Final Day on Wainwright’s Coast to Coast : Egton Bridge to Robin Hood’s Bay

“When all’s said and done, all roads lead to the same end. So it’s not so much which road you take, as how you take it.” 

Charles de Lint 

Last Morning on the Coast To Coast 

We woke on “Chicken Island” behind the Horseshoe Hotel to something we had almost stopped expecting on Wainwright’s Coast to Coast - a beautiful sunrise beneath a clear sky.

After so many mornings of rain and uncertain weather, the light felt almost improbable. Chickens wandered around our small patch of grass, pecking and peering under the flaps of the tent as though inspecting the strange temporary neighbours who had appeared beside their coop. It was a wonderfully absurd way to begin the final day of a long-distance trail.

We made oatmeal and coffee outside the tent, enjoying breakfast quietly before packing down for the last time on the Coast to Coast. We had a full stage ahead of us, and a schedule which no longer had room for delays. Because we had stopped early in Egton Bridge the previous afternoon, we now needed to reach Robin Hood’s Bay today. Tomorrow morning we will be on a bus and then a train, travelling first toward Manchester and then onward to Edale to begin the Pennine Way.  We traded our day off today for a short stage yesterday.

Back to the Trail

Neither of us has ever been especially drawn to the idea of hiking as simply a venture from one point to another.  Most trail days, for us, are not defined by the destination at all, but by the landscapes we move through, the birds we stop to watch, and the history, culture and communities that we get a chance to explore en route.

With that said, the final day of a long-distance trail is different.  However much we try to resist reducing a walk to its endpoint, there is no denying that the last stage is somewhat different.  The last portion of the trail becomes more than a place on a map.  It is the point that one has been walking toward since the beginning, the far shore and trailhead imagined from the first step onward. 

With this in mind, we set out on our final day of Wainwright’s Coast to Coast Trail. 

The first stretch was a road walk from Egton Bridge toward Grosmont. When we set out, the morning still looked promising, but that optimism did not last long. Before we had gone even two kilometres, the sky darkened, and rain began to fall once again.

It was frustrating, of course. We had begun to hope for a clear day. With that said, there was also something oddly fitting about it. We had begun the Coast to Coast in St Bees amid rain, mud, and a long push. Perhaps it made sense that we would end it the same way: soaked, tired, and moving forward regardless of conditions.

The Martyr of the Moors

Not far from where we had camped, we passed through a region which is connected to Blessed Nicholas Postgate, who is often remembered as the “Martyr of the Moors.”

Postgate was born near Egton in the late 16th century and became a Catholic priest during a period when Catholic ministry in England could be dangerous. He served scattered Catholic communities across the North York Moors for decades, hiding as a gardener before being arrested and executed in York in 1679. Centuries later, Pope John Paul II beatified him as one of the Eighty-five Martyrs of England and Wales.

It was strange to think of that hidden religious history beneath these quiet village streets. Egton Bridge, with its old buildings, church, river, and green valley, seemed peaceful as we passed through. Yet like so many places in Britain, it held stories of faith, persecution, endurance, and memory just beneath the surface.

Barnard’s Toll Road

As the rain began, our route turned onto Barnard’s Road, an old toll road that once connected Egton Bridge and Grosmont through the Egton Estate.

Perhaps it is partly a reflection of how young Canada is as a nation, but I still find it striking to walk on roads whose histories stretch so far beyond the present. A toll road, an estate road, a walking route, a link between villages, a line now serving as part of Wainwright’s Coast to Coast: all of these histories can occupy the same narrow strip of ground.

In Canada, we often think in terms of resource roads, rail corridors, and highways that cut through vast tracts of wilderness. History being often divided between pre-colonization and the present.  Here, even a short road between villages seemed to carry centuries of usage and purpose.

Grosmont

We had hoped to stop in Grosmont for a coffee and something more substantial to eat. Unfortunately, when we arrived early in the morning, almost everything was still closed.

Even so, Grosmont was worth checking out. The village is best known for its connection to the North Yorkshire Moors Railway, and the station itself was beautiful. We had hoped to see one of the historic steam trains, but none was there at the time, and the station café was not yet open.   Regardless, the station with its long stone buildings was wonderful to experience in the limited way that we could, and we were grateful for the opportunity to appreciate it.

Continuing down the quaint main street, we passed the Grosmont Co-operative Society shop and soon after rows of terraced houses darkened by the industrial history of the valley. Grosmont’s past is tied not only to railways but also to ironstone mining and smelting, and the village still seemed to carry traces of that older working life in its stone, soot-darkened buildings, and position within the valley.

Then came Fair Head Lane.

The climb out of Grosmont was brutal. It rose on pavement, which should have made it easier, but the gradient made that consolation feel thin. The guidebook described it as a climb of roughly 700 feet, or 230 metres, up toward Sleights Moor, and there was nothing technically difficult about it except the simple fact that it did not seem to end.

It was the kind of climb that rewards patience and slow progress rather than force. Put differently, it was exactly the kind of climb I did not especially want on the final day of the Coast to Coast in the rain.  Thankfully, however, there were benches on the way up as well as amazing views of the segmented landscape around us.   The most striking was our first views of the North Sea, Whitby, and the stunning silhouette of the Abby ruins.

Eventually, after what felt like a vertical road walk, we left the pavement and began crossing High Bridestones, a boggy moorland section that, in hindsight, we probably should have skipped. It was short enough that staying on the road and backtracking slightly would have avoided much of the mess. As it was, we soon crossed and ended up on the A169 anyway, followed by another short, wet farmland and moorland crossing before rejoining a farmer’s lane.

Both stretches felt unnecessary in the moment, though that may have been the rain speaking.

The reward, however, came in the form of distant views. Through shifting weather, we increasingly got better views of the North Sea and the ruins of Whitby Abbey. Given how beautiful they looked from afar, it seemed almost a shame that the Coast to Coast did not pass directly through Whitby. But Wainwright had chosen Robin Hood’s Bay as the eastern finish, and so that was where we were headed.

Littlebeck

A country lane eventually led us down into the small community of Littlebeck, where we took a break outside the beautiful Methodist Chapel.

Here we met several other hikers whose energy seemed to have run out somewhere between the boggy crossings and the morning’s climb. Some had decided that the moor sections were, for them, essentially the end of the trail. Others announced that they were not walking “that far south into Littlebeck Woods just to come back up again.” 

A couple had called for a taxi to get a lift into Robin Hood’s Bay.  Most, however, intended to road walk more directly toward Robin Hood’s Bay, cutting off the loop through Littlebeck Woods, the countryside and coastline beyond. I understood the temptation. We were tired too, and the final day had not been proceeding as any sort of gentle victory lap. 

But we had come this far following the route, and despite the temptations, we chose to stay with it.

That decision meant the trail would not simply carry us straight toward the coast. Instead, it would lead us to meander through the countryside, south of our destination, then north again, and only eventually toward the sea. We said our goodbyes to those taking the shorter road option and continued onward.

Littlebeck Woods

The route first led us into Littlebeck Woods, a beautiful nature reserve that felt like a complete change from the exposed moors above.

The trail was well established, wooded, and in stretches muddy, though busy with weekend visitors. Trees crowded around the path, water moved through the valley, and the whole place had the damp, green richness of an old woodland. Thankfully, in some of the tougher parts, boardwalks and stairs had been built.

The Coast to Coast passes near Falling Foss and the Hermitage, a shelter carved from a large sandstone block, and the area felt like the kind of place that would be lovely to explore slowly under different circumstances – and without a backpack on.

On this day, however, we were not wandering. We were trying to finish a trail.

That made the beauty of Littlebeck Woods complicated. It was lovely, but it also undulated, curved, and took us away from Robin Hood’s Bay when our minds had already begun reaching toward the sea. Eventually, the path brought us to the busy Tea Gardens and May Beck car park, where families and day visitors were coming and going in every direction.

Then the trail sent us back out again.

Back into Mud

From the end of Littlebeck Woods, the Coast to Coast followed a busy narrow roadway for a time, full of families driving to and from the parking area. Then it led us into another short, sodden stretch of farmland that was less a field than a quagmire.

It was calf-deep mud in places, with reeds, standing water, sucking ground, and no obvious way through that did not involve getting soaked.  Progressing across it was more a process of not getting stuck than avoiding getting filthy.  No one crossed unscathed. Hikers ahead of us struggled to stay upright, sliding and lurching forward like figures in some damp rural horror movie.

On the other side of that mess, a short section of road led promptly to yet another sodden field, where we spent the next hour making our way across waterlogged ground.  Indeed, it was so wet that despite being a field, there were frogs and even a heron– as though to make the point that this was more a pond than a trail.

What made it frustrating was not only the mud. It was the fact that we were passing near Robin Hood’s Bay, then being sent north of it, away from the apparent direct line to the finish. At the best of times, that kind of meander can test a hiker’s patience. In rain, mud, and end-of-trail fatigue, it felt demoralizing.

As we approached Rigg Farm, several hikers ahead of us waved their goodbyes, traced the edge of a local field, and cut directly toward the road that led the short distance into town. One by one, more people left the route. Only a few of us continued on.

I could not blame anyone for choosing otherwise. Still, having followed the Coast to Coast this far, we wanted to finish on the Coast to Coast.

Somewhere in this stretch, salvation appeared in the form of an honesty box at Low Ridge Farm, set up in a wonderfully memorable pink camper van. There was ice cream and water, and the chance to sit down for a few minutes. It was exactly the kind of place that could save a day from tipping too far in the wrong direction.  So we stopped. We ate ice cream. We drank water. We sat. And then, because the trail was not yet finished, we stood up and continued on.

Toward the Coast

Back on the roadways, we continued on along.  Pavement can be tough on the knees, but by this point, all I could think was that at least it was not through moorland mud. We passed through Low Hawsker, crossed the A171, and walked through High Hawsker before passing along the edge of holiday parks full of RVs, families, and the unmistakable busyness of a holiday weekend.

As the rain began again, we stopped at the Coast Café Bar to escape the damp for a few minutes. We had coffee and orange juice, gathered ourselves for the final push, and then continued through Northcliffe and Seaview Holiday Park toward the coast.

At last, we rejoined the Cleveland Way and saw signs for the England Coast Path. It felt like a moment of complete symmetry. We had begun at St Bees on the edge of the Irish Sea, walking along red cliffs with seabirds below us and rain all around. Now, after nearly two weeks crossing England, we were once again on a coastal path, this time approaching the North Sea.

The rocky coastline immediately reminded us of the East Coast Trail in Newfoundland. It was rugged, beautiful, and alive with birds below. Despite our fatigue, we spent more time than was strictly necessary watching them and taking in the cliffs. We should have kept moving, but then again, stopping to look has always been part of why we walk.

The trail followed the undulations of the land and rugged spits of the coast, weaving around headlands as it slowly bent us back toward Robin Hood’s Bay. The sky continued to lighten and darken, with rain coming in waves.

Just as we had begun this trek in St Bees amid torrential rain, so too would we end it: soaked to the skin.

Robin Hood’s Bay

Eventually we wove through a neighbourhood and joined the main road descending toward Robin Hood’s Bay and the beach, the official end of Wainwright’s Coast to Coast.

As we entered the historic coastal district, we heard cheers from a local bar patio at the Hotel Victoria. Several of the hikers we had met over the past two weeks were sitting there, waving and congratulating us as we passed. Most had arrived a couple of hours before us, having taken shorter road options or skipped the longer loop through Littlebeck Woods. They no longer had backpacks on, were clean of mud, and were already well settled into the celebratory stage of the day.

Still, their cheers carried us forward and gave us reason to smile.

The narrow streets were packed with holiday crowds. People shuffled slowly downhill toward the harbour, filling the lanes, shops, doorways, and pavements. After the empty moors, the sudden density of Robin Hood’s Bay felt overwhelming. New Road dropped directly toward the water, and we followed it with the strange momentum that comes at the end of a long walk: tired legs, muddy clothes, wet socks, and a growing disbelief that the finish is actually happening.  After all the challenges en route, we were almost there.

At last, we reached the Bay Hotel, the traditional end point of the Coast to Coast, and made our way through the crowds to the harbour.

There, at the edge of the North Sea, we finished what we had begun at the Irish Sea.

We dipped our soaked feet and socks into the salt water, returned the pebbles we had carried from St Bees, and stood for a moment with the sea around our shoes.  There was no reason to simply touch the water – given the state of our shoes, standing in the sea made little difference.  It was not graceful. It was not quiet. It was by no means the solitary ending one might imagine.  Families of holiday goers meandered around us, giving us odd looks.

Afterward, we sat on the ground outside the Bay Hotel and enjoyed two pints.  There was no getting near the signs that indicated the end of the trail – the patio was too busy for that. We took photos, talked with other hikers finishing their own crossings, and watched the town grow fuller and fuller around us.

Then, to our surprise, the group of South Korean hikers we had last seen several days earlier arrived around 6 PM. It was wonderful to see them again. We took photos together, congratulated one another, and chatted about Jeju and the Shikoku pilgrimage routes, both of which they had walked. There was something fitting about ending the Coast to Coast with a conversation that reached beyond England, back into the wider world of long-distance walking and pilgrimage.

Another round of pints later, another round of hugs and congratulations later, we knew we had to climb back up into town and find our accommodation.

The Villa

Our room for the night was at The Villa.  The woman who greeted us was polite at first, but quickly demanded that we remove our muddy, grassy shoes and salt-water-soaked shoes in the narrow entrance. Fair enough. We were, by any reasonable measure, a mess. The difficulty was that she would not let us put down our backpacks while we did so.

Trying to bend over and remove soaked shoes while wearing a 40-pound pack in a cramped hallway is not an elegant manoeuvre. As we struggled, she began cleaning around us and commenting repeatedly on the mud on our clothes. Given that Robin Hood’s Bay is the endpoint of the Coast to Coast, and given the trail conditions we had just crossed, the surprise seemed a little difficult to understand.  Certainly, we were not the first to walk into town in such a state.

The room itself was small and full of antique furniture, leaving barely enough space to get our backpacks inside, let alone spread out wet gear to dry. It was a nice room in many ways, but not especially practical for two soaked backpackers who had just finished a long-distance trail in the rain. Since we had paid £155, nearly $300 Canadian, the lack of space and repeated comments about our state felt more disappointing than they might otherwise have.

The final blow came when we explained that we had an early bus the next morning. We were told that breakfast would then be limited to yogurt and berries, with nothing cooked because it was too early. Grateful for the possibility of anything, we thanked her and asked whether she could recommend somewhere for dinner.  She snorted and laughed before walking away without giving an answer.  Perhaps it had been a silly question during a holiday period.

So we changed clothes in the small space available and gave up on any serious reorganization of our wet clothes or gear. There was simply no room to properly unpack, dry, repack, or sort anything. That would have to wait until tomorrow evening at the hotel in Edale, where the Pennine Way would begin.

Backpacks and Bodies

There was another small victory in reaching Robin Hood’s Bay today. Sean’s backpack, torn open on the climb above Borrowdale and stitched back together in a Grasmere hotel room (and worried about every day since), had somehow made it from coast to coast. It was no longer the reliable piece of equipment it had once been, and we both knew that the repairs were temporary at best.   By then, the end of Sean’s backpack was evident.  A replacement will have to be found before our hiking in Canada continues later this year.  Yet, like us, it had held together and been persuaded to keep going long enough to reach the North Sea.

For now, that had to be enough. Ahead of us lay the Pennine Way, the West Highland Way, the Great Glen Way, and Hadrian’s Wall Path, and all we could do was continue the same uncertain work we had been doing since Grasmere: keep repairing what could be repaired, keep adjusting what no longer worked, and keep asking our bodies and our gear to carry us a little farther.

Evening in Robin Hood’s Bay

Finding dinner did indeed prove more difficult than expected. It was still the holiday period, and nearly everywhere required reservations. In the end, not feeling up to fish and chips, we walked back down toward the beach, where we were able to get a cheese toastie and a pint. After the long, wet final day, that was more than enough.

We sat and watched the sky change colour over Robin Hood’s Bay as the day slowly came to an end. The Coast to Coast was finished. Tomorrow we will leave by bus, then train, moving toward Manchester and then onward to Edale and the beginning of the Pennine Way.

There was satisfaction, of course. We had crossed England from the Irish Sea to the North Sea. We had carried our pebbles across the country, dipped our feet into both seas, climbed through rain and mud, crossed fells and moors, followed rivers and roads, watched seabirds and grouse, repaired broken gear, met kind people, been frustrated by others, and kept walking until the trail ran out.

But the ending also felt more complicated than expected.  The final miles had been meandering and, at times, frustrating. Some of the short runs through quagmires and marshy fields felt unnecessary when nearby roads would have been more straightforward. Perhaps the route was designed to mirror the coastal beginning at St Bees, drawing walkers through one last set of fields before returning them to the sea. Perhaps it aimed to bring hikers past local businesses and through smaller places that might otherwise be bypassed. Perhaps Wainwright simply wanted the walk to resist becoming too direct at the end.

Whatever the reason, the final day asked for patience and endurance right to the very last mile.  And perhaps that was fitting too.

The Coast to Coast had never been a simple line across England. It had been a sequence of routes navigating weather, terrain, frustrations, kindnesses, mistakes, birds, hills, meals, pubs, and accommodation choices. It had asked us to adapt, again and again. It had reminded us that no route is only about reaching its end.

That night, in Robin Hood’s Bay, we were tired but already thinking about the next trail. The Coast to Coast guidebook had been replaced with one for the Pennine Way, which we had intended to read.  But for a little while, sitting near the water with pints in hand and the North Sea before us, we let ourselves simply enjoy the moment.  There would be time later to learn about what came next. 

From St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay, from one sea to another, we had walked across England.

See you on the Trail!