180 Million Years Above Saltwick Bay, Whitby Holiday Park

Zagan the motorhome’s stood atop a grass-covered cliff, carefully socially distanced from fellow campervans and caravans at Whitby Holiday Park, about a mile east along the Cleveland Way coastal path from the bright lights of Whitby (N54.48522, W0.59023).

In musing moments, when we’ve sat and talked about the future, we’ve often come to the conclusion we’d like to spend time living by the sea. Perhaps, there’s something about the endless expanse of water which, despite its obvious liquid nature, gives a solidity to humanity’s ever-changing circumstances? Maybe that’s why we like the mountains too, touching the sky, for all intents and purposes standing immovable for all of time. Our conclusion’s been that since we’ve enjoyed being in a broad range of places, albeit for short lengths of time, we’ll use our motorhome and cottage rentals to spend longer periods living where we love. All this is leading up to the fact our latest wee jaunt up to North Yorkshire is pretty much being spent in two places, just a few miles apart, both within sight of the North Sea.

When we left the campsite at Robin Hood’s Bay we were already booked in here for three nights. The farmer and his wife waved us off, a lovely couple who really seem to care about their guests. We’d talked about going back but they’ve limited hard standings for bigger vans like ours (they had a clutch of VW pot-top campers each night lower on the field, some with a toilet tent, like a brightly-coloured Dalek stood beside the van) and we also needed hook-up for the fridge, which was only on the higher pitches.

On the way into Whitby we’d spotted a Sainsbury’s with a hardware shop behind it, so while Ju stocked us up on grub I nipped into the toolshop and got some pipe to help clean the fridge’s gas burner, and a small hammer for cracking some fossils open. Back in the car park I got to work on the fridge, eventually getting the jet clear using our foot pump. With the groceries packed away we headed the couple of miles here, armed with an emailed map of the site and our pitch number, and instructions to wait in the van outside reception. On arrival a masked lass came over and checked us in through the van window, then led us to our pitch and showed us where to park to be as far from our neighbours as possible. Being right on a cliff edge (OK, a few metres back), we’d no-one in front and about 15 metres free behind us too. The shower block’s closed, and there is hand sanitiser everywhere (very handy after emptying the loo). Apart from being stood atop a crumbing 180 million year old cliff (!), we felt very safe.

Just below the cliff is Saltwick Bay, a short steep path leads down to it from one end of the site. It being early September, the schools have gone back and there are only a few nippers playing on the sand. The rest of the folks down there are ambling about taking in the views or peering among the rocks at low tide, trying to spot the bullet shapes of Belemnite’s rostra (part of ancient squid-like creatures) or the spiral shells of Ammonites. These latter ones come in fragments, or just showing on the edge of a ‘nodule’ of rock, which needs splitting into two to see the full fossil. There’s fossilized wood down there too, in the form of jet which has long been polished and fashioned into jewellery in Whitby, but we’ve not spotted any.

The rocks, these reflections of the past, are in are 170 to 190 million years old! It’s unimaginable the insides of the rocks we’ve managed to crack open haven’t seen the air for that long. Ju has pulled up a few YouTube videos to help us find the right rocks, finding also that we need a better hammer than the tiny pin hammer we have (which didn’t survive long). While we’re on the beach we’re also staying clear of the cliff itself, which is constantly shedding material, having us peering up every few minutes at the latest fall of shale, hoping a huge boulder doesn’t follow to knock our blocks off.

The weather’s changeable up here. The ‘steady legs’ are down, keeping the bouncing effect of the wind in check on Zagan, and we’re comfortable with a small electric fan heater (like this low-cost one) in the cool evenings. After a couple of days we extended our stay so we’ll be here for the best part of two weeks, although we’ll have to move pitches twice as the site is pretty-well booked up over the weekends. Being a mile from Whitby we’re easily able to nip over to have a mooch around, do some shopping or just stretch our legs. We’d both started training for the Boston (Lincolnshire, UK) half marathon, but that’s had to be cancelled due to safety fears, as has our final booked run of 2020, the Malaga half marathon. But, after a short hiatus of mild depression, we’re still carrying on running. I took the coastal path back to Robin Hood’s Bay the other day, a good 11 mile run with a few short sharp hills to test the legs. Ju’s been doing some morning runs over by Whitby Abbey, grabbing some photos on the way.

There are plenty of folks knocking about in Whitby itself, although if you’re just a short walk from the very centre you’re well away from folks. A good few people are wearing masks too, and all the shops are of course expecting us to wear them. We’ve not been in many of them, but the whiff of smoke from Fortune’s Kippers drew us in for a pot of smoked kipper pate, later deliciously munched spread on toast. An afternoon’s also been killed with a wander down over the A171 where it crosses the Esk, followed by a sit down to eyeball Parkol’s (the boat builders) latest project, a brand new shiny trawler stood over by an enormous crane. Presumably it was building up to floating the new creation, but we were getting cold and stiff, so missed the lift (Ju has just called from town to say the lift looks imminent today) Update: Ju sat and watched the boat be lowered into the water very, very slowly today and it all went well. We also enjoyed watching the town’s swing bridge being, well, swung, to allow a small boat to pass. The bridgeman told Ju boats call them when they need to pass, and the road is closed and the bridge operated on the next hour or half hour. Small crowds gather to watch, us all disappointed it’s only a tiny boat and not the HMS Queen Elizabeth.

Other than running, walking, fossiling and changing pitches, we’re enjoying catching up on the Tour de France as it (if a little strangely with few spectators, lots of masks and a constant feeling of worry that maybe it shouldn’t be happening at all) makes its way through the hills around the south. We’re enjoying taking our time to write and read, peering out to sea as fishing boats pull in and drop lobster pots, or try and spot fighter jets roaring ahead of their own noise in the sky above. Life by the sea’s proving relaxing, we’ll stay a while longer. Right, time for a cuppa.

Cheers, Jay