Norfolk Coast Path
We got up early again the next morning and packed away well before 7 AM. After a quick stop off at the village hall to make the most of their picnic bench and running water whilst eating breakfast, we walked back down the road, past the pub from the night before, and finished the final mile down to the beach, and the end of Peddars Way.
At the bottom of the road, our feet reached the sand, but we still couldn’t see the sea beyond a wall of sand dunes. We stopped for some quick pictures next to the footpath sign which had both ‘Peddars Way’ and ‘Norfolk Coast Path, before opting to carry on down the trail rather than head straight for the sea. The official start of the coast path was a couple of miles down the beach at Hunstanton. Going there would involve walking in the wrong direction, just to turn round and walk back, so we decided to instead just turn east and start making our way down to the final destination, Hopton-on-the-Sea.
Walking on dry sand proved to be quite difficult, as we rolled up and down the dunes with the sun now beating down on us. We managed to get half of a mile or so down the path before the heat got to me, and after two days of hiking without being able to cool down or have a wash, I insisted on leaving the path, climbing over the dunes and going down to the sea. With no one on the beach, I changed into a pair of swim shorts and strode out into the waves.
The cold water felt blissful after the heat of the last couple of days, especially last night when the temperature just didn’t drop at all and it felt like I was sleeping in a sauna instead of a tent. Washing in seawater would no doubt leave me feeling grubby later on when the salt dried to my skin, but I didn’t care at that moment. It felt nice to just float in the gentle waves and feel weightless.
Eventually, and reluctantly, I had to get out and get going again. Ian had decided to stay dry on the beach and was waiting for me to hurry up. With the tide on its way out it meant there was some wet sand which was harder underfoot, and therefore easier to walk along. We decided to walk the next mile along the beach, before re-joining the footpath as it turned inland to avoid the salt marshes.
Once we did leave the beach, we wouldn’t see too much of it for the rest of the day. With the coast being so flat, large pools of sea water wash in, making it impossible to walk straight along the coast. Instead, we crossed boardwalks and joined a gravel path along the top of a raised footpath, which doubles as a sea defence. We spent the rest of the morning following the footpath inland, including going back onto some roads and farmland on our way into Brancaster. It seemed odd to be walking a coastal trail and not be able to see the coast.
After a very un-picturesque lunch break in the car park of a post office, we headed back onto the footpath. We had been warned that parts of the coast path were closed due to erosion, and we encountered our first diversion sign. This section of the path was closed until June 2022 (2 months ago) as work was being done on the boardwalks which cross the saltmarshes. A family walking the other way told us that the footpath was still not fixed, but it was just a few broken boards and if we were careful it wouldn’t be an issue. They’d come that way themselves, and seeing as they were wearing sandals and walking a dog, thought it was pretty safe for us to ignore the sign and carry on.
We were glad we did ignore the signs, as other than a couple of bits of broken wood, which was easy enough to walk around, the path was fine, if not a lot better than parts we had already walked on in areas which were open. Enjoying the quietness of the path, we kept walking all the way around the coast until we reached a small village called Burnham Overy Staithe.
Burnham wasn’t overly spectacular as seaside villages go, but even at low tide, there was a large channel of seawater passing through an area which docked a number of boats. With the tide low, half of the boats were grounded, but some small rowing boats were out on the water going up and down.
There was a bench tucked away against a wall, right on the edge of a docking area, which we promptly made the most of to sit and have a break. We only planned to stop for 5 minutes, but a lady came out of the house on the corner behind us to adjust something on one of the boats and got talking to us about our walk.
We swapped a few stories about different walks we had been on for a few minutes before she had to go back inside, but not before offering us a cup of tea. Being British, it’s practically impossible to refuse a cup of tea, so we settled down into our little resting spot and watched the world go by for half an hour whilst sipping our drinks. As a few families came and entered the water on paddleboards, I enjoyed just watching how unrushed everyone was. People in boats drifted by, slower than walking pace, but the passengers had little concern for hurrying. It was peaceful to just watch, and it reminded me to not let the time on our trip pass by quickly.
When we got moving again we were conscious of the time, with later afternoon upon us, we knew we wanted to get to at least Wells-Next-The-Sea before the end of the day. Our friendly tea maker had suggested taking a walk through the forest rather than along the beach near Holkham. Apparently, much flatter, better underfoot and quicker. It also had the benefit of being shaded, as being out in the sand dunes during the heat made for uncomfortable walking.
It took a couple of hours to make the 7-mile walk to Wells, and we came around to the final stretch of the path into the harbour just as the sun was turning a golden orange. Making the most of the amenities, we had our first fish and chips of the trip, as we sat on the edge of the harbour watching the sunset with the crowds of holidaymakers.
Full up on food, and thoroughly entertained by the seagulls hunting other people’s dinners (including a full 6 pack of bacon in one swallow) we decided to finish the days walking here in Wells. There was a church in the town centre which we would make the most of, although when we got there we realised it wasn’t quite as remote as the night before, with a number of footpaths passing through it. Even waiting until 10 PM to set up in the dark made little difference, as people walked back from bars with their phone torches on. Although lying in the tent slightly nervous each time a light shone on us, nobody bothered us and before long I’d drifted off to sleep for the night.
I managed to wake up before Ian the next morning. This was normally impossible as he was sleeping in a bivvy rather than a tent, and would be woken up by the sunlight and wind before I was. With how busy it was the night before, I decided it was best to pack away early before anyone came walking by again. I was glad I did when, just as I pulled the drawstring of my backpack tight, it began to rain. Like a game of cat and mouse, the weather app showed forecasted thunderstorms for the next day every day of our trip so far. Yet, each day we continued to wake up to clear skies which stayed with us all day.
Our luck had run out this morning though, and very quickly the rain came down a lot harder. Having finished packing, I left Ian to put his own stuff away and went round to the front of the church, where usually you are able to get into the vestibule and sit down. The door was locked however, and instead, I had to stand flat against the door to avoid getting wet.
When Ian finally made it around to me we decided it would be better to walk to the nearby Co-op shop and wait for them to open to buy breakfast, rather than try to cook our porridge in this weather. It was 6:20 AM when we got to the shop, so we had to wait 40 minutes for them to open up for the day.
Whilst we waited, the rain came down harder than I’d ever seen before, and much like a scene from a crime movie, the rain washed across the sky like a blanket of water, illuminated by a lone streetlight, flickering as it was battered by the wind. The clouds above us were so thick it was now darker than it had been an hour ago when we woke up.
Plenty of locals turned up just before the shop opened and stood around chatting about the weather, pleased they were that it was finally raining after months of heatwaves. We stood there bitter, the only ones not happy about the weather forecast.
After finally getting some food and layering up in waterproofs, we set off for the day, heading back down to the seafront to re-join the coast path. The harbour was now completely empty, a stark contrast from the night before when it had been bustling with holidaymakers enjoying the sunset over the harbour.
The route for today was mostly similar to yesterday. A gravel footpath, raised high about the saltmarshes, winding its way around whilst avoiding the deep patches of mud and seawater.
As the rain lashed down on us, we just walked without talking. My waterproof lasted about 2 minutes before I was soaked through. My resolve to keep my feet dry lasted a little longer than my optimism for the day, but with footpaths underwater (the ground so dry it was just holding the water) I gave up on that too and accepted that it would be a wet day and tomorrow would be warm again.
We walked for hours in the rain, ticking a mile off every half hour or so and stopping for a short break when we got a chance to shelter. We had tried to stop for 2nd breakfast / lunch a couple of times, but the weather had knocked the power supply off and every café and shop was closed until further notice. We did eventually find a bakery selling off some of the stock they had if you could pay with cash which, luckily, Ian had decided to withdraw at the start of the week. We were even offered some kindness from the weather as it stopped raining long enough for us to sit on a bench in Cley-Next-The-Sea and watch the boats drifting about around the marshes as we ate our pasties.
Lunch was the only gift from the weather though, and the rain soon started up again as we left our seats to begin walking. We’d finally reached the end of the raised footpaths through the marshes and would join the beach once more. The beach however was not the golden sand of Holkham like we had seen yesterday but instead miles of shingles. Small, rounded stones would move underfoot. With each step, your feet would move underneath you. This was hard on its own, but with the added weight of the backpack – brutal.
I knew I just needed to dig deep to get through this stretch, but it was made difficult by my wet clothes and shoes, which were giving me blisters and rashes. Walking soon became painful and with every step, I wished I could just stop for the day. Yet, with hours left in the day, and the impracticalness of being stuck on this beach, I knew I needed to just suck it up and carry on.
The walk was made a little more interesting, as a seal swam right up to the edge of the waves and followed me up the coast, repeatedly swimming ahead by a few meters and then poking its head up to watch me. Something so simple, but with the beach so empty and Ian well ahead of me, it felt like a special little gift from nature. Just for me. Whilst my little seal friend followed me, I was too distracted to pay any attention to the pain I was in.
We eventually made it off the shingles as the weather eased up and the rain stopped. My wet clothes were now so unbearable I decided to change into my set of dry clothes in the hope that it didn’t start raining again. It was a gamble that paid off and we managed to walk the last few miles into Sheringham before dinner without any issues.
Once in Sheringham we stocked up on food from the supermarket and ate our dinner in an old clock tower turned sheltered seating area (looking particularly homeless, not helped by the can of beer I had bought).
The weather had messed with me and now I had stopped moving I started to feel cold and couldn’t stop shivering. Other people were walking by in shorts and t-shirts whilst I was wrapped up tight in my duck-down coat, the cold still penetrating my skin and I could feel it in my bones as the shivering became relentless.
We decided to go into the pub down the road so I could warm up, and it was probably the first time I’d ever walked into a pub and ordered a cup of tea. When I did eventually warm up, I decided to have a couple of pints to recover my bruised ego a little.
The plan for the day had been to get to Cromer, but we were still a few miles away with only an hour of daylight left. We probably could have made it if we wanted too, but deep down we knew we couldn’t be bothered. Instead, we opted for a church again, as so far they hadn’t failed us, and found one on google maps about a mile or two up the trail. We would however have to get up and over Beeston Hill, one of the only hills on the whole trail. With a couple of hours rest (and pints) it wasn’t too bad walking up the hill, and we sat for a while at the top watching the golfers out on the course, wondering how on earth they were able to play with the wind still so gusty.
When we finally made it to the church, we had to walk through a caravan park to get around to the gate. The church was on a small hill overlooking the site, and with a low brick wall surrounding it, wasn’t very sheltered from prying eyes. There was a decent spot for us to camp, but we weren’t hidden in the slightest. Thinking that anyone who did see us likely wouldn’t care we opted for it anyway and set up just as it was getting dark.
As we sat on a bench within the grounds, the weather had finally cleared and it was warm again. We just sat and watched all the flickering lights of the village in the distance, and wind turbines even further out to sea, whilst listening to the noise of the waves crashing onto the beach in the distance.
Get Up Go Outside 