Day 11: Roaring Ahead to The Lion.
It wasn’t as cold a night as I’d anticipated, thankfully. I was awoken quite abruptly by a very strange noise, which I discovered was the calling of the many red‑legged partridges bred on the property. It almost sounds like someone trying to start a small engine. What a cute and funny little bird.
Well — third time I missed a full Yorkshire breakfast. Cereals, granola, fruit, yoghurt, and a full English, all served in a traditional Yorkshire sitting room with the farmer’s wife telling you about life on the moors and Clay Bank Top. All that for a tenner. Priceless. What a fantastic experience that would have been. Hopefully, if you’re reading this, you’ll have picked up that you need to ask if the host offers breakfast, so you don’t hear about it third‑hand from another hiker. To make matters worse, a cold meat pie does not make a good or enjoyable breakfast.
North York Moors — here we come, and onwards to the famous Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge. The heather and bilberry bushes looked stunning, bees buzzing around the purple and mauve flowers, which were interspersed with yellow flowering gorse. Startled skylarks flew up from the undergrowth and ascended into the sky - their melodious song continuing high, high, high until I could no longer see them.
This part of the walk takes you past the famous Wain Stones: a jumble of weather‑beaten gritstone blocks perched on the edge of the escarpment. The morning had settled into a steady rhythm of up, down, up, down across the Cleveland Hills. I stopped for a breather among the rocks, their shapes like a hodge‑podge gathering of old characters Wainwright might have sketched with a grin. It was well worth the scramble getting up to the top of one of them to see the extensive views all around me. Looking back west, the line of hills I’d crossed from Beak Hills Farm stretched behind me in a neat procession, each one a small victory. Far below, Clay Bank Top sat tucked into the fold of the hillside, the steep descent I’d just tackled now looking even sharper from above. The wind made its presence felt and for a moment I was alone and everything was suspended in time— moorland rolling away to the horizon, the morning’s walk laid out behind me like a story already told.
A lot of the remainder of the day's hike was along a dismantled railway line, flat and easy walking. Being a Saturday, I was not alone. A group of young lads on scramble bikes were ripping over the moors on the gravel tracks. Runners and cyclists passed me on the railway line. It was lovely seeing so many active people out, especially as the drizzle was coming down.
It was a short day, and I arrived at The Lion by midday. It was already very busy — I’d momentarily forgotten it was the weekend. If I hadn’t arranged baggage transfer, I might have grabbed lunch and carried on a little further, but honestly, there are worse places to spend a day than one of the most remote pubs in the UK.
I was just finishing my jacket potato with cheese and beans — a portion that could have fed a family of four — when Ethan walked over, then Laura. I’m so glad I didn’t move on; I would have missed their company for the day.
By mid‑afternoon, Charlotte, Connor, and Robbie arrived. Robbie had had the full breakfast experience at Beak Hills Farm. We set up our pitches in the stark open field behind The Lion and grabbed a corner in the pub, settling in for the rest of the day. It was amazing to catch up and share stories, food, and pints. I certainly made up for the lack of food over the past few days — the portions at The Lion are enormous.
I definitely want to return, and not necessarily on foot. What a great place.
Strava Stats (with imperial conversions)
Distance: 18.12 km (11.26 miles)
Elevation gain: 500 m (1,640 ft)
Walking time: 4 hours 1 minute
Eating & drinking time in The Lion: approx. 7 hours
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