An all-round super day. My Tracks recorded the walk as 7.22 miles; Samsung Walking Mate calculated I walked 9.5 miles that day. Not inconsistent; the extra two miles easily add up by walking round pubs and the holiday let before and after the walk.
We walked down to the sea via the most direct route, the Golf Course. There was a clear sign pointing to the Coastal Path, and another sign saying Keep to the Paths. Fine, but the tarmac path soon ran out, and there simply wasn't anything else that resembled a path. Wasn't clear where to go, and it certainly wasn't possible to stick to a right of way.
So, we got shouted at by some angry little man. We pointed out that there were no paths. He was yelling 'this is the fairway'. Yeah, because that means something to me. Sorry, I don't live in your internalised world and speak your hobby-specific language. Still, I probably shouldn't have said "You should take some exercise, you know, dear". I expect he probably had exercise recommended by a health professional or probation officer to cope with the anger management issues, but instead he decided to spend all day knocking little balls into holes. I concede it has to be better than beating people up on the rougher streets of Glasgow. There seemed to be six of them all told, all white males, all wearing the same sort of bad taste 'leisure wear'.
What is it with men's summer clothes? For work they wear the same heavy cotton long sleeved shirts they wear in winter; for leisure they all wear polyester 'polo' shirts or other versions of what used to be known as PE kits. And not just golfers.
Down on the beach, it suddenly started to rain, and continued to do so for over a minute. Just awful. Alternatively, enough to deter the fair weather strollers. We walked a good mile and a half along the beach and for most of the route we barely passed anybody. Until we approached the exit for Beadnell and suddenly someone's invading our personal space by throwing a ball at her dog so the mutt was running and panting way too close. It wasn't really a problem, but I couldn't help thinking that, given the size of the beach, and the small number of people using it, it was really quite inconsiderate. Perhaps I was supposed to turn round and go gaga over the dirty animal. Never.
We stopped for lunch at The Craster Arms in Beadnell, a well-reviewed pub. Crab sandwich was irresistable. The salad was mediocre. Plus point, it was dressed, but chopped a bit small - and you should never chop lettuce. Decent pint of cider.
We sat in the garden, as far as possible from the couple with a toddler and a baby. There were two other couples there, too, no children. The toddler was allowed to run around all over the garden, stamping his feet up-and-down on the decking. While I was eating, he came within inches of me, tens of yards away from his parents. "Go away go away go away go away", I said. One of the other women in the pub garden gave me a smile of support.
Oddly, the child spent the rest of his visit to the beer garden sitting down. Did the parents think that it was their personal private garden, or that three decidedly middle-aged couples would appreciate being entertained by a toddler? They' d probably given him a bowl of sugar for breakfast and driven him to the pub, rather than letting him run round on the beach. I got the feeling they didn't like him. Odd. They were British, so they could have got free contraception or a termination. I wonder why they didn't.
From the pub to the harbour was a rather a dull walk, along the road, but it wasn't far, and we were soon back where we had first hit the Northumberland coast on the Saturday. They say small things amuse small minds and this certainly put a smile on my face.
An even bigger smile was caused by this
Several miles of sandy beach occupied by no more than 30 or 40 people, if that. Fleetingly, I thought about a rather sad little woman who went through a phase of bullying and harassing me online, as a direct result of this blog. One of her theses was that Jimmy 'forced' me to go on beach holidays and she didn't approve because she didn't like being very close to someone on another lounger, oh, and she doesn't like being out in the sun. So many things wrong with this thesis I don't know where to begin. And the odd thing, she has told me the town she lives in (no need for me to repeat it here). I don't know the town, but I do know it's just a handful of miles from the coast, which, according to the internet, is a 'scenic coastline' and part of a SSSI. Once I had a banished unwelcome thoughts of a pitiful troll, it was time to enjoy the near deserted beach, although I took surpisingly few photos.
We lay on the dunes for a while and contemplated how to overcome a dual barrier that prevented us walking all the way to Newton along the beach. One obstacle was the Long Nanny Tern breeding site
and the small matter of a beck to cross. I'd initially assumed it was just a small beach stream that could be waded, but not quite...
Because of the protected breeding site, the path was diverted off the beach, across a bridge and through long dune grass. That was pleasant, not least for the wild flowers and the plethora of butterflies.
I was just puzzled that none of the reference material mentioned the breeding site. Many recommended walking Beadnell to Low Newton by the Sea across the sands, but no hint of a diversion. The Ship Inn there is well recommended. Instead, we headed for High Newton, which has a bus stop. It was a difficult final stretch for me, wishing I was already at the pub for the final half mile. This was slightly but steadily and continuously uphill, and if there had been a passing bus, I would have caught it. But there wasn't, and to arrive at the village without succumbing to tears was a real sense of achievement. And after a few sips of cider, I wondered what I had even been bothered about.
The pub was the Joiners Arms, an exceptionally good pub. We ate there and it was very nice. Jimmy had fish and chips and later said it was the best of four such servings he'd had during our holiday. I had this Haddock and leek chowder, and was looking forward to pudding, But this was so tasty and so filling, I felt satiated.
We also had the unusual pleasure of neighbours' conversation. It was slightly odd, a local couple who had retired to the area and whose son was living in the USA. Parents and three teenage boys from the USA, friends of the couple's son. They'd never met before, so the opening gambits were nervous and hesitant. By the end, they were firm friends. If they weren't so nice and interesting, they might have annoyed me, but I learnt a lot about the area and about life from listening. In truth they weren't overloud; I suppose I listened because they were interesting. It was mainly the American woman and the English man talking but neither was over dominant, and all contributors seemed thoughtful sensitive people.
We caught the bus back to Seahouses. Jimmy used his Freedom pass but I had to pay - £4.70 for a single journey of twenty one minutes, on a service that only runs every two hours. It's almost a joke of a bus service; I wondered whether I should be surprised it was so empty. It's unlikely that many people could depend upon it to take them to and from work.
