Breakfasted, we set out on a rather grey morning. The forecast suggested that there wouldn’t be much sun, but little chance of rain either. We walked back to Craster harbour before many people were out and about, passing an unusual structure: a crenellated gateway across the King’s highway – apparently an embellishment of Craster Tower, the seat of the family who gave the village its name.
From Craster, we took the grassy coastal path to Dunstanbergh Castle. These magnificent ruins had dominated the skyline ever since lunch at Boulmer on the previous day. Since our difficulties at Warkworth Castle (day one) we had received emails from English Heritage to confirm our membership. We proudly presented these and gained access through the imposing gatehouse, the best preserved portion of the castle. It is still possible to climb to the top of the gate’s eastern tower, from where the views were impressive despite the glowering sky. It was built by the Earl of Lancaster over 700 years ago; the castle saw serious action during the War of The Roses, and was effective in repelling marauding Scots and revolting peasants. But for the last few centuries during which the Scottish border has been less turbulent and the peasants more acquiescent, the castle has lost its raison d’être. It has been invaded by nature, and therein lies its modern role.
It was a short walk to the castle’s eponymous golf course and like good citizens, we followed the permissive path which skirted the land side of the course. Most people took the path to the right towards the dunes and beach and I can understand why. Having passed the clubhouse, which was too busy to contemplate a mid-morning break, we found a path through marshy grassland to the beach.
And walking on the beach was the main feature of the day. Firstly across Embleton Bay which morphed to the north into Newton Haven. After a brief interlude of grassland and dunes around Newton Point and the pretty but weirdly named Football Hole, we dropped onto the second monster beach of the day, Beadnell Bay. On this bright Saturday afternoon, it was fairly busy with dog walkers and strollers, but we were strewn over two miles of sand at low tide – it was far from crowded. The beach brought us to Beadnell’s tiny harbour tucked under a headland which hooks south from the north end of the bay. The mouth of the harbour therefore faces west, the only harbour on the east coast to do so! Besides it’s unique alignment, the harbour is backed by impressive, giant lime kilns.
It was getting on for mid-afternoon, and we were bitten by hunger. We traipsed northward through the village without any sign of an eatery. At the very edge of the village, we found its shop, and unfortunately it was rather sparsely stocked. Its sandwiches looked uninviting even to those who were famished. We parked ourselves on a bench on the green opposite the shop and had an ice-cream lunch. The sky had lowered, and we were draped in a drizzly mist, a feature that had not been foreseen by BBC weather,
The last couple of miles mainly followed meandering tracks through Annstead Links, a narrow strip of wild grassland and dunes between the B1340 and the beach. A very pleasant end to our day’s journey but for one glitch. Up ahead we could see what looked like a container lorry parked by the road. But as we got closer, we realised that it was a modern house, isolated, alone in what is supposed to be a haven for nature. What is more, it had a garden fenced off which crossed the entire strip of dune necessitating a detour for walkers down onto the road. The detour was of little consequence, but the blot on the landscape is irreparable. Who allowed this? It’s beyond belief!
As Seahouses approached, we once again had to follow a permissive route through a golf course. I was alarmed to note that many golfers have little control over the direction the ball takes off the clubhead. I should have packed a safety helmet. The harbour at Seahouses is much larger than that at Craster; more utilitarian; it’s not pretty. We soon came upon Rosemary’s café where we found rest and a hot beverage. We asked the waitress for her recommendation for a place to eat. She dispensed some very good advice!
From Rosemary’s it was still 0.8 miles inland to our place of repose. It was in the village of North Sunderland, which is contiguous with Seahouses. Indeed until fairly recently, the whole area was known as North Sunderland – Seahouses only developed as a separate entity when a harbour was built in 1889. Megstone House was our destination; Donna and Paul our attentive hosts. Our accommodation was spacious and homely.
We scrubbed up and hit that 0.8 miles back to Seahouses to Élan, a friendly, informal pizzeria. The waitress at Rosemary’s had recommended a Manzo piccante – it was a bit like chilli con carne on a pizza – but she was right – it was delicious! On the 0.8 miles back to Megstone House Julia was consoling herself with the fact that the “steps” being counted by her smart phone were going to have a significant impact upon her average for the week, the month, the year!