Walk 118 -- Withernsea to Aldbrough

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 71 days. Rosemary was 60 years and 213 days.

Weather: Starting hot and sunny with a refreshing breeze—turning cloudy, then rain.

Location: Withernsea to Aldbrough.

Distance: 9½ miles.

Total distance: 945½ miles.

Terrain: An unofficial cliff path which petered out (or fell over the cliff!) so we had to walk between corn fields and an eroding cliff top. Twice we had to cross a very deep ditch. We managed to scramble down to the beach towards the end, where the tide was sufficiently out, but we had to climb up again after half a mile, using some hacked out steps.

Tide: In, going out later.

Rivers: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None, though we were tempted to go and find the road when the going got difficult.

How we got there and back: We were camping at Skipsea. With bikes on the back of the car, we drove to Aldbrough we parked at the top of the cliff just before the road fell over the edge! We cycled to Withernsea along rather hilly roads, and I never got off to walk despite my advanced age!

At the end, we had our tea. It was a bit of a bind having to drive all the way back to Withernsea to pick up the bikes, than return again to get to Skipsea. We stopped in Hornsea to buy some milk, and found the car park flooded due to a torrential downpour!

Two days later we returned home. It now takes eight hours to drive back to Bognor—that is how far we have walked!!

Today is our elder daughter’s 37th birthday. I can hardly believe it has been so long since I gave birth with great difficulty (53 hours in labour!) to our first child, a wonderful daughter whom we christened Maria Christina. She was born with a shock of black hair which suddenly turned honey-blonde when she was eleven months old. Despite the fact that I had ‘toxaemia of pregnancy’—a condition which has never been explained to me properly—and everything seemed dire at the time, Maria turned out to be a beautiful, intelligent and very healthy child. She is now a fully qualified chiropractor, and runs two clinics which are both her own businesses. She has a lovely personality, and we are very proud of all her achievements. She has been married to Steve for eleven years, and lives on the edge of the New Forest.

We started today’s Walk in Withernsea and almost immediately passed a plaque in the wall telling us about another 13th century church which had been lost to the sea. This one was constructed at a point that is now eight hundred yards out to sea, so the builders must have thought they were quite inland at the time. It lasted six hundred years before the sea took it in the 19th century.

We decided to walk on the lower prom, but this came to an end at the northern edge of Withernsea. The tide was right in so we couldn’t continue along the beach—it would have made this Walk considerably easier if we had been able to.We climbed up a lot of steps to road level, exclaiming at the ghastly pink railings along this seafront. What a terrible colour to choose! There were a few more very new houses, far too near the cliff edge to sleep an easy night, and a recreation ground with part of a boat as a wind shelter behind a seat. It looked as if the boat had been dropped from a great height and half buried itself in the ground—a bit bizarre.

For the next couple of miles we walked along the crumbling clifftop. The path was unofficial, but there seemed to be a track all the way along and we had no difficulty getting past. First we passed a caravan site, then we were out in scrappy fields where nothing much seemed to be growing. When we were sufficiently away from civilisation that we felt we couldn’t get shouted at for being on private land, we sat down and ate our lunch. Absolutely no one was about, except a lone fisherman on the beach below. How he got there I’ve no idea, for there was no access with the tide in as far as we could see. The ground was very sandy and crumbly, even the weeds seemed reluctant to grow right near the cliff edge. We kept well back from it in case it went! Colin managed to find a rather lovely butterfly to photograph.

We got to the hamlet of Tunstall, whose importance lies in the fact that the Greenwich Meridian goes out into the North Sea there. We crossed it for the final time on the whole of the Round-Britain-Walk, passing into the Western Hemisphere once again. That is where we’ll stay all the way round Scotland, Wales the South-West Peninsula and back to Bognor—if we manage to get that far. We are travelling North-West at the moment and will not be going this far East again. A notice in Tunstall told us about their Millennium project (at least they had one, which is more than Bognor did.) They put a marker on the edge of the cliff at the exact spot where the Greenwich Meridian crosses over it. Unfortunately the sea is no respecter of Meridian markers, and it lasted just three years before tumbling over the cliff in January 2003. What a loony idea to put it there in the first place! (I tentatively stood on the edge of the cliff in what I hoped was the right spot while Colin took a photo of me, but I moved out of the way very quickly as soon as the shutter went—I didn’t feel safe at all.)

Tunstall seemed to consist mostly of caravans, shacks and wooden holiday homes. I expect there were some more permanent buildings further inland, but we didn’t see them. What we did see were bits of pipe broken off in mid-air, fences hanging over the edge and other obvious signs that the soft cliff is eroding very fast and no one is able to do anything about it. Even the road comes to an abrupt end with a notice stating the obvious—‘subject to coastal erosion’. Further along there was the inevitable remains of a burnt-out car.

It was about a mile after Tunstall that our problems really began. We had walked a track which led to a lane that we had cycled down earlier. This lane goes very near to the cliff-edge and so is officially closed to traffic. That didn’t faze several farm vehicles which simply drove round the barrier, and it didn’t faze us either. A track led straight on from where the lane turned inland, but it soon began to disappear where great chunks of the cliff had fallen down. It eventually petered out, so we walked between the corn and the clifftop which was very narrow and not a real path at all. Walking in the corn was uncomfortable, and walking too near the cliff edge was dicey—we were between the devil and the deep blue sea! Eventually the path completely disappeared, and we were walking rough which was even more uncomfortable.

We came to a very deep ditch which we had to scramble down into and up the other side—luckily it was dry. By now we were wading through waist-high thistles and then it started to rain. We walked along the edge of several cornfields where we could hear combines working away just out of sight on the other side of the hillocks. We were hating the difficulty of our slog through the scratchy corn, hating the rain which was miserable, and hoping we wouldn’t get ‘caught’ by an angry farmer! (This was especially when we had to pass some farm buildings and all the dogs started barking.) However, we met no one, and we don’t think anyone ever knew we had passed by.

Walking became so difficult, we considered scrambling down the cliff to the beach because the tide had started to go out and we could see sand. Fortunately we couldn’t find a way down, it was much too steep and muddy to get down safely. I say ‘fortunately’ because about a mile further on the sea was once again lapping the bottom of the cliff and we would have had to find a way to climb back up again—or wait for the tide to go out. We were squeezed between a wooden fence and the clifftop, and the grass on the other side of the fence was much shorter. So, of course, we climbed over and walked along the edge of the field. Eventually we had to climb back because there were too many barriers in our way.

We were on the clifftop again, but we came to a patch of soft grass which was blissful after all the prickly weeds we had been struggling through. We twisted round the end of some barbed wire fences, crept across what we thought was the lawn of Moat Farm, skirted some bushes and after that found the going easier for a while. But then we came to another deep ditch which was even worse than the first—I had great difficulty getting up the other side. Then the rain set in with a vengeance—my God we were miserable!

We trudged on, and thought we’d got to Cliff Farm, but nothing seemed to tie up with the map. I think we were, perhaps, too tired to read it properly. (Looking at it later, I think we had only got as far as a group of buildings called Ringbrough.) All we knew was that these buildings, some of them derelict, were right up against the cliff edge and there was no way we could get past them. In desperation we decided to turn inland and find the road which we knew ran parallel about a mile away. But I was unhappy about the direction we were walking in—almost back the way we had come—and Colin was just unhappy. Beyond the cornfield to the right of us we could just about see the sea, and there were tractor tracks leading across in that direction. So we followed them, striding nonchalantly but speedily past the farm buildings in case anyone should see us, and got back to the cliff top. Further on we found an old works track leading down to the beach, so it was with relief that we descended to the sands.

The rain eased off, and it was almost pleasant walking on firm sand between the cliffs and the surf. Our problem now was to locate the road where we had parked our car earlier, and find a way up the cliff to it. We were worried that we would overshoot, and neither of us were in the mood to walk further than we needed to. We seemed to go for ages with high cliffs to the left of us and no possible way up. Colin was confident that we hadn’t passed the spot, but I wasn’t so sure. We came to a particularly low part of the cliff, and decided that we must ascend there because it was all much higher as far as the eye could see in both directions. To our delight, when we examined the cliff closely we found that someone had hacked rough steps out of the soft clay. So our ascent was a lot easier than we had thought it would be. To my amazement (Colin was smug!) we were the other side of a caravan site to our car and still had a quarter of a mile to go. I had been so positive we had overshot.

The sun almost came out, and this last tiny bit of such a horrible Walk was along a grassy path and really quite pleasant. We were puzzled by what looked like a tiny oil platform in the sea, but since the North Sea oil pipelines come inland around this area it was probably something to do with that. As we approached the road where our car was parked, we could see the bits of tarmac down the cliff where the end of the road had been cut off. Even the double yellow lines were halfway down the cliff!
That ended Walk no.118, we shall pick up Walk no.119 next time at the end of the sea road leading out of Aldbrough. We had tea from our flasks, and then set off to collect the bikes. It was a bit of a bind having to drive all the way back to Withernsea, then return on the same road past Aldbrough to get to Skipsea—all very tiring. When we stopped in Hornsea to buy some milk on the way back, we found the car park flooded due to a torrential localised downpour!

Abandoned Walk!

We had planned to do Walk no.119 on 19th July, the day after Walk no.118. That morning we drove to Atwick with our bikes on the back of the car. It was very windy and rain was forecast. I looked at the rough paths either way on the clifftop, and at the nice firm sandy beach which would be covered by the tide by the time we got started on the Walk. Suddenly I decided that the next three planned Walks could wait until the tide was right to walk on the beach—I was too tired and wanted to go home. So we did, the next day.

UPDATE: A couple of years after we did this Walk there was a programme on TV about coastal erosion. It featured the owners of Cliff Farm, which they had foolishly bought just a few years previously, having to move out and abandon the property because it was falling into the sea! I realised that the reason we had become so confused at that point was because the coastline shown on the map had long since disappeared and we were about a quarter of a mile inland, despite the fact that we were standing on the edge of the cliff.

Walk 117 -- Kilnsea to Withernsea

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 69 days. Rosemary was 60 years and 211 days. And it is our 39th wedding anniversary!

Weather: Hot and sunny. A pleasant breeze on the beach.

Location: Kilnsea to Withernsea.

Distance: 9½ miles.

Total distance: 936 miles.

Terrain: Firmish sandy beach, just below high water level.

Tide: In, going out.

Rivers: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: None.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None, but only because we crawled under and squeezed by security fences where the beach was blocked by an oil pipeline!

How we got there and back: We were camping at Skipsea. With bikes on the back of the car, we drove to Hornsea and had to park on the other side of the Park because our usual car park was closed. We walked through to get to our favourite delicatessen to buy our lunch, and watched all the feverish activity of setting up stalls for a carnival later today. We drove on to Withernsea (which wasn’t having a carnival) where we parked for free on the seafront, but they were charging 15p to go to the loo! Then we cycled to Kilnsea where the loos are free.

At the end, we had our tea, and then drove back to Kilnsea where we picked up our bikes. It still seemed an awful long way back to Skipsea.

We have been married thirty-nine years! It doesn’t seem possible — where have all the years gone? Our four children are grown up and have long since fled the nest, and even our two grandchildren are teenagers. There’s nothing for it but to carry on walking round Britain! What else is there for two OAPs to do?

We started today’s Walk at Kilnsea, where there seemed to be a lot of old buildings falling off the cliff into the sea. We sat on one of them to eat our pasties, because once again it was lunchtime before we had set up this Walk. The buildings are of military origin, mostly from the First World War when there was a barrack block on this site. Spurn Head was of great strategic importance during both World Wars because of its position at the mouth of the Humber, and this is where the soldiers actually lived. Not much of it left now, not even of the Second World War ‘pill-boxes’ which lie ruined in the sea. The cliffs in this area are very very soft.

We watched the activity on the beach — children playing and people fishing. We were right next to the caravan site where I had intended pitching our tent until I found out that very few sites do tents these days. The location would have been much more convenient for the walking we are doing this week, but we were both rather glad that we hadn’t been able to pitch there. The site was very crowded — hardly any space between caravans — and there was absolutely no shade. Perhaps we are better off where we are, even though it is a long journey back at the end of the day.

We carried on along the clifftop, which pretty soon turned into sand dunes. That proved to be too soft, making it very hard on the old leg muscles. So we migrated to the beach where we found the sand just below high tide level was much more firm. There was a large pool up on the dunes to our left, and we recognised terns flying overhead. We went a little way up the slope, and saw there was a fence with notices saying, “PROTECTED BIRDS BREEDING. PLEASE KEEP AWAY.” So we didn’t go any further, just stood there looking at the birds through Colin’s binoculars. They were flying all over our heads anyway, and we weren’t anywhere near the fence. Suddenly we realised we were being shouted at! A man walking along the beach towards us was yelling at us to come away! He was most rude about it, saying it was one of the few breeding sites of the rare little tern and more or less suggesting that if they had a poor breeding season this year it would be our fault for daring to take a few steps up the slope towards the fence. What nonsense — talk about over-reacting! That sort of behaviour doesn’t make people respect wildlife, which we were doing anyway, it just puts people’s backs up. We walked away from him in the end, he was so ill-mannered.It was very pleasant walking along the sand by the rolling surf on a warm sunny day — made us feel good to be alive! The cliffs to our left were very soft indeed and much eroded. We saw modern windmills up on top, a micro-light aircraft flying along, caravans very near the edge (how long before they fall off?) and even a rusty tractor buried in the sand!

Ahead of us it looked as if there was a barrier across the beach. By now we were completely on our own, and we couldn’t really believe that part of the beach would be cordoned off — but it was. On the map it was marked as “Natural Gas Terminal”, and I later found out that this is where the pipeline from the North Sea gas fields comes in to land. As we approached we found, to our consternation, that the beach was blocked by two parallel security fences coming down from a gap in the cliff to the water and on into it. The fences were less than twenty yards apart. There was no way we could get through — or was there? Because of the unevenness of the beach, there was a hole under one part of the fence on our side — and two sections of the fence on the other side had angled apart leaving ample room to squeeze between them. Trouble was, there was a chap in a hard hat in the middle of it all sort of supervising what was going on, whatever that was.

So we called him over and the conversation went something like this:

“We’re walking from Kilnsea to Withernsea, and we would like to get through!”

“Well, you can’t!”

“Why not? This is a public beach!”

“We’re testing a pipe!”

“When will we be able to get through?”

“When we’re finished!”

“When will that be?”

“I’m not prepared to say! Could be today, could be tomorrow!”

“We can’t wait that long, our car is parked in Withernsea and we’ve got to get there!”

“You will have to wait until low tide and nip round the end!”

“But that’s hours away and it’ll be dark by then!”

“I can’t help that!”

“How about you looking the other way for about two minutes while we crawl under this fence here, nip across and squeeze through that gap in the fence over there. Then we’ll be happily on our way with no harm done and you could pretend you hadn’t seen us!”

As I was making this last suggestion, I had already taken off my rucksack and was on my hands and knees crawling through the gap. There was no way I was going back to Kilnsea! I think Mr Hardhat realised, at this point, that he had lost the argument because he didn’t try to stop me and he even helped Colin with his rucksack as he crawled through. We thanked him profusely for his ‘understanding’ and exited through the other fence as quickly as we could!

After that little bit of excitement, absolutely nothing else happened on the Walk. We trekked along miles and miles of beach next to miles and miles of soft cliff. Sometimes the cliff was eroded in weird shapes, like pinnacles which reminded us of the canyons in the American Rockies only on a smaller scale. Occasionally we came across a bit of building littering the beach where it had landed after falling off the cliff. We met one lone fisherman in all that way. We sat on a ‘Norwegian Fish’ box to eat our chocolate — it made a convenient seat!

On we went, passing yet another caravan site perched on top of the soft cliff where ‘permanent’ buildings were cracked and the corners fallen out. I wouldn’t buy a house within five miles of a cliff as soft as that!There were also some more modern windmills back a bit from the cliff edge, but the fact that they were there told us that this is a very windy place — probably quite bleak in the Winter.

Not my idea of an attractive place to live, but we came across some accommodation constructed by creatures who must have thought it was ideal — sand martins. The last bit of the cliff before Withernsea was full of holes made by these delightful little birds. At least they felt it was a permanent home, but then they are very small and don’t weigh much.We climbed some steps on to a brand new esplanade, so new that the surrounding gardens had not yet been planted. But that didn’t alter the fact that one of the lamp-posts had already been vandalised! We walked along into Withernsea. Colin used the redundant toilets (he climbed over the vandalised barrier to do so) because the new modern toilet block was attended and cost 15p for adults and 5p for children!! (Fortunately I didn’t need to go.)

We came to a fancy castellated pier entrance, but there was no pier. Apparently it was knocked down by successive ships which got out of control during storms, and there are no plans to restore it. So the grand entrance now leads to...........steps down to the beach!
A plaque in the sea wall told us about a 13th century church that was originally built at a point which is now one mile out to sea. It only lasted two hundred years before it was lost to erosion.
The toilets in Withernsea may be expensive, but we were able to park on a seafront road just past the non-pier all day in July for free. That was a bonus!

That ended Walk no.117, we shall pick up Walk no.118 next time in Withernsea just north of the castellated non-pier entrance. We had a quick cup of tea, then drove to Tesco where we bought some essential supplies and some fresh cream scones. These we scoffed with a second cup of tea when we reached Kilnsea (with the free toilets) where we had gone to pick up our bikes. That was our 39th wedding anniversary celebration — we were too tired for anything else! It seemed an awful long way back to our campsite — I kept nodding off and I’m always afraid Colin will too, but fortunately he managed to stay awake.