The Wolds Way

Following is a sample of one chapter of the book.  If you wish to purchase an electronic version of the book for £6 click here.

Adventures on the Humber

Day 1 – Hessle to North Newbald

[22  miles – Saturday 29 May 1999]

Today started out with gloomy, dismal weather, but as the day progressed the air pressure soared and the day became exceptionally hot and clear.  This was the beginning of the Wolds Way and the start of another adventure.  To share it with me was my good friend and nephew Ron.  The two of us, together with our chauffeur, my daughter Tanya, were now staying at the hotel in Hornsea.  We took quite a while driving to and locating Hessle Haven, where the start of the Wolds Way begins, but once we arrived there we set off immediately.

Our path began on an attractive grassy track opposite to a boatyard on the Haven.  There was a boat in dock – “Laura” and workers busily loading it and working upon it with all manner of machinery, including cranes.  For such a small creek this was a fascinating occurrence to watch.  The tide was out [this was very fortuitous, as will later appear].  Hessle Haven is a small tidal creek, which was almost drained of water and the boat’s Plimsoll Line was well proud of the water.  The muddy creek bottom provided an ugly contrast to the beautiful parkland area above its banks where the Wolds Way began.

The path itself ran through verdant, lush meadow grass strewn with daisies and many other wild flowers and was lined with trees of various kinds and shrubs, each casting darkening shadows as the sunlight grew brighter and the clouds began to clear.  Song birds were trilling merrily and a sense of excitement hung in the air, gripping Ron and I with the sense of adventure – we did not yet know it, but there would be plenty of adventure today.   A pleasant odour of salt washing over the Humber embankment compelled me to fill my lungs to savour the taste and share in the exhilaration of this fine summer’s day.  I recalled last year’s long distance run along the Pennine Way, when it rained almost continually whilst I ran – a dramatic contrast to this day.

We began running along the smooth, level path, knowing that the path would soon change considerably, and we ran quickly to make up for the time we would surely lose, as we knew it would.   After about 400 metres the path came to an end and was replaced with a road running parallel to the Humber.  This did not slow us in the least. 

In front of us, visible from the beginning of our run was the magnificent span of the Humber bridge.   We were fast approaching it now but as we neared it we were distracted by a building we had not expected to find; the remains of a windmill with 6 upper stories.  It stood out starkly in the shape of a large darlek, silhouetted and commanding against a bright blue sky, surrounded by attractive dark green trees and placed on a well- maintained lawn whitened with the open blooms of daisies.  Its sails were long gone.

Passing below the bridge we reached a gate which took us from the path to the pebbly beach.  Running on pebbles is just about the worst thing for anyone hoping to avoid  blisters, which were a genuine concern to me today.  I usually acquire blisters when running on hard, dry ground, and I had planned today to run 20 miles [it turned out I actually ran 22 miles].  Ron was not impressed with the pebbles either.  The pebbly beach, however, was soon to end as the way before us was blocked, save for the ooze and slime nearer the river’s edge.

Ahead of us we could see industrial machinery at work along a new partly made coastal path, and a huge sign with the words “Footpath Closed” emblazoned upon it.  Three workmen wearing protective head gear stopped us as we approached and informed us that we could proceed no further.  We had no intention of going back now.  In my mind alternatives were presenting themselves in quick succession, one of which was to run along the muddy embankment closer to the river, but this would be dangerous if the tide were coming in.  The footpath improvement work was extensive and stretched for more than a mile.

I informed the workmen that I must continue, and something in my voice must have convinced them that I was desperate.  After a short discussion we were informed by them that they “had not seen us”, but that we would have to keep away from the heavy plant and machinery about 300 yards distant.  That would mean leaving the path and taking our chances with the ooze and slime of the river bank.  We were willing, however, and did not wait for them to change their minds.  We proceeded immediately, leaving the half-made path well before reaching the machinery.  This meant scrambling over some very large boulders and dropping down to the riverbank.  It was possible to run here only in very short bursts, as it was difficult to keep our footing.  Further, as we progressed the ooze became deeper and we were afraid of treading in something we would not be able to pull ourselves out of.

Workers passing above looked down upon us as though we were manic.  Had we known how difficult and gruelling this route would be we would not have chosen to use it, but we were too committed to turn back now.  We laboured for more than an hour to traverse a stretch of no more than 2 miles.  The tide kept its distance from us.  Had it threatened us we would have been forced to scramble up the boulderous slopes to the half-road above and risk a confrontation with the workmen there.

Eventually we glimpsed the end of the improvement work, still some way off, but were sufficiently encouraged to increase our pace and at length we succeeded in reaching this place and scrambled up the seaweed strewn boulders to the soft grassy track above.  We rested momentarily [we were exhausted] and I put down my compass and map case that I had been carrying.  We continued to run, but I forgot to pick up my map case.

The path was now easy and we were able to run quickly to cover the distance left to North Ferriby where we encountered a small nature reserve with a good sized lake, most of which was covered with reeds.  Behind the lake were the red tiled roofs of North Ferriby.   Here we left the path and again continued along the foreshore, weaving between boulders, pebbles and sand.  After we had covered about one mile from where the path improvements ended I decided to check my map as I knew we would be turning inland very shortly.  It was then that I discovered I had left behind my map case.  Ron waited while I ran back, adding an additional and unwanted two miles to my journey.

After reuniting with Ron we set off again, noticing trees in the distance coming down to the foreshore.  We knew we would be turning inland here.  A short flight of wooden stairs leading from the shore took us to a small woodland above.  This was Long Plantation, and it took us from the foreshore, over a railway and on to the A63.  I was thrilled at the contrast provided by this small woodland.  Although it was very narrow and ran along the edge of North Ferriby, it was very much alive with the sound of birds.  The shade it provided was a welcome retreat from the heat of the sun.  We were pouring with sweat and flies attracted to the shade soon found themselves attracted to our salty odours.

Once reaching the A63, a very busy main road, we looked to the distant footbridge for a safe crossing.  However a suitable gap in the traffic provided an easier crossing and we took it, finding a wooden gate leading to the continuing route of the Wolds Way.  We stopped on the far side of the gate for a rationed sip of water.  We were now within Terrace Plantation and began running uphill to ascend into the Wolds.  The spacing between the trees in Terrace Plantation was not like that in Long Plantation.  The trees were now further apart, there was more leaf litter carpeting the pathway and more sunlight reached us.  We passed a number of wooden chalets, the use for which I did not know.

We were now looking for a minor road which I expected to cross to take me into Bow Plantation.  We came across a minor road – very minor, and although I assumed it was the road we were expecting it was not, but merely a very good woodland path.   This threw me with direction finding for awhile.  Ron, who is very good with directions was likewise deceived.  We crossed the path and shortly came upon a minor road with a quarry to the side.  We could not work out where we were until it eventually dawned upon us that we had not come as far as we had thought.

We crossed the road and passed through the gate at the side of the quarry and entered Bow Plantation.   We were running fairly steeply uphill.   The scenery here was gloomy despite the good weather.  The path took the western edge of the Plantation and allowed us a view of the now distant Humber.  We were well pleased at leaving this stretch of path and finding ourselves on the road to Welton, where we turned left and ran downhill, barely entering the village before leaving it again at the first road on our right, and running uphill passing some beautiful houses on our left, their proud owners treating themselves to a measure of sunlight in their gardens.

The road ended and became a track .  We ran beside an anaerobic smelling mill pond; its dreadful smell belied its appearance. What a contrast this was.  The pond really did appear idyllic in its woodland setting but the stench coming from it was foul and unpleasant to be around.  The trees bowed heavily over the pond’s surface.  Everywhere, including the pond itself, seemed to be coloured in a shade of green or yellow. 

Near to the pond we crossed through a wooden gate into Welton Dale, running on the eastern side of Dale Plantation along the narrow bottom of the steep sided Welton Wold, which was covered in a coarse swathe of tufty grasses.  The dale meandered gently as we proceeded forward.  The path itself, at first a narrow gritty track, dwindled into a grassy trail.

After about a mile our path along Dale Plantation came to an end and we turned right over a stile and followed an earthy uphill track through Welton Wold Plantation.  At length we emerged from the trees, turned right along a private road and continued uphill, completely missing our left turning towards Wauldby Manor Farm.  We pressed on instead, until reaching the Ten Acre Belt.   At first we did not recognise the buildings here, but we realised we were no longer on the Wolds Way.  We retraced our steps, found our turn and ran along the edge of another plantation [confusingly not on our map] until reaching Wauldby Manor Farm.  Here was a magnificent pond known as Wauldby Dam, clustered with reedy islands inhabited by moorhens and other ducks.   Peering past it, through the trees could be seen the splendid Wauldby Manor Farm, partly hiding a tall silo and a range of agricultural buildings.

At a junction in a very broad track there were two white cottages, each vacant, the windows and doors all painted blue.   It seemed such a shame for such beautiful cottages to stand empty.  If they were to be sold I would be more than happy to purchase one of them.  I could quite easily enjoy living in this neighbourhood.  I repented of this thought, however, as I ran past the nearby cesspit to the side of the path, from which emanated a putrid unwholesome stench.

In utter contrast we then found ourselves running along a gradually climbing broad track between white flowering hedgerows.   I was quite overcome by the scent and visual beauty of the flowering hawthorn, the yellow flowering rape seed in the adjoining fields and the idyllic setting of the fields, trees and hedges.  At each side of the track, on the verges, there was a dense profusion of   Cow Parsley, with its pure white umbels wafting gently in the warm rising air currents.

Notwithstanding the gladdening of my heart by the sheer splendour of everything around me I was growing increasingly weary.   We had now been running for more than three hours and we still had a long way to go.  We were both very thirsty and were both lacking energy.  The water we carried, originally one pint each, was becoming less and less and our requirement for water was increasing.  There were no shops or watering facilities on our route.  We would just have to make do. 

Turning left after Fox Covert another track took us uphill in a westerly direction past Bottom Plantation, where there was an attractive farmhouse and a view over the hedgerow to the Humber Bridge, which was just discernible.  We were now on a good wide track but were climbing steadily uphill.  We were still running, but our pace was slowing considerably.  The fields on the far side of the hedgerows were full of heaving crops.  We reached a road junction and carried on across, following a road until leaving it at a bend and continuing across on a broad grassy track, still uphill.  We ran alongside Long Plantation and after a while we came to the brow of the hill, meeting the road into Brantingham and followed this downhill until finding a right turn over a stile, taking us down a steep grassy field towards Brantingham Church.

This is as fine a setting as one could hope to see.  The church and the nearby cottage are outside of the village and nestle in a small valley surrounded by woodland.  We crossed a stile from the field to join a minor road and stopped for a short while to admire the church and cottage.  We then ran to our right and up the road as it climbed through Brantingham Dale, until reaching a bend where we left it to take a path through a gate onto Ellerker North Wold, through dense woodland.

The cottage was built of stone and was double-fronted, having a thick mantle of dark green ivy above a hipped central porch.  Behind the gardens of the cottage fields rolled uphill to meet a varied splendour of woodland trees, dappled with all shades of green.  A quaint old-fashioned lamp post stood outside of the cottage.  To the left of the cottage was the church and its graveyard.  Behind it were tiers of dark green conifers, marching uphill along the flanks of Brantingham Wold.  The church has red roof tiles which matched well with the stonework of its elevations.

Here I made a dreadful mistake.   I drank the rest of my water, drank a small tot of a high protein drink and consumed an energy bar.  Ron did likewise.  We continued to run, uphill, through the woods and I acquired severe indigestion which did not leave me either this day or the next.  It left me with a terrible stitch in my lower stomach each time I ran downhill.  When we crested the brow of our first hill after eating we ran steeply downhill, and my stitch caused me such severe pain that I was compelled to walk for a while.  When we reached Woodale Farm we turned right and immediately became confused as there were two possible routes and neither was signed.  We made our choice [which turned out to be the correct one] and crossed into a field, downhill at first and then up an extremely steep grassy bank above Woo Dale.  This provided us with a glorious view back over Woodale Farm, Ellecker North Wold and also over Woo Dale, which was thickly wooded.

We continued our uphill toil until reaching Mount Airy Farm, where we were greeted by a friendly-seeming black dog, but which turned out to be quite vicious, especially after it promenaded its large white canines whilst barking and threatening to run at us.  Its master did not seem to be to hand.  The dog, however, did not attack and we took the opportunity to run faster once out of sight.   We then turned left into the farm proper, and the dog came at us again from another direction.  That was enough.  We ran faster, leaving the farm on a farm road, running downhill. 

My stitch became so severe here that I was forced to walk again and Ron went ahead, waiting for me at the bottom of the road, out of sight where it joined the road into South Cave.  Walking I could not help but take the time to admire the view to my left, looking down over the fields.  I rejoined Ron at the bottom of the track and we then ran on a short way towards South Cave before turning off to our right to proceed up Little Wold Side.  The climb up Little Wold, although tiring, permitted us a clear view of the fields to each side, and they were very pleasing to the eye.  At the top of the climb we turned right, onto a footpath between trees at the edge of Little Wold Plantation.

We followed this path to a road and turned right upon it, crossing and turning off it after 400 metres and then heading downhill along Comber Dale.  At the end of Comber Dale we crossed a stile to join a dismantled railway running through Weedley Dale.   The area was wooded and there were many day-trippers about.  After running along a stony track for about ten minutes we turned off to our left, steeply uphill, to climb East Dale, still densely wooded.  We seemed to cover the distance through this woodland quickly and found ourselves at the top of a field, which we followed along its edge, west then north, until reaching a minor road, which we crossed.  We then crossed another field, and joined another minor road, turning right into it.  As we ran along this road we could see and smell the crop spraying some 400 metres from us.  As luck would have it when we met and crossed the B1230 ahead of us we followed a broad path immediately adjacent to the spraying machine and then turned sharp left and followed a hedge, the other side of which was being sprayed by the farmer.

There was a most annoying disturbance here.  From a skeletal metal tower came the incessant sham of shot guns being fired.  It really did disturb the peace and tranquillity of the area.  Travelling steeply downhill we eventually attained Swin Dale, which marked the last leg of today’s run.  I was totally exhausted, dehydrated and feeling quite ill.  I had over-exerted myself on the first day.  Ron did not feel too good either but he was not complaining.  My feet felt as if there were blisters on every toe, although in actuality I had only one blister, albeit a large one.   I felt unable to run further and finished the rest of the journey by walking.  In fact, I felt close to stopping and giving up, but of course that choice was not mine – I could not just stay there.

I could no longer admire the beauty of the dale, although earlier in the day I would have done.  Near the end of the dale the path ran through the middle of a crop of rape seed in full bloom and the colours were attractive.  More attractive, however, was the site of Tanya’s car waiting on the minor road leading to North Newbald at the dale head.

Tanya was with Chris, her fiancé, who had joined her for two days.   Tanya had thoughtfully purchased a large quantity of drinks, cheese, grapes and bread.  I quenched my thirst, stretched, changed into clean clothes and then ate before we left to return to our hotel.

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