What is it?
It's a touring and camping campsite in Cleethorpes. It's located on Meridian Road, just off Kings Road towards the South of the resort.
Facilities
It's a basic caravan park so don't expect things like a clubhouse or adventure playground for the kids. It does have an extremely clean shower and toilet block that were kept spotless, cleaner than our own bathroom even. The site managers live on site there (pitch 17 in the far corner if they're not in reception when you arrive) and are very friendly. On the day we were due to arrive, we were running late and after a quick call to see if a late arrival was going to be a problem, the answer was a very reassuring, 'Don't worry about it, we'll make sure you're alright'.
There are no concrete pitches or even roads and we arrived just after a particularly effusive precipitation (rained like billy-o) meaning the vehicular track had dissolved into a muddening mess. The outer perimeter of the site is given to electric hook-ups while the inner circle is for non-electric, mostly touring tents and the like. There are 60 pitches in total with 32 of those served by electric hook-ups.
The manager told us that it was the biggest downfall they'd had in months and prior to that day, the ground was incredibly hard. The inner camping area where we pitched was compliant but not overly so and the mud hadn't extended to our tent. The ground was a little rough, the grass a little wild but was level and with a hastily pumped-up airbed to sleep on, not too uncomfortable.
The entire campsite is surrounded by a thick, spiked metal fence which is understandable from a security point of view but is more than a little unsightly. I'm not sure what the solution to that is except for perhaps a mass planting of thick conifer trees?
There's the usual dish-washing and water facilities and the manager will happily lend out electric pumps (for the afore-mentioned air-beds), clothes irons and the like. Reception has also got some money-off vouchers for local attractions so it's worth popping-in if you fancy visiting some.
Local Amenities
The Showground Caravan Park is in a fantastic location. Only yards away, there's access to the Cleethorpes south side sand dunes which are miles and miles of virtually deserted headland and nature reserve. It's an amazing place and as the crowds flock Magpie-like towards the bright lights of the penny arcades, kiss-me-quick hats and gaudy pier frontage a couple of miles to the North, this area is an oasis of calm and tranquility. As a place for the kids to excitedly explore, it's fantastic and much more interesting than the fat tourist on the main beach who seems intent on jiggling his sun-creamed moobs as much as humanely possible.
Literally just outside the entrance to the caravan park is a small cafe serving full English breakfasts. Very useful if you haven't got a cooking stove and the prices are entirely reasonable too. Walk on for another 30 seconds and you come across the delightful Cleethorpes Light Railway which has services running throughout the day down to the main resort or the other way towards Pleasure Island. With it's tea-room, museum, smallest pub on the planet (according to them anyway) and 1950's olde worlde charm, it's a faithful replica of the glory days of the railway, albeit on a much smaller scale.
A few hundred metres away is an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, the Jungle Zoo petting zoo and a large boating lake with lots of water foul to feed. If this kind of thing is your bag, Pleasure Island theme park is another few hundred metres and the massive rides there are plainly visible. The site managers have no problem leaving your vehicle while you go and spend a day and a lot of money on a few over-priced, over-rated thrill-rides.
Across the busy main road is a small retail park with a shop that seemingly sells just about everything (well, not *literally* everything but you know what I mean) and predictably, there's also a KFC, McDonalds and a bowl-a-rama type of place.
Bad Bits
There's a road running round the perimeter of the site and a couple of times during the night, this was frequented by some complete and utter scrotebags tear-arsing around in their stupid moronic Citroen Saxo's and Vauxhall Corsa's with ridiculous exhausts, spoilers and tits hanging out the windows while shouting obscenities. We just laughed at that little interruption, unaware of the horrors we were about to face.
More seriously, there were a couple of tents located only a few metres away inhabited by families from hell. Think, The Dingles Go Camping. You see, these 'people' have no regard for anyone other than themselves and that includes their kids. After a skinful in the pub, the mothers decided to continue their party in the tent. At 3.00 in the morning, the campsite manager finally came across and asked them to be quiet. He came round again at 3.30 am, a little more cross this time. The mother finally passed out from alcohol abuse at around 4.30am. We were woken at 7.30am by the roused-again mother shouting at her kids to be quiet because they were making too much noise.
We hardly got a wink of sleep.
This wasn't the fault of the campsite manager who, although could have had interrupted proceedings earlier in the night, had his hands tied. He couldn't exactly kick them out at say, one o'clock in the morning could he? The fault was not kicking them out the next day as a LOT of people complained about the amount of noise (us included). I had actually got up at 2.30am myself and asked them to be quiet. I got a torrent of abuse for my troubles.
It could have been a one-off but after reading some other reviews for the place, it wasn't an isolated incident. Perhaps the convenience of its location is also its biggest problem? We've experienced this kind of behaviour before, usually on campsites with an on-site clubhouse and where parents can palm their kids off on Magic Mike the Magician while they get abusively drunk on cheap lager. It seems here, with the convenience of local pubs, those same parents can come and get blathered to their hearts content. A microcosm of Broken Britain was acted out right in front of our eyes.
Aside from alcoholic munters, the centre field where we pitched is a little disorganised. While the electric hook-up pitches were regimented according to their respective electrical outlet socket, there's no such uniformity in the middle and we were allowed to pitch where we wanted. Also, it seems, the owner of a massive camper .. 'truck' that decided to reverse right up to the front of our tent, belching out diesel fumes and nearly running over our temporary domicile.
The driver, a pot-bellied pig of a man whom had seen fit to paint his pride and joy in a lurid sky-blue complemented by a spare-wheel cover with a dreadful faux air-brushed diorama of a naked woman languishing under a fantasy waterfall, was particularly ebullient in his views of the world. At 11.30pm, we were treated to an enthralling discussion of one-piece aluminium coach-building as the pig explained drunkenly to his friend how his N-reg truck was the epitome of camping luxury. Pur-leeease. Also, the less said of his sleeping clothes the better (fluorescent flares, mirrored-sunglasses and belly flapping about in the wind is not a nice sight to wake up to).
His dog, the biggest British Bulldog we've ever seen, had obviously been crossed with a dinosaur as it made the most god-awful snorting, snarling sounds. Why do I mention this? Because as they returned from the pub with this growling beast in tow, it sounded like our tent was being attacked by a gang of young, delinquent Velociraptors, that's why. I'm sure it was very friendly, it just didn't sound it.
Conclusion
We had booked for two nights but only stayed for one. That should tell you the full story but really, it doesn't. We would actually go again as we recognise the problems we encountered were one-offs, an almost perfect storm of bad campers if you like. A misfortuitous series of coincidences are certainly not the fault of the caravan park which itself was brilliantly-located, had spotlessly clean facilities and run by a wonderfully helpful couple. The people making all the noise were staying for another night and at 7.30 on Saturday evening, we saw them heading off to the pub for what could have been yet another sleepless night for us. We were due to leave first thing in the morning anyway so we cut the trip short, dumped everything into the back of the car and were back home in time for supper.
At time of writing (June 2011), prices range from £10.00 per pitch per night for a low-season, non-electric one to £20.00 per pitch per night with electric. We paid an entirely reasonable £14.00 per night for ours. The site IS basic, make no mistake about that, but it makes the most of what it does have and there's enough nearby to keep everyone occupied. The sand-dunes and deserted nature reserve just around the corner are worth a visit on their own. Just make sure, if you do go, take some earplugs, you know, 'just in case'.
Showing posts with label campsite. Show all posts
Showing posts with label campsite. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Campsite Review: High Yedmandle Farm, Nr Scarborough
"An endearing place, this sceptred isle, despite its worst intentions. With emerald hills of rolling green, valleys deep and mountain stream, perchance to rest, perchance to dream."
It's hard to get away from it all sometimes, the last vestiges of solitude being pushed to the boundaries of extinction by a social explosion. Camping is supposed to be a get-away-from-it-all activity and yet, many a campsite are blighted by a deluge of cheap lager, served in the eponymous, anonymous clubhouse to loutish parents bawling at ever-more loutish offspring interrupting any kind of peaceful furlough. Delve deeper than those sea-fronted bastions of managed mayhem, head off the beaten track and you'll happen upon a gem or two, perhaps nestled 'twixt forest and field at the end of a lonely drive, hedgerows high, and a welcoming smile.
So it is with High Yedmandale Farm, North Yorkshire. Only a few miles inland from the beach-front gaudiness of Scarborough and yet, seemingly in another country. Heck, it could be another universe. A tortuous navigation to the farm is a test, I'm sure, of the camping and caravan enthusiasts mettle. With minimal passing points, overgrown verges and a gamut of wildlife intent on throwing themselves blindly into the paths of passing vehicles, only the hardy need apply. Perservere though, and you'll be rewarded with stunning views, 500 square miles of woodland walks and silence broken only by the odd whinny from the resident farm horse, joyful bird song or occasional buzz of agitated mozzie. And solace, that sweet, beautiful, intangible word, tinged with emotion and loaded with meaningful memories.
Run by Ken and his wife Isobel, High Yedmandale Farm is edged by an ancient forest on one side and far-reaching vista on t'other. Serviced only by a single, spotlessly-clean shower and toilet block, the bare essentials such as water and washing facilities, it's little more than a field. Well-maintained at that, but a field none-the-less. The only concession to modern enterprise and technical innovation are electric hook-up points scattered blithely around and Ken may be able to supply an extension lead should you pitch too far from one. Endless cheery enthusiasm by the owners makes up for the lack of facilities.
And yet, it's the back-to-nature approach where the beating heart of this place lies. Witness dusk giving way to a descending blanket of unpolluted darkness and with it, the eternal heavens yielding their breathtaking secrets. Gaseous nebula bloom in unfettered vision, distant galaxies swirl and tumble to unfathomable forces, previously cowed stars break free from a hail-storm of unnatural ambient light to preen and wax with pompous audacity and it's this cosmic display of interstellar wonder that is played out before your eyes on a vast canvass of immeasurable distance.
As much as light from the nearest connurbation fails to drift over those emerald hills, neither does the other pollutant of an exponentially-increasing society, noise. As if a remote control had been pointed, the volume is turned down and after 10.30 pm or so, expect any continued outburts of jocularity to be admonished, or even banished the next morning should such single-minded inconsideration persist. Ken and Isobel expect their guests to be mindful of others and enforce this with sincere asceticism. I could kiss them.
Breakfast is catered for via freshly-laid eggs available from the farm-house, chickens clucking over the rich green pasture next door. Bonfires are strictly forbidden, the afore-mentioned woodland imposing too much of a fire-risk but there are stones provided for barbecues to rest on, lest they scorch the earth with unsightly blackened grass. The nearby village of West Ayton is walkable, perhaps 15 minutes at a brisk stroll, with occasional stops to admire the flourishing fauna and recalcitrant wildlife. It's a quiet, pretty village, tempered only by the main A170 to Scarborough. There's a couple of pubs and a rather excellent fish 'n' chip shop should your dining aspirations extend beyond blackened burgers on the barbie.
Dogs are welcome, providing they are well-behaved, leashed (on site anyway) and don't leave their mess everywhere. Cats, according to the website, are NOT welcome due to their predatory instincts playing havoc on the delicate rural eco-system. I don't know who takes their cat away camping but it's a big enough problem for them to mention on the webby. Large groups of people are given short-thrift during the booking process so don't expect to book a stag or hen night away here. Indeed, the website suggests such groups to take their business elsewhere, perhaps towards the twinkling lights of sin and sand in Scarborough.
As an exercise of soul-replenishment, there's nothing to fault High Yedmandale. It achieves gloriously what it aims to do and that's to provide a sanctuous haven to retire to for a few days rest, recuperation and relaxation. A tent seems more apt given the location, but caravans are still welcome providing they can navigate the single-tracked road. It's basic, sure, and you'll need a torch for late night visits to the loo but that's nothing hardened campers won't be used to. Laying under the stars next to a loved one, unencumbered by the pressures and rigours of modern living, dialling into the natural rhythm of the countryside, a wistful breeze roving gently through majestic woodland, a night sky of unparalleled beauty, it all just makes perfect sense.
The cost of this nirvana is £14.00 per pitch per night with extras for electric hook-ups, pup tents and the like. Please, try it at least once and leave the shell-suits and cans of Special Brew at home. Take some cocoa instead, you will thank me later.
Time of visit was in June 2011.
- Juan 'Kerr' Sanchez, 1827.
It's hard to get away from it all sometimes, the last vestiges of solitude being pushed to the boundaries of extinction by a social explosion. Camping is supposed to be a get-away-from-it-all activity and yet, many a campsite are blighted by a deluge of cheap lager, served in the eponymous, anonymous clubhouse to loutish parents bawling at ever-more loutish offspring interrupting any kind of peaceful furlough. Delve deeper than those sea-fronted bastions of managed mayhem, head off the beaten track and you'll happen upon a gem or two, perhaps nestled 'twixt forest and field at the end of a lonely drive, hedgerows high, and a welcoming smile.
So it is with High Yedmandale Farm, North Yorkshire. Only a few miles inland from the beach-front gaudiness of Scarborough and yet, seemingly in another country. Heck, it could be another universe. A tortuous navigation to the farm is a test, I'm sure, of the camping and caravan enthusiasts mettle. With minimal passing points, overgrown verges and a gamut of wildlife intent on throwing themselves blindly into the paths of passing vehicles, only the hardy need apply. Perservere though, and you'll be rewarded with stunning views, 500 square miles of woodland walks and silence broken only by the odd whinny from the resident farm horse, joyful bird song or occasional buzz of agitated mozzie. And solace, that sweet, beautiful, intangible word, tinged with emotion and loaded with meaningful memories.
Run by Ken and his wife Isobel, High Yedmandale Farm is edged by an ancient forest on one side and far-reaching vista on t'other. Serviced only by a single, spotlessly-clean shower and toilet block, the bare essentials such as water and washing facilities, it's little more than a field. Well-maintained at that, but a field none-the-less. The only concession to modern enterprise and technical innovation are electric hook-up points scattered blithely around and Ken may be able to supply an extension lead should you pitch too far from one. Endless cheery enthusiasm by the owners makes up for the lack of facilities.
And yet, it's the back-to-nature approach where the beating heart of this place lies. Witness dusk giving way to a descending blanket of unpolluted darkness and with it, the eternal heavens yielding their breathtaking secrets. Gaseous nebula bloom in unfettered vision, distant galaxies swirl and tumble to unfathomable forces, previously cowed stars break free from a hail-storm of unnatural ambient light to preen and wax with pompous audacity and it's this cosmic display of interstellar wonder that is played out before your eyes on a vast canvass of immeasurable distance.
As much as light from the nearest connurbation fails to drift over those emerald hills, neither does the other pollutant of an exponentially-increasing society, noise. As if a remote control had been pointed, the volume is turned down and after 10.30 pm or so, expect any continued outburts of jocularity to be admonished, or even banished the next morning should such single-minded inconsideration persist. Ken and Isobel expect their guests to be mindful of others and enforce this with sincere asceticism. I could kiss them.
Breakfast is catered for via freshly-laid eggs available from the farm-house, chickens clucking over the rich green pasture next door. Bonfires are strictly forbidden, the afore-mentioned woodland imposing too much of a fire-risk but there are stones provided for barbecues to rest on, lest they scorch the earth with unsightly blackened grass. The nearby village of West Ayton is walkable, perhaps 15 minutes at a brisk stroll, with occasional stops to admire the flourishing fauna and recalcitrant wildlife. It's a quiet, pretty village, tempered only by the main A170 to Scarborough. There's a couple of pubs and a rather excellent fish 'n' chip shop should your dining aspirations extend beyond blackened burgers on the barbie.
Dogs are welcome, providing they are well-behaved, leashed (on site anyway) and don't leave their mess everywhere. Cats, according to the website, are NOT welcome due to their predatory instincts playing havoc on the delicate rural eco-system. I don't know who takes their cat away camping but it's a big enough problem for them to mention on the webby. Large groups of people are given short-thrift during the booking process so don't expect to book a stag or hen night away here. Indeed, the website suggests such groups to take their business elsewhere, perhaps towards the twinkling lights of sin and sand in Scarborough.
As an exercise of soul-replenishment, there's nothing to fault High Yedmandale. It achieves gloriously what it aims to do and that's to provide a sanctuous haven to retire to for a few days rest, recuperation and relaxation. A tent seems more apt given the location, but caravans are still welcome providing they can navigate the single-tracked road. It's basic, sure, and you'll need a torch for late night visits to the loo but that's nothing hardened campers won't be used to. Laying under the stars next to a loved one, unencumbered by the pressures and rigours of modern living, dialling into the natural rhythm of the countryside, a wistful breeze roving gently through majestic woodland, a night sky of unparalleled beauty, it all just makes perfect sense.
The cost of this nirvana is £14.00 per pitch per night with extras for electric hook-ups, pup tents and the like. Please, try it at least once and leave the shell-suits and cans of Special Brew at home. Take some cocoa instead, you will thank me later.
Time of visit was in June 2011.
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