Walk 93 -- Wells next the Sea to Burnham Overy Staithe

Ages: Colin was 61 years and 224 days. Rosemary was 59 years and one day!

Weather: A frosty start, but turning into an almost warm sunny day with cloudless skies. It was difficult to believe it was December.

Location: Wells next the Sea to Burnham Overy Staithe.

Distance: 7½ miles.

Total distance: 703½ miles.

Terrain: Tarmac path, beach, woods, beach again, dunes and a grassy bank.

Tide: In.

Rivers to cross: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None.

‘English Heritage’ properties: No.30, Creake Abbey – which we didn’t actually have to visit because it is three miles inland, but we did (the next day on our way home) and I have included it because it is interesting.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We were staying in an hotel in Thorpe Market. After breakfast, we drove to Burnham Overy Staithe where we found the bus stop opposite a pub. We parked in a nearby street, walked round the tiny hamlet next to the water, then caught a bus to Wells next the Sea – alighting very near the start of our Walk.

At the end, we stopped by a bench overlooking the marshy river. Because my leg was so painful, Colin walked on and drove the car round – anyway, it was a much nicer spot to drink our tea and eat almond slices (no more mince pies left!) Then we returned to our comfortable hotel where we watched the news on TV (the Soham trial is concluded, and Ian Huntley got two life sentences for the callous murder of two innocent ten year old girls on a sunny summer’s afternoon – Maxine Carr got 3½ years for her stupidity in trying to protect him) before partaking of our last delicious four course dinner. Home tomorrow!

We had perfect weather for today’s Walk—sunny, calm and even warm! Mind you, it had been a frosty start to the day, but by the time we were in Wells next the Sea with our car parked in Burnham Overy Staithe, most of the ice had melted. Ever since Cley next the Sea, eight or more miles back, we had been walking behind the marshes about a mile away from the waves. But from thereon the swamps have been drained and turned into farmland, so our first bit of today’s Walk was to stomp alongside a tidal inlet back to the real beach!

First we looked at boats tied up in the harbour, and watched mallards and plovers pecking about on the quay. Then we walked due north—a tarmac path on a bank between a road and the river. With the sun beating down causing reflections in the water, it was absolutely glorious! As we approached the lifeboat station we climbed down on to the beach and walked round it, trying to get ourselves as near to the sea as possible without sinking in the soft sand. We looked across the river with our binoculars and telescope to see if we could see any seals, but we couldn’t. Yesterday had been such a wonderful experience—we had to content ourselves with that. The doors of the lifeboat station, which were facing the sea, were open and someone was working on the craft, making a lot of noise with power tools.

As we turned the corner to walk westwards along the beach, a wonderful sight met our eyes. The beach there faces north and banks up at the back with trees behind, so it doesn’t get the sun. It was covered in snow and ice! Intricate ice crystals covered the sands—they were beautiful! We didn’t want to tread on them and break their geometric patterns, so we picked our way gingerly between them knowing full well that they wouldn’t last the day out anyway—silly, wasn’t it?
There was a line of beach huts up on stilts at the back of the beach. There seemed to be a competition between the owners as to who could paint theirs in the gaudiest colours (shocking pink – purple – yellow – turquoise) and who could paint on most decorations (boats – birds – anchors). They certainly stood out.We carried on for a while, but the sand was getting softer and more difficult to walk on. So we entered the wood. It was lovely in there with the sun filtering through the trees and a wide ‘easy-walking’ path. Woods are my favourite environment for walking at any time of year, so I was very happy. The trees are Scots pines, planted to stabilise the dunes and stop sand being blown over adjacent farmland. Trouble is, birds don’t like these quick-growing softwoods, so we had to content ourselves with enjoying the sunbeams shining between their straight trunks. We sat on a log—B.L.I.S.T.E.R.S. style—to eat our sparse lunch, we didn’t need more than a snack with the huge breakfasts and dinners we had been enjoying all week at our hotel. Colin was getting very miserable about his incontinence which seemed particularly bad that day—probably due to the frosty weather. He can’t understand why he has so little control, and it was a full six months or so later that his surgeon finally conceded that there must have been some nerve damage during his operation for prostate cancer. I tried to cheer him up, but he was really low. I found a very discreet bush—‘Ladies’ style—for him to change behind, and we disposed of his wet pad in a ‘doggy-poo’ bin! He felt a bit better then because he was more comfortable.

We continued through the wood until we got to Holkham Gap. There we met the first people since Wells—they had all tripped from the car park a few yards back to ‘walk’ their dogs, but no one had ventured very far. We had been quite alone in those beautiful woods. There was a seat overlooking the beach we could have sat on—but it was already occupied, so we didn’t. Bet they hadn’t walked as far as we had! We walked out on to the beach then because no paths continued through the woods. The official coast path runs between the woods and the beach, according to our map, but having established that the only path inland simply led to the car park and nowhere else, we concluded that the beach it must be. There were no signposts.

We followed tyre tracks because the sand was more compacted there, making walking easier. They extended for about two miles, and then even they turned round and returned. All that time we were completely on our own on the deserted beach—sea to the right of us and woods, latterly dunes, to the left. The sun shone down from a pure blue sky, there was hardly any breeze, it was warm, wild, beautiful and absolutely glorious! We were enjoying ourselves so much, we hadn’t realised how far we had walked. It was difficult to gauge because, on the map, the path wanders vaguely alongside sand dunes before turning sharply inland across them. We knew we should be about a mile further on than the end of the trees, but how do you judge a mile just by looking?
I was rejoicing in the fact that my leg seemed to be okay today—mistake to even mention it! Quite suddenly it started cramping again, and it was so bad I could barely walk. I kept having to stop and let the pain subside, then try walking again. I sat down on a ‘Sunblest’ bread basket, which someone had thoughtfully left on the pristine beach, to rub my injured calf and try to stop the excruciating pain. I took painkillers, but they made little difference.

I limped on, and didn’t feel that Colin was very sympathetic to my predicament—perhaps he didn’t realise just how painful it actually was. I was really concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get back under my own steam. We were looking for the path through the dunes, but saw no sign of it. Then we realised we were walking by a tidal inlet, not by the shore—we had gone much too far! So we scrambled up to the top of the dunes, Colin had to haul me up with my gammy leg. Between us and our destination were glistening marshes, and looking back we could see we were at least half a mile beyond the sea wall we were supposed to be walking on! It was dreadful getting over the uneven ground of the dunes, but eventually we got on to a kind of path right next to the marshes which led us back to where we were supposed to be. It wasn’t too ‘sinky’, and I coped.

Colin was very moany about having missed the path from the beach, and I was annoyed that I had walked an extra mile when I was in so much pain. “I’m just going to see where we went wrong!” he said, and marched off back over the dunes on the duck-boarded path. He was gone ages, and there was nowhere for me to sit down because it was so muddy everywhere. I was also a little worried about the light levels, for the sun was sinking fast towards the horizon—even though it was only just gone two o’clock—and I knew I would be very slow walking the last mile and a half. So I just stood, feeling rather miserable, and my leg seemed to calm down. Eventually his nibs came back, in a worse mood than before. He’d had to cross over two ridges of dunes before he got to the beach, and then he didn’t know where he was because all bits of the beach look the same. He didn’t even see the ‘Sunblest’ bread basket! So he had achieved nothing, and wasted half an hour.The seawall was quite slippery on top, so we walked down next to it for most of the way like all the local dog-walkers did. We saw curlew, redshank and knot on the marshes. We also saw a number of geese flying over in their Vs to roost, but nothing like the spectacle of two days ago. My leg was a little better, but every so often I would have spasms and have to stop until they eased off. I didn’t think we would get to Burnham Overy Staithe before dark—and we didn’t. We watched the sun set in the most gorgeous ball of orange at exactly 3.30pm, and we could just about see our feet as we staggered (at least I staggered!) into the hamlet. We got talking to a local lady with a huge soppy hairy dog, and she was very impressed with our achievement of walking more than seven hundred miles so far on this coastal walk. There was a wooden seat on the tiny quay, so I sat on it and asked Colin to bring the car to me because I was going no further—me and my leg had had enough!

That ended Walk no.93, we shall pick up Walk no.94 next time at the wooden seat on the quay at Burnham Overy Staithe. Colin fetched the car, and we sat in the dark enjoying our tea and cakes before returning to our hotel for the last night of our ‘bargain break’. Before we left Norfolk the next morning we visited several places, and one of them was Creake Abbey—the ruins of the church of an Augustinian almshouse, later converted to an abbey. There were never many monks—they had a serious fire at one point and most of them died of the plague, or something, at another, so they didn’t have much luck. It was all a tale of doom and gloom.I was able to rest my leg over Christmas, and although I felt twinges from it every so often for about six weeks, it did eventually heal.

Walk 92 -- Blakeney to Wells next the Sea

Ages: Colin was 61 years and 222 days. Rosemary was 58 years and 364 days.
Weather: Cloudy with a little bit of misty sun. No wind!
Location: Blakeney to Wells-next the Sea.
Distance: 7½ miles.
Total distance: 696 miles.
Terrain: Grassy paths between farmland and the marsh. There were occasional muddy patches, some covered in seaweed from the exceptionally high tide the other night.
Tide: Going out.
Rivers to cross: None.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None.
‘English Heritage’ properties: No.28, Binham Priory and No.29, Binham Wayside Cross – we didn’t have to visit them because they were three miles inland, but we did (the next day) and I have included them because they are interesting.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in an hotel in Thorpe Market. After breakfast, we drove to Wells-next-the-Sea where we found a bus stop near the edge of town. So we parked for free in a nearby street and caught a bus to Blakeney. There we walked through the village to the quay.
At the end, we walked back along the quay before going inland to where our car was parked. We drank tea and ate mince pies, then I slipped round the corner to the village Post Office in order to post all my Christmas cards which I had prepared earlier! After that we returned to our comfortable hotel where we watched the news on TV before partaking of another yummy four course dinner.

Binham Priory

We arrived at Binham Priory mid-afternoon as the sun was setting in the clear December sky. It shed a lovely orange light over the ruins making them look beautiful. Binham was a 13^th century Benedictine Priory with very ornate architecture. It went the way of all monasteries three hundred years later in the time of Henry VIII, but it managed to keep the nave of the original church with its roof on. That part is still used as the local parish church today, and is quite impressive inside. The ruins, which are joined on to the church, look rather romantic especially in the low light of the Winter sun. We have learned a lot about monasticism since joining ‘English Heritage’, so we were rushing about trying to identify the chapter house, refectory, warming room, cloisters, etc.

It was almost dark before we made our way to the village green to find the medieval market cross. It marks the spot of an annual fair which was held there from Henry I’s reign until the 1950s.

What a difference a few hours make – there was no wind at all today! It was cloudy, but so much more pleasant. There was still seaweed all over the road in Blakeney, but the tide hadn’t come up to the road again so it was drying out. No one had parked their car there last night, in fact the village was very quiet. We started our walk by the village sign which had been donated by the Women’s Institute to celebrate their Golden Jubilee in 1965.
The whole of today’s Walk was along the edge of the marshes. The path was a bit squidgy in places, and covered in seaweed from the extraordinary high tide of a couple of nights ago. We had fields to our left on a slight rise, and dull flat marshes to our right – we didn’t see the sea all day. We could hear the surf – but only when military jets weren’t screaming overhead as they did at frequent intervals. In fact, it was quite a tedious Walk until nearly the end. We saw a few birds, including an egret which are becoming more and more common, but really nothing very special until we were almost in Wells next the Sea. Colin saw a hare, but it had scarpered by the time I caught up with him.
We passed through Morston Quay where there was a visitor centre (closed) which had toilets inside (closed) and a National Trust car park which cost £2. There were a lot of boats in the creek. My right leg was painful almost from the start of today’s Walk. I didn’t have much trouble with it overnight when I was resting, but as soon as I started to use it in earnest today I knew I was in trouble. I took loads of painkillers and tried to ignore it, but it made me very miserable. Colin was also feeling miserable because, as he was walking, he was constantly wetting himself. He just doesn’t know he is doing it until he feels his pad soaking wet against his skin – not nice in this cold weather. Every so often he has to find a bush he can go behind to change – then he has to carry the wet pad in a plastic bag until he finds somewhere suitable to dump it. ‘Doggy-poo’ bins now have a new function!

The next day we visited Morston church, only about five hundred yards inland from Morston Quay, which has some beautiful painted medieval screens. We love looking in these ancient churches—they are a treasure trove of England’s history. Further along the road towards Wells is Stiffkey church which had a large painted crib scene outside, floodlit at night. We passed it several times in the car getting to and from our walks, and I took two photos of it—one by day and one after dark.After Morston Quay, we continued along to Stiffkey Marshes, where the path disappeared under seaweed in several places and we had to cross very carefully because it was slippery. We came to a sunken lane which led inland, and sat down under some trees to eat our lunch. Colin was idly looking towards Blakeney Point through his binoculars when he said, “I can see seals! They’re all over the end of the spit, hauled out on the beaches. There are also a lot of white blobs about—I think they’re pups!” Well, that was it! We decided there and then that we wouldn’t walk tomorrow (my birthday), instead we would take a boat trip out from Morston Quay to see the seals. Apart from being a nice day out and a birthday treat for me, it would give my painful leg a day of rest. There were lots of churches and ancient monuments in the area we wanted to visit as well, so we would make an interesting day of it. Colin produced a leaflet he had picked up in Blakeney, giving dates and times of boat trips out from Morston to view the seal colony. I began to get quite excited about it—because my birthday is so near to Christmas, it always tends to get swallowed up in the festivities and I have very rarely celebrated it with an outing. As a child I used to envy people who had their birthdays in the Summer—in fact I still do.
We continued our dull Walk with a lighter step at the prospect of seeing wild seals close to on the morrow. We passed a footpath signpost which informed us;

<MORSTON 2¾ miles : WELLS 3¼ miles >

at least half a mile further on, we passed another footpath signpost which informed us;

<MORSTON 2¾ miles : WELLS 3¼ miles>

Told you it was a boring Walk! Well, it was until we neared its end—
At this time of year, in eastern England in particular, it starts getting dark after lunch, especially on dull days like this one had been, mostly. At last we could see Wells next the Sea (except that it isn’t—next the sea, that is) in the distance. We hoped we could get into the town under the street lights before it got too dark to see where we were putting our feet. We came to a rivulet where we were diverted slightly inland to get on to a sea bank. This then turned a corner to take us north again back towards the sea.
We had just turned the corner when Colin asked, “Can you hear anything?” I listened, and sure enough I could hear, in the distance, the distinctive sound of geese. We looked southwards, over the land, and on the horizon we could see a moving mass of black—flying birds. They got nearer and nearer, louder and louder, until they reached us and flew over our heads—about twenty or so geese in each V. And they kept coming, V after V after V! Then more—V after V after V after V after V—the noise was phenomenal! As far as we could make out, they were landing on the far side of the marshes to the north, their night roost. And still they came— V after V after …well, you know the rest! We were open-mouthed, neither of us had ever witnessed such a marvellous wildlife spectacle before. And still they came…until about fifteen minutes after it all started when we could see the back line of them. As that passed over us, the noise began to recede and we realised just how loud it had all been. I had been attempting to photograph them, not very well as it turned out but it was impossible to capture the wonder of that extravaganza. I cannot even describe it in words—unless you have experienced something like this you will not understand how amazing it was.
Colin was trying to count the birds, and a quick ‘guesstimate’ put the figure at ten thousand. Later we learned that there can be up to forty thousand geese in one fly-past around the Winter solstice! They feed inland by day, then at dusk they fly to the marshes to roost. Most evenings they fly over in dribs and drabs, but every so often they all rise up together. We were privileged to witness one of those days.
By then it was getting quite dark and we had to watch our steps. We entered Wells past the marina after the sun had set in a blaze of orange which shed a beautiful light on all the yachts. It was only half past three!

Wells next the Sea is a pretty little place, but difficult to see in the dark! We had a better look two days later, on our next Walk. We passed a wooden bench with the usual memorial plaque on the back—but there was a fresh flower arrangement on the seat. Looking closer, we read that the bench was in memory of Lionel (Len) Fortescue, lost at sea on 16^th December 1999. Today was his anniversary!
We walked along the quay past the boats, and a sailing ship called ‘The Albatross’. We got to the harbourmaster’s office, and nearby was another older stone memorial. This was in memory of eleven members of the lifeboat crew who lost their lives on duty in the ‘disaster at Wells’ on October 29^th 1880.

That ended Walk no.92, we shall pick up Walk no.93 next time by the memorial to the lifeboat crew. After visiting the toilets (which were open—hooray!) we sat on a bench and got out our mobile phone which we only use five or six times a year. I insisted Colin book up our seal trip there and then, which he did. Then we returned to our car for mince pies and tea, before returning to our comfortable hotel.The next day was my 59^th birthday, and the weather was beautiful. After breakfast and de-icing the car, we drove to Morston where we parked by the church. We bought our tickets for the seal trip and walked down to the quay. There were eight trippers on our little boat, and our skipper took us down the creek then along to the end of Blakeney Point. I couldn’t believe it was really my birthday (usually wet and windy with a slate-grey sky and everyone too bothered about Christmas to take any notice) because the water was calm and the sun was warm. We trolled up and down the beach a number of times looking at the big fat grey seals—the white pups with their Mums and great big ugly Dads! Some pups were HUGE, some tiny, some females had yet to give birth and we even saw a couple in the water mating. A wonderful trip, and a lovely birthday treat!

Walk 91 -- Weybourne Hope, via Cley-next-the-Sea, to Blakeney

Ages: Colin was 61 years and 221 days. Rosemary was 58 years and 363 days.

Weather: Too many light showers – not enough sunny intervals! Very windy.
Location: Weybourne Hope to Blakeney, via Cley-next the Sea.
Distance: 8 miles.
Total distance: 688½ miles.
Terrain: Packed shingle for the first four miles – but not packed enough! Then grassy paths with the occasional patch of slippery mud.
Tide: Going out.
Rivers to cross: No.31, the Glaven, at Cley-next-the Sea.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None. (There was one in Colin’s book at Cley-next-the-Sea, but he wasn’t very excited about it and we needed to hurry on in order to finish our walk before dark.)
‘English Heritage’ properties: No. 26, Baconsthorpe Castle (which we didn’t actually have to visit because it was 3½ miles inland, but we did – four days later on our way home – and I have included it because it is interesting.) No.27, Blakeney Guildhall.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were on a bargain winter break at a hotel in Thorpe Market – where we slept in a four-poster bed, our breakfasts were ‘the full works’ and our four course dinners were dee-licious! We took a chance on the weather and won – certainly beats camping! After a HUGE breakfast, we drove to Blakeney where we parked for free by the village hall. We looked round the village – including the Guildhall – then we caught a bus to Weybourne. There we walked down a lane to the sea.
At the end, we walked up a lane to our car where we drank tea and ate mince pies. Then we returned to our comfortable hotel where we watched the news on TV (Saddam Hussein has just been found – a broken cowardly despot – hiding in a tiny hole in the ground clutching a suitcase full of banknotes!) before partaking of a lip-smacking four course dinner.

Baconsthorpe Castle

Baconsthorpe Castle is 3½miles south of Weybourne Hope, so we didn’t really have to visit it because our rules stipulate any ‘English Heritage’ property within one mile of the coast. However we were almost passing it a few days later at the beginning of our journey home, so we stopped off to have a look. It was a crisp frosty morning with lots of mist about. We had to approach the castle through a tiny hamlet, and then along a muddy farm track into the middle of nowhere. As we arrived at the deserted ruin, a weak sun managed to break through the fog – low in the sky because it was still early in the morning. The remains of a moat have been turned into a lake, there were a number of bare trees silhouetted against the sky and the whole scene was very atmospheric.

The castle was built in the 15^th century by Sir John Heydon during the Wars of the Roses. The exact date is unknown since he neglected to apply for the statutory royal licence necessary to construct a fortified house. It is built of red brick and knapped flint. In the 16^th century Sir John’s grandson added the outer gatehouse. This was continuously inhabited for 260 years, until one of the turrets fell down in the 1920s. Now it is a rather elegant ruin.

As we got off the bus and walked down the lane towards the shore at Weybourne, we met a couple of local men walking their dog. They told us it was cold down on the beach, and asked where we were going. When we said, “Blakeney!” they laughed and one of them replied, “I hope you like the wind!” Well, I don’t – and this must have been one of the windiest Walks on the coast so far. We really did wonder if we had made a mistake coming just before Christmas to do our coastal walking.

We knew we had a four-mile shingle bank to walk first, and as we climbed on to it the wind hit us full in the face. The rain stung our faces, after an initial bit of sand the shingle wasn’t packed as tightly as we would have liked, and it was blowing a gale. BUT – the rolling surf was exciting, the sky was interesting with occasional sunbeams and we saw wisps of a rainbow once or twice. It was wild and beautiful, particularly when the sun came out which it did every so often. (I read somewhere that moving water causes negative ions to form in the air, and when we breathe them in they help our bodies to make ‘happy’ hormones – perhaps that’s why we felt so good despite our adversities!)It was very difficult struggling along against the wind with the loose shingle making our legs ache. It was a long four miles! We had marsh to our left and rolling surf to our right. (Sounds horribly like Essex!) One point of interest was a Second World War ‘pill-box’ sitting in the waves. Did it slip off the shingle to that position, or has the coastline receded leaving it behind?At last we reached the other end, or at least as far as we were prepared to go. Blakeney Spit continues for another four miles westward and there is no footpath – just loose shingle and sand, far looser than the stuff we had just been walking on. At the far end is a nature reserve which is ‘out of bounds’ in December because grey seals come ashore to have their pups. The only way off the Spit is by boat, or to retrace your steps for four miles. So we read the notice, and turned inland.

But first – food! We were not desperately hungry, though it was way past lunchtime, because we had tucked into such a large breakfast at our hotel. But we needed something to restore our vitality. There was a seaside-type shelter nearby, so we sat at the end of it away from the wind to eat our victuals and we were almost not cold! There were toilets there too, but they were locked so we hid behind them to go. Colin was doing his first coastal walk on pads, and they need to be changed several times on a walk like this. Despite all his efforts with exercises etc, he is still just as incontinent as he was a year ago after his operation for prostate cancer. He gave up using catheters last October because of all the hassle and discomfort. He never wets the bed, thank goodness, because he still wakes several times a night and can contain it all within the pad. But when walking he loses all control because, apparently, we use the same muscles when walking as we do when holding our bladders. (There! You learn something new every day!) Locked toilets are now the bane of his life!

There is a lane from that spot to Cley next the Sea (except that it is a mile inland and pronounced ‘Cly’!) but the footpath runs alongside it on a bank so we needn’t get our tootsies wet if the road is flooded. We were amused by a road sign warning ‘ROAD LIABLE TO FLOODING’ with an added bit written by hand saying ‘LAST TIME 1996’ – in other words, it only does it once in a blue moon. Before Cley, the footpath swings away from the lane taking a short cut across a field.

Partly blocking the footpath was a mine – you know, Second World War type ‘blow-your-ship-to-smithereens’ kind of mine! What it was doing there we have no idea – did it float to that location during one of their rare floods? We couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would want to put it there deliberately. I touched it, and I’m still in one piece – I think!

As we approached Cley, we passed a rather nice restored windmill. The wind had dropped, the sun was out and it was low in the sky because of the time of day. With tall grasses waving in the wind, the whole scene was crying out to be photographed. That was when I first discovered problems with both my cameras – the little ‘point-and-shoot’ one and the SLR. They kept jamming, and would only take pictures every so often. We came to the conclusion, in the end, that they just did not like the damp and cold conditions of a Winter’s coastal walk. I never did get the picture I wanted, and Colin had to transfer the normal lens from my SLR camera to his to take some of the wintry shots. It was very frustrating! (When the weather improved in the Spring, I no longer had the problem.)

We didn’t have time to stop in the picture-postcard village of Cley next the Sea because we still had a couple of miles to go and the sun was almost setting – that’s the trouble with walks in December. Colin remarked that there was a ‘real ale’ pub there, but he wasn’t very excited about it after reading it up in the guide and he did realise the urgency of getting on. So we skirted through the edge, crossed the River Glaven – which was hardly more than a stream – and got ourselves back on to the marshes.

We had to walk three sides round a square to get to Blakeney. The path was mostly grassy, mainly on a sea-bank, but with a few slippery patches of mud here and there. The first stretch was walking back down the other bank of the river almost to the point where we had stopped for lunch. There was supposed to be the remains of a chapel on that corner, according to the map, but we couldn’t find any sign of it. Next we walked parallel to the coast, but with the river and Blakeney Spit between us and the waves. The path turned towards the land after a bit, and finally we walked down the side of an inlet into Blakeney itself. It was very pretty with boats moored in the sand, but almost dark by the time we arrived – and it was only just gone four!
Colin went on ahead because he needed to get to the loo urgently – and they were still open with lights on. Well done, Blakeney! I was hurrying because of the increasing gloom, but going slower because I didn’t want to trip. Not slow enough, however – at almost the final step my foot caught on a stone and I lurched forward to save myself. This caused my right calf to go into a cramp so severe that it was a wonder I didn’t fall over. I was in agony! My legs were very achey anyway because of the four mile stomp along all that loose shingle from Weybourne, and this stumble was the final straw. It took ages for it to calm down, and I think it tore some tissue because I was having a recurring sharp pain in that leg for the next six weeks or so. Fortunately we were at the end of the Walk.

We had looked at Blakeney Guildhall in the morning before we caught the bus, and the next morning we found it was open so we were able to go inside. It is the vaulted basement of a 14^th century merchant’s house, dating from the time when Blakeney was an important small port. In the mornings we also looked at the ponds which are fenced off on the marsh for different kinds of waders, and any bird that happens by. There were a lot of geese about – pink-footed I think.

There was seaweed all over the road from an exceptionally high tide last night. It was slippery to walk on, and I was wary hobbling along with my injured leg. It was difficult to get past without treading on it. The sea had come all over an area marked out as a paying car park. Unfortunately a couple had left their car there overnight (bet they even bought a ticket!) and when we happened along this morning they were baling it out! They had called a rescue vehicle, but it was probably a ‘write-off’ with all that salt water in the engine. We felt a bit smug having parked our car in the free car park at the back of the village which was only a quarter of a mile away. On a building nearby were marked flood levels – in 1953 and 1978 it flooded way above my head standing on that road!

That ended Walk no.91, we shall pick up Walk no.92 next time at the seaweed-strewn car park in Blakeney. Colin walked and I limped up a lane to our dry and warm car where we drank tea and ate mince pies. Then we returned to our comfortable hotel for the long Winter evening. On my birthday, just two days later, we took a day off walking which helped to rest my leg a little. One of the things we did was to look round Blakeney church which is distinctive because it has two towers – one at each end! It is not known why the second, smaller tower was built. Theories range from a lighthouse, through a second bell tower, a ‘Sanctus’ bellcote, to a stair turret – or was it simply a case of one-upmanship? The church itself is overly large for such a small community, beautiful and very old. It’s size reflects the importance of Blakeney in times gone past.