A Damp Day Done Properly: Kirkbymoorside When the Moor Vanishes
Photo by Photo by Dave Lowe on Unsplash on Unsplash
The forecast promised a dry spell. By the time you've parked, the cloud has dropped onto the moors and the square is wearing that particular sheen that means rain is not so much coming as settling in. This is the moment most people drive home, or worse, decide to "just push on" up onto the high ground because the car park is paid for.
Don't. Kirkbymoorside is a perfectly good rain town. It has a compact square, a church that makes an honest dry pause, cafés that don't mind wet jackets, and a low-level loop that keeps you out of the peat. The moor will still be there tomorrow. A wet day here doesn't have to be a write-off; it just needs a different shape.
First rule: don't force the moor
The high moors in wet weather are not a challenge to be beaten. They're saturated, pathless in places, and the cloud can turn a familiar track into a featureless grey room. Add a bit of wind and you've got a day that eats time, morale and, occasionally, rescue volunteers' evenings. If the forecast is genuinely foul, the sensible move is to stay low and save the big walk for a clear one.
Wet-weather etiquette matters too. Don't walk around puddles on grassy paths — that's how a single track becomes a six-foot-wide scar. Close gates, keep dogs on leads where livestock are about, and if the beck is running high, turn back rather than testing it. The countryside isn't a gym; it doesn't need you to finish your session.
10:00 — Coffee, a radar check and a bus timetable
Start on the square. There are cafés that will sell you a flat white and let you drip quietly in a corner while you check the rainfall radar rather than the vague little sun icon on your phone. If you've come by bus — the 128 links Helmsley and Pickering through town, and Moorsbus runs in season — pocket the timetable while you're at it. Knowing when the last bus leaves is a surprisingly effective cure for aimless lingering.
This is also the moment to decide what kind of day you're having. Is it a two-hour weather window, or a full-on horizontal drizzle? If it's the latter, plan for more indoors and less loop. There's no prize for getting soaked.
10:45 — The church as a dry pause
All Saints' Church sits just off the square and makes a proper ten-minute stop. It's a working church, not a museum, so treat it as such: quiet, boots wiped, no shouting into the nave. The stonework, the memorials and the sheer quiet do a good job of resetting a wet morning. It's also free, which is not nothing when the car park has already had your money.
Stand in the porch for a minute if the rain is heavy. Porches were invented for exactly this: a dry threshold between the weather and the world.
11:30 — The low-level loop
When you're ready, take a short loop that stays at town level. From the square, head through the churchyard and pick up the beckside paths, then follow the lanes and the edge of the ings before curling back to the square. You're looking at 45 minutes to an hour at an easy pace — enough to feel like you've been out, not enough to get cold and cross.
Stick to hard surfaces and tree cover where you can. The beckside path gives you a bit of shelter, and the lanes drain better than the fields. If the beck is up and noisy, enjoy it from the bridge rather than the bank. In winter, carry a small torch even for this; the light goes early and the lanes are unlit in places.
This is also where you practise the etiquette you promised yourself earlier. Boots on the hard stuff, not the soggy grass. Gates closed. Dogs to heel around the sheep. And if the weather turns properly grim, cut it short — the loop is a pleasure, not a route march.
12:45 — Boots off, pints on
The pub is the reward, and it's also where a bit of manners goes a long way. Muddy boots are a fact of life in a moorland town, but don't stamp through the carpet in them. Ask where to sit, use the boot rack or the hard floor if there is one, and buy something even if you're only sheltering. A pub is a business, not a bus shelter with beer.
If you've got a wet dog, bring a towel and ask before settling by the fire. Landlords here are generally welcoming, but a soaked spaniel shaking itself over the upholstery is a test of anyone's hospitality.
Order something local if you can — a pint of Yorkshire bitter and a plate of something hot is the correct response to a grey afternoon. This is the bit of the day that makes the rain feel like atmosphere rather than failure.
14:00 — The indoor hour
The square's small shops are good for a mooch when the weather is set in. You don't need a grand itinerary: a browse, a bit of browsing in the hardware shop, a second coffee, maybe a look at the notices in the church porch to see what's on. If you've got children with you, this is the point to deploy the café and a board game rather than another loop.
15:00 — The weather window
If the sky lifts, take it. A short second wander — back along the beckside, or a stretch of the old railway path if it's dry enough underfoot — is a nice bonus rather than the main event. If it doesn't lift, don't chase it. Another pot of tea is a valid use of an afternoon.
Before you go
Check the last bus back if you're relying on it, and don't assume a taxi will be free on a wet Saturday. If you're driving, the square and the main car park are close enough that you won't have to sprint. Pack the obvious: waterproof jacket, over-trousers, spare socks, a dry bag for the phone, and cash for the pub. A paper map doesn't run out of battery.
A wet day in Kirkbymoorside isn't a lesser day. It's just a slower one. The moor isn't going anywhere — and neither is the pint.
