On the Yorkshire coast

A place that always quickens my heart. Maybe it began, many years ago, when I fell under the spell of Elizabeth Gaskell's Sylvia's Lovers. (I've spent half a lifetime believing Gaskell came from Yorkshire... actually she was born in Chelsea. I suppose she got to know Yorkshire while writing the Life of Charlotte Brontë. She visited Whitby in 1859 while thinking about a new novel: the outcome was Sylvia's Lovers.)

... the whole town had an amphibious appearance, to a degree unusual even in a seaport. Every one depended on the whale fishery, and almost every male inhabitant had been, or hoped to be, a sailor. Down by the river the smell was almost intolerable to any but Monkshaven people during certain seasons of the year; but on these unsavoury 'staithes' the old men and children lounged for hours, almost as if they revelled in the odours of train-oil.

... the country for miles all around was moorland; high above the level of the sea towered the purple crags, whose summits were crowned with greensward that stole down the sides of the scaur a little way in grassy veins. Here and there a brook forced its way from the heights down to the sea, making its channel into a valley more or less broad in long process of time. And in the moorland hollows, as in these valleys, trees and underwood grew and flourished; so that, while on the bare swells of the high land you shivered at the waste desolation of the scenery, when you dropped into these wooded 'bottoms' you were charmed with the nestling shelter which they gave. But above and around these rare and fertile vales there were moors for many a mile, here and there bleak enough, with the red freestone cropping out above the scanty herbage; then, perhaps, there was a brown tract of peat and bog, uncertain footing for the pedestrian who tried to make a short cut to his destination; then on the higher sandy soil there was the purple ling, or commonest species of heather growing in beautiful wild luxuriance. Tufts of fine elastic grass were occasionally to be found, on which the little black-faced sheep browsed ...

(from Sylvia's Lovers, Ch 1)

Anyway, last week I paid my first visit for several years to my dear friends Richard, Joan and Hazel. They are currently ensconced in Langtoft in the Yorkshire Wolds (more about that in a future post) so it made sense that our day trips would veer towards the coast: one day the chalk coastline nearby (e.g Flamborough Head), the next day a little further north to the Moors coastline of Gaskell's description (Hayburn Wyke, Ravenscar). So the first day basic, the next day acidic, from the botanical perspective. Here's a few photos. 

The North Sea like a millpond at Flamborough Head,  12 July 2023.

Sea Plantain (Plantago maritima). Flamborough Head, 12 July 2023.

Hairy Tare (Vicia hirsuta). Flamborough headland, 12 July 2023.

Soldier Beetles (Rhagonycha fulva) on a very dwarfed Hogweed (Heracleum sphondylium) on the top of Flamborough headland, 12 July 2023.

According to Wikipedia, the adult beetles "spend much of their short lives mating".

The old chalk tower at Flamborough Head, 12 July 2023.

Built in the 17th century, originally as a signal tower for conveying information to passing ships. The business failed, because few sea captains proved willing to pay for information. 

Chalk is a common building stone in this part of Yorkshire.  It is tougher than the chalk of southern counties, and up here there's hardly any building flint, abundant in East Anglia and further south. 

(Leading to jocular comparisons of gritty northern chalk with soft southern chalk.) (And with a flinty heart, too.)

Pyramidal Orchid (Anacamptis pyramidalis). Flamborough Head, North Landing, 12 July 2023.

Not quite the prize-winning shot I was aiming for, but still... orchids, boats, cliffs, sand and sea, what's not to like.

It used to be the case that lifeboats were sited at both North and South Landings, on the basis that if the conditions were impossible at one they would often be all right at the other. (Now they're only at South Landing. I suppose modern lifeboats are safer to launch in bad seas.)

Comma (Polygonia c-album) and hoverflies (Syrphus species) on bramble. Hayburn Wyke, 13 July 2023.

Ruefully amusing, after quietly congratulating ourselves on the hum of life in our bee- and butterfly-friendly gardens, to discover that the bees and butterflies seem to like it even better in the nearest bramble thicket.

Above Hayburn Wyke I noticed a crowd of hoverflies going absolutely crazy over this sprig of new blossom. And just as I took the picture it was photobombed by a comma butterfly plonking itself down in the middle. It's all a bit out of focus, but lively.

Blackberries are the most peculiar plants. I have various evidence-free ideas about them, just one of which is that blackberry and dewberry sort of depend on each other, in some ways like a single species cloud. Anyway that's something else for a future post.

Leaves of Great Wood-rush (Luzula sylvatica). Hayburn Wyke, 13 July 2023.

Remains of fruiting stem of Great Wood-rush (Luzula sylvatica). Hayburn Wyke, 13 July 2023.

Creeping Cinquefoil (Potentilla reptans) down by the shore at Hayburn Wyke, 13 July 2023.

Seashore at Hayburn Wyke, 13 July 2023.

Wyke is presumably cognate with Swedish vik, meaning a cove.

The high, high coast at Ravenscar, 13 July 2023.

Bell Heather (Erica cinerea) on the moors above Harwood Dale, 13 July 2023.

After leaving Ravenscar we made a brief detour onto the moors and thence down Harwood Dale towards Scarborough. The ling wasn't out yet, but the bell heather was spectacular.

The Grand Hotel at Scarborough, 13 July 2023.