Pleasingly, the cottage we were staying in on Longsteps was on the route we were taking, so we didn't have to surrender our as-rare-as-hen's-teeth parking space. (My parking skills are improving exponentially - though still quite crap.)
When Vile King Henry broke with Rome, his men left enough of the Abbey standing so that sailors could still navigate their ships.
On our way through the lanes, we made new friends.
Our route then joined the Cleveland Way coastal path at
Whitby Lighthouse. Here we turned to walk two miles back to Whitby along the cliff edge.
Adjacent to the lighthouse is Hornblower Lodge, Whitby's decommissioned foghorn station. Apparently the sound of the horns travelled at such a low frequency that the townsfolk only heard the first blast as the third was starting.
A rather more raucous noise alerted us to the presence of a colony of gulls on a cliff.
We were soon above Saltwick Bay. This is Black Nab.
I'm used to the rather more strenuously undulating coastal path of Devon and Cornwall. Even so, it was good to sit down outside the cafe at the caravan site we passed ('muddy boots and furry paws welcome') for tea and cake.
All the way back to town, swallows buzzed the cliff, hunting insects. I was struck, not for the first time, at how close we were to the local birds - swallows and larks springing from underfoot at the Abbey ruins, swifts screaming around our cottage, gulls at our backs, watching every move.
By now the promised rain had set in. We made our way back to the cottage via Jacky (or Donkey) Field, a far more agreeable route for a sensitive border collie than narrow, crowded streets.
It brightened up later in the evening for us to get out again, the strong light of the setting sun proving a draw for local photographers with their unfeasibly large lenses. Of which I'm not one.