Across the North York Moors at Night:
Three hours later I was wide awake. My body was telling me it was
morning and time to get up and get moving; my watch told me it was
9PM. It had started to drizzle. I couldn't just lie there, wide awake, for
another 10 hours until sunrise, so I quickly packed my gear, dug out my
head lamp and headed out across the moor.
You might think that hiking across the North York Moors in the dark
in the rain was a bit daft, pointless or perhaps even dangerous, but
actually it was really rather magical. Away from major sources of light
pollution, night time visibility can be surprisingly good. I could see the
general shape of the moorland all around me, it's edge punctuated by
numerous pinpoints of light from farmhouses and street lights, while my
head lamp illuminated the path ahead.
After an hour or two of steady walking, I stopped for a quick snack
and a chance to savour the night. All was quiet and calm, the broad flat
shape of the moors now visible whichever direction I turned. Looking
back along my path, I could still see some specks of light from
Ravenscar, one of which caught my attention as it seemed to be moving,
flickering, and gaining and losing intensity. I stood for a long time
looking at that light but since I couldn't make any sense of it, started
walking again.
Every so often I would stop for a few moments. Yes, the light was
still there and it still seemed to be moving. Was this some trick of
distance, light and atmospheric moisture, or was someone actually
following me? Who else would be crazy enough to be walking across the
North York Moors in the middle of the night by the light a of head lamp?
I stopped to look again. Yes, the light was still flickering. I could only
think of one (other) person daft enough.
While I was back in Canada I had been in touch with John – the
hiker I had originally met on Black Hill during my Pennine Way walk.
By an amazing coincidence, he was going to be leading a hiking group
on the moors a few days ahead of my arrival in Scarborough. Once he
was done with them, he was going to return home briefly, then catch the
train to Kirkby Stephen so we could walk the second half of the Coast to-
Coast together.
I constructed the theory that John found out my train time, looked at
the map, figured out my plan and decided to follow me. I thought of
waiting but I was still unsure whether the light truly was moving or
whether the distance and air moisture were playing tricks on me. The
gradually increasing tempo of the rain encouraged me to walk on. If it
was John, he'd be able to follow my tracks easily enough in the soggy
ground and knowing the speed he traveled, he'd soon catch up. If it
wasn't him, then there was no point in hanging around.
In some places the path was a narrow gravel road, in others, little
more than a well trodden soggy divot in the surface of the moor. My
head lamp illuminated enough of the path ahead for me to be sure of the
direction I needed to travel. From time to time, I would look at the
Memory-Map Ap on my phone and the little red ring showing my GPS
location confirmed that I was still on track.
Hours passed, the intensity of the rain increased and the ground
became puddle strewn and soggy. Passing near the fence above RAF
Fylingdale I wondered whether my middle-of-the-night passage was
being monitored by video or motion sensors, but if it was, nobody was
sufficiently interested to brave the wet weather to check me out. My
unsynchronized circadian rhythms were also letting me know that it was
time for a proper sleep this time. I found a section of fence where the
Goathland Road meets the A169. Strung up my tarp, rolled out my bivvy
bag and fell to sleep to the sound of the rain pattering down.
Nick
extracted from (see below)