Wells-next-the-sea to Brancaster 20th September 2020
The ‘circus’ rolls on. Today we walk from Wells-next-the-sea to Brancaster by way of Holkham Gap and Burnham Overy Staithe.
We think we have given ourselves plenty of time to catch the 1148 bus, aware that the next one doesn’t run for another 2 hours, it being a Sunday. We are delighted to arrive at Brancaster with a good 30 minutes to spare but quickly realise that this is a pretty small place with no obvious car park, and restricted parking elsewhere. We eventually find a suitable space on a small modern housing estate, and get to the bus stop with 15 minutes to spare. Alas the other facility that is missing is the public toilet.
A ‘wild wee’ will suffice, but for this we need to find a suitably quiet footpath. Becoming increasingly fraught I manage to locate a footpath and to our physical and emotional relief we divest ourselves of bladder contents that have been accumulating since breakfast 2 hours ago.
With contented smiles upon our faces, hidden behind mandatory face masks, we board the 1148 bus which proceeds to take us on a tour of every Burnham known to mankind. Burnham Deepdale, Burnham Norton, Burnham Market, Burnham Overy Staithe are just four of them. Perhaps it was a catholic or protestant stronghold several hundred years ago?
“What are we to do with all these heretics – My Lord?”
“Burn’em I say!”
The OS map reveals at least another two or three Burnhams exist, but I lose track of which we have been to, before arriving at Wells-next-the-sea by 12.20.
It is the busiest day yet, with Wells populated by more mask wearers than a masquerade ball. We decide to “pass” on exploring Wells, so immediately head for the assumed solitude of the Norfolk Coast Path. Our walk takes us past the harbour, which is also heaving. High tide has just passed and I suspect many have come to catch seal-watching cruises, although others may just have come to gongoozal at the sea overtopping the town’s defences.
A mile-long causeway takes visitors in the direction of West Sands, although thankfully many of them elect to drive or catch the miniature railway. Unsurprisingly the massive car park at the end of the causeway is by now full. Thousands of tourists are milling about. It is virus heaven!
The Norfolk Coast Path turns westward from here and we are optimistic that the rule, stating that “the British tourist never walks more than 200 yards from his car”, still holds true. It doesn’t. Cyclists, dog-walkers, bird-watchers, families pushing buggies, even joggers – they are all here, following the well-trod route behind a windbreak of tall pines atop 10 metre dunes. Alas some of the dog-walkers have yet to master their toilet etiquette.
Holkham Dog Turd
My ancient reference work by J. A. Steers informs me that these pines were planted in 1770 to stabilise the dunes, prior to reclamation of the salt marsh that once existed behind them. The one-time coast-road, which our Coastal Hopper negotiated this morning, is now over a mile inland, with a brand new set of dunes having formed in front of the pine-stabilised ones over the intervening 250 years. Norfolk appears to be a county with an amoeboid demeanour – growing here, retreating there – ever changing.
Amongst all the migrating mass of people, an incident is bound to arise. Betty stops abruptly to look at the view and a young girl runs into the back of her, causing her brother to likewise run into his sister. Betty is all apologies, although when these kids progress to driving cars they will quickly find out that it is the one behind who is generally held to be liable.
A group of well-equipped birders are gathered in an area of grassland, talking and gesticulating in an excited manner. A few are training binoculars, telescopes and gigantic camera lenses in one direction, where I assume something of considerable interest has been spotted (unless of course they are just looking for a public toilet?). I ask a lady wearing binoculars what they are all looking at and she suggests rather unconvincingly “a flycatcher.”
“Birders in their late summer plumage”
After a while quite a few of the walkers disappear along a path into the dunes, significantly reducing the numbers we have to share our path with, so Betty decides that now would be a good time for another ‘wild wee’ and dives into some thick undergrowth away from the main path, whilst I take the opportunity to collect a few more seeds.
After a mile and a half of walking we come to Holkham Gap, yet another ‘mecca’ for parked cars. The Lookout is a new visitor facility completed in 2018. It is cylindrical in shape, built on top of a mound of earth, removed to create shallow pools of brackish water called scrapes. Hidden within, visitors can enjoy wrap-around viewing of the wading birds below.
“The Lookout at Holkham – all very Covid secure, but without its café the patronage is low”
If you examine the Trip Advisor reviews on-line, it makes for fascinating reading. The reviews are divided into two distinct camps: those giving 4 or 5 stars and lauding the eco-friendly construction and refreshments; whilst others only give 1 or 2 stars because they expected a 3-course meal with a cabaret for 5 quid.
I love the tactful responses of the various employees who took the trouble to answer the reviews, although I suspect Sophie, Emma and Joanna had gritted teeth when they wrote some of them.
The Route 1 Cycle-way turns inland from here and then through Holkham Park. Fortunately the Norfolk Coast Path turns right, through the dunes and towards the sea. Alas the number of walkers on the narrow boardwalk have not diminished, so we decide upon the Covid-free alternative – through the trees.
The boardwalk brings us out at the upper shore, which shows evidence of having been covered by the recent spring high tide. This is Holkham Gap, an area of intertidal sediment and salt-tolerant species between the tree-clad dunes we have just come through and newer ones that have developed further down the beach. The usual suspects are here – particularly the red tinged Poor-mans asparagus and Sea lavender.
An interpretative board informs that this area of saltmarsh has only developed since the 1970s. Salt Marsh is of particular importance at present since it locks-away large amounts of carbon – which would otherwise enter the atmosphere as carbon dioxide and fuel climate change.
Holkham Gap has developed into saltmarsh since the 1970’s
The newly formed dunes, unlike the ones we have just walked through, are less well anchored, with ‘blow-outs’ forming where the wind has removed the sand from the more heavily trampled areas. Once again the receding spring tide has left the area suitably damp – for previously dry boots to make heavy weather of.
We are delighted to see that most of the walkers we have been ‘jostling’ with for the last couple of miles, are now heading back along the beach to Wells. Nonetheless a good smattering join us, following the coast westward.
We generally have a good nose for lunch time seating and are delighted to find a vacant bench perched on an elevated platform. Here we can sit with our packed lunches like a pair of aging lifeguards scanning the dunes and beach for bathers in distress. This is unlikely since the sea is over half a mile away.
We unfortunately appear to have picked the busiest area of the beach for our repast, where numerous walkers and their hounds gain access the beach. One or two look enviously at us dining on our lofty perch, but we have no intention of vacating it. However, it is not long before the day turns from sunny to overcast, with the cool wind forcing us to return to our walking.
The dunes here have been invaded by the seeds of numerous plants including Scots Pine, whose massed seedlings are rapidly colonising the newer dunes, along with Rosebay willow-herb, Holly and Polypody. Potentially this newly colonised dune will become a younger version of the one planted 250 years ago. This is an example of sand-dune succession, typically found in areas where the coast is growing. However, I suspect sea level-rising might reverse this trend in a decade or two.
Young Scots Pines and Polypody ferns invade the newer dunes
The now biting wind drives us to the relative shelter of the mature pines, where we discover another one of those history markers – a World War II bunker or gun emplacement. We’ve used these in the past to help us understand cliff recession over the last 80 years, now we get a measure of sand dune development too. In front of the bunker a low dune colonised by large trees indicates the rate of dune growth and plant succession. The occupants of the ‘bunker’ would have needed a clear view of the beach in order to repel invaders, so the dune and vegetation must, by my reckoning, have developed over the last 70- 80 years.
A World War Two ‘bunker’ dates the trees and dunes in front
As we walk along, we add Centaury, Lady’s Bedstraw, Sea Campion, Sea Sandwort, Scurvy Grass, Mouse-eared Hawkweed and Marram Grass to our species list.
Sea Sandwort – notice the succulent nature of its leaves, providing a source of stored water to cope with the waterless dune environment.
The joy of coast walking is that you can often have a total change of scene by moving a little further up or down the beach. Sure-enough, further down-beach we come across a strand-line of razor shells, oysters and slipper limpets.
A strandline of empty razor shells – ripped from their ‘moorings’ by the power of breaking waves on the sea bed
The hypnotic nature of the spilling and ebbing waves, the small wading birds that dance a few metres ahead of us and the piles of stranded flotsam, conspire to draw us ever onward, like a pair of sailors following the siren’s call.
Betty wanders in a trance along the sand, perhaps recalling a past life in Kuwait?
Too late we realise that we have overshot our planned route back inland. Across our path a wide river channel blocks our way and brings us back to the job in-hand. So we follow the channel inland for several hundred yards, pausing to inspect an area of black sand, with horizons of black-dyed razor shells. The black colour indicates the lack of oxygen below the surface sand here. Unlike the regularly disturbed and oxygenated lower shore, which supports a teeming population of invertebrates, this exposed black horizon indicates that only anaerobic bacteria can survive here, at least until sea or freshwater expose it.
The channel of Overy Creek cuts through blackened anaerobic sediment and horizons of long-dead razor shells
Once we return to the sand dunes we realise our mistake, with hundreds of acres of salt marsh, mud flats and open water separating us from Burnham Overy Staithe and the course of the Norfolk Coast Path. Out here in the middle-of-nowhere we come across a couple more ‘saltmarsh gypsies’ living an isolated existence in their ramshackle houseboats. Two small children are playing next to one, doing what more small children should do – getting wet and dirty – and at one with nature.
Houseboat on Overy Creek, which blocks our route towards distant Burnham Overy Staithe
Rejoining the Norfolk Coast Path and significant numbers of other walkers, we march double-quick in the direction of Burnham Overy Staithe.
Burnham Overy Staithe could be any one of the numerous look-alike ‘chocolate-box’ settlements along this coast. Once again mud, tidal creeks, sailing dinghies and terracotta tiled cottages abound. On the dried, flatter sand, an opportunistic golfer is practising his stroke-play.
The car park is quite obviously below the current high tide, so hopefully drivers realise what time is high tide. Doubtless “salt-water ingress” appears quite often on insurance claims around here.
Chocolate-box Burnham Overy Staithe and its ‘intertidal’ car park
We don’t have time to linger as we have several miles yet to walk, with only a couple of hours till sunset. Once beyond Overy Creek, the coast path heads once more ‘out-to-sea’, circumnavigating Norton Marsh. As we walk we are treated to the sight of a Kingfisher quartering back and forth, punctuated by sudden dives into the drainage ditch, before emerging with a small fish in its beak. This illustrates the best thing about late afternoon walking, less people means more nature. As if to prove my point we next encounter a Cormorant surface-diving, as it too hunts through the limpid waters of the marsh.
A Curlew identifies itself, whistling out its eponymous call “Cuuuurrrrlew, cuuuurrrrlew, cuuuurrrrlew” from across the marsh. Things are really hotting-up on the bird front when we spot a Little Egret wading in a drain. However, not being bona-fide bird-watchers, this blast of birdlife is not sufficient to detract from the growing discomfort in my legs. It’s been a long day ‘strolling’ on the beach, which can often be more fatiguing than a brisk march. I am also increasingly convinced that level-ground walking can be tougher than following undulating terrain. The leg muscles don’t vary – not the way they do when switching from uphill to downhill, to level walking.
As we close in on Burnham Deepdale a strange chap comes towards us, looking for all the world like a sketch of a tramp I recall from a Billy Bunter Book of my youth. He passes us without a word, apparently devoid of all possessions other than a white carrier bag bulging with cans of beer. Perhaps Burnham Deepdale boasts an ‘offie’, whereas Burnham Overy Staithe doesn’t. Still, I have to applaud his exercise regime, if not the brand of ‘Chanel’ which wafts from his direction.
At Burnham Deepdale we spot yet another ‘live-aboard’ project waiting patiently for the next high tide to lift it off the mud. We also indulge in a bit of rubbernecking into people’s back gardens, particularly one enlightening example boasting a ‘boat-shrouded’ bench and a line indicating the December 2013 flood level.
Yet another live-aboard project
The gardens at Burnham Deepdale can offer the weary traveller both rest and enlightenment
The last mile to Brancaster is the most tortuous of the day, along a boardwalk which offers nothing of real interest to detract thoughts from aching legs and the promise of an hour and a half’s drive back to the caravan upon finishing our walk.
Eventually however, all pain is forgotten as we shoe-horn ourselves into our seats and Betty has the dubious pleasure of driving us home. A quick check reveals that we have done 15 miles today – not all of it necessary!
This pigeon suggests Wells to Brancaster is a mere 11 miles, somehow we managed to add another 4!