The day I nearly climbed our Matterhorn
Is it better to try and fail or not try at all?
We have a very distinctive landmark in these parts (North Yorkshire, England). North Yorkshire folk and Teessiders all over the world will recognise it instantly. It is like a beacon of home coming as we travel up and down our main route into the surrounding towns. It is affectionally known as The Yorkshire Matterhorn, it has a similar shape to its counterpart in the Swiss alps. It didn’t always have this frame, it partly collapsed in 1912 leaving this iconic shape. It is very close to Great Ayton, famed for being a village where Captain James Cook grew up and attended school. I am sure he would not have been able to resist the the pull of being able to climb this big hill so close to his family house at Airey Holme Farm.
The general public are allowed to climb it, thanks to the National Trust whose staff and volunteers now maintain it. Though it looks like a majestic mountain, at 320m (just over 1000ft) it cannot command that title. But once up at the top, the views over to the Cleveland Hills, towards Teesside and even a glimpse of the North Sea are quite breathtaking. I always try to spot “my” house, the wind turbines installed not too far away from us guide the eye towards the general direction.
I try to go to Roseberry Topping at least twice a year, in the Autumn where the colours of the falling leaves in Newton Woods surrounding the hill are as good as any, and always in the bluebell season at the end of April.
In the late spring months, the foothills of Roseberry are carpeted with the most spectacular collection of native English bluebells. Their scent is quite heady, the palette of blues, so beautiful, any artist would be proud to have mixed them. The wild garlic, spreading in abundance, nourishes and serves as a reminder of the trip once back in the kitchen.
This January week, I thought it was a good idea to go to see the big hill, to gain a different perspective, early in the year, to see it surrounded by bare trees, lacking in bracken, paths stripped back of creeping undergrowth. It was a cold and bright late morning when we set off, the carpark below this majestic icon beginning to get quite full. Warm jacket, hat, scarf, gloves, hiking boots, over trousers, water, the last of the Christmas cake with some Wensleydale cheese a treat for the summit, all served as a confirmation that I was ready for another visit to the top. There was still a small amount of ice in puddles left by the melted snow which had visited us the week before. Today was 11 degrees centigrade so it wouldn’t be around very long.
.
As I reached the gate at the top of a long gravelled path the sign indicated that I had arrived the foothills once more. This time I would be climbing straight up to the summit rather than linger amongst the floral sapphires. That is where the “fun” began.
Squelch!
The terrain was fairly normal at first, tree roots criss-crossed the undulating path, and the ground fairly solid. Heightened care was taken for any potential trips. As we ascended onto the higher path, which had small natural stone slabs placed for easier walking, I began to realise that this was going to be tricky. A lady who had managed to get to the summit and now heading back down was sitting on the side of the path, covered in mud and looking rather embarrassed. We asked if she was ok, she explained that this was the third time she had fallen and was exhausted. At that point I should have turned and returned, promising to come back when it wasn’t so slippy.
But I didn’t, I wanted to climb to the top so I carried on. A little bit further up, my boots began going in directions that my mind had not planned. I slipped sidewards, went pigeon toed and nearly did the splits on several occasions. The mud on the path got deeper and deeper, my boots collecting sludge and debris with every step. It was “reet clarty,” as we say in Yorkshire. People passed us, precariously, stating how difficult it was on the descent. I should have turned and returned, rescheduling for a day that offered drier and more robust conditions. But I have never been a fair weather walker so, once again, decided to carry on.
There was a thin, grassy path off the main path and, although it was steeper, did look a better, cleaner route to take. We decided to go for it. What a mistake! It was so steep and very slippery on the grass, it was difficult to get a grip. We were half way up and my body began to ache from the effort, I was getting exhausted, and scared that I may fall. I wanted to cry! I had a decision to make. Do I carry on, or admit defeat on this occasion and try and make my way to safer ground? This was a first, I have never not climbed Roseberry if I paid her a visit.
I don’t know if it is an age thing, but my wise head told me to leave her behind and find solace in the fact that at least I tried, at least I made an effort. I slowly made my way down the hill, legs shaking, intense staring at each step. I picked a route down, ever so carefully, to lower ground. Every step seemed to have an intensity I had never witnessed before on my walks and I was so relieved when I finally could take a step without holding my breath. I was safe, but defeated.
I noticed her in the distance, the next day on a trip to the shops. She looked more formidable to me, I will never take her for granted again. One day I will not be able to climb Roseberry Topping no matter what the conditions are. For now, I am glad it is a temporary thing and will be back for the bluebells in a few, short months time.
I am curious
What has defeated you in the past? How have you resolved that defeat in your mind?
Tell us about a favourite local landmark you enjoy visiting.
Sometimes, Daisy, success is measured by heeding the wisdom to take the safer path. But it takes strength and courage to "admit defeat." I believe it is better to try and adjust the plan than not to try at all. But I think your wise decision was the bravest one of all.
There is no failure Daisy. You went for a walk, yes you didn't quite make it to the top, but you still had beautiful views. Life is about the journey, not the destination. Thank you for sharing this part of your journey, and beautiful words and photos. I hope you still enjoyed your Christmas cake, even though you weren't at the summit.