Day 216: Newbiggin-by-the-Sea to Amble

Previous day

Before returning to Northumberland, there’s one final gap to fill, the eight miles from Seaham to Sunderland.

The train platform at Middlesborough is thronged with Christmas parties heading for Newcastle. There are more antlers here than I saw in Greenland. I leave the herd behind, stepping off at Seaham into a wild and wet day.

Poor Eleven ‘o’ One (Tommy), another Ray Lonsdale steel sculpture, sits bedraggled on the rainswept promenade.

Once again, I’m glad to be walking northwards, with the prevailing wind and rain at my back. The crumbling clay cliffs are no match for the power of the sea.

It’s not long before I reach the outskirts of Sunderland Harbour, enjoying the waves crashing over the breakwater.

Turning inland, along the River Wear, the weather calms, so much so that I hear singing at the end of the match at Roker Park.

Butterflies by Frank Styles complements the fans, decked out in red and white, returning to their parked cars.

A short day, topped off with excellent beer and a huge pizza at the Ship Isis. Hiking in cold weather, carrying a slight cold, increases my calorie consumption, as the entire pizza is quickly demolished, which is unusual for me — the body demands fuel.

Today

To avoid a two-hour bus journey on a Sunday morning, Peter, who hiked with me on my last trip, kindly gives me a lift to Newbiggin-by-the-Sea.

After a few navigational issues escaping the Sunderland ring roads, we arrive at the smaller version of The Couple, by Sean Henry, gazing at their larger doppelgangers out at sea, the last view from my November trip.

Approaching Lynemouth Power Station, a dog-walker asks about my journey. He meets a lot of coastal walkers as this is his daily walk. He lived here when the area was nothing but dunes, although admits it’s nice to go home and have the power to switch on a kettle. 

The power station was originally coal-fired but now uses biomass. Signs of its history lie all round.

The black landscape gives way to the gorgeous, endless dunes of Druridge Bay. The rain begins to fall. I’m only walking 13 miles today so take shelter in the cafe at the Visitors Centre for a hot lunch.

The rain persists as I venture out to join my constant wet weather companions: skittering sanderlings and squeaking oystercatchers.

The Dunbar Burn blocks my enjoyable beach rambling. It’s too deep to cross without removing my boots, so I take a short detour inland.

The rain steadily worsens as I reach the outskirts of Amble and the Bord Waalk sculpture trail. Brick Tree, by Rodney Harris, includes holes for tree sparrow nests.

Trying to keep to the beach, I foolishly attempt to climb across the rocks. They are so smooth and wet that I slide backwards, even on my hands and knees. Defeated, I retrace my steps to find an easier way off the beach.

It’s dark and wet when I reach Amble. Thankfully, I’ve not long to wait for a bus to Alnwick, where I’m staying for two nights. The roads are flooded, and huge waves rise on either side of the bus as it ploughs through.

Although it’s dark, it’s still early, so I step into the magical second-hand bookshop, Barter Books, created within the old railway station — heaven. There’s a locked glass case containing rare comics, including a Frank Frazetta book, although the price tag is hidden. I collected them when I was younger and they are still in the loft, sealed in their plastic bags. The kids are always telling me to sell them, but their value dropped significantly with the rise of the internet, although the Marvel movie franchise helps.

Several model trains rattle along tracks laid across the top of the shelves.

The Ale Gate micro pub is my second stop. Two guitarists play “Lady Eleanor” as I walk in — I could settle here for hours. They finish with “Winter Song”, which prompts a chat with them at the bar. There seems to be live folk music in every pub I pass. I like Alnwick.

Walk distance: 21 miles.

Total distance: 3,672 miles.