After the coast path led me around the back of Cley-next-the-Sea, there was a little marshland with excavators working on the drainage. I spotted an egret, confirming my identification of this white bird, a sort of small heron, with a person who was photographing it. Then there was a stretch that had been worrying me. It was one of the reasons I stopped at Cley last night rather than walking further. A decision supported by Phoebe Smith's guidebook which recommended delaying the next six kilometres until the morning. Six kilometres of shingle was the problem. Small pebbles one to three centimetres across that crunched as your foot sunk a little way into them. Making small depressions in the shingle on each step takes a lot of energy, and my knee was refusing to acknowledge that it had an easy day yesterday.
Looking down the long, straight, pebbly beach, the far end lost in spray from the white foaming waves, I tried to decide the best part of the shingle bar to walk on. The rear of the bar was bounded by a fence, beyond which there were some expanses of water with birds being watched by bird watchers with big lenses. I started by walking close to the water's edge where there were sometimes patches of hard, wet sand. Although it allowed me to admire the waves at close range I also had to take speedy steps to avoid the bigger waves as they swept higher up the beach. Also the firmer, sandy surface frequently changed to unstable shingle. I tried the back side of the bar, disturbing an ornithologist photographing what looked like a group of sparrows pecking at the shingle, but were probably something very rare. On a few patches where grass had bound the stones together I made faster progress but they did not last and were of transient benefit. For completeness I also tried the top of the shingle bar, but it was no better. Best tactic was to think of something else as I trudged on, starting with the type of pebble. Most were flint but there were some white quartz among the smaller sizes. I imagined canoeing into and out of the waves wondering if there was a risk of breaking my neck if the canoe capsized and I hit the shingle hard.
It did all eventually end. The land rose up and the path followed the edge of the cliff top. The cliffs looked unstable. With a critical eye I thought they looked like a sedimentary deposit of Tertiary age overlying the chalk. My phone's iGeol App told me I was wrong, they were Quaternary, from the time of the ice ages, and what is more, signs later on explained that remains of mammoths had been found in them (confirming their age), and even the footprints of very early humans. My geologic skills are slipping! Whatever their age they formed hills steeper than I had experienced for some weeks, especially the alliteratively named Beeston Bump. Here radio transmissions were intercepted during the last war by WRENs (ladies not birds). Notices informed me that there was a path closure before Sheringham, that work on the path was underway and a diversion was marked. I ignored them and kept walking. No sign of any work or any closure.
Sheringham was a touristy town where I had quiche, cake and coffee for lunch. Although plenty of people were about, being out of season many places on the narrow streets were closed, including it seemed the Wind Farm Visitor Centre. A pity as I had been looking at a distant offshore wind farm all morning. After Sheringham there was a succession of "holiday villages", places with ranks of static caravans.
Tonight I am staying in another holiday town, Cromer, in an Edwardian hotel built at a time when turrets and spires were in fashion. Slow service in the dining room.
I'm still faithfully following you. Where does your walk end?
ReplyDeleteThe Norfolk Coast Path officially ends at Hopton on Sea, but I will walk on slightly further to Lowestoft so I can catch a train home. Lots of seals today at Horsey Gap, quite impressive.
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