King Charles III England Coast Path: East Coast spectacular (Berwick to Bridlington)

I’m heading south from the Scottish border along the now-open 246-mile section to Bridlington. This promises to be spectacular through Northumberland, Durham, and the Yorkshire coastline, with long beach walks until the hillier sections join the Cleveland Way at Saltburn. My legs are missing a good climb. I walk north first from Berwick-Upon-Tweed station for 5 odd miles to the Scottish border, chatting to a Stuart, who walks this section 3 times a week. It is great to be back on the coast. I sense my journey coming towards its end as I head south for the youth hostel and the start of a 10-day walk to Bridlington.

Tides are an important factor along this coastline. I am unable to cross to Lindisfarne at high tide and make a note that I should walk from the priory next year as the starting point of my Scottish National Trail expedition. There are a few loose ends to clean up in the coming years as the King Charles III England Coast Path is completed: estuaries missed when I took public ferries; tides and floods meaning diversions; and a few islands with incomplete paths. Such is the complexity of the route it is difficult to be precise and pedantic about truly completing the KCIIIECP. It would require perfect conditions and aligned lunar orbits. Nevertheless, I made good progress to camp at Waren Mill to watch the migrating geese head south. The Lindisfarne Nature Reserve is outstanding and worth a later visit, for the variety and number of wading birds will keep any bird watcher happy.

I chose to stop early to rise early to catch the dawn around Bamburgh Castle. As I leave Budle Bay, a new vista opens before me, with England’s most iconic coastal landscape. The sheer audacity of the castle in the dunes is breathtaking, and the light is perfect for a photo or two before an endless walk along the beach to Seahouses. I recall the final scenes of a film version of Macbeth with Michael Fassbender, the flames and smoke were unable to eliminate the dominance of this structure above the beach. The early starts are always rewarded with a beautiful light, even more so on the east coast, as the sun rises above the Farne Islands out to sea.

The beaches continue, with a low tide permitting extensive hard sand sections to Dunstanburgh Castle via Beadnell and Embleton Bay. I can progress to Alnmouth via Craster to wait for a bus into Alnwick and another good YHA hostel. Returning the next day, a sizeable man eats 3 bacon baps and 6 Greggs sausage rolls, washed down with 3 cans of high-energy drinks in the 10-minute bus journey – probably enough calories for a week of walking. He emits a loud burp as I disembark to walk around the estuary onto another extensive beach section, which I overshoot near Warkworth, another scenic castle built in the oxbow meander of the River Coquet. Beautiful sculptures mark the path into Amble for an excellent lunch with a mischievous gathering of starlings who have learned to appreciate the food huts near the port and will happily feed out of your hand. I relax into the afternoon walk to Newbiggin-on-Sea and a seaside hotel that looks drab outside but has a stunning sea view room to watch the sunrise. I listen to the quiz night downstairs and can only answer 3 of the 20 tunes correctly. The breakfast is epic and will serve as lunch too with a handmade sandwich wrapped in foil.

The next day results in a 28-mile semi-industrial walk to the Souter Lighthouse just north of Sunderland. Now I am entering the more populated areas but with plenty of interest around Blyth, Whitley Bay and Tynemouth. The architecture and seaside holiday vibe are uplifting in places as is the renewed industrial activity as huge new estates are constructed. There is a sense of community, and it is easy to drop into conversation with almost anyone. Dave, the bus driver, who drives me back to the lighthouse in the morning, is fascinated by my long-distance journey and stops longer than he should to chat with me, much to the consternation of the passengers. However, the birders are too absorbed in counting inbound skeins of geese to chat further south. It is not until I reach Sunderland that social interaction resumes, albeit some wild exchanges with drug addicts along the estuary who are too stoned to care.

I push along the former coal beaches near Easington Colliery, now cleaned up but retaining an odour of fossil fuel and industry. I’d like to make it to Hartlepool, but walking is painful, so I catch a bus. I can spend a day with my daughter in Darlington for recovery, as my heavy boots are not suited to pavement and hard paths, and I have developed a few blisters. The Up and Running shop has an offer on Brooks Cascadias, which I can’t ignore and switch to for the final week. I alternate between my preferred footwear of Meidel Bhutans and Cascadias, but I am concluding that trail running shoes work best in all but the most challenging terrain and weather. I am pleased to wear them as I navigate Billingham and Middlesborough, perhaps the worst section of the KCIIIECP, only redeemed with a superb workers’ pop-up cafe on a roundabout near Redcar.

It is good to be back on the beach walking into Salturn for a mandatory fish and chips. The Yorkshire moors fall into the sea, and I am climbing again along 200m sea cliffs. These are the first I can recall since Somerset. My knees are making strange noises, but the exhilaration of the elevated views, particularly at Boulby, minimises any pain. I descend into Staithes and climb to Hinderwell for an excellent campsite. I have been walking with several groups on day hikes using buses to return to their start points. The conversations delay progress in a nice way, as does a long chat in the campers’ room with others passionate about walking in the area. The Cleveland Way will be a highlight, and it seems pretty different from how I recall walking in the opposite direction some 7 years ago.

I take an easy day to Robin Hood’s Bay and a nice hotel, stopping in Whitby for a fish pie at the popular Magpie Cafe. The port is buzzing with visitors, some dressed in gothic outfits. I count the 199 steps to the Abbey and dawdle along the coastline in no rush, wanting to spend more time with the views than those inside a bedroom. I have eaten well, and wait until breakfast to refuel, I am relaxing into a rhythm that often results in greater distances being covered with no apparent effort, or maybe those Cascadias are doing their job, having lightened the load on my legs. It is a long, remote stretch to Scarborough, passing a fingerpost in Ravenscar that once inspired me to cycle the North Sea Cycle Route (Eurovelo 12). It is raining for a change, but progress is easy, with very few people walking. I stopped for lunch in a restaurant run by the same company as Magpie Cafe (Watermark Cafe), a coincidence. It is still a few miles to Filey and a campsite, but the rain has stopped. I walk wearily to my pitch, having had a surreal conversation about a £10 deposit for the washroom key which can only be returned at 9AM. I need to leave a 7AM, so I trust them to refund later (next week a £10 note is posted to me – how old fashioned).

It rained hard overnight, so the paths after the Filey beach are slippery. The chalk downland produces a special type of ice rink, a combination of hard ground with a sheen of slippery clay, which makes walking in a straight line impossible. My shoes get clogged up quickly, and my poles save me from danger so close to the cliff edge. Only a few birders brave the strong winds at Bempton, but the gannets are oblivious to the conditions as they fish offshore and land at their nests. The campsite is huge but has the flaw of wet grass cuttings making to washrooms filthy and an archaic £10 deposit for a key card that can only be returned at 9AM, when you want to leave at 7AM.

Numerous bakeries in Filey provide meal deals for the day. The beach south looks like it has no exit, but ricketty steps are a relief to see at the last moment near Hunmanby Gap. After walking the boundary paths of a huge static van site and passing one of many WWII lookout stations, I can see the lighthouse ahead, which had flashed 4 times per 15 seconds the night before. Flamborough Head brings some relief from the slippery paths at the expense of a solid headwind to Bridlington. The town is quiet in the dreary weather, with many options to purchase mobility scooters and disposable vapes.

The train whisks me to Hull and Kings Cross on the way home. As we stop at Grantham, I am already plotting the final leg to Cromer, hopefully in 2023. The path is yet to be completed, and coastal erosion is a major issue in places. Unless the tides align and I can find a safe route, I may defer to 2024. It is perhaps 250 miles further, and my journal records 101 days of walking the KCIIIECP – an estimated 2,300 miles so far. This would suggest 2,550 miles, but I must add the mileage later and plan a relaxing schedule to fill in the bits I have missed.