Pakefield to Southwold 6th January 2020

It is the first day of our 5 days of walking in Suffolk, attempting to walk the Suffolk Coast Path. In reality we are not religiously adhering to the Suffolk Coast Path, since there are occasions when the creators of the Coast Path evidently think we should avoid the coast itself (perhaps due to safety, tidal constraints or better scenery). For example, when the tide is out it is perfectly safe to walk the beach rather than the cliff top.

Today we will indulge in the luxury of using public transport, which will enable us to do a linear, rather than a circular walk. We generally prefer to get the public transport done before our walking, thus avoiding either rushing to make a timetable deadline, or waiting for a long period at the end of the walk for a bus to return us to our car.

So it is that we have to get up at 6am on a dark January morning in order to depart from our cottage base in Aldeburgh by 7am and drive to Southwold to catch the 7.55 am bus to Lowestoft.

We arrive in plenty of time at the sleepy seaside town of Southwold and look for the bus stop, listed on the timetable as “Southwold Kings Head”.  This causes us some consternation, since the place that we think we board the bus does not have a pub of that name.  It seems that the pub has been closed permanently for several years, but that its name will live on in the bus timetable.  History in the making, if a little confusing for the uninformed traveller.

I am particularly excited today, as I get to use my senior citizens free bus pass for the first time.  As the bus pulls in Betty takes a photo for the album of me brandishing my bus pass, only for it to be rejected 10 seconds later by the bus driver.  Apparently it is only valid after 9.30 am.

Some old duffer thinking he can use his bus pass before 9.30 am.

The bus leaves on time and takes us on a tour of almost every settlement between Southwold and Lowestoft.  As the bus quickly fills up with students returning to college in Lowestoft after the Christmas break, I realise we are actually in luck, since today is probably the only day there are no school children on-board.  The first day of a new term is invariably a non-pupil day, when teachers get to put their feet up and swill copious quantities of tea and coffee.  I know that this is a big fat lie on my part and I should know better, having been a school teacher for over ten years – but you have to agree it is an attractive urban myth.

Eventually we alight at Pakefield, just south of Lowestoft, where we are to begin our day’s walk.  However, a chance encounter with a McDonald’s at Pakefield, convinces us that we need a coffee and a bacon muffin for our second breakfast.

Suitably fortified with caffeine, protein, fat and carbohydrate, we make our way between bungalows and beach chalets to arrive at Pakefield Beach.

Pakefield Beach

The tide is on its way out.  However, I can truthfully brag that I did expect this, having done my research beforehand.  Unfortunately it is the only bit of research I can recall, since I forgot to print out all the other vital facts before we left East Sussex.

You may wonder why the tides are important to us.  The answer is that we are determined to walk along the beach, rather than the official Suffolk Coast Path.  Intriguingly the path leaves the coast at this point and takes the walker inland to follow the A12 for a mile.  I can’t see why, since there is a perfectly good footpath marked on the map, following the cliff top.  Arrival at the coast reveals that the footpath has indeed been removed by the sea.  However, I am still suspicious that McDonald’s are at the bottom of it all, since the official path now goes past the very outlet we used for our breakfast.  Conspiracy theory suggests that it is they who are behind all the coastal erosion we are about to discover.  Bloody multinationals!

Mystified walker discovers the cliff-top path has been stolen – was it the UFO to the left of the shot?

None of this really matters to us today, because we have the luxury of walking on the sandy beach that has been exposed by the falling tide.  A well placed interpretative board advises us that had we been here 700,000 years ago we might have encountered mammoths and savage people with long hair and beards.  Apparently the menfolk were quite wild too!  We are also advised that a number of other settlers have made their homes here, including Bronze Age man.  No mention is made of the historic settlement at the Pontins holiday camp next door.

Cliff erosion is a serious issue all along the East Anglian coastline. There is plenty of evidence of it, with the soft sandy cliffs obviously retreating at an alarming pace.  Walking along the beach we soon encounter a huge lump of reinforced concrete about 30 metres from the cliffs, which turns out to be lumps of a World War Two pillbox.  75 years ago this would have housed armed soldiers on the lookout for Nazi invaders.  A quick calculation suggests the cliffs must be in retreat by 40cm per year.  Perhaps Hitler chose not to invade, since he could see his anticipated ill-gotten gains, disappearing before his eyes.

A World War Two Pill-box Marks the 1940 Cliff-line

We discover a couple of chaps wandering around with portable surveying devices, one of whom admits that he is working under contract for the Environment Agency.  It seems they regularly monitor the cliff retreat here. In fact the big yellow tripod we encountered at Pakefield is their mother-ship.  We can see that the sea has not only removed the cliffs here, but also large numbers of trees, which now litter the base of the cliff.  The Environment Agency have the challenging task of recommending which bits of cliff should be protected and which left to the sea.  Doubtless local residents and Pontins have strong views about it all.

A digger cleaning up after a recent land slip took cliffs and vegetation into the North Sea

Other than monitoring, there is evidence of some preventative activity, with large amounts of imported pebble material having been brought in to nourish the upper beach and to protect the cliffs from wave-action.  They are however fighting a losing battle, especially with global sea-levels on the rise.

Beach ‘nourished’ with sand and pebbles to protect the cliffs

One obvious reason for the softness of the cliffs is their age.  They are made up of sands laid down during the most recent geological period – the Pleistocene.  Unlike older rocks, which have been buried, squashed and cemented – by minerals from percolating groundwater, or injected hydrothermal fluids, these mere 1-2 million year old sediments can be removed from the cliff by just using your fingernails.  They were most probably laid down as subglacial river deposits.  Whenever seasonal warming led to thawing of some of the ice sheet above, torrents of water would have cascaded beneath.  This moving water would have eroded away large amounts of sand and gravels, depositing them where they now stand.  That is until the sea removes the cliffs and they eventually become marine deposits laid down somewhere in the North Sea.

As we approach Kessingland two miles further south, we note that the cliffs have been successfully stabilised, as evidenced by the existence of well-established scrub and the presence of Sand Martins nest-holes in the cliff face. The beach is appreciably wider here, with much of it obviously well above the highest of tides. Even small sand dunes have developed, anchored by Marram Grass.

Marram grass stabilises the sand, forming embryonic sand dunes

Further south the area of accumulating sand and shingle is several hundred metres wide, with a well-developed dune system apparent.  The seaward end of the beach has low, sparsely vegetated fore-dunes, separated from the larger, well-vegetated dunes nearer the cliffs, by a wetland area known as dune-slack.  I pause to taste the large pond here and discover it is freshwater, derived from rainfall rather than from the sea. The accumulated wind-blown sand here is piled up to a depth of 50-feet against the scrub and tree covered cliffs.

A dune slack filled with freshwater, whilst the sand is piled 50 foot deep against the cliffs

In the dune slacks wetland vegetation is well established, including extensive beds of Common Reed and Hard Rush. Dotted across the marram-clad dunes, Sea Buckthorn shrubs brandish their dagger-like thorns and their distinctive berries clusters about the side branches.  A single clump of pampas grass has mysteriously moved in, perhaps from an eroded cliff-top garden?

Providence has obviously located the reeds here for the benefit of any gentleman or lady in need of a pee-stop to squat within, which is most gratifying for beach walkers looking for cover from prying cliff-top eyes!

A good place to pee

Hard rush and common reed have colonized the dune slack wetland area – note the sea beyond

Betty is particularly excited by the changes at Kessingland Beach, since she remembers visiting it for a holiday back in 1990.  She and her family were effectively refugees from the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, where they lived at the time.  It seems she swopped the sands of the desert, for the sands of Kessingland Beach.  In fact none of these sand dunes existed here 30 years ago, with the beach being largely pebbles.  She has the photographic proof to substantiate this claim.

It is timely that we get into conversation with two groups of people at this point, to discuss the current erosion/deposition developments.  The first of these is a young man who was probably not born in 1990.  He is one of the contractors surveying the coastline for the Environment Agency.  He confirms that he has noticed significant cliff-retreat at Pakefield over the last few years, but admits that he was unaware that the large area of sand-dunes did not exist 30 years ago.

The sea wall is no longer needed to protect the cliffs – sand dunes do the job instead

The second group we encounter is two ladies and a gentleman walking their dogs.  They are probably well into their seventies and as is the joy of aging locals, happily regale us with stories about the recent history of Kessingland Beach.

“Fishing boats used to be pulled up onto the pebble beach here next to the concrete sea wall.” Say’s one of the ladies.

“One of my neighbour’s friends has lived here since the 60’s,” says the gentleman, “he used to have a drink in the Seaman’s Home at Kessingland and then would pop out and jump straight into the sea when the tide was high.  Not anymore he wouldn’t!  If you look, you can see the tops of the groyne posts that helped anchor the beach in the first place.”

Today the sea doesn’t normally come within 250 metres of the sea wall, with the sea retreating perhaps 5-10 metres every year over the last 30 years.  It is so interesting to meet the professionals gathering the data to build the science on and the locals who can flesh out the cold science with the human stories that give it relevance.

Looking at Bettys’ old photos from her holiday at Kessingland in 1990, not only was the beach narrower, but it had no sand dunes or vegetation evident.  I can well understand her astonishment at first seeing the beach today, so rapid has been the change.

The origins of all this beach material is the northward migration of Benacre Ness.  Who’s to say that it won’t continue migrating northward and in the fullness of time rescue Pakefield Beach from its current cliff erosion problems.  Nothing stands still for long on this coast.  How long will it be before Kessingland Beach becomes a nature reserve like Minsmere, or parts of the Dungeness foreland?

Betty is excited by the prospect of rediscovering the chalet where they stayed during their 1990 holiday.  We climb several flights of steps and eventually find the collection of chalets and the one they stayed in. The views of Kessingland Beach are excellent from this vantage point so we decide to walk the cliff-top path into Kessingland.  This brings us onto the road leading to the pub our dog walking friend mentioned earlier – The Sailors Home.

Climbing the steps and a view of Kessingland Beach and the North Sea beyond

The Chalet that Betty stayed 1990

From this point south, the beach is only composed of pebbles, with the accreting wind-blown sand of the dunes stretching northward.  We continue our walk southward until we are stopped by an outfall of freshwater at Benacre Ness, where the Lothingland Hundred River drains into the North Sea. I assume that this river must at one time have drained via a natural channel, before the shifting Benacre Ness sediments eventually blocked it.  Today at low tide, a large pipe spews water derived from the low marshy area inland of here, expedied by a large brick-built pumping station.  However, the inexorable movement of Benacre Ness northward is now threatening to re-open the original channel.  With sea levels rising, the marshes beyond are most likely to flood with seawater, unless new sea defences are put in place. Coastal processes are always changing.

Benacre Ness – beach protected from erosion by inserting fabric.

 The Hundred River outfall.

Benacre Pumping Station may soon be removed by the sea

A sign warns us to “Keep clear when alarm sounds”, another states “Warning soft sand”, whilst yet another instructs “Alternative Path”. We are left in doubt that someone in authority is concerned that they may be found negligent if they don’t give clear warnings.  How about “if the alarm sounds please keep clear”, “Please take care – soft sand” and “Recommended path this way”?  Nothing wrong with a bit of civility!

Just beyond the Hundred River outfall and pumping station, is an area called ‘The Denes’.  Here a small lake has a rather temporary look to it, although it does appear on the OS map, whilst the pebble beach has quite clearly been piled up by a bulldozer.  I suspect beach and lake will have disappeared by the time the OS publish their next edition.

Nourished beach and lake beyond – the strand line shows the sea constantly threatens both

The beach between here and Benacre Broad shows striking evidence of the migration of Benacre ness northwards, as it morphs into Kessingland Beach.  The exposed marram grass roots, with their distinctive nodules and the bases of stems which would at one time have grown several feet up through the sand, are all that remain of the sand dunes here.   

Marram grass erosion – only the sinuous lines of deep roots and stem bases survive

South of Benacre Ness, we return to erosion of the soft sandy Pleistocene cliffs formerly seen at Pakefield.  Mature trees are in the process of being eroded from the cliff, ending up as ghoulish sculptures on the beach.

Trees eroded from the cliffs look like ghoulish sculptures on the beach

A strong wind from the south whips sand up across the beach, illustrating another mechanism of coastal erosion and deposition.   Benacre Broad has been breached recently, with high tides looking perilously close to reaching lake level.  Perhaps it will not be long before Benacre Broad is an inlet of the sea?

Benacre Broad – from the bird hide, looking north – the sea and the freshwater lake are almost as one

The fate of Benacre Broad is well illustrated in an amateur video posted on You-Tube –https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSjmhhzocgg.  In a few years the broad is likely to become salt marsh.

South of Benacre Broad the cliffs are very crumbly. Here the Pleistocene sands of the cliffs are underlain by older Pliocene, Norfolk Crag. The Norfolk Crag forms a raised beach, or former wave-cut platform.  The exposed surface of this wave-cut platform was pitted by molluscs boring into it several million years ago.  Here the Norfolk Crag offers some protection to the soft sands of the cliffs above – but not much, with rock falls and landslips everywhere. Fossil shells are in abundance in the bottom-most beds of the exposure.

Norfolk Crag underlies the Pleistocene sands of the cliffs south of Benacre Broad

Fossilised bivalve molluscs are abundant in the Norfolk Crag

Cross-bedding is revealed in the glacial sands of the cliffs

Further south we come to Covehithe Broad, where over the centuries, the surface drainage has been impeded by beach deposits, giving rise to a lake, or broad, similar to that found at Benacre Broad.  This looks a good place to take our lunch break, hiding from the cutting wind behind a tussock of Marram grass.  As we move onto our flapjack desert, a Beagle gets a whiff of our pudding and makes a beeline in our direction.  Fortunately the owner spots the potential conflict of interest between the two parties and intercepts the hound, before it can demand its fair share. I am impressed that he apologizes profusely for any inconvenience caused.  The majority of dog owners we encounter on our walks rarely even notice, or care.

For a January day we are extremely fortunate with the weather.  Yes it’s quite cold and windy, but no sign of any rain.  As we sit for a few minutes digesting our lunch and likewise digesting the view, two mute swans fly upwind towards us from the direction of Benacre Broad.  They are making heavy weather of it and are probably wondering if it was such a good idea after-all.  They remind me of a couple on a tandem.  The front swan appears to be doing all the work, whilst the back one is just ‘smoking a cigar’.  Suddenly the front swan has had enough of it and drops down low over the waves in the hope of easier flying.  Immediately the rear swan tucks in behind.  Progress looks a little easier now as they grind their way southward and out of view.

South of Covehithe Broad, the pattern repeats itself, with the topography rising several metres.  Once again the coastal regime is dominated by low cliffs, whose soft sand is rapidly slipping into the sea with every high tide.  The waves greedily undercut the cliffs, with the resultant landslips echoing what we have seen several times already today.

The pattern continues as we journey southward, with yet another drowned river valley dominated by a freshwater lake, almost totally overgrown with common reed.  This is Easton Broad which is in the process of being swallowed-up by the aptly named ‘Smear Marshes’ beyond.  I suspect whoever named them must have fallen foul of the muddy substrate.  Once again the sea is threatening to carry off the beach that holds back the freshwater of the broad.

The eroding beach, with Easton Broad beyond  

                   St Andrews Church, Covehithe in the distance

At the southern end of Easton Broad it is drained by a well-maintained channel.  A digger is operating nearby, as if to prove how interventionist the Environment Agency has to be at present.  Were it not for the channel, the water level in the broad would rise rapidly after heavy rainfall. With such a rise, there would be a risk of the freshwater percolating through the beach and causing a breached.  I suspect the pile of sand adjacent to the digger may be a stockpile in case repairs to the eroding beach are required.

Active repair work in progress at Easton Broad     

         A deep man-made channel controls the water level

South of Easton Broad is another small wetland area, once again retained by beach deposits.  Here the sea has exposed ancient peat beds in the beach.  This may have been peat formed from sedges and other water’s edge plants, which occupied the small valley here several centuries ago. 

Exposed Peat south of Easton Broad

Southwold is drawing nearer, as we come to the most southward of today’s eroding cliffs – Easton Bavents.  The cliffs here present a magnificent edifice – flat-topped and made up of finely bedded sand, clay and silt, which would have been laid down under water, rather than as subglacial deposits. The bedding planes exposed in the cliffs extend several hundred metres in both directions.

The exposed beds in the cliffs at Easton Bavents

My research reveals that in 1962 Professor Richard West co-wrote a study of the Pleistocene geology of this site.  As an undergraduate at university in Derby in 1976, I was interviewed by the great man himself, in his office at Cambridge University.  He was looking for a research assistant at the time and although I was unsuccessful, I think I am entitled to claim that I was once a student at Cambridge University in the 1970’s. Had I been successful I might even have visited this site 40 years earlier. 

More significantly, Easton Bavents represents the only exposure of the Norfolk Crag where the public might find Pliocene mammal remains.  Sadly few are found today.  However, as the cliffs erode rapidly at Easton Bavents, it is quite likely that this situation might be reversed.  On top of the cliffs, the last few houses of the village of Easton Bavents are under threat. It seems the locals not only have to contend with the sea, but the depredations of fossil hunters.  I envisage lots of bearded men with small hammers waiting for the big day when they can swarm in and discover something exciting.

50 year old concrete riprap now 200 feet offshore.

              

A shed on the brink of the cliff.  House next?

South of Easton Bavents we finally reach Southwold where the remains of well-worn boulders of rip-rap litter the beach.  These, along with a massive sea wall, protect the Buss Creek lowland to the north of Southwold, from inundation by the sea.  Were the unthinkable ever to happen, Southwold would become an island, as it probably once was sometime in its long distant history.

Conveniently dated rip-rap against Southwold sea-wall

Seriously large rip-rap and a concrete sea-wall provide more significant protection for Southwold

The return to dry land proves a little dodgy, with the sea-wall covered in slippery algae.  However, once on top, we are treated to a fine view of Southwold Pier, which is quickly reached by an easy walk.  We agree it would be churlish not to take in the delights of the pier, but our first impressions are poor, as typical of most piers its landward end is dominated by a penny arcade.  Fortunately we discover that most of the pier is dominated by far more interesting distractions.

A walk along Southwold Pier takes you into a different world.  Our first sight is of small, round, outdoor café tables that have been beautifully mosaicked with images of local fish.  Next we encounter some sensible, salt-resistant seating, made of galvanized metal with solid stone tables.  This makes good sense since it is in the more exposed part of the pier, where wind–protection is likely to be much appreciated. 

We then stumble across an intriguing water-driven clock, which we are advised does something very interesting every half hour, although we don’t have time to await the experience. 

However, the ‘piece-de-resistance’ of any pier has to be standing at the seaward end, admiring the view of the coast at the other end and that sense of being out at sea, as it washes all around and beneath us. 

Perhaps the wackiest exhibits are to be found in the ‘Under the Pier Show’, where the owner has fabricated all sorts of unusual slot machines for visitors to practice useful skills such as Zimmer Frame walking.

Southwold Pier from the north

Delightful fishy mosaics on the tables, well designed salt resistant seating and water clock

Under the Pier Show

Views south to Southwold and north up the coast

Having returned to shore, we continue south along the promenade, enjoying the intriguingly located lighthouse in the middle of the town. I’m not sure I’d want to live here with such light pollution on my doorstep.  It’s bad enough at home when a cat turns on my neighbour’s security lights, but to have the world bathed in light every few seconds would not suit me one bit.

Southwold Lighthouse

Eventually we come out onto South Green, where a number of opulent residencies of Victorian and older periods vie for attention.  A number of impressive canons guard the swaths of greenery which dominate this part of the town, which doubtless fills with picnickers and football kickers every summer.  I can’t imagine a genteel seaside town such as this encouraging too many of the ‘great unwashed’ on their lawns.

Our walk is near completion, but we ensure no stone is left unturned by following the ridge of sand dunes which takes us to the mouth of the River Blyth.  It is significant that we have gone as far as we can, because it means that we can pick up the walk south on the opposite bank, at Warbleswick tomorrow.  Our walk completed we return along the beach and go into town to treat ourselves to a well-earned cuppa and to collect our car.

South Green – canons trained on any post-Brexit foreign ship which dares to approach within range

The mouth of the River Blyth, looking inland and the ‘island’ town of Southwold from the beach.