Lindisfarne and Bamburgh, Northumberland
Day one Circular walk of Lindisfarne (4 miles)
Day two Budle Bay to Bamburgh to (5 miles)
The first swallows are swooping round the headland as I follow the coast path along the western side of the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. There are ringed plovers on the beach and a couple of grey seals bobbing out at sea. A barefoot guy is splashing along the tidal Pilgrim’s Way, an ancient post-marked path across shining sands. Lindisfarne is only accessible when receding tides uncover this path and the curving causeway road nearby.
The original 62 miles of Northumberland coast path, which opened 20 years ago, bypassed the island, so I’ve been looking forward to walking this stretch of the England coast path, which opened two years ago.
Very few of us will walk the full 2,700 miles of the King Charles III England coast path, which was inaugurated in March, but a four-mile stroll around Holy Island is an adventure in itself, a shifting landscape of wader-foraged mudflats, dunes, beaches, whinstone cliffs and a reedy blue-and-gold lough.
Waymarked posts lead through grassy sand dunes, freckled with cowslips. Skylarks and stonechats clack and chirrup, while courting lapwings tumble over the fields. Gertrude Jekyll’s little walled garden, on the hillside facing the clifftop castle, is bright with marigolds and purple rock cress.
Edward Hudson, founder of Country Life magazine, bought Lindisfarne Castle in 1901 and hired architect Edwin Lutyens to turn it into a home. Inside the craggy fortress, there are four-postered bedrooms and an elegant drawing room in the old gunpowder store. From the ramparts, a telescope shows the seal colony near two obelisks guiding boats into Holy Island harbour.
Just over the fields are the red sandstone arches of Lindisfarne Priory; these ruins date from the 12th century but a monastery was founded here by Saint Aidan in Northumbria’s seventh-century heyday. I walk past stacks of lobster pots to visit the museum with its carved stone crosses and fossil rosaries. Nearby Pilgrims Coffee offers fancy brews and fresh focaccia.
A stream of cars crosses Lindisfarne causeway, but you can arrive instead on bus 477 from Berwick-upon-Tweed (Mon-Sat in school holidays; otherwise Wed-Sat). A bus ticket gets you 10% off at the castle and 20% off at the priory. With good transport links, Berwick makes an excellent base for exploring this end of the coast path.
Getting off bus X18 at Budle Bay campsite the next day, I continue walking south towards Bamburgh. The original coast path runs inland from Lindisfarne, but there are now 10 miles of seasonally sensitive coastal access, open in June and July, plus this short new year-round path on the south-eastern edge of Budle Bay.
Wading birds forage in the mudflats and miles of moss-green salt marsh. Past ruined lime kilns and coconut-scented gorse, I cross cliffs into dunes, where a grasshopper warbler whirrs among roses and honeysuckle. The Walled Garden cafe, opposite St Aidan’s church, serves huge crab sandwiches with lemon and herbs. Nearby, the Norman keep of Bamburgh Castle has towered for nearly 900 years over the wide yellow sands.
Transport for this trip was provided by LNER. The nearest mainline station to Lindisfarne is Berwick-upon-Tweed. The Walls B&B (doubles from £130 B&B) overlooks the Tweed, or there is a YHA hostel next door (private rooms from £57)
Phoebe Taplin
Around the Wash, Norfolk and Lincolnshire
From King’s Lynn
To Sutton Bridge
Distance 15 miles
Isolation is claimed to be one of the latest trends in luxury travel. If true, then the stretch of the King Charles path around the Wash must be the most extravagant pleasure you can enjoy in England.
For hours I traversed a landscape of no people. No walkers, no workers, no houses, no cars, no noise except the shrill cry of redshank and the babble of skylarks drifting on the wind. If you’re weary of chatter and conflict, this undeniably desolate walk is for you. Every view of vast horizontals of green, brown and blue could be the cover for an album entitled Nowhere.
I set out from King’s Lynn, one of England’s most vibrant ports in the 13th century, which retains a wealth of medieval buildings. The coast path around the Wash, England’s biggest natural bay, requires excursions inland to cross the rivers that feed the largest multiple estuary system in Britain. Several miles can be sliced from the King’s Lynn section by taking the ferry across the Great Ouse from the old port to West Lynn.
I find no sign of life at the bottom of Ferry Lane, only a mysterious notice: “If you require the ferry please make yourself seen BEFORE the time NOT AFTER”. After 15 minutes pondering its meaning, I spot a small boat crossing the turbulent brown water.
I’m ferryman Ben’s only passenger and he’s convinced I’ll be cold in my shorts. “No shelter out there,” he warns. It’s a blustery May day, and I head up the western bank of the river.
Photograph: Adrian Chandler/Alamy
The Ouse sparkles silver and blue, but there is only a distant line of bronze representing the retreating North Sea. The sea views are underwhelming yet the effect is rather like being at sea, the seabank a kind of ship, ushering us between the vast prairie fields of the reclaimed Fens on one side and epic salt marshes on the other.
Most of this 15-mile stretch between King’s Lynn and Sutton Bridge borders the Wash. The south-eastern corner of this national nature reserve was first recognised as a precious home for stupendous flocks of wintering wildfowl and breeding waders by Sir Peter Scott, the 20th-century conservationist and artist who helped found the World Wide Fund for Nature.
He would be delighted by the wealth of little and great white egrets along the seabank, and it is only birds I have for company (I encounter just three walkers all day). I eat my packed lunch in the shelter of a stunted hawthorn – notices warn walkers there are no toilets, cafes or public transport on this section.
The grand liminal arena of the Wash, where land and sea blur into one, plays tricks on distances and perspectives. Faraway trees pop up like a mirage above the blue horizon. For a while I entertain myself with “ship or tractor?” when spying a distant machine. I see both.
I pass a mysterious island, identified on the map as the Outer Trial Bank, a test to see if more land might be wrenched from the sea. When I follow the path inland again alongside the River Nene, and pass the old lighthouse where Scott once lived, it is like returning to land after a sea voyage.
Other stretches of the coast path are unquestionably more scenic, but there’s something glorious and trance-like about walking for so long in such space and solitude. On the bus back to King’s Lynn, I glow from this unique experience.
Accommodation is limited around the Wash, but King’s Lynn is a good option, with day walks either side (Hunstanton to King’s Lynn is 17 miles with buses to get you out/back). The Bank House (doubles from £165 B&B) is in the historic old town
Patrick Barkham
The west Somerset coast
Photograph: Alan Gardiner/Alamy
From Minehead
To St Audries Bay
Distance 11 miles
Minehead may be the birthplace of the science fiction writer Arthur C Clarke, but it’s a coastal, rather than cosmic, odyssey I’m beginning here, walking 11 miles east to St Audries Bay.
Despite this being one of Somerset’s most well-trodden stretches of coast, few tackle it in one go; tides dictate when beach paths are passable, and return journeys rely on a public transport system that doesn’t yet stretch to moonbuses, so many visitors opt for circular hikes instead. Until now I’ve done the same, but the opening of the England coast path has inspired me to pull on my walking boots and lace together the sections I’ve skipped.
It’s not a propitious start. Coastal erosion has forced a 1½-mile diversion leaving Minehead. Instead of clamouring gannets and the rush of waves, I’m trailed by the rumble of engines as the route follows the A39. It’s not far to Dunster, however, where the soundtrack switches to lawnmowers and willow warblers, and I’m soon at the beach.
Clattering shingle underfoot, I’m buffeted along to the village of Blue Anchor, with its huddle of beach chalets. Along the promenade, I meet angler Steve, who’s hoping for dogfish or conger.
“Will you eat them,” I ask?
“I’m soft,” he smiles. “I throw them back. If I want fish, I go to the chippy.”
From here on, the path gets steeper and prettier, detouring around the headland through woods trimmed with blossom and birdsong. Midweek, the trail is quiet, despite the herds of caravans corralled in adjacent fields.
Approaching Watchet, the path spills on to the grassy earthworks of Daw’s Castle, a clifftop fortress founded by King Alfred to stave off Viking raiders. Fossil hunting is another long tradition along this coast, and when I stop at the town’s Market House Museum, I’m transfixed by a huge ammonite, found on a nearby beach a century and a half ago.
It’s market day in Watchet, and the trail leads past a rainbow of striped awnings to East Quay, the town’s social enterprise arts hub. In its cafe I order a charred sweetcorn and courgette salad and a cheese scone almost as gargantuan as that ammonite.
I’d like to visit East Quay’s art gallery and Watchet’s boat museum, but time and tide wait for no woman along this shoreline. Two hours before low tide, the route across neighbouring Helwell Bay is passable, but I’m cautious as I step over rocks and slippery kelp, mesmerised by the swirling mud and serrated shoreline below my boots as I play seaweedy hopscotch.
Leaving the beach near Doniford Farm Park, the trail winds through a maze of caravans then out into fields before dropping into St Audries Bay. I feel the waterfall here before I see it, its icy spray a reminder not to linger.
Retracing my steps to Doniford Halt, a request stop on the West Somerset Railway, I arrive just in time to flag down a steam train to take me back to Minehead. As we puff along, the landscape I have walked is rewound through the window. There are better coastlines in England for swimming than these estuarine bays, but as a tidal immersion on foot this walk has been stellar.
Train from Doniford Halt to Minehead is £17.50 one-way (west-somerset-railway.co.uk). Doubles at the Foxes hotel in Minehead from £120 B&B
Rhiannon Batten
Chichester harbour, Hampshire and West Sussex
Photograph: Stephen Tattersall/Alamy
From Prinsted
To West Wittering
Distance 16½ miles
Wild, windswept wetlands stretch to the horizon. Human figures are outnumbered by birds. Church spires and thatched roofs signpost scattered settlements. Can this really be the crowded south coast of England?
My boyfriend and I are walking part of a 35-mile stretch of the King Charles III England coast path, linking South Hayling in Hampshire to East Head in West Sussex, which opened in February. This section includes Chichester harbour, a protected estuary with open water and sheltered inlets, reedbeds, salt marshes, mudflats, shingle banks, sand dunes and a wooded shoreline.
We join the path at pretty Prinsted, after coffee (and directions) from the Southbourne farm shop. We set off east around Chidham peninsula, trying to spot the birds pictured on the information boards. Tens of thousands of wading birds and waterfowl spend the winter here, and in summer it’s a breeding ground for threatened species of seabirds and waders. Early April may not be peak time for birdwatching, but we still see a plethora of gulls and ducks, plus oystercatchers, curlews and a kestrel.
After rounding the peninsula and making our way up the other side, the day’s destination comes into sight across the water. Bosham, a cluster of buildings crowding up to the quayside, looks close enough to touch, but the winding coastal path is deceptive, and we still have a way to go (8½ miles in total).
We are glad to reach the Millstream, a 31-room hotel made from converted cottages, set in a lovely garden. Our room is in a tiny thatched cottage, reached by a little bridge over the stream.
Bosham (pronounced “Bozzum”) is ancient – believed to predate the Romans. Some think this is where King Canute tried to turn back the tide. King Harold II is depicted in the Bayeux tapestry praying at Bosham church, and the manor is recorded in the Domesday Book as one of the wealthiest in England. We visit the Saxon church and see the plaque to Canute’s eight-year-old daughter, who is said to have drowned and been buried here.
More cheerfully, we stop for a pint at the ivy-clad Berkeley Arms before dinner at the harbourside Anchor Bleu. The latter, family-run inn has been welcoming weary travellers since 1741 and has a daily changing, seafood-heavy chalkboard menu. The inspired kelp, samphire and seaweed “seacakes” mean that vegetarians don’t miss out, either.
The next morning, we walk across the harbour (a walkway appears at low tide) and continue south for a couple of miles. The wind is howling and it’s hard going – thankfully the route is flat and the formerly muddy tracks are now smooth paths. Areas along the trail that previously flooded at high tide have boardwalks above the water level, made from recycled bottles, and the paths are designed to be easily “rolled back” in the event of coastal erosion.
We battle the wind to the water’s edge and wave down the ferryman on the far shore. For hundreds of years, travellers have taken the Itchenor Ferry (AKA the Itchy Bosom) across the Chichester Channel to save them a 13-mile detour by foot. Today, the ferry also operates as a taxi service for people going to and from their boats, and on our crossing a bonus spin up the channel to pick up a couple of sailors is included in our £3.50 fare.
We disembark at West Itchenor and stop for coffee and cake at the Quarterdeck Cafe in the bustling boatyard. From here, it’s a six-mile shoreline stroll to the dunes at East Head spit, and the adjacent sandy beach at West Wittering. We are no longer alone – the car park is packed – but the beach is so vast, we don’t mind sharing.
Southbourne station is within walking distance of the start of the walk and Chichester station is a bus ride from the end. Accommodation was provided by the Millstream hotel (doubles from £200 B&B)
Rachel Dixon
The Fylde coast, Lancashire
From St Annes-on-the-Sea
To Freckleton
Distance 11½ miles
Two avocets dip their scimitar beaks into the lagoon. An egret hops on to the bank. A herd of cattle wade knee-deep. In the hazy light it might be a remote outpost on the Pampas. But it is Lancashire, and Preston is just around the corner.
Some walks exhilarate partly because your expectations are quite low. I imagined the coast from St Annes-on-the-Sea to Freckleton to be suburban seaside, with the occasional moment of peace, beauty or wildness perhaps. But it is all of this and more.
I have a few childhood memories of St Annes from visiting my grandad. It still has a 1970s atmosphere: quietish, residential, conservative. Local businesses are sprucing up frontages and gardens for the coming season. A litter-picking campaign has set up shop near the pier.
We walk on the sandy beach until it segues into a greener area, with dunes on the left and salt marsh on the right. The path between is busy with dog walkers and families enjoying the morning sun. Groups of nordic walkers speed past. Two detectorists bleep below the prom. On Fairhaven Lake the pedalos and boats are out.
Soon we come to Lytham, smart and gentrified. We buy coffees from a kiosk on the front before strolling along the Mussel Tank Memorial to visit the free museum inside the windmill. The birdlife is already good – oystercatchers, curlews, herons – and it only gets better as we leave built-up areas behind and stride out on to the edges of the Ribble Estuary national nature reserve – also designated a site of special scientific interest, a European special protection area and international Ramsar wetland site.
Why all the titles? Because this estuarial Eden happens to be the most important site in the UK for wintering wildfowl, supporting more than a quarter of a million ducks, geese, swans and wading birds; it’s internationally important for 16 species of wintering visitors. Spring isn’t bad, either. I’ve remembered my binoculars. As well as the wondrous avocets, we see and/or hear redshanks, skylarks, linnets, sedge warblers, shelducks, goldfinches, swallows, peewits, kestrels – and hares.
I have brought a hat, too, which is lucky. Coast walks are great – you can proceed without navigating or having to look down – but there’s not much cover. As we approach Warton airbase, the path follows a causeway. We have passed lots of benches (and loos), but here we sit on the grass to enjoy a picnic and birdsong.
The Lancashire coast is known for resorts rather than beaches, nature, cliffs or birdlife. The towns are famous; the bits in between overlooked. The King Charles III England coast path could alter this, which would be a good thing; it will spread visitors out, perhaps explode a few cliches. The Lancs littoral turns out to be as generous with fresh air, flora and fauna as it is with fun and frolics.
The Lancashire section isn’t fully open or waymarked, but work is afoot and Cicerone has published a guide and map. The 68 bus runs between Blackpool and Preston, stopping at St Annes, Lytham and Freckleton. The stretch between Freckleton and Preston is best done by bus as the path is forced on to a main road. Trains connect Blackpool, St Annes-on-the-Sea, Lytham and Preston. The Rooms Lytham has doubles from £110