Peddars Way & Norfolk Coast Path: Part 1

Introduction

Each year I try to get away for a week or two, seeking adventure in places I’m yet to travel to. From cycling to Paris, to camping up mountains. Thanks to travel restrictions over the past couple of years, those weeks of escaping and seeking out adventure have been dialled back to a more local kind of trip. Two summers ago, I walked from my house to a nearby national park, and with it came a love for distant hiking. Wainwrights Coast to Coast walk across England followed the year after. Those travel restrictions are gone now, but I’ve come to enjoy the simplicity of putting on a backpack and walking through the English countryside.

So when it came time to pick a trip for this summer, I ignored the prospect of continental bike trips and train journeys through the Norwegian fjords, and instead looked up the National Trails of the UK to find one of interest. After a little bit of planning, having to consider the distance of the walk, time travelling to and from the start and finish, and the fact I only had a week off, I picked out two national trails which linked together, making up 130 miles of walking.

I chose Peddars Way and the Norfolk Coast Path mainly because of it’s convenient train links and the distance fitting so well into the time schedule, but also because most of the walking would be along the coast. I really fancied wild camping on a beach, watching the waves crash into the sand as the sun set and rose.

Our journey started when we pulled into Thetford train station Sunday evening, with a few hours of sunlight to spare. Google Maps and our guidebook had a 10 mile discrepancy about how far away the official starting point (Knettishall Nature Reserve) was. We opted for the shorter Google Maps route and then spent the next 5 miles realising why the guidebook suggested a 10 mile diversion, as we walked down the side of a busy A-road until we managed to find the trail. As per usual fashion, things were already going wrong, but that was what adventure was all about.

Peddars Way

When we finally did find the trail, it was easy to walk and easy to navigate. We would be heading north and most of the route followed byways and old roman roads, with the terrain moving between trails, gravel paths and concrete roads. I had brought a map, but to be honest, didn’t need it to navigate as the route was well-signposted and easy enough to follow.

A few miles into the route, the sun started to come down and the light became depleted as we walked through the trees near Brettingham Heath nature. It wasn’t long before we decided to stop, slipping from the main path onto another byway and setting up the tent in the shadows of old oak trees. We were still in view of the main path but hadn’t seen anyone since the car park at the start of the trail. I had very little concern as I zipped up my tent and fell asleep quite quickly as I lay listening to the gentle rustle of leaves overhead.

One thing you can’t avoid when camping in August is early mornings. The sun rises, bringing with it bird songs, well before 6 AM. It didn’t take long to cook some breakfast and get packed away, and by 7 AM we were trundling back down the trail in search of the little Acorn logo which represents the National Trails. It’s quite fitting that we were hunting out these little signs, when the trees all around us were full of real, growing acorns.

The morning walking was again easygoing. The path was straight and simple to navigate, and although pretty in its own way, the landscape didn’t offer too much in terms of stopping to enjoy the view. If your looking for spectacle, then the Peddars Way probably isn’t for you. It does however offer easy miles of walking, away from traffic (and all the people chasing views in the Lakes). You can soak up the miles passively, and let your mind wander whilst your legs work without thinking. There is plenty of wildlife to find if you have the time to look, but I was happy to keep moving forwards in my own little world and leave it all to sink in when stopping for a rest every now and then.

This then became the way we travelled the Peddars Way. We spent the next 2 days working our way through the fields and the roads, ticking off each signpost that reminded us that we were on track. The walking became second nature, broken occasionally by the little landmarks which took our interest, like the little library in Little Cressingham and the ruins of Castle Acre.

With any adventure, the stories you remember can be made up of places you get to see, or in some cases the people you meet along the way. Peddars Way had continued to be isolated. We passed the odd dog walker, and only very occasionally did we meet someone also walking the trail. One of those people was Gym Dad. Amply nicknamed because we hadn’t bothered to ask his name and the only thing we could remember about him was that he had 5 kids and worked at a gym. He was finishing the walk, having stopped halfway the year before. Between his slightly slower pace and Ian’s insistence on napping, we passed each other a couple of times, with conversations becoming weirder and more awkward each time.

On our final passing, we found him sitting on a bench nursing an injury, around 5 miles from the finish. After a brief chat about how he didn’t eat vegetables because they had no nutritional value, and how at 40 he was determined to get a 6-pack without taking steroids (whilst sounding like he would like nothing more than to take a load of steroids) he hobbled off up the road to go and get a taxi to join his family on their holiday, vowing to come back and finish the walk again next year.

With the route being so easy to navigate, and at least one shop per day to stock up on food, our only real concern was where we were going to spend each night camping. Our previous tactic had been to have dinner in a town or village, before moving on a couple of miles to find somewhere remote. At the end of the second day, however, we had raced to make it to the shop in Castle Acre before it shut, and having overindulged on pasties and cider, decided 20 miles were enough for the day. Wild camping in the middle of a village was risky, but we had had success the year before in Shap camping behind a clubhouse at the sports field. We thought we could try to do the same again and pitched up as far into the corner of the cricket field as we could, managing to tangle ourselves into a set of football goals which were locked up against the fence. It wasn’t the best spot, and if anyone came into the car park their headlights would fall straight on us, but it was enough to get to sleep for the night.

We faced a similar issue the following night as well. We covered another 20 miles in the heat and made it to Holme-Next-The-Sea in time for a pub dinner. We were about a mile away from the beach, but again a big dinner and a few pints, a mile walk was the last thing we wanted to do.

We instead opted to camp around the back of the village church, just a hundred meters or so from the pub. We were rewarded for our laziness, with what appeared to be the perfect spot. Flat grass, away from all the headstones, and out of sight of every building in the village. We couldn’t have asked for more, that was until I decided to sit down next to my tent to cool down in a pair of shorts and realised there were hundreds of red ants about. Covered in red, itchy bites I crawled into my tent, zipping it to the top, and felt bad for Ian who was trying to get to sleep under a piece of tarp.

The full blog post was too long to post in one go, so it has been broken down in too 3 parts. Keep an eye out for the next two parts, which will be coming out over the next couple of weeks.

Thanks
Karl