#XploreMore 2014 - A sunset drive to Rosedale

The road out of Whitby to Pickering snakes steeply out through villages and hamlets, and towards what must be one of the most beautiful moorland crossings in this country. On this occasion it is made more spectacular due to it being the Golden Hour; the time when the evening sun begins creeping downwards towards the horizon to mark the end of another day; the time when the bleached colours of daylight soften into warm, rich hues of oranges and yellows. 

After a day of bathing in the cool North Sea at Sands End, our return journey to the Rosedale Caravan Club site would see us bathing in the soothing rays of the warm setting sun.

On the tops of the moors the views are uninterrupted; rolling banks of moorland blanketed by soft purple heather out of one window; the historic gothic Whitby Abbey perched precuriously on the cliff top overlooking the sparkling blue expanse of ocean that reaches out to the horizon out of the other window. The moorland road takes on a roller coaster ride up and down, left and right; over quaint but stoic humpback bridges that span bubbling streams as they race down into the valley below.

To our left is the unmissable concrete monstrosety that is the Fylingdales early warning MOD installation; a reminder of the times in which we live and a cold past - a disconnect with the warm comfort this summer evening is blessing us with.

As we reach the Hole of Horcum we park momentarily to take in the spectacular view across the ‘giant’s handprint’ dramatically backlit and drenched in ever-warming colour. The hues get richer as the sun drops with increasing pace and growing larger as it does so. 

But it is time for us to move on.

As we drop into Pickering and head through this popular town, we lose the sun as it hides behinds sandstone buildings and tree-lined streets. When it does reappear, its soft light is head-on and low; blinding us like a huge oncoming headlight. Momentarily everything is silhouetted, then visible again. The pattern is repeated, almost game-like. Orange ‘sun spots’ are temporaily etched onto our retinas as we blink. 

After 30 minutes of cat and mouse with the descending disc of light we trundle into Rosedale and the sun is no more than a feint glow radiating from behind the surrounding hills and ridges. The clear sky, its colours now cooling, is the signal that night is not far away, and the hoots of owls, bleating sheep and the squawks from roosting crows confirm that the natural world knows it too.