Day 211: Hartlepool to Seaham

It’s a drizzly morning, but the absence of a biting wind is a huge improvement from yesterday, encouraging me to explore the nearby dock, home to HMS Trincomalee, now over 200 years old.

Andy Capp, drawn by Reg Smythe from 1957 until his death in 1998, hails from Hartlepool. Another cartoon I grew up with, like Peanuts, although some of the gags have not aged as well as Snoopy. I like this one though.

The lovely North Sands beach is deserted.

Steetley Pier, 2,000 feet long, was built to carry seawater to a magensia plant. After it closed in 2005, a section of the pier was removed to stop fishermen walking along it and falling through holes, rumoured to be created by vengeful, nibbling fish at high tide.

Crimdon Beck forces me off the beach and into the warm Dunes cafe.

“Leek and potato soup please.”

“Hang on love. Let me check first.”

There’s something comforting about hearing North East accents again. She peers into the pot.

“I forgot to put the potatoes in yesterday! All good.”

Returning to the clifftop, there are several denes to cross. I’m definitely back in the North — memories as a kid playing in Throckley Dene and Denton Dene, swinging on ropes and exploring scary sewer tunnels with nothing but burning newspaper, which, unsurprisingly, did not get us very far.

Denemouth Viaduct hides in the mist and rain.

A well-placed bench is a good spot for a break, next to the Little Tern sculpture, celebrating the return of a colony from Africa in May of each year.

I’m really enjoying this walk despite the weather — beautiful clifftops over a lively sea.

The rain does create a small problem at Blackhills Gill. Where are my flippers?

The only way to avoid wet feet is to push through to the beach and round the other side of the dene.

The path is never dull.

Len O’Donnell, the former chairman of the Durham and Darlington Fire Authority, is 92. At the age of 69, he cycled an incredible 3,640 miles across America to raise money for replacement New York fire equipment, crushed when the towers fell in the September 11 terrorist attack. At the age of 80, he walked round the coast of Britain with his dog, Junior.

“Always like to see young’uns doing the same.”

I’ve always wanted to be a young’un.

Now widowed, he comes here every day, as he first courted his wife here.

I’m rather moved by it all. What an inspiring guy. I shake his hand.

The frequent denes and mud make for a challenging walk, but the wild views compensate.

The fossil remnant of a tree, 320 million years old, sits above Nose’s Point.

The sea crashes over the defences at Seaham Harbour, huge waves sweeping along the outer piers.

It’s too late to walk to Sunderland, so I catch a train and will fill another gap next month.

A big guy is leaning against the Travelodge reception desk, swaying slightly. He’s also a hiker and wants to chat, but alcohol has got the better of him, so we shake hands and I head to my room. He’s still there when I leave for the Dun Cow pub and tries to get my attention. I wave a greeting and head out swiftly into the night.

Walk distance: 20 miles.

Total distance: 3,593 miles.