Date : April 18th 2015
Location : Walberswick (well done Merty for cooking us supper last night and sending us on our way again)
Aim : With 12 1/2 miles already in the bag we were optimistic for a big old day
Walberswick to Southwold was a relaxed and relatively uneventful start to day two, apart from taking our life in our hands as we crossed the fair way on Southwold Golf Course. Saturday morning golfers take no prisoners. Stole a couple of chip forks from Southwold Pier in order to consume our lunch time salads and leisurely watched a beach hut being lifted up in the air by a crane (assume the occupants were still asleep).
As a consequence there was an extraordinarily large diversion inland that involved a lift from aforementioned Merty who was keen to point out that he was trying to mow the lawn. The Dunkirk spirit turned into sheer bloodymindedness when faced with further footpath closures – trespassing ensued along with a lot of muttering about ineffectual local authorities and power mad land owners. If I didn’t know better I could have sworn the inner rambler in us was taking hold.
Any road up, eventually we made our way along a really quite bucolic track towards the coast at Covehithe where we found the perfect spot for our deli lunch. Out of the wind and finally back on the beach. On the verge of tucking into our feta cheese quiche when a young English Bull Terrier joined us who was a) very friendly b) quite keen on quiche c) bonkers. Boris was his name. Boris’ slightly exasperated owner arrived on the scene and wished us well.
The large amount of sand that ended up in the quiche was I suspect due in no small part to Boris’ arrival. The sand in our nose, eyes and oddly inside our socks was I suspect just down to the unrelenting head wind that hit us as we headed north up towards Kessingland. Few words were exchanged over the next two hours apart from “I need to stop and empty the sand out of my shoe/sock/mouth”.
The home stretch, in front of Kessingland, turned into a strange lunar landscape of cracked sand and marram grass with few hardy souls braving it. Apart from us and a man carrying an extremely large bottle of water who was chanting some kind of mantra. Who are we to judge though as I suspect we weren’t looking the right side of sane ourselves. Finally arrived in Kirkly, south Lowestoft, at about 4.20 p.m. Big effort but strange twinge in back of left thigh and Whitts’ gouty toe playing up meant that we may have over egged it today. Foot spa worked miracles though and with Merty back on supper duty this evening we were already planning our next walk.
Total distance covered on foot (not including the lift): 15.4 miles
(Post script by the other walker – quote of the day as we approached Lowestoft and I called back to say we could probably get a lift from here “Right, how do we get of this f***ing beach…?!”
To be continued……