station was eleven miles from the start, plus, of course, any (ahem) minor detours one might’ve chosen to take.
So, best foot forward, and I must say at this point that our “less experienced” partners were by no means any hindrance to us, and we soon caught up and passed a number of other groups.
Well, the instructions guided us towards the Fylingdales Early Warning Station, which back in the late ’70s still possessed its famous golf balls. A pretty substantial landmark by anyone’s definition you would think.
How wrong you are!
Would you believe we got within about 50 feet of the station before the perimeter fence appeared out of the gloom?
Anyway “four hundred yards to the right, you will see a small post.”
FOUR HUNDRED YARDS!!!
It was SO foggy, we couldn’t spot a US Radar Base from 51 feet, and we had to find a “small post” 400 yards away! Get away with you!
OK… the plan became “Follow the perimeter fence.” I was ready for clicking my heels together, never mind following the fence. Trouble was, there was peat or mud all around, and the only reasonable route out, was to go back the way we’d come in… and don’t forget, we’ve done that one already this fine morning, matey peeps!
So we followed the perimeter fence, and soon, thank goodness, we noticed a light in the distance.
Was it sunrise?
Nope… it was better than that… it was the first feeding station!!!
Hey, and they had a decent set-up I can tell you. Soup went down a treat!
The station did resemble something a bit like a M*A*S*H unit, with people having blisters and minor injuries and ailments dealt with in triage, but our little group ate up our grub and passed on through, “overtaking” a good few more groups in the pits.
Sunrise was not far away, after all, and the first fingers of daylight were creeping over the landscape – actually that sounds a bit spooky!
And as I mentioned earlier, it was summer, and it didn’t take long for the fog to start slowly burning off.
The next station was five miles hence (subsequent ones would be just about every mile) and my abiding memory this section of the journey was a rail track bed.
We crossed some farmland, or fields, or whatever, and joined the track bed (no tracks, just the aggregate) and walked along this for an absolute age. I think it is about two miles, but it seemed like twenty-two, and my feet were KILLING me with all the stones underfoot.
And to cap it all, we were walking between two raised walls, about 7 feet in height. Might as well have been walking in a tunnel!
Leaving the track bed was relief, to be sure, and soon we reached the next station. Refreshments were available, and probably taken, but we didn’t stop, and soon enough we were chalking off station after station and mile after mile.
If I recall, the final station was itself about five miles from the finish, but psychologically, you are nearly there, and so the last stretch is head down, grit your teeth and get on with it.
Today, however, it was summer… did I mention that?
It was also about 160 degrees by now as it was the height of day.
We were walking along the edge of the North York Moors, looking out into the hazy distance over Teesside and beyond, travelling in a westerly direction.
Yep. We all got sunburn… on one arm and one side of the face!
Not to worry, we really are nearly there now.
About a mile or so from the end an optional route takes you up and over a couple of small peaks, or if you, choose, you may stick to the metalled, steadily inclined but even road.
We chose the road.
I have to say, we were feeling rather proud. Our companions had made a really good fist of it, it was the first time I’d done anything like this, we’d passed loads of people and, approaching 15 hours, we were well within the official time limit.
You ain’t gonna believe what happened next!
Scarcely a mile to go, and we heard someone approaching from behind.
A fit looking, but unmistakably elderly gentleman, was approaching at some speed.
He passed us.
As did another.
I don’t recall exactly, but my memory tells me that about half a dozen elderly people, men and women, passed us. I’m getting older myself now, so I guess I need to specify that they were at least in their sixties.
We arrived at the finishing area to find out they were just completing their Lyke Wake Run!!!
Anyway, we had still achieved our objective, and so we filled in all the necessary paperwork, said our adieus to our companions, and hopped onto my mate’s motorbike for the journey back home.
Pillion seat with high foot rests, it took my weary legs about 5 seconds to cramp!
My mate’s survived until about the third gear-change.
Yep, I’m pretty sure that at one point we were riding along, all four legs rigidly stuck out with muscle-spasms!!!
And do you know what?
I never got my coffin!
