Summing Up: Norfolk in Numbers

8 different beds

7 days' walking

99 miles

18 energy bars 

22 litres of water 

1 red kite

3 hares

8 weasels

1 squashed adder (18 inches long)

3 pairs of boots

3 blisters (all Rachel)

4 windmills

5 ice creams 

36 hiking socks worn

4lbs gained!

Endless mushrooms 

0 arguments :-

One Small Step, One Giant Leap

We left Cley on Friday morning with the sun already burning through the clouds overhead and a spring in our step, despite the guide book warning of a tough slog for the first four miles along the shingle ridge to Weybourne. I suppose one of the reasons was that achieving our goal was a tantalisingly short 13.5 miles away but also, in part, because by stepping out early we thought we could tackle nature head on and foil the rising tide. The plan was only partly successful. Our idea was that the earlier we set off, the more damp (and therefore flat) sand would still be accessible before we would be driven ever higher up onto the shingle ridge. And indeed it worked for perhaps a mile during which the magic of the crashing waves and the rising warmth of the morning drove away any negative thoughts associated with the tough conditions underfoot which we were forced to take on as the tide slowly advanced. Crunching along the ridge was, as it turned out, completely exhilarating, and indeed difficult to put into words. Few people see walking that stretch of the Coast Path as very appealing (for perhaps obvious reasons) so once again we had the world to ourselves. With green fields and the emergence of more rolling countryside to our right, wild, white waves to our left and the biggest blue sky ahead, as far as we were concerned every step was worth the leg work-out! 

Approaching Weybourne Hope and its convenient car park, human activity increased. This, it seemed, was a prime place for sea-anglers, casting from the beach. We stopped to rest for a few minutes to chat to an 'angling widow' who informed us that her husband was hopeful of a small haul of mackerel and, with luck, a sea bass which apparently enjoy the rollers. Life is such an education! 

From Weybourne the shingle gave way to cliffs, including a climb to the highest point on our combined trail at Skelding Hill, overlooking Sheringham. At times the cliff path is so eroded that it was possible to see where following in former footsteps would today lead to disaster!

Photographs looking ahead (that's HRH on the cliff top), back along the eroded pathway, and up to the high point at Skelding Hill.

Green fields, golden sands (at the bottom of those cliffs) and a huge sky,  from the top of Skelding Hill.

Sheringham was the largest town we had encountered on our journey, not that we stayed long. With now fewer than a handful of miles remaining we rested on the esplanade to enjoy a picnic (in my case a fresh local crayfish roll), and for me to kick off my boots. We sat, reflecting on the past week reviewing the highs and lows, the best bits, favoured accommodation and how lucky we had been with the weather, before the final push on to Cromer. The path diverts inland here, unable to track the cliff edge and instead led us through rising woodland, past a former Roman camp and up Long Hill before a first glimpse of Cromer was in sight. Our feeling of joy on a week well spent, a target met and the sense of achievement having walked 99 miles was topped off by being met at the end point by our friends, Ian and Ann. 

Not a great photo but there's Cromer Pier in the background! We took a few more the following morning which we think are better but in which we're looking far too clean and tidy to pretend they were at the end. 

Cromer

A Hop and a Skip to Cley (rhymes with Sky)

Wells has many good things to offer, not least a locally renowned deli. Guess where we were headed first thing this morning? I'm still determined to get my hands on some of Mrs Temple's cheeses but with two days' walking still ahead we restrained ourselves, feasted just our eyes for now and simply grabbed a sarnie before heading off, destination Cley-next-the-Sea. The locals had been up early, and we watched a haul of crab being unloaded before leaving town to follow the line of a grassy embankment through the salt marshes. 

Legend has it that a giant dog haunts this area at night and whilst it was clearly a tale put about by smugglers of old hoping to keep people off the marshes so they could have the place to themselves, the story of Black Shuck became the inspiration for Conan-Doyle's  "The Hound of the Baskervilles". Bleak it most definitely is.

Our first port of call today was Morston, normally home to just a National Trust kiosk and a quay from which boats take visitors out to Blakeney Point to see the seals but sadly, today, overrun with schoolchildren and where work to relay the car park was noisily in full swing. Managing only a tepid cup of tea in a paper cup we were soon ready to leave, hoping that Blakeney itself would be more peaceful. It was. Charming, quiet and unspoilt. 

From here the terrain changed again. Finding ourselves atop a purpose-built ridge, part sea defence and part pathway intended to discourage visitors from eroding the protected breeding grounds, the clouds soon lifted and before we knew it the most celebrated Norfolk windmill of all was visible in the distance. 

Note: Vast blue skies and not another person in sight :-)

Cley Windmill

And so to Cley-next-the-Sea. Remarkably, having anticipated a 5.00pm arrival, we found ourselves checking in at 3.15pm! It had been a lovely, easy 10.5 miles and our only complaint was that there isn't more of Cley to explore. 

Final push tomorrow. The last leg starts with 4 miles of shingle, said to be challenging, before the afternoon approach to Cromer. Blog may be delayed till Saturday as we'll be celebrating with our old friends, Ian and Ann, who have joined us this evening for dinner and with whom we'll rendezvous again tomorrow.

Ridiculous pic in the beer garden - me teaching Ann how to take a selfie (on request)! Yes, it's true, this was a genuine technical lesson.  I fear we should call this not so much 'the blind leading the blind' as 'the grin outgrinning the grin'! She'll kill me for using this. These smiles did not last. Our pals are footie fans. Apparently something dreadful happened tonight. Dur?? X

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.

Diss Was Just The Beginning

Once upon a time, many moons ago, Stephen and I spent a memorable few days in Diss. June 17th was particularly special so we thought we might combine celebrating our return to Norfolk with the achievement that was finishing Peddars Way and starting the second half of our week's walking, along the Norfolk Coastal Path. It probably should have been champagne. It wasn't. Bet some of you get our choices at the end of 19.5 miles* the wrong way round. Cheers.

By the time we went down for dinner a short while ago, our sense of humour had returned. An hour previously we were ready to commit atrocities had someone told us our room wasn't ready or if it had been poky with patterned carpets and a feeble shower. Fortunately it was, it hasn't and it doesn't :-) The White Horse in Brancaster/Burnham Market was Norfolk Hotel of the Year 2014 and a more welcome sight I have never seen. I was so exhausted on the final stretch that when HRH (always 25 feet in front of me, you understand) suddenly stopped and looked inland from the reed beds where we were walking,  my gaze followed his, my balance was lost ... and I promptly toppled over! It wasn't funny at the time - but I suspect other diners wondered what on earth we were crying with laughing about later. 

This morning we set off at 9.30am, ticked off the final Songline Sculpture and 2 hours later had completed Peddars Way and arrived at the coast. 

From Holme next the Sea we had first to head west to Hunstanton, only to retrace our steps to follow the Norfolk Coast Path from its start, our ultimate destination next Saturday being Cromer. 

Hunstanton, or Sunny Hunny as it is known locally, boasts the most amazing striped cliffs and a charming former lighthouse and ruined chapel on the headland but not a lot else to hold our attention, intent as we were on achieving our mega mission before nightfall, so we didn't stay long. 

And so began the (at times) tortuous remaining 6 - 7 hour walk to finish this, our longest day. The camera came out less and less frequently as spirits began to flag but tomorrow, as they say, is another day. Half the distance to cover, a blissfully late start planned, and more fine, dry weather forecast. Destination Wells next the Sea .... Until then :-) 

* HRH has just told me that with some of the faffing about we did in Hunstanton this should probably have read 20+. I've told him a million times not to exaggerate ;-)

A Very 'Straightforward' Day

Welcome to Monday and a few words from one of our nation's best-loved philosophers/meteorologists (not):

"There are holes in the sky where the rain gets in, but they're ever so small that's why rain is thin." 

I was reminded of these profound and much-loved words as we set off from Castle Acre on a rather overcast Monday morning. The challenges ahead were threefold:

1. Maintaining motivation and interest on what was essentially a die-straight 15 mile route

2. Finding somewhere to buy lunch 

3. Accepting that at some stage the horrible, latex-lined waterproof trousers might have to make an appearance.

It has to be said that the route was not looking very promising for either 1 or 2 and the forecast equally dodgy where 3 was concerned. 

Here's our route (note absence of villages or indeed any real civilisation along the way!) - see what I mean about straight?

The guide book was furthermore keen to underline the lack of any facilities insisting that the only sensible thing to do was to ensure provisions were on board before setting off for the coming stretch. Reassuringly (?) there was a Costcutter general store indicated en route out of the village. The fact that I ended up with a distinctly unappealing tuna on white and HRH had to resort to a cheese pasty says it all, so I was reassured when he also bagged a twin Snickers - until he met my excited grin with a "for when you get tired and grumpy later", stashing it promptly out of temptation's way in his backpack! Charming!*

(These photos were taken mid morning. Top left: The view ahead. Top right: The view behind where you can just see HRH in the distance. See what I mean about straight?) 

Spike Millican was undoubtedly a genius and I always loved his verse but he never quite came up with a word for that thinnest of thin rain, did he? Its more like wet air, but whatever you call it, sadly it was either waterproofs on against the insidious dampness or risk a very uncomfortable, long day and potentially soggy shorts, so on they went. 

As it turned out the route proved less of a concern than was feared. The fields of barley and potatoes gave way to broad beans, wheat and uncultivated meadow the further north we travelled. Clearly the increasingly sandy soil is better suited to different agricultural choices and make for a more rolling countryside so, despite the lack of a need to navigiate, the walking was actually very pleasant indeed, especially once the sun came out after lunch. 

We also became more aware of the emerging flint underfoot. Flint is typical of the geological heritage of the area which, much like the South Downs and Sussex, consists largely of a bedrock of chalk covered by thin deposits of sand and said flint. In prehistoric times it assured the development of the area by early man and even today features heavily in local construction. HRH particularly likes this house style. I asked him what it was about the look that he liked so much. 

"Errrm, just the flintiness"

"The flintiness?" What about it exactly?"

"I don't know. The randomness I suppose"

"How do you mean, the randomness"

"Not sure. I just like it"

He's from Hampshire. There must be something in the water.

 

The only other highlights of the day were ... completely missing the fourth Songline, despite the guidebook describing it as 'striking' (I've subsequently looked it up on t'interweb - it's not),  our first glimpse of a traditional windmill, far on the horizon.......

.... and the luxury that awaited us in the form of Magazine Wood. Unfortunately I lied earlier, unwittingly. Sorry folks. Amanda Holden used to own the cottage next door - our host admitted as she drove us to the pub that her welcome pack needs updating. Ms Holden now lives in The Cotswolds! 

Tomorrow is The Big One - 19.5 miles. TTFN x

* I almost didn't get that Snickers either. I forgot to get tired and grumpy (must be walking myself fitter) ... But we shared it anyway, as a reward for completing our very straightforward day :-) 

The 'Quick' and the Dead

There's nothing quite like starting the day with the most amazing breakfast and a good giggle. Most places look at you askance if you decline the full English and don't even want eggs so to have the option of a great big bacon buttie was fabulous (Mim, you would totally have approved - mega crispy bacon, as requested - yum). So there we are, happily tucking in, when some other guests joined us in the dining room - two exceptionally elderly gentlemen and their companion, a woman of a similar age but in significantly better health. One poor chap had no sooner manoeuvred himself, inch by inch, shuffle by painful shuffle, into his chair, than the waitress invited them to help themselves to the buffet that he'd just walked past, for cereals and juice. At this stage, just so you don't think I'm completely heartless, and seeing the defeat on his face I felt really sorry for the dear old thing and wondered why the young slip of a girl couldn't read the situation better, bend the rules and provide table service. Nevertheless, she didn't so the arduous process of shuffling back to the buffet began again. A few long minutes later, and now reseated, I heard the gent turn to his lady friend, holding aloft his glass of ruby red juice with a quizzical expression on his face. Here's how the brief conversation went:

"What's this then?"

"I think it's cranberry juice", she replied

"Eh? Lyme Regis? Means nothing to me" 

Laugh? I nearly choked on my buttered toast. Sorry.

If yesterday was largely an education in arboreal and floral Norfolk, today was about wildlife. Sadly most specimens were either too quick to catch on camera* or squashed into the Tarmac, but nonetheless fascinating. We were excited to be barely 20 feet from a huge hare that came lolloping towards us only an hour into our walk this morning, and shortly afterwards were being eyed suspiciously by a circling red kite** overhead as we passed what we believe to have been a nest of chicks high in a tree. Later a family of 6 or 7 weasels ran across our path and a shrew popped out to see what the fuss was about before realising we were a wee bit bigger than him. 

I did manage to snap a cute little frog but stopped short of photographing the impressive 18 inch long male** adder, freshly squished into the road surface which we didn't think would be quite as interesting on film as it was in the flesh.

The walking today has been tough on the feet and legs. Mainly on 'metalled roads' (a phrase used extensively in our guide book today: Tarmac to you and moi) and pretty much a straight line, we only passed through three small villages with very few facilities, and were both suffering from the pounding underfoot by the time we arrived in our daily destination. 

Our chosen spot for lunch was North Pickenham, named after the Saxon, Pica, where my feet enjoyed a wiggle in the sunshine whilst I took delight in a (wait for it Steph and Vicky) .... 'big, big samwidge' 

We also passed the third Songline Sculpture (HRH described the second one as looking like a chunk of municiple car park, and he was right, so the photo got junked), a Cluniac Priory and passed through the Bailey Gate as we entered Castle Acre delighted to have completed Day 2.

* Confession: For this first photo montage I cheated. Thank you Google.

** HRH has been Googling too!

A Spot of Decorating

It's amazing how productive you can be when you get time together. Today, for example, we redecorated the family room, reorganised AND refurnished the study and laid a new carpet in the dining room. And all before lunch. Not bad going, eh? 

Ok, so these were virtual home improvements - but we have had a brilliant day nevertheless. Perfect walking weather and great terrain plus much more interesting than we had imagined for what is essentially a straight, ancient Roman trail. Peddars Way is an historic route first used by the military marching from Colchester to access Boadicea's lands in the East but was later adopted, popularised and named as such by pilgrims travelling to the religious centre at Walsingham in the north of Norfolk. 

The start of the official route is nothing more than a finger post, pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but fortunately I found this nice looking chap propped up there so thought I'd drag him along for some company ;-)

Rather surprisingly, much of today's route has been through woodland - beech laden with young fruit, mighty oaks, conifer plantations, sadly diseased horse chestnut struggling to turn flowers into conkers and the occasional sycamore - all brilliant for the provision of shade and wonderfully invigorating oxygen. The fields too are abundant at this time of year. Barley and potatoes appear to be the predominant crops painting a gold and green patchwork across the horizon, dotted with poppies and purple clover. 

One thing I was really looking forward to discovering more about today was the Norfolk Songlines. Our TrailBlazer book describes these as 'five stone sculptures inspired by an arts project intended to explore the connection between a track and the landscape it travels through'. Sound good? (I'm précis-ing because you'd be bored, and because if you'd like to know more you can visit www.norfolksongline.co.uk) - well I thought they sounded inspirational and charming, but the reality is rather less exciting than it sounds. Still, you learn something new .... as they say.

We also got quite fired up by the prospect of the famous (famous?) Norfolk Pingo Ponds on Thompson Common - an area of grassland covering 346 acres including Thompson Water. The pingo ponds are ancient ice age formations, home to a unique range of wildlife and an excellent breeding ground for dragonflies and damselflies. Unfortunately they're also perfect breeding grounds for mosquitos and other biting nasties so we hopped it with just this photo to share. 

[You can read more here if you're interested http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pingo ]

And on we went. The sun came out, the feet held up well, the lure of a hot shower grew increasingly attractive and now I'm full of beef and mushroom pie, chips and lager shandy having walked 17 miles so, feeling jolly pleased with myself, will be hitting the hay early tonight and will just leave you with a final view of the village we're staying in tonight. Charming, don't you think? 

Don't Panic! Don't Panic!

Day 1: Drive to Thetford, check into B&B, find somewhere for dinner, retire and prepare to start walking on Saturday morning. Well that was the plan. 

And actually the plan was going pretty well this morning. Cat was settled into her regular holiday home, packing came together pretty quickly, greenhouse plants got a final watering and one of those 'what-have-we-got-left-in-the-fridge-that-might-vaguely-go-together' type lunches was produced with reasonable success, if I say so myself. So far, so good. 

From then on, however, some might describe the day as "doomed". The route from home to Thetford might just be the most beleaguered combination of dual carriageways undergoing roadworks in the entire country at the moment. Happily I was on catch-up phone call duty leaving HRH at the wheel emitting steam and expletives, to absolutely no effect whatsoever except to wind himself up. "Permission to speak?", says I (all the while thinking "Stupid boy!").  I did my best with the occasional "Would you mind awfully just (calming down)" but it was a pretty rubbish journey and hence we were delighted to arrive and get checked in a few hot hours later. 

I'd read a little about Thetford in the guide book before we set off. "Charming market town, once the capital of Saxon East Anglia, it is pleasant enough and a convenient place to stay prior to starting Peddars Way" Who do you think you are kidding? 

It's not a very big place (small, it has to be said), looking really very tired, strewn with litter and bizzarely populated by people with either non-English accents or  in weird attire. You think I'm joking? The largest hotel/pub in town looked like being a reasonable bet for dinner but even as we were perusing the menu, in walked Batman, the Honey Monster, Hannibal Lecter, Snow White and a string of noisy fairies! I overheard someone ask another who they were but HRH kept muttering "Don't tell 'em, Pike" and sniggering, so we left the fancy dress gang to it and found a quieter place for supper. 

And so to bed... But not before a quick photo opportunity. Oh, did I mention that Thetford was the location for the filming of Dad's Army? Right, "that's enough of that, Walker" - night night.

Kit and Kerfuffle

For some people, preparation in the run up to a holiday takes the form of losing a few pounds, digging out the sun tops that you'd never dream of wearing in normal daily life and checking where you last 'filed' your passport. Not in my house! Here we're busy nikwaxing, toggle testing and stockpiling energy bars. Yes, we're off again...

The kit in question takes several forms, in order of  priority (as I see it):
The Footcare Kit
The Snack Pack
The Health and Safety Heap
The GEAR
And finally
The Travel and Logistics pile (bottom of the list only because HRH* takes care of most of this)

On previous walking holidays foot care was simply a matter of chucking a few blister plasters and a decent barrier cream in the backpack. This year however has been more of a chore, and where the 'kerfuffle' came in. What you don't want, just after having booked a week off work and handed over the balance for accommodation and bag transfer to do a 97 mile National Trail, is for an Achilles injury to threaten the whole shebang. For the past several weeks I've been assessed, scanned, massaged, lasered and measured-up, resulting in the most indulged feet in Christendom. If I could insure them I would. Apparently as previously out of kilter as Quasimodo, I'm now the proud (?) owner of 2 sets of custom-made orthotics and have shelled out on physio and new boots to ensure safe passage of my now-rather-unfit legs and torso along Peddar's Way and the North Norfolk Coastal Path starting on Saturday. I may need you to wish me luck.

Naturally an adventure of these epic proportions requires fuel. I got round to picking up the guide book earlier this week but soon realised that the only bit I was entirely focused on was the dining arrangements! As such I'm looking forward to hearty, locally sourced breakfasts, pub suppers, especially the seafood along the coastal sections, or meals based on Norfolk Dapple or Wighton cheeses, with famously traditional treacle custard tart for dessert, but noticeable by its absence was the lack of mention of lunch. Hence the Snack Packing. Impressive or obsessive, what do you reckon? No fear of this little piggy going hungry.

Next pile. Have you ever noticed how the Health and Safety Heap gets bigger the older you get? Once upon a time I'd head out with a pack of paracetamol and some sun cream. Now it's gel to rub on this and spray to freeze the other, salts to soak away the aches and pains that resist the gel and spray, allergy pills for the heat rash, bottles to defend the immune system from imminent germ attack, potions for bites and lotions for bumps, to say nothing of the stuff for the indigestion caused by all that snacking. It's a good job most of this will be tucked away in the suitcase for someone else to cart around or I'd be needing a truss for a hernia too!

And as for the GEAR! Flattering sun dresses, the odd skimpy bikini, a hat as flippy-floppy as the proverbial scarecrow once wore, sparkly sandals, a colourful beach bag .... all things of the past. Now it's trousers that zip off into shorts in delightful shades of khaki, grey or black, practical blouses carefully vetted to be sure that nothing will rub, a baseball cap (a baseball cap! I ask you!), a collapsible walking stick, giant brown boots and a day pack with more zips, pockets and toggles than I will ever know what to do with and a sweat limiting mesh (oh joy) whose only concession to femininity is that it's pink! Nice.

All that said, I'm still looking forward to this trip immensely. Tonight I plan to read through the thus-far-secret pile of paperwork that has been gathering in the corner of the office. I suspect our mission will have been planned to the n'th degree and will be executed like a military operation because our Planning Officer Himself is brilliant and it's precisely because of that that I will simply be able to put one foot in front of the other all week and soak up the fresh air and views.

So if you wish to follow our journey, check back here from time to time and I'll do my best to be entertaining.

*Happily Retired Husband