Walk 108 -- Donna Nook to Cleethorpes

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 22 days. Rosemary was 60 years and 164 days.

Weather: We were caught in a hailstorm on the cycle ride! But for the Walk we had some cloud and some sunshine. The breeze was quite cool, but it remained dry.

Location: Donna Nook to Cleethorpes.

Distance: 9½ miles.

Total distance: 850½ miles.

Terrain: Some beach, but mostly grassy sea bank. Concrete walkway / cycle path for the last two miles. Flat.

Tide: Out.

Rivers: Nos.42, 43 & 44—The Seven Towns South Eau, the Seven Towns North Eau and the River Lud (Louth Canal).

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: The Crown & Anchor at Tetney Lock where we enjoyed Taylor Landlord and Bateman’s XXXB. We did visit Willy’s Pub & Brewery in Cleethorpes, but it was so noisy and crowded we left without having a drink.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We were camping at Anderby. We drove, with bikes on the back of the car, to a car park in Cleethorpes which cost us £5! We didn’t want to waste time looking for somewhere cheaper, so we paid it. Then we cycled to the car park at Donna Nook where we padlocked our bikes to a fence. It was a long way, but we managed to chop two and a half miles off it by lifting our bikes over a couple of stiles. We stopped at Tetney Lock because the pub was there, and we sat outside with our beer. As we set off it started raining—then HAIL! We sheltered under a hedge and ate our pasties.

At the end, we had a cup of tea. We had a frustrating evening not finding a pub which did food on a bank holiday evening, and ended up with fish and chips which we ate in the car overlooking the sea. We returned to the campsite, and the next day we packed up and went home to Bognor.

We locked up our bikes in Donna Nook car park and went out to look again at the vast beach with targets and other odd structures on it. We found the sheer size of the beach there to be amazing, and we’d love to see it when it is covered with seals having their pups later in the year. We wondered if we would ever make the effort to come. We reminisced about the seals we had seen at Blakeney Spit the December before last when we were ‘round-Britain’ walking in Norfolk. We wondered how the animals coped with the RAF bombing them to hell most days of the week at Donna Nook — we were a put off by a notice asking us not to block a ‘crash exit’! We were glad it was a bank holiday and all was quiet.

We started today’s Walk on the dune path from the car park, but it very quickly deteriorated so we spilled out on to the beach. Apart from the lack of path, neither of us were wearing gaiters as it was too hot and the grass was wet after the hailstorm we had endured earlier in the day. The beach was flat and the sand firm—a much better option.
About a mile further on it would have been very easy to have missed the path along the seabank which we were supposed to take. Colin said, “Do we go there?” and I answered “No!” because it seemed to be going inland. The beach went straight on and looked the obvious way to go, but then I did a double-take. Referring to the map, I realised that if we did continue in a straight line we would be making the same mistake we made back at Saltfleet. The beach looked huge, and so did the saltmarsh. The map showed numerous creeks traversing it — so we turned to cross the Seven Towns South Eau and continued along a grassy seabank ’twixt marsh and fields where we couldn’t see the sea. But we did see a heron, pied wagtails, swallows, shelducks, oystercatchers and swifts so I suppose that made up for it. Further on we crossed the Seven Towns North Eau — another drain — we’d never have done that on the beach.

At the other end of the saltmarsh the public footpath really did turn inland to North Cotes and Tetney Lock before returning to the coast. It was a long way, and we were hoping that we would be able to continue along the seabank past a disused airfield even though it was private. When we got there we discovered that it seemed to be as public as the path we had just been walking on, so we were heartily relieved. On a gate were two notices. One warned us about barbed wire and metal stakes concealed by long grass (we didn’t come across any). The other told us that the land was jointly owned by the Humber and North Lincs Wildfowling Clubs and asked us to keep to the path at the top of the embankment. That suited us fine, and a neat well-kept path it was too.

The ‘disused’ airfield we were passing had planes on it! But they were only small ones, the complex had obviously been taken over by a private flying club. We were next to the vast beach again, unable to see the sea because it was so far away. But we could see ships on the horizon, waiting to go into the Humber Estuary. They looked as if they were on the sand!

We walked on to the Louth Canal—the canalised River Lud. It wasn’t clear from the map whether we would be able to cross the canal there, or would have to walk to Tetney Lock and back adding two miles to our hike. (Tetney Lock was where we had stopped at the pub earlier in the day when on our bikes, then got caught in a hailstorm!) We have never forgotten the ‘flood barriers’ back on Fobbing Marshes in Essex which looked like bridges on the map but turned out to be barred off with lots of spikes and razor wire causing us to have to walk scores more miles in order to cross deep dykes. However Lincs authorities are kinder, and there was a perfectly open bridge for us to cross without doing any harm to anyone. We were well pleased.

We carried on behind saltmarsh again. We were entering the Humber Estuary, and in the far distance we could see Spurn Head with its lighthouse. There was a spring in our steps because Spurn Head is in Yorkshire and at last we felt we were getting ‘North’! However, it didn’t last because walking across marshes is BORING — don’t we know it? — and we were getting tired. We ate our chocolate far too early, and the extra energy it gave us didn’t last until the end of the Walk.

We came to a T-junction and turned right past a row of caravans towards the sea. We walked alongside a large pool, and there were lots of people about because we were in a big car park and picnic area. At the end of the pool, a family were leaning over a bar looking at wildlife in the water. That was heartening to see — too many kids are growing up in a ‘virtual’ world of videos and computer games these days.
We took the path on to the beach, but had to wait ages for a couple to move out of the way — they were completely blocking the narrow path because they had stopped to make a mobile phone call to their teenage children whom they had obviously left at home. That’s another modern problem — people are encased in their own little worlds because of mobile phones, their minds are somewhere else and they walk into you or stand in the way like this couple were doing. Are we the only people who live in the real world?
A notice at the entrance to the beach warned us of a deep inshore creek which is covered at high tide. Colin said he didn’t remember anything about a creek when he holidayed in Cleethorpes as a child, and he was a bit puzzled. But we weren’t in Cleethorpes yet, we just thought we were! I don’t know what had caused this ‘senior moment’ — if we had looked at the map properly we would have seen that we were at least three miles from the centre of that seaside resort. But that was on the next map which I hadn’t bothered to get out. Once we hit ‘civilisation’, wishful thinking had said to our brains “It must be Cleethorpes!”

We started walking along the beach, but the sand was rather soft and sinky making our legs ache. Sure enough, there was the creek which was exposed due to the low tide. In fact it was the River Lud meandering its way across the sands towards the Humber, and it doesn’t go anywhere near Cleethorpes! There were a couple of boys with golf clubs walking alongside it, and they kept deliberately hitting the sand to make it fly up all over the place. When some came flying towards us Colin yelled a few oaths at them, which only antagonised them into doing it again. I was too tired for a ‘scene’, but it didn’t come to anything and we soon left them far behind.

With relief we climbed on to a concrete walkway after nearly a mile — our legs were really aching. Then we passed a signpost which bore the legend, “Cleethorpes 1½miles”. We were aghast! We had quite thought we were within a few yards of our car. That is when we wished we had not eaten our chocolate so far back on the Walk! We plodded on, past ‘Pleasure Island’ which didn’t have a Ferris wheel, and past the Greenwich Meridian which we were too tired to notice. A dozen steps past it I suddenly came to and said, “Hang on! That was the Greenwich Meridian!” Colin wasn’t interested, and I turned round to find that the signpost erected there was surrounded by teenage kids all being loud and bothersome — at least to my tired eyes they were. I wasn’t interested either as I knew photos would be out of the question with that lot there. “I’ll do it next time!” I said, and we tramped on to where we had grudgingly parted with £5 to park our car that morning. There were a lot of youths about, being as it was a bank holiday, and they were all very loud.

That ended Walk no.108, we shall pick up Walk no.109 next time on the prom near the very expensive car park south of Cleethorpes. We had a cup of tea before driving off. We had planned an evening meal in a ‘real ale’ pub to celebrate four days of successful walking, but on a bank holiday it was not to be. We found one of Colin’s pubs — loud music, full of young people and no food. We didn’t find his other pub at all. We picked up the bikes, only to find several cars full of youths oafing about at the lonely Donna Nook car park. Fortunately they hadn’t noticed our bikes until we started unlocking them, so they weren’t damaged. We ignored all their comments as we strapped them to the car, and drove off as quickly as we could. I don’t suppose they meant any harm, but they had to show off to the girls who were with them.

We stopped at two pubs on the way back which said they did food, but they didn’t. We ended up buying fish & chips in Mablethorpe. We sat in the car overlooking the sea, hungrily devouring them, which we both rather enjoyed. The tide was in by then, and the action of the waves made it seem quite exciting! Perhaps it was just relief and elation that we had successfully completed four more Walks.

When we returned to the campsite, joy of joys! Nearly everybody else had gone, and once more our tent was in isolation. The next day we packed up and went home ourselves, but we were back within a week camping further North. Before we started Walk no.109, we cycled an extra quarter of a mile to the Greenwich Meridian signpost to take the obligatory photographs. We were now walking in the Western Hemisphere again, but we shall still have to cross over the Meridian twice more.

Walk 107 -- Theddlethorpe St Helen to Donna Nook

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 21 days. Rosemary was 60 years and 163 days.

Weather: Hot and sunny, but clouding over. A nice breeze.

Location: Theddlethorpe St Helen to Donna Nook.

Distance: 9½ miles.

Total distance: 841 miles.

Terrain: Beach walking on fairly firm sand. Grassy paths in dunes and on sea banks.

Tide: Out.

Rivers: No.41, the Great Eau at Saltfleet Haven.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.How we got there and back: We were camping at Anderby. We drove, with bikes on the back of the car, to a car park (free!) at Stonebridge Cottages, just round the corner from Donna Nook. (We were amazed to find a properly tarmacked car park with marked bays in such a remote spot.) Then we cycled to the car park near Theddlethorpe St Helen (sandy) where we padlocked our bikes to a proper bike rack.

At the end, we had a couple of cups of tea. Then we drove back to the campsite, collecting the bikes on the way.

Today was a long lonely Walk along vast beaches where the tide goes out so far it disappears over the horizon. There were a few people about because it was bank holiday weekend, but we hardly met anyone at all. We did come across a few nude sunbathers though. As usual they were mostly overweight middle-aged men with enormous egos—yes, the word I used was ego, perhaps to make up for something else being undersize!!

Soon after we left the car park at Theddlethorpe St Helen we passed a couple of families playing cricket on the enormous empty beach. But after that we were on our own, walking along a desert of firm flat sand. We stayed next to the saltmarsh on the shore side because we thought we might get disorientated if we wandered nearer the sea. After about a mile a track led off between the saltmarsh and the fields. We thought we’d better take it, even though it looked as if it was leading us away from the beach, because the map showed patches of saltmarsh spreading further and further out towards the sea. It was quite confusing despite having a map and a compass—I think it was because it was all so flat so there were no features we could use to get our bearings.

We met a couple, who were about our age, as we started down the track and stopped to chat. They told us that late November to December is the best time to go to Donna Nook because, despite the RAF bombing the place to hell, hundreds of grey seals haul themselves right up the beach to pup. (In later months I read about this in two different wildlife magazines, yet I had never heard of Donna Nook before.) No seals at this time of year, but we were also spared the bombing because it was a bank holiday weekend — we were able to walk all over the ranges unhindered. We were in for a treat when we carried on down the track — hundreds of wild flowers in all their late-Spring glory! The wild irises and marsh orchids were particularly lovely.

It was quite hot, so we sat in the shade of a bush to eat our lunch. Further on we overtook some teenagers playing on one of the many Second World War ‘pillboxes’ we have passed along the way. Although these haven’t any cliffs to fall down in this area, they have moved considerably in the sixty-plus years since they were built. At one point we came across one that was upside-down, and could only have got that way by the action of the sea at exceptionally high tides — or perhaps in those dreadful floods in 1953. Who knows? One of the lads followed us along the path, and when Colin tried to take a photo of me he was standing behind me making silly faces. We took no notice, then I told him I would turn him into a bit of marsh on my computer — which I have done quite successfully, look! He grinned, it was all ‘tongue-in-cheek’ the way teenagers are.

We crossed the River Great Eau at Saltfleet. There were a number of fishermen on the seaward side of the bridge—including a heron—and looking inland we saw some teenagers jumping off another bridge for a dare. It was there we found a signpost pointing us to ‘Paradise’! It put me in mind of ‘Paradise Road’ in Aldershot which I knew as a kid—the most depressed area of that Army town in Hampshire and not a place I would visit after dark! We crossed a drain on the road bridge and followed a track to a car park on the beach—somehow we missed a public footpath which led along the actual river bank.

We sat at a picnic table to eat a second lunch. While we were there a van arrived full of people, and amongst them was an objectionable child called ‘Merlin’ who caused us some amusement. They made a terrible fuss and noise getting their stuff out of the van and on to the beach (Merlin refused to co-operate all the time) and regarded us as if we were invisible even though they were flapping around us while we were trying to peacefully eat our sarnies. Suddenly one of the teenage girls turned and said with a snarl, “Wot yer staring at?” I gave her my ‘Teacher Look’ so that her courage failed her part way through the question and she said it half to herself really—silly bitch! That is the way modern teenagers pick quarrels with each other, but she realised very quickly that I wasn’t going to play her juvenile ‘game’. She walked off, and I hadn’t said a word! The rest of the family were quite friendly—with the exception of dear little Merlin—and Colin chatted to them about the kite buggy that they were trying to set up on the huge expanse of sand.

We thought we would be clever and take a short-cut across the beach. Mistake! It looked as if the shore curved round concavely, but that turned out to be an optical illusion. We found we were getting too far away from the real shore with more and more saltmarsh between us and dry land. Then we came to a river with a ‘dead’ car in it—this showed us that it was too deep to ford. We looked towards the shore and saw that this creek forked further inland making it look as if we would have to return all the way to Saltfleet before we could cross it. A two-stroke motorbike that was buzzing about on the beach, driving us mad with its noise, did just that. Colin looked seaward through his binoculars and said he thought the river ‘disappeared’ a bit further out. This proved to be the case, and we were able to walk round the end without even getting our feet wet! We thought we had better get back to the proper footpath along the shore before we got into any more trouble, but that didn’t turn out to be as easy as it looked. We squelched across the marsh, narrowly missing holes full of water and had to jump across several little ditches and streams on the way. It was very difficult walking because most of these hazards were hidden under the tussock grass—but we made it in the end without spraining any ankles or getting water into our boots.

With relief we continued along the track we should have been on from Saltfleet. At the next car park we went up on to the seabank and stopped to eat our chocolate. We were in a Nature reserve by then, but that wretched two-stroke which had followed us from Saltfleet was buzzing up and down past us. No peace! I suppose we should have been grateful it wasn’t a ‘bombing’ day for we were well within the vast ‘Danger Zone’ along this shore.

We had long since lost sight of the sea, and the enormous beach. To the right of us (sea side) bushes and even small trees were growing along the marshes where pools had been dug out to accommodate wildlife. We saw shelducks, a reed bunting in the bushes, and a family of swans with their cygnets on the water. To the left of us (land side) the fields were flat with no distinguishing features and we found it difficult to assess how near to Donna Nook we were. If it wasn’t for the map, we would have thought we were nowhere near the sea, for it looked as if we were in the middle of the countryside. The track became a path and began to get quite overgrown, obviously not walked very much. One blessing of this was that the two-stroke returned to Saltfleet and didn’t bother us again. Another was the profusion of wild flowers to which we were treated.

According to the map our path should have taken us straight out on to the beach at the end of the saltmarsh, but when we came to the end of the last pool there was an impenetrable hedge in front of us. The path had practically disappeared, but a vestige of it rounded the end of the pool and returned along the other side. It was the only way we could go, and we kept looking across to where we knew the beach was to see if there was a gap in the prickly bushes. Eventually we found a place where we could scrabble up a bit of a dune, haul ourselves through a hedge and emerge on the beach—at last!

It was even bigger than before, if that was possible. It put us in mind of those Alfred Hitchcock horror stories where people walk out into the wilderness and never see anything again except sand, sand, sand and sand! We still had another mile or so to walk in this wasteland before we reached Donna Nook, and we kept very close to the dunes so that we didn’t lose sight of ‘land’. We passed a watch-tower (nobody in it) and then came to a couple of buildings with some children playing in the soft sand. We rounded a corner—almost there—and strange sights met our eyes. There were targets on the beach in the distance, and far away on the horizon were odd ‘gazebo’-type things. We couldn’t see the sea at all. There were some very strange objects on the beach, including this rusty aerosol can with foam extruding from it. We didn’t touch anything. The map told us in big letters that this was a DANGER ZONE, notices warned us we were on MOD property, but luckily no one was shooting or bombing us because it was a bank holiday! We found our car quite safe in the car park. Phew!

That ended Walk no.107, we shall pick up Walk no.108 next time on the beach at Donna Nook. We downed a couple of cups of tea, drove back to Theddlethorpe St Helen to pick up the bikes, and then back to the campsite at Anderby. No peace there—loads of barbecue smoke all around our tent and children rushing around. But it was all very good natured, and everyone bedded down at a reasonable hour so we can’t complain just because we are a pair of crusty old wrinklies who were tired after a hike. I expect our children were just as noisy when we used to take them camping when they were little. I know they used to play games like ‘Duffs on the Hill’ and dismantle dry-stone walls—it’s probably just as well that I didn’t know half of what else they got up to!
UPDATE:
It was four and a half years before we found the time to return to Donna Nook in order to see the seals. In November 2009 we towed our newly acquired caravan across the country for a couple of days in the area, and spent a brilliantly sunny day on the beach at Donna Nook. The crowds are managed by volunteers from the local Wildlife Trust, and they try not to advertise it because hundreds of people turn up every day during the season as it is. If more people came it would get out of hand.The beach is huge, and very remote. It is used as an RAF bombing range, but as soon as the seals start to arrive in the middle of October, they take their bombs elsewhere until the seals have left. Even so, we had to put up with the noise of helicopters and low-flying jets all through the day we were there. A double fence has been erected for about half a mile along the bottom of the dunes, (it had to be double because people have been stupid enough to try and stroke the seals -- or even worse, encourage their children to stroke them!) and we were requested not to go on the actual beach while the seals were there. Apart from disturbing them, it would be highly dangerous. Dogs are completely banned because of the danger of spreading the disease distemper.The week we were there the Wildlife Trust had counted in excess of thirteen hundred seals on that beach!! The following week they expected there to be over two thousand. By the New Year they will all be gone....until next year.The females haul themselves out on to the beach to have their pups. They feed the single pup for three weeks (twins rarely survive), during which time it grows very fat and the Mum grows very thin! When she's had enough, she comes into season, mates and returns to the sea pregnant once again. (What a life!)The pup takes a few days to realise it has been abandoned, then it enters the sea for the first time and tries to catch some fish for itself. If it succeeds it lives, if it doesn't it dies. It's parents have nothing more to do with it.The males come ashore to fight with each other over the choicest females. The second to last picture shows a female fending off the attentions of two males whilst trying to protect her pup. Pups sometimes get suffocated in the scrum. Fighting males can often injure each other quite badly.I have included some pictures of the spectacle -- some of life in the raw and some to make you go "Aaahh!"
It is a wildlife spectacle like no other, it is in England and it is FREE!

Walk 106 -- Anderby Creek, via Mablethorpe, to Theddlethorpe St Helen

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 19 days. Rosemary was 60 years and 161 days.

Weather: Soft cloud, then hot and sunny. A cool breeze at times. Very light rain in the afternoon.

Location: Anderby Creek to Theddlethorpe St Helen, via Mablethorpe.

Distance: 9½ miles.

Total distance: 831½ miles.

Terrain: Sandy beach, mostly firm. Concrete walkways. Flat.

Tide: Out.

Rivers: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: No.29, near Huttoft Bank Car Park because of sea defence works.

How we got there and back: We were camping at Anderby. We drove, with bikes on the back of the car, to a car park (free!) just north of Theddlethorpe St Helen. Then we cycled to Anderby Creek where we padlocked our bikes to a tree in the car park.

At the end, we had a cup of tea. Then we drove back to the campsite, collecting the bikes on the way.

Just where we walked on to the beach at Anderby Creek stood a water butt which was labelled ‘Drinking Water’. It was surrounded by security fencing and we were curious as to who it was for and how they got into it, because we couldn’t find a way. There was a spattering of people about on the beach, and we discussed with a man the purpose of a jetty in such an out-of-the-way place. That, too, was curious, and we came to no conclusions. When we told him we were walking to Sutton and Mablethorpe, he said it was ‘a bit far’!

We walked for about a mile along the wide sandy beach. It was very pleasant for it was quite warm with a soft cloud in the sky, and the sand was fairly firm. At Huttoft Bank we came to a ‘Beach Closed’ notice! There was a digger on the beach which seemed to be burying a large pipe, and out to sea there was a tug which seemed to be connected with whatever they were doing. Fortunately it was only the beach that was closed. The concrete walkway for Sutton and Mablethorpe started there, and we were able to bypass all these ‘works’ by moving up on to it.

There we met the same man we had been talking to on the beach at Anderby Creek, only he had driven there in his car. (Well, he would, wouldn’t he? Nobody walks ‘a bit far’ like we do!) He was very keen to talk again. He had asked at the café nearby, and been told that the jetty at Anderby Creek was for tying up barges so they could load up. With what? Where do the barges come from? Why at such an isolated place as Anderby Creek? None of these questions had been answered, so we really didn’t know any more. Also, this man had been told that the digging on the beach was sea defence work. They were putting down wet sand instead of rocks to stop the sea encroaching on the flat land beyond the seawall. We found that very odd—can’t think how wet sand would keep the sea away. Anyway, we thanked him for the information which he had been very keen to impart to us, and walked on.
The concrete walkway stretched from there to the other side of Mablethorpe, and we stopped a couple of times along the way to eat our lunch in stages. At first there were dunes along the top of the beach and the fine sand had blown over, practically burying the pathway. At one point we saw rails where steps obviously went down to beach level, but they were completely buried by dunes. Just the rails were stuck out of the top of the sand, and they looked rather odd. Further on there were rocks instead of dunes—now that’s more sensible! These rocks had obviously been brought from elsewhere specifically to protect the coast.

Way out on the beach, near the water-line, was a lone cyclist. We wondered how firm the sand was out there—didn’t he know that the concrete walkway is also a cycleway? (Bognor Council take note!) Neither of us can understand why we, in Bognor, are condemned to ride our bikes on the road amongst all the traffic when there is a nice wide esplanade with plenty of room for both pedestrians and cyclists. So many seaside towns we have passed, like Mablethorpe, have no problem with much narrower walkways for the dual purpose of cycling and walking. There seems to be a big prejudice against cyclists in West Sussex, and we think it is pure snobbery! This Lincolnshire esplanade was also well used by elderly people in their little electric buggies—they were buzzing about everywhere.
We passed a row of beach huts that looked like Swiss chalets—curved roofs for holding the snow! The roofs were made of corrugated iron and the fronts resembled garages, so all in all they looked rather ridiculous. Then we passed the inevitable mess left from a burnt-out car. This one had destroyed part of the fence, and left a black mess on the prom. This is a modern problem, we see it everywhere these days, sometimes in the most obscure places.

Then the good news! We were informed that we were entering a ‘Seaside Award Area’. A beautiful sandy beach being enjoyed by young and old alike.

The beach huts were more sensible here, and a notice on one of them amused us. It read:

DAD’S
FIX-IT SHOP
open evenings and weekends
SPECIALIZING IN
broken toys math homework
hurt feelings skinned knees
2 wheeler lessons lost pets etc etc
Please repay with hugs kisses
and smiles

It sounded a bit American, and it had obviously been there a long time because it was quite rusty. But we liked the sentiment!

We passed yet more caravan parks with a wind-farm in the distance, each windmill whirling its three prongs — shows this is a windy place. There is a lot of controversy about these wind-farms. In their favour is the fact that they are a source of renewable energy, and run at minimal cost without pollution so long as the wind blows. Against them is the fact that each windmill actually produces very little electricity, so dozens of them are needed and they are so ugly on the landscape. Also, birds fly into them and are killed in their hundreds if they are placed on a migration route. We have passed a number of them on this East coast where it is flat and featureless—and therefore windy!

As we approached Mablethorpe we passed some hideous blue shelters with seats inside them. Whoever chose that colour must have no taste! I couldn’t live with that!
Then we came to the funfair which Colin insisted on leading me through, past all the rides. It wasn’t very busy, and he wasn’t impressed — said the rides were ‘tame’. I expect they suit a lot of people, but he is just a recycled teenager.
Mablethorpe isn’t much of a place, but it does have a lovely beach and there was a jolly little train running along the sands. Most of the people were obese—perhaps they had escaped from Skegness! We sat on the steps and ate some more of our lunch, feeling thankful that neither of us have let ourselves get so repulsively FAT. No chance of that with several thousand miles still to do!

Going out of Mablethorpe we passed some derelict and vandalised beach huts, which looked rather sad. In some parts of the country, beach huts are selling for thousands of pounds, but obviously not here. After that we lost the concrete walkway because, once more, we were out in the ‘sticks’. There were quite a few people on the beach because, behind the dunes, is one of those ‘Haven’ holiday parks where they provide Butlin-type entertainment for the caravan dwellers. The ‘train’ runs for about a mile along the sands because a lot of the ‘Haven’ customers use it to get into Mablethorpe. We walked along its tracks because the sand was firmer there and it was easier on the old leg muscles.
It became quite dull and tried to rain, though it never quite got there. But it was enough for most people to pack up their stuff and return through the dunes to their alternative ‘entertainment’. Even the train decided to pack up early, and came long collecting all its ‘stations’ which were plastic bollards really. We sat on a log to eat our chocolate—once more we were on our own.

The beach widened out to a vast expanse. I know the tide was out, but the sea disappeared over the horizon! I have never seen a beach so big, it seemed more like a flat desert. Fortunately we had walked out to the beach from the car park at Theddlethorpe St Helen before we started the cycle ride, just so we would know what it looked like when we got to it on the Walk. We marched along the deserted beach and thought we had come to the path leading through the dunes to our car park, but when we got there we knew it wasn’t the right one. We still had another mile to go—it seemed forever in that wide expanse. There were hundreds of razor shells on the beach, and Colin picked a few of them up. Eventually we did reach the correct path, and we recognised it straightaway. Somebody walked out to exercise their dog, and disappeared into the distance towards the sea—I swear it was at least a mile between high and low water mark, if not more!

That ended Walk no.106, we shall pick up Walk no.107 next time on the beach at Theddlethorpe St Helen. We had a cup of tea from our flask in the car, then we drove back to the campsite, collecting our bikes on the way.