Waddling to Wells

One of the fun things about having someone else recommend and book your accommodation on trips such as these is not quite knowing what you're going to get, when you get there. HRH checks them all over, virtually, of course but we all know how deceptive websites can be. Tonight we're lodged at The Old Custom House in Wells-next-the-Sea, a Victorian 3 roomed B&B with a view out over the harbour in one direction and a pretty garden in the other. In contrast to last night (slick, modern, large hotel) here we have a four poster, a squashy sofa on which I'm sitting writing this, shutters at the windows, a corner bath and the biggest aspidistra in the world! Quaint* 

Today's walking has been equally varied. Late morning we set out across Deepdale Marshes, buffeted by the sea breezes, making conversation almost impossible. It has to be said this terrain is not the most inspiring, given that we're not big ornithologists. We did try though. On arriving in Burnham Overy Staithe (yes, that's a real place name) we headed for The Hero, named after Horatio Nelson who was born nearby, for a swift half, and fired up Google.

"So what do you think that black and white one was?"

"Don't know. I'll look it up. Do you mean the one that went gerraw?

"No, the one that went pip pip"

"Hmmm. Looks like it might have been an oyster catcher. Did it have a red bill?"

"Couldn't possibly say, without my glasses."

"Ok. Let's just say it wasn't a seagull. That much we know". 

See what I mean? Hopeless!

The windmill there was nice though (note: rather gloomy skies. Shame.)

And before leaving the subject of birds, I must just add in a few lines about the 'proper' twitchers. Our curiosity was piqued when we encountered an increasing number of people walking towards us carrying serious photographic hardware. It soon became apparent that a group were collecting up ahead, staring out across Overy Creek. I couldn't help myself.

"Excuse me? What is everyone looking at?"

"Apparently a Speckled Warbler has been spotted. It was here yesterday".

"Oh, ok. Thank you. Is that rare?"

"Yes. Normally they're seen in Australia"

"Ah. Well good luck"

I relayed this to HRH.

"What did you tell them?", he says, "That there was one on the menu in last night's restaurant?" Charming!

Soon afterwards we left marshland behind us for a complete change underfoot. Holkham Beach is possibly the longest, widest, most unspoiled in the UK and deserves every accolade it has been awarded. Thankfully the tide was out so we were able to stroll along the damp sand, avoiding the dunes which can be both energy and muscle sapping. As it was, the satisfying crunch at the tide line along millions of washed up razor shells, with a break for a picnic lunch along the way, was delightful. 

The early afternoon stretch found us once again off the beach and following a lovely three mile path through pine woods planted to reinforce the sea defenses, known as Holkham Meals, and culminating at Abraham's Bosom Lake (you couldn't make these names up). 

A swift ice cream later and we were back on the sands for the photo opportunity of the day: gorgeous, aren't they? 

And so to the final push inland along the harbour and into Wells, described in our guide as "a traditional seaside town with a split personality". We've decided we rather like both of them, and especially the village green, The Buttlands! 

*Personally I could do without the practical and hardwearing sisal on the floor which is painful to walk on with sore feet but HRH looks so content, and the views are gorgeous so I'm happy to hobble.