The Yorkshire Wolds Way: The Humber Bridge To North Ferriby

Almost a year ago I finished walking the Viking Way, a 147 mile footpath tracing a country route from Oakham in Rutland to the Humber Bridge. Now it was time to continue — for every ending is just another beginning. 

On the far side of the Humber lies the start of the Yorkshire Wolds Way, an 80 mile route across chalk hills and dales to Filey Brigg on the North Sea; and this is a prelude to the 110 mile Cleveland Way, which follows the cliff edge to Saltburn, then curls round to Helmsley over the North York Moors. (Britain's enviable network of paths and trails is intricately connected — for example, the 192 mile Coast to Coast Walk from St Bees to Robin's Hood Bay twice intersects the Cleveland Way.) 

So yesterday I stood once again at the foot of the Humber Bridge, at one time the longest single-span suspension bridge in the world, now the seventh-longest. Like before, the day was dull, grey and misty. I did wonder for a moment what on earth I was doing there, when I could have been sitting at home by the fireside with a good book. However, pushing such thoughts aside, I left the car at Waters' Edge Country Park in Barton-upon-Humber and resolutely set off. It was cold, but I was wearing a merino wool base layer, technical long-sleeved top, two fleeces, hat, gloves and neck warmer, so I was well protected. From the bridge this is the view of the south bank of the river . . . 

. . . and this is the view of Hessle on the north bank. The eastern horizon, where sky and water meet, was barely discernible through the murk.

Three grindstones lie in front of a whiting mill next to the Humber Bridge Country Park. The tower, built in 1806 from brick coated with tar, would originally have had five sails. Wind drove the sails which drove the stones which crushed the chalk from a nearby quarry. The crushed chalk slurry was settled and dried and then used in paint, ink and putty. Larger pieces of chalk from the nearby hills (or wolds) were used for housebuilding. 

The embankment trail led west for two and a half miles to North Ferriby (opposite South Ferriby on the other side of the river; there was once a ferry between the two). The setting was quite bleak. Colours were muted and spring seemed far off. A string of waders fed by the water's edge and a long sandbank paralleled the shore.

As I approached North Ferriby I came upon this memorial: an outline of an ancient wooden boat. Between the 1930s and the 1960s three boats were excavated here which proved to date from the Bronze Age — one of them the oldest seagoing boat that has ever been discovered (c. 2030 BC). They are now housed in the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich.

I would have to have waited fifty minutes on a draughty platform for a train back to Hessle, so I walked instead. As the Humber Bridge emerged from the gloom, I watched a flock of geese fly over and a solitary oystercatcher probe the shoreline. Spears of teasel, scrubby clumps of buddleia, a single flowering gorse and a line of stunted ash trees — their branches tipped with sooty buds — bordered the path. The railway ran alongside, and my train overtook me. Unsightly scraps of litter — presumably thrown by rail passengers — strewed the no man's land between track and path.  

Despite the dismal weather I had enjoyed the walk — in the end it had been around nine miles, including the bridge crossing. But I felt weary, and was aching in various muscles and joints. Clearly the winter had made me too soft and housebound. A recent virus plus a tooth infection had also curtailed my usual walking, and I felt rusty and out of practice. Driving home I found myself wishing fervently for a warm springtime day.