June 8, 2011: Warkworth to Craster
The church at Warkworth
Sunny skies greeted us as we rose for the second day of our walk. I had plenty of time to get my stuff together and to study several species of tit and the rumbustious jackdaws at the feeders in the back yard. Our landlady began a long litany of the subject of today’s route, much of which went in one ear and out the other, but I was intrigued by a final suggestion: a shortcut to get us directly to our accommodation – without going through the town of Craster first. As this was to be our longest day, 13 miles, I was certainly open to this suggestion.
An additional idea, after she had handed us our packed lunches, was that we drop down to the river for this morning’s approach to Warkworth, but I soon realized that last night’s shortcut was the most direct route and so we used it, dropping down to the main street of the town where Tosh was tempted by the twee offering in many a shop window (these enterprises alternated with the slovenly storefronts which so frequently greeted us on this trip). I had to tell her that the bird with the little girl in one window decoration was not a puffin but a dodo. Seeking a postcard to send to Margie, Tosh disappeared into the newsagent while I went ahead to the church and took some pictures as the ecclesiastical lawn was being mowed. It was now 9:40 and we were still in Warkworth.
Poppies north of Warkworth
We now passed a cemetery – just as some gentleman said he hoped we had our waterproofs with us. (This was a constant greeting on this trip, banter with a bite.) We turned right and soon used the old bridge to cross the Coquet. Then we crossed the main highway and headed back to the beach past a glorious poppy display. We did not descend to the sands at this point, being directed instead to a series of tracks that passed behind the dunes. On the whole the route was turning out to be well waymarked – if you make allowances for the dozens of blue wavy “N” waymarks that had already faded to an uninformative white, though at least you could always make out the direction of the arrow. Our goal was the distant town of Alnmouth but, in spite of its being visible ahead of us, it proved to be hard to reach with any speed. For the first time, but not the last, my stomach began to fire off – the after-effects of all this extra food I was ingesting. I was glad that Tosh was out in front of me this morning.
The River Aln and its estuary guard the entrance to the town itself and necessitate quite a detour. Eventually we left our tracks behind us and climbed a road up to the A1068, a manoeuver that lead us away from Alnmouth.
A pavement then lead us in a northerly direction – part of a national cycle trail (number 1). Finally we rounded a corner, after we had drawn parallel with the town, emerging on the road that crossed the Aln at last.
Our instructions were to look for a turnoff onto Lover’s Walk immediately after crossing the bridge and Tosh was the first to spot this, calling me back a few paces.
We began a circuit of the peninsula on which Alnmouth sits – with Tosh falling into conversation with some other walkers who referred to her trailing companion as “the old man.” We were looking for a place to have coffee and Tosh was attracted to a sign for a place called the Dandelion, which overlooked a municipal golf course on the seaward sign of town. This proved to be a very comfortable place and we were soon sprawled in wicker easy chairs. Tosh denounced her cappuccino and said that the two scoops of ice cream (which came in a tub not a bowl) lacked flavor. I took advantage of the hotel’s loos and felt much better for it. As we were getting ready to leave a pretty young mother took her diamond ring off to show it to a little girl; it got knocked out of her hand and it took half a dozen people on their hands and knees to find it again.
Tosh in Alnmouth – she had just walked her mile 2900
After our rest we used paved walkways to return to the coast, passing more golf course acreage (Northumberland is obviously on the Golf Coast). A short stretch of beach walking ensued and we found some convenient rocks in order to open our packed lunches. Concrete steps allowed us to leave the sand behind and we were soon heading north again on inland tracks. I had just noted that the PH symbol appears on the OS map in Boulmer, our next objective, and so we marched forward in anticipation – at last reaching the Fishing Boat Inn in mid-afternoon. It was open and the woman behind the bar was just on the phone explaining to one disgruntled customer why it was necessary to charge 50p for a glass of water. We each had a double Jack Daniels.
When we emerged it was clear that a shower had just fallen and, indeed, we encountered one drizzly patch this afternoon ourselves – but we never had to don raingear. We had another rest, a second lunch, at the footbridge over Howick Burn, where the skies were dominated not by seabirds but by an insistent helicopter that circled us repeatedly – as though we were on the run. There were lots of other people about. We met a couple who paused to hum Tosh’s sweatshirt (which featured a few bars from La Boheme). They had a Standard Schnauzer with them. We also met two fishermen; they had given up on mackerel and switched to sea bass – one chap had caught four.
Just north of Howick itself the cliff top path parallels a road and it was at this point that I decided to use the latter for a direct assault on the village of Dunstan, an outlier of Craster – where this stage normally ends. Here I found it very useful to have the OS xerox in my map case as we made our way through agricultural territory, a lovely escarpment on our right. We reached the wooded hamlet and walked up to a crossroads, turning right to find the entrance to our hotel, The Cottage Inn. Soon we were crunching over the stony driveway to this low-slung outpost, which we reached at 5:35.
We were shown to two en suite rooms in the same hallway and soon repaired to the bar, where I downed a pint of lager. Then I went back to my room, had a shower and a brief snooze and joined Tosh at 7:00 in the Harry Hotspur dining room, a large space with murals depicting scenes from the life of the famous figure himself. I had the fried haddock and chips and Tosh the loin of pork. Again it was an early night and, after I shut the bathroom door to drown out the hissing plumbing, I had a good night’s sleep.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: