Whitby Wonders

Whitby Wonders: Abbey Heights, Sandy Delights, and a Goth-Rocking Night!

Tuesday dawned in Whitby, a truly glorious day! The sun beat down, chasing away any lingering sea mist, and Tracey, ever the explorer, was determined to find a new walking adventure for Pepper. Instead of heading towards the bustling town centre from the marina, they ventured in the opposite direction, discovering a charming footpath that ran alongside the railway tracks. Pepper, a furry blur of excitement, sniffed and explored every inch of shrubbery, her tail wagging happily. Aside from a few morning runners and a couple of determined cyclists (at whom Pepper, naturally, felt compelled to bark and growl with gusto), it was a wonderfully peaceful stroll. The path led them along the meandering River Esk, under a grand viaduct, all the way to the quaint village of Ruswarp. On the return journey, the views of Whitby Abbey, perched majestically high above the town, were simply breathtaking.

Later, all three of us headed into the town proper, making a beeline for the end of the pier and searching out some of the highly-recommended local eateries. But first, a detour for our four-legged crewmate! We took Pepper down to one of the designated dog-friendly beaches, and being the only canine on the sandy expanse, she had an absolute blast! Zooming around with unbridled joy, this was her very first encounter with sand – all our previous beach visits had been disappointingly pebbly. She dug with wild abandon, quickly learning that while sand was fun to displace, it wasn't quite as delicious as she might have hoped. Tracey, feeling a little under the weather, opted for a quiet afternoon pottering around the boat, followed by a home-cooked dinner onboard and a relatively early night.

Conquering Abbey Steps and a Pint with a View

Wednesday arrived, and much to our relief, Tracey was feeling significantly better. We'd admired Whitby Abbey from afar, but today was the day we would finally ascend to its hallowed ground. Whitby, as anyone who's visited will attest, is notoriously hilly. When Nick spotted the sign declaring "199 steps to the top," his initial enthusiasm waned slightly, but the promise of a well-deserved pint in the pub at the end ultimately sealed the deal.

The Abbey, a magnificent ruin, is lovingly cared for by English Heritage. The entry fee was £9, which isn't much, but with Pepper in tow, our access would be restricted. So, we decided to save our pennies and instead focused on capturing the outside of the Abbey up close. And we were certainly not disappointed! These ruins are, without a doubt, among the most celebrated sights in North Yorkshire. The first monastery here, founded around 657 AD, blossomed into one of the most significant religious centers in the Anglo-Saxon world. In 664 AD, it famously hosted the Synod of Whitby, a landmark moment in the history of the Church in England. The haunting remains we see today are the shell of the 13th-century church of the Benedictine Abbey, established after the Norman Conquest. The views from the hilltop were utterly stunning, allowing us to gaze for miles down the coastline, both North and South.

Once we'd soaked up enough history and breathtaking vistas, we ambled back down the hill and straight into the promised pub. With panoramic views of the harbour entrance and the sun streaming through the windows, it was the perfect spot for a well-earned pit stop. We ambled around town for a bit longer before heading back to the boat, our stomachs rumbling with the promise of a quintessential seaside treat: fish and chips from the legendary Magpie Cafe, which had come highly recommended.

Fish and Chips, a Singing Sailor, and Goth Surprises!

Just as we were leaving the boat to collect our eagerly anticipated supper, one of our neighbours from the pontoon stopped us. "I'll be singing and playing guitar in one of the pubs up the hill later!" he announced. Intrigued, we mentally filed that away. Our fish and chips from the Magpie were… fine. They were okay, but if we're honest, we've definitely had better. After devouring our meal, we took Pepper back to the boat, settled her into her crate, and headed back up the hill to The Little Angel pub.

And there he was – Mark, our neighbour, singing away! And he was really good. Perhaps we shouldn't have been so surprised, but you just never know what hidden talents lurk in the marina next door. It turned out Mark had studied music at university and even taught it for a while. His first love was percussion, but as he dryly explained, "It's a bit difficult to get a gig as a solo drummer!" The pub had an area cordoned off for a birthday party, and just as Mark was mid-song, a large group of Goths made a grand entrance. Whitby's deep connection to Bram Stoker's Dracula lends itself perfectly to its gothic appeal, and the town famously hosts the twice-yearly Whitby Goth Weekend, attracting thousands of enthusiasts. We'd missed the first festival of the year (they are held in April and October), but the town's many gift shops dedicated to goth culture were a testament to its enduring influence. Later, one of the ladies from the birthday party graciously brought cakes around, offering them to everyone in the pub. It was a truly great evening, filled with unexpected charm and excellent music.

Dodging Raindrops and Passage Planning Perils

Thursday was spent in a constant game of "dodge the raindrops." Tracey, completed the recovering of the other steering wheel – another job triumphantly checked off the list! Nick, meanwhile, dedicated his time to cleaning the sprayhood and polishing the boat's stanchions. We cooked onboard and spent a cozy afternoon in the cockpit, playing cards, plotting our next move.

We had decided to leave Whitby on Friday. Our intended destination was Hartlepool, but the timing was looking incredibly tight. We couldn't leave Whitby until the first swing bridge opening at 11:30 am, which would give us enough water to clear the marina. The problem lay with Hartlepool: we needed to arrive at high water, meaning we couldn't be there any later than 4 pm. Our calculations put the journey at approximately four and a half hours, leaving absolutely no wriggle room for any unexpected weather delays. While our timings had been incredibly lucky so far, complacency was a luxury we couldn't afford. We needed a Plan B.

Plan B involved pushing on an additional four hours to Sunderland. This would make the day a much longer one, certainly not what we ideally wanted, but safety is paramount. So, with both Plan A (Hartlepool) and Plan B (Sunderland) firmly in place, we watched the weather forecast. Let's see what tomorrow brings!Read more