Walk 94 -- Burnham Overy Staithe to Thornham

Ages: Colin was 61 years and 267 days. Rosemary was 59 years and 44 days.
Weather: Very grey and overcast with sleety showers and a cold wind. Persistent rain for the last four miles – not pleasant!
Location: Burnham Overy Staithe to Thornham.
Distance: 10 miles.
Total distance: 713½ miles.
Terrain: An icy road, a snowy field, grass banks & marshes, boardwalks which were glassy with ice, slippery icy snow & mud, and finally a wet road with traffic – not nice!
Tide: Out.
Rivers to cross: No.32, the Burn, at Burnham Overy Staithe.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: No.84, at Brancaster.
Pubs: The ‘Jolly Sailor’ at Brancaster which, Colin was delighted to find, has been brewing its own beer since last November. We tried their IPA and ‘Old Les’.
‘English Heritage’ properties: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying with Paul and Caroline in Isleham, Cambridgeshire. We had driven up to the area yesterday, but discovered that the snowfall in North Norfolk had been much greater than further south. We had left late, because of the icy roads, and so we had missed the bus – but it didn’t run anyway because it couldn’t get up a hill. Besides, we felt that the walk would be hazardous with all that ice about – so we enjoyed the stunningly pretty villages in the snow and sunshine, visited the pub, did a lot of reccying, and went back. Today we drove up early on clear roads, parked in Thornham and caught the bus to Burnham Overy Staithe. We walked down a treacherously icy road by the waterfront to the spot where we had finished the last Walk.
At the end, we were soaking wet, cold and miserable. We had two cups of warming tea from our flask in the car, then drove back to Isleham without further delay. We do wonder about our sanity, sometimes!

I think we must have been mad to continue our trek on a day like today! It was freezing cold, wet and slippery underfoot. The sky was black and that turned into sleety showers before we had gone very far into the Walk. To crown it all, Colin’s coat zip got stuck and he couldn’t undo it! He had zipped it right up over his chin while we were waiting for the bus, which was late, and when he tried to lower it for comfort on the bus it wouldn’t move. I couldn’t get it to budge either—it must have come slightly off the end. He had to leave it like that for the whole Walk, moaning that he was too hot on the bus and that it rubbed his chin all the time he was walking along. The bus driver had been in a terrible mood, driving like the clappers on slippery roads whilst complaining loud and long about everyone and everything—I didn’t feel safe with him. As soon as we got off the bus it started raining, the first of the sleety showers. Not a good beginning to the day!
We started at the wooden bench on the little quay. Someone had tipped it upside-down, I think it was to stop snow accumulating on it. We came out of the lane and walked along the side of the road to a windmill. It was the slipperiest conditions I have ever walked in—snow, ice and mud (along with the occasional dog shit) made for a hazardous hike. However, neither of us fell over! That was probably the only positive thing about today. We looked for a gap between the houses to take us to a footpath which runs behind them next to the marsh, but we couldn’t see one. Before the windmill, the path did go parallel to the road behind a hedge, but it was a bit slippery with ice and I wished I had stayed on the road with the traffic. At the windmill, the path went across a field to the marshes. We were pleased to find that it was relatively clear of snow and not too slippery, so we were able to walk at more of a pace.
There was a cold wind, so we were glad to walk faster! We did look to the right after a few yards to see a path snake off back to Burnham behind the houses, but it must have been a dead-end leading only to the marshes because we hadn’t seen any point where it could have come out in the village.
There wasn’t much scenery on our Walk today, but we did see a lot of birds—curlew, pewits, egrets, geese, oystercatchers, redshanks and other waders, and Colin was convinced he saw a snipe. There were also jet aircraft coming out of nowhere and zooming overhead with a great roar, so our Walk was far from peaceful. Over to our right, beyond the immediate marsh, was Scolt Head Island. The whole island is a nature reserve, and is all marshland. It is possible to walk over to it at low tide, but not recommended at this time of year! It is, apparently, quite bleak over there.
We were pleased to approach Brancaster Staithe, if only to get out of the wind, but there the path got a lot more slippery so we had to slow our pace. We think people come out of the village to exercise their dogs, but only get a short way before they turn round—that is why we were slithering around. We got to the edge of civilisation, next to the path which leads out to Scolt Head Island, and sat down on a bank under a tree to eat our lunch. The ground was dry just where we were, and we were sheltered from the wind.
However, we didn’t linger. We continued along the backs of houses for about two miles to Brancaster. The footpath was obviously used by the people in the houses, and was all the more slippery for that. Where it was heavily walked, the snow had turned to ice making progress very difficult. Where they had put duckboards down because it was marshy, those were the worst areas. However, we both got through without incident. We passed some pools where the local fishermen wash mussels before selling them—I believe it is quite an industry round there. We also passed several interesting houses. One had a round tower with a weather vane on top, and another had sculpted herons on its gateposts.
At Brancaster we followed a road out to the edge of the marshes, and that is where it started to rain. The sky turned slate grey and it really set in. It poured for the rest of the Walk, and this put Colin in a foul mood, as if I wasn’t miserable enough! He flatly refused to put his overtrousers on because it would have meant taking his boots off—no! he hasn’t learnt from that dreadful walk we did from Caister to Horsey Gap back in September! I had to have a real go at him before he would stop moaning. I can’t seem to get it through to him that constant complaining only makes the situation worse because it puts everyone else involved in a bad mood too. You can’t improve a bad situation by remaining cheerful, but you can make those around you feel better. The day before I had photographed feathery reeds by the side of that road in brilliant sunshine, now they just looked sad.
We could walk up on a bank alongside most of the road, and it wasn’t too slippery. We got to the public conveniences at the sea end, and they were actually open—well done Brancaster! Since it was the only place where we could get out of the rain, we both stood in the doorway of the ‘Ladies’ eating chocolate to give us the energy to complete our Walk in such dreadful conditions. I was amused by a sign on the road to the golf course (yes, they owned an ‘island’ in the middle of this prime marshland nature reserve) saying it was for ‘parishioners and hut owners only’! (I had photographed this the day before in brilliant sunshine – how I wished it would come back now!)
I insisted we stepped on to the beach because it was ages since we had seen the real sea. Colin just moaned and moaned, but I was saddened to read a memorial plaque to a child called Jake who drowned on 13^th August 2000 on that beach. There was a poem to him, two of the lines read:

One moment paddling happily,
The next he was gone!

I remember that incident when it was reported in the papers, but I thought it was two children, a brother and sister. (Perhaps there was another plaque nearby, but the weather was so awful, and so was Colin’s mood, that I didn’t see it.) The family came down on to the deserted beach on a beautiful Summer’s day, having never been there before and knowing nothing about the local currents and tides. The children changed, and rushed down to the water. Their parents sorted out their belongings and followed them, but they couldn’t see them. Their little bodies were washed up days later—it was assumed that they ran into the water and got swept away almost immediately. Their parents were distraught, but it was just a tragic accident.
I couldn’t photograph the plaque because it was too wet to get my camera out. We found the path eastwards behind the dunes. It was fenced at first, and quite clear where it led, but then it petered out and it got very soggy underfoot. There was a track leading inland, but it was much too soon and would only have led us back to Brancaster. We got lost (and it was all my fault, of course) because the banks and dykes bore no relationship to those marked on the map. We crossed a ditch via a new bridge and then climbed on to a new bank, neither of which were marked on the map. I had to call Colin back because he had insisted on stomping off in the wrong direction.
We emerged on to the road, turned eastward and switched ourselves into ‘route-march’ mode. We stomped along in silence for two miles taking no notice of anything. We passed an ancient cross—didn’t even look at it. We walked through Titchwell village, and then passed the Titchwell Nature Reserve which we had visited the day before to enquire about the possibility of walking along the beach. There is a tidal inlet leading into the reserve, and our OS map shows the public footpath crossing this on the beach. The wardens told us that there was no way across it even at the lowest of tides, and that it was dangerous to attempt it—to tell the truth, I was mightily glad that I wasn’t on the beach in that weather! We passed some more fields, and at last we turned into Thornham village where our car was parked.
To complete the Walk properly, we needed to circuit round the north end of the village on a marsh path. It really wasn’t far, but it was already getting dark as we turned on to the path. We met a woman coming back into the village with her dog, who seemed surprised that we were going outwards in the damp and dark. “How brave of you to be going out there in this without a dog to take you!” she remarked—we couldn’t think of an answer to that! We trudged round in a semi-circle until we came to a little wooden bridge which led the coast path off towards Hunstanton.

That ended Walk no.94, we shall pick up Walk no.95 next time at the wooden bridge on the marsh path at the back of Thornham. We didn’t cross the bridge, but went straight on through the village to our car. Although we were soaking wet, cold and miserable, we did notice that all the snow and ice which had made the road and pavement so treacherous in the morning, had melted. Colin managed to remove his coat—with the zip still well and truly jammed—by pulling it over his head and me tugging on it. (I then checked that his ears were still in place because he wasn’t sure!) We had two cups of warming tea from our flask, then drove back to Isleham without further delay. Later that evening he managed to undo the zip after attacking it with a pair of pliers.

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!