Day 217: Amble to Embleton

I woke up in the early hours, sheets soaked with sweat. Am I coming down with something or just the hot curry last night? Regardless, I’m back in Amble before dawn, the weather a little less hostile than yesterday.

The art trail is more visible now. There are several sculptures in the middle of town — Recycled Terns, designed by Diane Watson, is my favourite.

The path turns inland, following the River Coquet.

What a gorgeous morning. Warkworth Castle is closed, but I’m content to walk round the formidable moat, enjoying the place to myself.

The beach and dunes running from Amble to Alnmouth are beautiful in the morning light. I’m often rewarded with fabulous weather after a wet and windy day.

The deserted stretch of pristine sand is flanked by peaked dunes and a foaming sea, almost perfect beneath a blue sky. It’s already shaping up to be one of those days where everything comes together and anything feels possible.

Having watched the “Alnmouth” episode of Villages by the Sea, I take a diversion up Church Hill, cut off from the village when the river changed its course in 1906, to see St Cuthberts Cross, said to be the location where St Cuthbert agreed to become Bishop of Lindisfarne.

There are wonderful views in all directions.

A mortuary chapel, built in 1871, sits at the base of the hill.

It’s a long walk round the River Aln to the bridge crossing, but the light makes everything so pretty.

The tiny Ferryman’s Hut in Alnmouth has several interesting framed articles inside. One, from 2008, refers to the mortuary chapel:

The roof has been deliberately removed because the deserted building was being used for most undesirable practices.

I can only imagine.

The Village Tea Rooms are lovely, if rather cosy, especially with a few large dogs squeezed in. It’s hard not to eavesdrop on the conversation of two old couples. It’s one litany of moaning about friends. One lady who cooked them dinner kept a disgusting kitchen — after using a whisk she placed it in the dishwasher without rinsing first — outrageous! If I ever show similar signs, please someone just shoot me.

Heading north, a sign at Foxton Hall points along the beach — what beach? The waves are lapping up against the clay cliffs. Time for a little wave hopping. Three wild swimmers stand drying on the far steps, amused at my progress. I make it to the steps before a wave catches me and water pours over the top of one boot — cue grins all round.

Despite being dry, I’ve chased beautiful rainbows all day.

Dusk approaches as I reach the tiny harbour at Craster, the smell of kippers in the air.

There it is. My favourite childhood castle — Dunstanburgh Castle. Is there a more dramatic skyline?

There are only a few minutes left before sunset, so I jog the last mile, to be rewarded with a stunning sunset. I’ll happily take rain for the rest of the week now. The castle is closed, but it would be easy enough to climb over the small wooden gate and explore. Unfortunately, it will be dark soon and I’ve still a few miles to go. I stand and breathe it all in.

The path loops round below the castle, next to a lake. This is a new perspective for me as I’ve only ever walked from Craster to the castle and back.

Eventually, I reach Embleton in the dark. There are few lights. The village looks deserted. I’m meeting my sister, Judith, for a meal at the Grey’s Inn pub, although I’m early. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, it’s like a scene from a Christmas postcard. Two roaring fires sit at either end of the small bar, festooned with decorations. The entire village seems to be gathered and several bearded faces turn to look at the stranger. I’m thinking of Local Hero. It’s friendly, and I settle down at a cosy table next to the fire before Judith arrives. A jukebox plays “Winter Song”. I’m home.

A magical day – one of the best.

Walk distance: 18 miles.

Total distance: 3,690 miles.