Roseberry Topping
‘Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.’ So the saying goes. When it comes to Alan Hinkes’ record-breaking career in high-altitude mountaineering, Roseberry Topping is the acorn that started it all.
Alan Hinkes on the little hill that began it all
That’s the Cleveland escarpment, the northern edge of the North York Moors.” Alan Hinkes OBE gestures enthusiastically at a rise of land away to the south, before swinging his arm around to the west to point out Pen Hill above Leyburn and the entrance to Wensleydale; the industrial heartland of Middlesbrough and the Teesmouth estuary to the north; and the hazy blue of the North Sea coast to the east. For Hinkes, the first (and to date, only) Brit to have climbed all 14 of the world’s 8000 metre peaks, the Cleveland Hills are where it all began, and he’s clearly, and quite reasonably, proud of this little corner of England he calls home. The obelisk we’re standing below is a monument to famed 18th century circumnavigator Captain James
Cook (“There’s a matching white one in Hawaii where he died,” Alan tells us). Cook grew up in the village of Great Ayton below and spent much of his childhood exploring the surrounding moors and
hills. Somewhere out there is Urra Moor and Round Hill – the 454m high point of the North York Moors. But, perhaps unusually for a ‘highest summit’, it’s not the poster peak for the north-east. That privilege goes to Roseberry Topping.
When Trail interviewed Alan for our August 2016 issue we asked him for a run-down of his favourite UK hills. Roseberry Topping was first on that list. “We’d drive past it on the way to the coast and I’d see little people on top. It intrigued me as a little boy; I wanted to go up it. The views are superlative.” It may barely scrape above the 1,000ft mark (1,049ft/320m), but its form is every bit a mountain in miniature. Roseberry Topping’s triangular silhouette dominates the view on the drive in along the A172 from miles away. In fact, the only thing that betrays its pretence as a sky scraping giant is that it doesn’t get any bigger as you get nearer...
Having left Cook’s monument, Alan and I talk about the higher hills that have played such a huge part in his life. It seems strange to be talking about Alpine bivvies and Himalayan expeditions as we meander along a polite track through a calm forest. Occasionally, Alan will stop to point out a particular quarry that he used to climb, to lavish little Roseberry with fond praise, or to wish a passing walker “good morning” and stop for a chat. It all seems irreconcilable with tales of retreating from K2, breaking an arm on Kangchenjunga or being speared by bamboo on the walk in to Makalu.
The conversation takes a bit of a stumble as we climb up onto Great Ayton Moor. Photographer Tom dares to suggest that the man-managed monoculture of the heathered moor is a detriment to the variety of wildlife seen there. Alan disagrees. “What’s wrong with the moors? I think they’re stunning. There’s plenty of wildlife up here. Why would you want to ruin it by letting it grow wild?” Of course, Alan grew up here. Tom’s comment is akin to having walked into Alan’s childhood home and pointed out that the décor is a little drab. Such faux pas are soon forgotten. We’ve been tramping the wide and obvious Cleveland Way from the monument viewpoint, and at Newton Moor the National Trail arrives at a T-junction. To the right, the path continues a winding journey north to Saltburnby-the-Sea from where it follows the coast south through Whitby and Scarborough to the trailhead
at Filey. To the left, the Cleveland Way strikes off on a 1km spur to the summit of Roseberry Topping. It may not sit naturally on the route, but the hill is too big a player round these parts to be left off it. From this eastern vantage, the peak once again takes on a perfectly conical outline. This distinct shape is the result of Roseberry’s geology. Over the years, the cumulative effects of erosion have been prevented from grinding the fragile shale and clay into nothingness by the hill’s protective sandstone upper – a geological cross between a hard hat and an umbrella.
In the protected lull between Newton Moor
Over the past 100 years the resulting crag-edged scoop from the hill has led to many – perhaps overly favourable – comparisons with the Matterhorn.
and the top of the hill, the air is warm and clammy. Layers are shed and vents vented in preparation for the big climb. It’s over almost as soon as it’s begun – the 90m ascent peanuts in the grand scheme of the British mountains. On Roseberry Topping’s summit, the breeze is fresh and cool. Vents are tugged shut and layers pulled back on. But Alan was right, the views are fantastic. “You can see right across Teesside, Middlesbrough, into County Durham, out across the estuary to the North Sea, into the North York Moors, to the North Pennines and the distant Yorkshire Dales.” And we’re not the only people up there soaking it all in. Several people join us during the minutes we spend leaning on the painted white triangulation pillar. Alan talks to most of them. Many are locals, returning to a favourite place as Alan has done; there’s a shared fondness for the hill. Just beyond the trig point, the summit ends abruptly. For such a small peak, relatively speaking, the sudden exposure to the sheer cliff that plunges uncompromisingly to the rocks below makes a significant impact. The wind whips over the edge teasingly, and it’s impossible to get close enough to peer over without the nervy sensation of a backflipping stomach. This feature is equally impressive from below, though. As we leave Roseberry Topping, we look back to take in the full impact of its more rugged western profile. Up until the early 20th century the hill had more of a ‘sugarloaf’ form – a rounded, more symmetrical finish. A geological fault, possibly combined with some over-enthusiastic mining, caused the summit to collapse in 1912. Over the past 100 years the resulting crag-edged scoop from the hill has led to many – perhaps overly favourable – comparisons with the Matterhorn. That’s not how Alan sees it. “People talk about Roseberry Topping being ‘the Matterhorn of Teesside’. That’s rubbish. I like to think of it like this: over in Zermatt some hardened alpinists are sitting outside a bar conversing about climbs, tucking into a fondue, and looking up in admiration at the Roseberry Topping of Switzerland.”