Walking the PW&NCP

This is not perhaps the most stimulating stage of the Peddars Way, with much of the walk being on the verges of public roads, but a great compensation is the village of Castle Acre.

One of the highlights of the trail, the village occupies a strategic position by the Nar, one of Norfolk’s principal rivers. Here are ruined priory and castle, both Norman, with the old castle ramparts especially worth exploring. There were two good pubs (but only one as of 2020), plus eating places and interesting shops.

The west gate of the ruined castle (2007)

Saturday 4 March 2000: Castle Acre to Fring, 13 miles

Set compass for 335 grid north, walk for 13 miles, end. Perhaps the straightest walk since the days of the gladiators. Not without interest, for all that.

This day traverses slowly rolling countryside in one of the least populated parts of southern England; there is a genuine feeling of remoteness, with no more than three or four houses actually passed on the walk, and the one village nearby – Great Massingham – barely visible. We parked up at Fring church, just off route. It’s remarkable how churches are still great navigation points, especially in country like this.

Saturday 6 May 2000: Fring to Holme and on to Hunstanton, 10 miles

Strictly, the end of the Peddars Way and the start of the North Norfolk Coast Path, the latter taken east to west; we would later take the rest of the coast path west to east. This was a beautiful late spring day, with a good pub midway – the White Horse at Holme next the Sea, still there in 2020 – and an excuse for an ice cream at the seaside town of Hunstanton. Note that the way in to Hunstanton is now on the seaward side, rather than the landward side, of Hunstanton golf club.

I was feeling so good about the day out that, homeward, I clocked my one-and-only speeding ticket at the bottom of the M11, at a camera I knew well and respected fully, or so I thought.

The North Norfolk coast

This was a three-day trip for Dave and I. Technically it starts from Hunstanton, but we’d done that bit a month before.

Dave on the boardwalk

Thursday 1 June 2000: Holme next the Sea to Burnham Overy Staithe, 13 miles

First, through the dunes to Thornham, the boardwalk helping. Look out for the sign bewaring of local nudists. The path then diverts inland which at least permits a wider view of the coast. From Brancaster, a wild stretch looks out to Scolt Head Island between the Burnhams Deepdale and Overy Staithe, where we stayed overnight.

This is Nelson country; Horatio Nelson, the hero of Trafalgar and with Drake England’s greatest naval hero, was born just inland at another of the Burnhams, Burnham Thorpe. There will be a monument to him at Great Yarmouth, near the end of the coast path.

Friday 2 June 2000: Burnham Overy Staithe to Cley, 17 miles

A tremendously varied walk that shows off this great coastline to best effect. Any number of highlights: before lunch, the beach of Holkham Bay, backed by pine dunes, before the small town of Wells next the Sea, where we diverted into the town for lunch. There are long stretches of salt marshes around Stiffkey, before the busy little tourist village of Blakeney is reached. From there, there’s a sea wall walk to Cley, looking out to the shingle spit of Blakeney Point. The relative lack of humanity’s traces make this a great area for other fauna, with seal colonies around Blakeney Point (ferries from Morston as well as Blakeney) and bird life in abundance – see Dave’s birding notes, made across the three days but principally this section.

Social history note: it is difficult for those in the local low-wage economy to buy homes, as prices have been forced up by those who feel they need two houses to live in rather than one. Perhaps in Blakeney this is no recent thing; a housing association specifically for locals was set up in 1946 to provide affordable housing for local people, which it still does, with 39 houses and cottages in Blakeney and neighbouring villages.

Saturday 3 June 2000: Cley to Cromer, 13 miles

To the highest point of Norfolk, Beacon Hill! All of 105 metres (346 feet). But first, some of the most arduous walking in southern Britain – seems strange to say, for a three mile coastal stretch. But this is the notorious shingle beach from the coastguard lookout at Cley to Weybourne Hope. I chose the shingle bank, Dave the beach – whichever, it was still like walking in porridge, sucking back your boots. And all the while, the hypnotic roar of surf breaking on stone.

The low cliffs to the small resort of Sheringham are something of a relief. From here to Cromer, the trail ran inland, much through woods, to the high point viewpoint. Signs hereabouts warn of adders, Britain’s only poisonous snake. Cromer was a good end point; a Victorian resort that still has great character, including one of the most famous pleasure piers in England – as distinctive a finish as one could wish.

Note that this part of the trail now takes an almost entirely different route. Walking on the shingle bank like I did is deprecated, lest it weaken the bank as a sea defence; the alternative is on the landward side behind the bank. Clifftop access between Sheringham and Cromer has now been secured, apart from a couple of holiday camps, so the trail now uses that rather than visiting Beacon Hill.

The East Norfolk coast

Plenty of these signs on this bit of coast!

I couldn’t in all conscience claim I’d walked the whole of this National Trail after it was extended and I was still active. A weather-and-convenience window opened in winter 2023, and I was off.

Tuesday 31 January 2023. Cromer to Bacton, 11 miles.

This was one of January’s sunny spells, though with a stiffish wind from the north-west today – no bad thing, it helped push me along.

And it was pushing a quarter-century since I was last here, but it doesn’t feel like it. What’s really missing is Dave, of course; he would have enjoyed the resumption.

For the first few miles the coast path plays hide-and-seek with the Paston Way, which runs from Cromer to North Walsham in honour of Margaret Paston (1422 – 1484), noted chronicler of mediaeval life.

At Cromer’s outskirts, the coastal path descends to sea level as far as Overstrand, after which it’s cliff-top walking to Trimingham, on a headland path which wobbles this way and that to avoid the eroding edge.

It was at Trimingham that I came across my first discovery point, one of eleven now strung out between Weybourne and Cart Gap. These little seating areas with ample information boards give a fascinating insight into the history, and prehistory, of this part of the coast.

Beyond Trimingham, neither the cliff-top nor the beach are accessible for a while, so there’s a diversion to the heady 220ft height of Beacon Hill (yes another one), notable now for a radar golfball. Hang gliders are warned not to linger in its vicinity, for fear of what it could do to their insides.

Next up, Mundesley is one of the larger settlements on this part of the coast, but I needed to have wits about me as one or two of the coast path waymarkers had been twisted to the wrong direction. Normally, a hazard of much more urban walking.

I was soon back down to beach level, and with the Paston Way back on hand as well – the Pastons’ home village is only a mile away, but these days it’s behind the terminal where North Sea gas comes on shore.

The oddly-named Poachers Pocket pub in Bacton was my base for the night, and it’s right on the path, always a good thing.

Wednesday 1 February 2023. Bacton to Great Yarmouth, 21 miles.

The Poachers Pocket breakfast is ‘any time from 10’, which is not really breakfast at all. With a long day and an early nightfall, that was no use to me.

Thankfully there was a little shop just down the road so a sausage roll got pressed into service as emergency sustenance.

I was on my way now to Happisburgh, where the effects of coastal erosion – prevalent all along this coast, and have been since mediaeval times – are most notable. Houses are lost in many years; and this relatively new path has already had to be shifted inland, less than ten years after it opened.

After Eccles on Sea, the route takes to the beach. It was low tide, so I struck out towards the surf, and checking my digital map, was surprised that I was walking on water! Maybe I should start a new religion.

But if Happisburgh is being left to crumble, there’s a concerted effort to save Sea Palling, with a series of nine offshore rock reefs (only just offshore – I could have walked to the first.)

I took a break at a Sea Palling beach café, for a bit more breakfast. There’s a plaque to a Dutch tug master here, who died in the placing of the reefs in 1996. It’s notable this was an international effort – Russians amongst them …

Dunes start to appear, low at first, but increasingly dominant. The path stays behind them after Horsey Gap, which is a frustration, but that’s because the beach here is an important seal sanctuary. At a safe place, I went up to have a look.

From Winterton Ness, the path heads straight through the dunes for nearly two miles, to the settlement of Winterton-on-Sea. They are very much a highlight of the trail; they don’t peter out until Hemsby, which is pretty much the start of the Great Yarmouth seaside sprawl.

Looking out to sea, between Hemsby and Caister

I enjoyed more beach walking through Caister, when surprise, more dunes! They are rather low, though do have the merit of stopping that sprawl, but for the walker it’s prom time, all the way to my bed for the night.

Thursday 2 February 2023. Great Yarmouth to Lowestoft, 11 miles.

First, a quick tour of the many faces of Great Yarmouth.

A bit more of the prom, past (in fact under) its pleasure pier, then turn right through the town centre, passing the splendid former College of Art and Design and other civic buildings of the town’s apogee, and over to the South Quay, once the hub of the town’s maritime industry.

Crossing over the River Yare, there’s a dull mile along Southtown Road before the river can be regained. A new bridge is being built here, so maybe the coast path will divert along it – it was due to open later in 2023.

To get down to the river, there’s a little public park, relic of a house built for one of Nelson’s lieutenants; its view of Yarmouth’s Nelson Monument is protected, rather like the views of St Paul’s in London.

It will have been clear from the boat yards of Southtown Road that Yarmouth’s maritime industry is still key to the town. From the just-off-road path by the river, several ships were tied up, most strikingly the Trafalgar Sentinel, which seems to be both fisheries patrol and oil industry supply ship.

The end of the Norfolk Coast Path

By now, Yarmouth is merging into Gorleston in much the same way as Brighton merges into Hove. There’s a sandy beach and plenty of green, and a prom to make good progress along.

When Gorleston ends, it’s back to the beach. I had to stay behind the wooden barrier though, on account of the tide, which felt a bit constricting. Still, it got me to the official end of the Norfolk Coast Path at League Hole.

There’s a little bit of Norfolk left, and some contradictory signs as to what to do next. Is there a path by the beach, or on the cliffs, or not? I asked a local sea angler. He ‘thought’ you could get ‘most of the way’ to Corton, the next settlement, but wasn’t sure.

That wasn’t for me to risk then. I plotted a road alternative. In summer, the road would have been thronged by holiday cars, but I only had a few to avoid. Clearly, the England Coast Path people are going to have problem sorting this one out.

Still, Lowestoft wasn’t far now, and the nature reserve of Gunton Warren is a nice way to approach it. The final mile is prom; and the final point is Ness Point, a commemorative circle noting the most easterly point of the British Isles. With a Birds Eye factory belching steam just behind, it’s a bit anticlimatic, but it’s worth a pause for respect; not least for the name of the circle, Euroscope, in one of the most Brexity towns in Britain.

The West Norfolk coast

This stretch, from the Lincolnshire border to Hunstanton with the town of King’s Lynn in the middle, became part of the England Coast Path in 2024. It’s not however, and I guess never will be, part of the Peddar’s Way and Norfolk Coast Path.

If it were, it would give the older trail a whole new dimension (not least because the first six miles are in Lincolnshire). The PW&NCP allows plenty of short stages, if not to helpful towns and villages, then at least to helpful drop-off points.

The west Norfolk coast allows no such thing. You’re committed to a road-free 13 miles into King’s Lynn, and 11 miles away from it.

To me, this was an offer too good to refuse, and I found myself a couple of days in June 2024, soon after the stretch opened, to savour it.

Thursday 20 June 2024. Sutton Bridge to King’s Lynn, 16 miles.

I wasn’t sure how much I was going to enjoy this stage. The map showed an hour’s trudge along a dead-straight road, then long miles of floodbank walking until West Lynn. It was nice to be pleasantly surprised.

That’s not to say there isn’t an hour’s trudge along a dead-straight road to start with, but it’s a quiet lane with shade from a tree-belt most of the way – no bad thing on a sunny day. On the other side there’s the cut of the River Nene, straightened in line with fen drainage in times past.

Close to the outflow there are two lighthouses, one on each bank. That on the east bank, which I was approaching, was once home to the renowned naturalist Sir Peter Scott, who held in the mid-20th century roughly the same place in the public’s affections as Sir David Attenborough more lately; indeed he was one of the first to use television to heighten awareness of conservation issues.

So I was looking forward to seeing the lighthouse, now a holiday let. But it’s a fortress with an eight-foot chicken-wire mesh surrounding it, with rude signs threatening visitors. Now I understand that the coast path needs to be routed around, but it was the sheer aggression of the signage that rankled.

Thankfully there’s a good walk ahead, far better than I had imagined. Even with high summer approaching, the floodbank was well-mown – I recall one day of similar walking in Essex when I was sweeping thigh-high grasses out of my way for hours on end.

Pay attention to the map, and you’ll see how the floodbanks have pushed seawards over the years: Bank of 1910, Bank of 1917, Bank of 1925, then indeterminately ‘New Sea Bank’ and just ‘Sea Bank’; but the present floodbank is nameless. Sea Bank has a nice photogenic tree-belt curving away close to the Nene outfall.

After a solitary walker near the lighthouse, I was to see no-one until close to West Lynn. In lowland England, that’s a rarity. And though this is officially coastal walking, the sea is anything up to three miles away, with salt marsh and then many acres of mud and sand reaching out between, deep into the North Sea inlet of The Wash.

Far away, I could see what seemed to be an outcrop with white striations – artificial surely, but why? It turns out that it’s the Outer Trial Bank dating from the mid-70s, which with its Inner Trial Bank partner (further along the path) was part of a scheme to determine whether a Wash Barrage could be feasible; it wasn’t.

Of course, the whole coastline here is man-made. Look at maps of medieval England and large areas were marsh if not open water. Reclamation started in the 17th century thanks to Dutch engineers. But for all it’s artificial, this corner of England is one of the best for solitude. I realised, after a time, was that what I was missing was sound; the silence that modern life has lost, just the tramp of my feet, some varied bird life and the cool rustle of the breeze. To have it sustained over hours is rare indeed.

Eventually the path turns south towards the River Great Ouse, which gives access to the port of King’s Lynn, in mediaeval times among the most prosperous in the kingdom. First though there’s the smaller settlement of West Lynn, linked to the town by ferry. I rather wished that the Coast Path allowed it as a shortcut, in much the same way as the South West Coast Path allows ferries, but no; it’s a rather uninspiring mile to the road bridge and a bit further back.

I’d been to King’s Lynn once before, a year ago, for a day out with Barbara. Its history has left one of the great collections of listed buildings, from the small and vernacular to the storied and decorative, and it’s worth spending some time in appreciation. But this evening there was an England game on, so I spent most of the time in the pub.

Friday 21 June 2024. King’s Lynn to Hunstanton, 17 miles.

Planning these two days, this looked to be much more varied and thus inviting day than the day before. Shows you how wrong you can be.

I’d discounted the plod through industrial King’s Lynn at the start. I don’t mind these, in a way; they show the working, unglamorous town, and if there wasn’t work here (indeed there’s not enough of it) Lynn would be in a dire state.

The couple of miles across farmland before returning to the Great Ouse might not be a bad thing either, and indeed there were some good inland views, but the headlands were a bit overgrown. Well, used to them at home, I told myself, and I’d have the coast views soon.

When I reached the first floodbank, I was a bit bemused by the signpost. ‘Keep to the track on top of the floodbank’, it said. Well you would, wouldn’t you. But the next one was rather different: keep below the floodbank, and on the landward side too, so no coastal views. And that pertained, pretty much, for the next five miles.

Signs later showed why. The Kings Lynn and West Norfolk Wildfowlers jealously guard their right to shoot ducks in this area and there’s not a right of way anywhere in the vicinity, let along the top of the floodbank. Maybe it took careful negotiation, plus the Act of Parliament that underpins the England Coast Path, to enable the present compromise. But there was a time, on a dead straight line late on this stretch, when I wished they’d just routed the whole damn thing miles inland and given us some views.

The wildfowlers’ writ runs out at the new Wolferton Pumping Station. I was surprised to see it was opened by the Queen in 2020 but it’s on the royal Sandringham estate so just down the road. Any ducks and geese looking for a safe haven stay north of here, for then they are in the RSPB’s Snettisham reserve. The coast path is right up on the shingly foreshore here, a notable change from the saltmarsh which has dominated hitherto.

The other change is that there are now people. Two bird watchers and a warden, first, then many more as the first small settlement, Shepherd’s Port, approached. It’s still some way to the beaches of Heacham but when you do reach it, holiday Norfolk has truly started – the more so on a day like today, a true summer’s day after a delayed start to the year. Alas, the ice cream flag fluttering from a café is a tease; not open till tomorrow, when I get there.

There’s a half mile on the beach before the long prom to Hunstanton starts. Some of the beach house gardens are gaily yellow with seashore daisies; one man is mowing his to oblivion; others have carpeted their green patches with garish plastic grass. Welcome back to poor taste. But there is a good local ice cream supplier, and a delicious raspberry sorbet hits the spot.

Hunstanton is busy; with its distinctive central greensward, maybe I remember it just a bit from my time there in 2000. There is time for a cold pint (a break in habit, for me) before the bus back to Lynn.