Seahouses and Farne Islands

Nicole's birthday and a local public holiday fell across the same weekend. We decided to get away for a couple of nights down in Northumberland. Familiar territory for us. We booked two nights in a wigwam on a campsite just outside Seahouses - a small coastal town just a short drive from Bamburgh. Leaving early on a Saturday Morning, we headed down a quiet A1, making our usual pit-stop at the retail park near Dunbar. Suitably refreshed, the journey to Seahouses proceeded painlessly and we pulled in at Budel Bay en route. A few ducks and waders were present but the vast intertidal expanse was mostly deserted.

A little further down the coast, we took the opportunity to drive across the causeway towards Holy Island. The magical landscape is captivating and you can see the pilgrim route marked out by wooden poles on the sand flats. After a quick turnaround on the island itself, we paused in a lay-by on the return leg. You really have the sense of being among the birds, rather than viewing them from the shore. In Seahouses, we parked up and wandered down to the harbour. The main focus for today was a boat cruise around the Farne Islands, which included an hour of exploration time upon Inner Farne. Our sailing was due to depart around lunchtime and we collected our boarding tickets. Having National Trust memberships meant the island landing fee was waived. We took a packed lunch on to the busy open-deck craft. It was a case of grabbing a bench seat wherever you could find a suitable place. The weather was somewhat unsettled but fortunately the conditions remained dry for the duration of our voyage. The Farne archipelago is a nature reserve of special scientific interest - home to one of the most significant seabird breeding colonies in the UK. Comprising inner and outer groups, separated by Staple Sound, there are no permanent residents and the islands are owned by the National Trust. A handful of employed rangers live on site for nine months of the year, retreating to the mainland during the winter. As we approached our destination, various seabirds flew by the boat, or bobbed in the surrounding water. This was a mere taster. Tall vertical cliffs came into view and the ledges were crammed with breeding guillemots, razorbills and kittiwakes. Each nesting pair has its own rigidly defined slice of territory. Amazingly, the eggs have evolved into a shape that doesn't roll easily if accidently kicked. It was a noisy and spectacular sight. The maritime nature reserve is also home to a large colony of grey seals. Around 2000 pups are born here every year. We sailed right by a few adults, reclining on the rocks. It always looks as if they lead a leisurely life. The population here has been monitored continuously since 1951.

Norfolk 2026

For the third successive Easter period, we booked a holiday in Norfolk. We returned to the small market town of Reepham, which has ample amenities and is handily placed for birdwatching opportunities. Easter Monday probably wasn't the wisest departure date but we battled our way south through the holiday congestion and eventually rolled into Reepham around teatime. On the journey, we had stopped at a lovely farm shop near Scotch Corner and we stashed some tasty produce in the cool bag. Our accommodation this year was very close to the main square and we had a designated parking space outside the ground-floor flat. Everything was clean and comfortable inside.

The weather forecast for the week was glorious and we had a short wander around the middle of Reepham on the first morning. Spring was in full swing down here, whereas Scotland was just in the early stages. The town has a population of 2500 and has an affluent feel. We could access the shops via a community walled garden (pictured). This tranquil public space is an oasis of calm and everything was blooming. The upkeep is funded by hiring out the compound for parties and events. The garden is attached to the Bircham Centre - a large building held in trust for the benefit of the townsfolk. Reepham also has back-to-back active churches, and the remains of a third, all upon the same site. We wandered through the graveyard and read about the history of worship in the town. St Mary's is the regular parish church and hosts regular services. It dates back to the 1200s but extensive rebuilding took place in the 19th century. The adjacent St Michael's is of a similar vintage and sports a fine tower. Still used as a place of worship, it functions primarily as a community hall. A section of porch wall is all that is left standing of All Saints Church. After a fire in 1543, the building fell into ruin and was razed in 1796. A recent archaeology project revealed more of the foundation and allowed the general floor plan to be ascertained. It was time to hit the road and our first mission was a short trip to the garden centre in nearby Bawdeswell. The sprawling complex has an independent art-supply shop tucked away in an arcade at the back. It's one of Nicole's favourite establishments of this type and she naturally spent a bit of time browsing. I took the opportunity to inspect the extensive range of regional ales in the food hall, picking out a few for evening consumption over the week. We then made a beeline for the north Norfolk coast, our destination being the Cley and Salthouse Marshes nature reserve. I could remember bits and pieces of the local road network, which certainly helps in a part of the country where the Satnav connection can drift in and out. Cley Marshes is the flagship reserve of the Norfolk Wildlife Trust, an organisation currently celebrating its 100th anniversary. Some of the merchandise in the excellent shop reflected this milestone. Over 60 landscapes are managed and conservation measures are now more vital than ever. The coastal territory covers 300 hectares and over 100,000 people visit each year. Four hides can be easily accessed by boardwalk and and they offer excellent views across the pools and scrapes. We crossed a crystal-clear chalk stream and passed by an area of reedbed before reaching the cluster of hides. Cley is well known for the presence of avocets, a bird that was scarcely breeding in England by the end of the 19th century. Swathes of habitat had been lost to land reclamation. Egg collecting and wildfowl shooting didn't help matters. None were left in this corner of Norfolk by 1825, but four pairs returned in 1997. Numbers grew and the species is now firmly established at Cley & Salthouse. It's always a joy to see these magnificent waders strutting around, foraging for morsels with their unique upturned beaks. The bird also appears on the RSPB crest. A whole assortment of ducks and waders were going about their business in the undisturbed pools. Nothing too rare in evidence today but an unusual spot is a mere bonus. A snipe was showing right in front of the hide, but sadly appeared to be injured. The main selling point of Cley is the atmosphere, for me at least. This extends to the elevated visitor centre across the road from the protected territory. The café serves an excellent range of food and offers views across the reserve towards the North Sea. I enjoyed a marshman's lunch, a variation on the ploughman's theme.

The shop stocks a good selection of books, cards and artwork, along with a large amount of bird-themed merchandise. It's pleasant to sit on the rooftop terrace and the Cley-Spy premises sell top of the range optical equipment. After a leisurely browse, we drove down to the beach that borders the reserve. The two-mile stretch of shingle looks good but is tricky to walk on as your feet continually sink into the slopes of tiny pebbles. I traipsed for a quarter of a mile and back again, passing numerous anglers with elaborate lines set up. On the way back to Reepham we pulled over at a house with duck eggs for sale, dropping a few coins into the honesty box. One birding mission accomplished. The next day saw a change of scenery. Norfolk has several grand National Trust Properties and we headed for Blickling Estate, just outside the nearby town of Aylsham. The grounds were bathed in sunshine and we gained free entry, thanks to our Scottish membership cards. The stunning red-brick Jacobean mansion began to take shape in 1616 and was built upon the ruins of an older house. The main drive is lined by tall yew hedges, which are trimmed annually with the aid of a cherry picker. Even so, the process takes two weeks. The estate had previously been occupied by the family of Anne Boleyn, one of the many wives of Henry VIII. She was probably born here. We were greeted at the door by a friendly guide from Brooklyn, New York, whose accent sounded slightly out of place in this historic English stately home. Nicole spotted a few examples of bulls carved into the stonework and plaster, a historical nod to the Boleyn family, whose crest was of a bovine nature. Sir Henry Hobart - a successful lawyer - founded the new dynasty and the estate passed through several generations over the next four centuries until the National Trust acquired the country pile in 1940. During the Second World War, Blickling was home to RAF Oulton – a bomber base Squadrons launched continental bombing raids from grass runways (later upgraded to concrete). This activity is commemorated by a museum in the East Wing. In peace time, the house was let to tenants until 1960. The Trust then began a restoration project and the public were admitted two years later. Today, over 200,000 people visit annually. After admiring the grand staircase and painted wooden beams on the ceiling, we commenced the self-guided tour. The fireplace in the dining room is more or less original, with the present panelling dating from 1756. We progressed through a series of rooms, with members of staff on hand to provide detail.

The long gallery was converted into a library in 1745. The collection of around 10,000 items includes manuscripts, early printed books, pamphlets and volumes on religion, science, histories, languages and travel. It is the most significant library collection held by the National Trust. Some of the printed text is in Latin or Greek. To be blunt, once you've done a few tours of these palatial residences, a sense of familiarity creeps in. I often find it more satisfying to explore the grounds. Much of the present parkland was laid out in the 18th century, with the formal gardens to the rear of the property (pictured) being remodelled in the 1930s. Spring was clearly well ahead of the seasonal situation in Scotland and we encountered blossom as we worked our way back round to the front of the house. After visiting the gift shop, we had a packed lunch in the car, scoffing a couple of artisan pies we had sourced from the excellent butcher's shop in Reepham. We drove into Aylsham town centre, where I was dropped off for a little railway and walking adventure. The Bure Valley heritage steam line is a narrow gauge operation that runs 9 miles through the countryside to Wroxham. It occupies the trackbed of a regular railway that closed to passengers in 1952, one of many routes that criss-crossed Norfolk. Freight traffic continued until 1984, when British Rail lifted the decaying track. Fortunately the corridor was not lost completely and a joint project between the County Council and a preservation group led to the creation of a narrow-gauge railway and public footpath side by side. Trains began running in 1990 and the line operates on a not for profit basis. The original station buildings had fallen into disrepair and it was decided to demolish them and build a northern terminus for the heritage route upon the same site. The modern facility is very impressive, featuring a large café and souvenir shop. A small museum relates the history of the line. My return ticket cost £25 - quite steep but reflective of punitive increases in the cost of living. The train was moderately loaded for the final run of the day and I watched the scenery slip by from my petite carriage. An occasional walker or cyclist waved from the adjacent path. Ay Wroxham Station, I browsed the second hand bookshop as the locomotive was turned around for the return journey, picking up a copy of the (now somewhat discredited) Salt Path. The heritage halt is located near a former junction with the Norwich to Sheringham route, now marketed as the Bittern Line. The two systems are not physically connected and I watched a heavy rail service pull out of the mainline station, a mere stone's throw away. Back in Aylsham, I located the trackbed of another dismantled route, part of a 26-mile trail known as Marriott's Way. Opened in 1991, it continues beyond Reepham before looping back towards Norwich.

I had scheduled a six-mile hike back to our accommodation as a way to round of the day with some exercise. The walkway is named after Norfolk railway man William Marriott, who held the position of chief engineer for 41 years. The path utilises the routes of two former railways that were linked by a tight curve inserted in 1960 that shortened the journey for freight trains. Passenger services petered out in the 1950s and freight runs continued for another 30 years. No traces of Aylsham North Station remain. Marriott's Way provides a vital ribbon of wildlife through arable farming territory. I passed between endless fields and eventually passed close to the site of Cawston Station, now a private residence. I pushed on towards Reepham and the final mile was along a noticeably uphill gradient, which began to sap my stamina after two hours of walking at a brisk pace. Reepham Station has its platform intact and the buildings now host local businesses, including a café and a barber shop. I had been for a look around the previous year and ploughed on through this evening as I was getting rather hungry. I wandered down to the house and settled in for the night. A good stretch of the legs, but my adventures on Marriott's Way had only just started. The following day I was up early to launch a major assault on the section to Norwich. I had decided to cut out the freight loop as this would have involved doubling back on myself for a considerable distance. Instead I headed out of town at the bottom end and rocked up at Reepham and Whitwell Station, closed to passengers in 1959 although the goods yard was in operation for a further five years. Trains continued to serve a concrete works a few miles distant and the infrastructure at Whitwell survived, eventually being acquired by a heritage organisation in 2007. The site is now a thriving historical hub and rides are offered along a quarter mile of track within the old sidings. I visited last year and blogged about my experience. The footpath runs right by the original passenger platform and I set out on a mammoth trek to the biggest settlement in the county. Initial progress was rapid as the first couple of miles sloped downhill. The sun made its presence felt but the lineside tree cover would provide welcome shade throughout the day. The white level crossing gate at Lenwade has been preserved and the station is now in private hands. The concrete factory no longer has a rail link and I slipped by quietly alongside the industrial plant. I crossed the River Wensum, which flows all the way to Norwich. For a spell, I paused for a breather and read the sad news that Fife wildlife cinematographer Doug Allan had passed away at the age of 74. He was widely acclaimed for his ground breaking work with David Attenborough. Nicole is actually a personal friend of his sister. The path dog-legged around the site of Attlebridge Station - now a dwelling house with a replica signal post in the garden (pictured below).

Attlebridge village had an airfield during the Second World War, used by both the RAF and US Army. The land is now occupied by a poultry farm. I maintained a steady pace and encountered open fields and areas of woodland. Eventually I reached Drayton, a settlement with a population of around 5000. The path runs past a Tesco supermarket, handy for a toilet and refreshment stop. I had already scouted out a small bakery in the village centre, where I purchased a Cornish pasty and cold drink. Drayton Station is now an industrial site and new residential developments have taken up some of the old trackbed. I navigated these streets and returned to the original railway route as I headed back into the countryside. After a lunch stop, it was time for the final push towards the centre of Norwich, four and a half miles away. The path ran along the edges of Sweet Briar Marshes - a wetland nature reserve owned by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust and a haven for flora and fauna on the urban fringes. A Belted Galloway calf was grazing at the bottom of the embankment. Cattle play an important role in the management of vegetation on protected landscapes. I sat down on the old platform at Hellesdon Station. The path was now much busier and many family groups were out for a stroll. A tiny electric Amazon delivery van trundled by, obviously permitted to use the walkway in the name of green logistical solutions. As I approached the end of Marriott's Way, information boards told me I was walking through the site of Norwich City Station and the attached engine shed. This grand terminus was badly bombed in 1942 and never recovered its former glory. Passenger services departed from temporary facilities until withdrawal in 1959. Freight handling continued for another decade before the site was cleared and new roads built. Just a few fragments of wall and foundation remain. Main mission completed, I made my way towards the city's most striking landmark. The present spire of Norwich Cathedral is the second highest in England, at 315 feet (96 metres). The enormous building has dominated the local skyline for over 900 years and the exterior is home to nesting peregrine falcons. Construction began in 1096 and many remodelling projects have taken place over the centuries. Entry is free (voluntary donations) and I had a wander around, enjoying the cool temperature after my exertions. Had I known about the existence of the resident male cat Budge, I would certainly have looked for him. Unfortunately I didn't learn of the feline presence until after I had returned home. The Censing Angel hangs from the ceiling of the nave. The woven willow sculpture was created in 2012 and features colourful lettering on its wings, spelling out words such as peace, hope, faith, and love.

I opted for a short visit as I needed to rest my legs. A Wetherspoons pub was sited round the corner and I sat at window table savouring a welcome pint of Greene King IPA as life passed by outside. Truth be told, I would happily have stayed here for a while but I had already planned to follow the river walk through the heart of the city. I steeled myself for another couple of miles and picked up the path. The Wensum now winds its way quietly around the central core of Norwich but was once a hive of industry. The Grade-1 listed St James Mill produced textiles and stands right by the riverbank. The main building functions as an office complex today. Another structure you can't fail to spot is Cow Tower (pictured below) - an artillery post built around 1400 by the city authorities in response to threats from France and indigenous English rebels. Intended to house guns and a garrison of troops to defend the approach to the city, the round brick structure rises to a height of over 49 feet (15 metres). The tower was suitably designed for the recently developed cannon, while the old-style arrow loops could be used for crossbow and small gun fire. Only the outer shell remains today and the tower is in the care of English Heritage. I climbed to street level to view the magnificent architecture of Norwich Station. Connected to London Liverpool Street (114 miles distant) by way of the Great Eastern Main Line, the grand terminus also handles numerous secondary routes and was named Norwich Thorpe until the demise of Norwich City prompted a status change. I continued along the river, ducking into a cavernous Wetherspoons for a refreshing glass of orange and lemonade. I crossed the water on the Novi Sad Friendship Bridge, named after the twinning arrangement with the Serbian city. Back on the pavement, an uphill trek brought me to Norwich Castle. The squat fortification was built in Norman times and served as a prison from 1220 to 1887. The last public execution took place in 1867 and all inmates were transferred to a new facility 20 years later. The castle building found a new purpose in 1894 when it was transformed into the city's museum and art gallery. Visitors can experience a flavour of the jail conditions by signing up for a dungeon tour. I didn't have time to enter the premises today. In any case, I had covered so many miles that traipsing from one gallery to the next was not part of my plans. Instead, I ambled down to the bus station and awaited a service back to Reepham. Regional fares in England are capped at a very reasonable £3 and I took advantage of this public transport initiative. It had been a great day's walking and - as ever - I learned many historical facts over the course of the day. It wasn't time to relax the brain cells just yet though. We signed up for the weekly quiz at the local pub, literally round the corner from our flat.

It was an enjoyable experience, although being novice quizzers in a team of two meant we finished well down the pecking order. The bar was bustling and a good selection of ale was on offer. A bowl of chips went down nicely too! A pleasant end to an action-packed day. The following morning, we headed to the market town of Fakenham, known nationally for its racecourse. I wanted to check out the former town gasworks, now an open-air museum and the only intact example in England and Wales. Prior to the discovery of North Sea gas in the 1960s and the construction of a national mains network, every town produced its own supply by processing coal. One million people were engaged nationwide in this occupation. The Fakenham plant closed in 1965 and entry to the volunteer-run site is free, with donations gratefully accepted. The museum was formally opened in 1987 and has the distinction of being a scheduled monument. The collections provide a huge insight into our cultural and industrial heritage. Ayrshire native William Murdoch gave the first practical demonstration of gas lighting in 1792. Pall Mall (London) became the first street to feature illumination, in 1807. Lamplighters manually ignited the flames throughout the 19th century and automated timers became more common as time wore on. The transition to electricity was complete by 1970, although a few historic gas lamps still operate in parts of London. I must seek them out when I visit this summer. Meanwhile, I vividly remember our family caravan being lit by gas during my childhood. The museum explained the production, purification and distribution processes. Guides were on hand to answer questions and show visitors around. By-products such as ammonia, sulphur, coke and coal tar were sold to other industries. Coal was shovelled into ovens known as retorts and the hard life of the stoker was portrayed via text descriptions and displays of tools. Norfolk had no real mining pedigree and the raw material for gas had to be brought in by ship or train, from as far afield as County Durham. Much of the information on display was quite technical, but the ability to wander around the complete site and enter the individual buildings made the layman feel more at home. It was however all a bit too geeky for Nicole, who crossed the road to check out the River Wensum for signs of wild life. The museum also had a section devoted to book printing, a lost local industry. The Fakenham works produced titles for many of the major publishing houses, including the ubiquitous Penguin. The large-scale operation employed hundreds of people but production ceased in 1982. I returned to the gas-themed exhibits, browsing a selection of geysers. These devices provided hot water on demand and date back to Victorian times. Demand for domestic gas fires surged in the second half of the 20th century as households moved away from coal-powered heating solutions. Prepayment meters also have a long history and the museum examined the various methods of charging customers for their fuel usage. Fakenham Gasworks is a true hidden gem and I made a donation before leaving. Anyone interested in social or industrial history would find the place highly interesting. I met up with Nicole and enquired whether she had spotted any local wildlife.

She sure had. This stretch of the Wensum is classed as a chalk river and the water is crystal clear. Nicole had obtained an excellent view of a crayfish as it swam underneath the footbridge. A Google consultation confirmed the sighting to be the American Signal variety, a highly invasive species within the UK. Introduced in the 1960s as a farmed delicacy, they escaped into natural watercourses and the interloper is now widespread. It outcompetes the native white-clawed crayfish, which is now in serious decline, its plight hastened by having no natural resistance to diseases brought by the American cousin. The signal crayfish can grow to 18cm and eats vast quantities of fish eggs and tadpoles. Riverbank erosion due to extensive burrowing is another problem. While it's certainly an impressive sight, the misguided introduction has come at tremendous cost to the local ecosystem. Demonising the species is pointless, as it is only doing what comes naturally. It's time to stop playing God. Only 200 chalk rivers remain globally and 85% of them are located in England. It is a joy to gaze into the flowing filtered water. The Fakenham sluice gate (pictured below) lends a rustic air to the small town. We drove out to Sculthorpe Moor Nature Reserve - a managed landscape that includes meadow, wood, fen and wetland habitats. The 200-acre site is can be readily explored via a network of boardwalks and there are seven hides to seek out. Upon arrival, a group of people were photographing a large lizard basking in the spring sunshine. We didn't register any notable bird sightings, but the presence of a water vole was ample compensation. This brown furry fellow - as the name suggests - lives on the fringes of ponds, rivers, ditches and lakes. It can also be found in marshland and wet moorland. The water vole feeds on vegetation and although widely distributed, has suffered from falling numbers and is now protected by law. Our final port of call for the day was Abbey Farm - a commercial operation that makes strenuous efforts to conserve and shelter various forms of wildlife. Endangered species to have benefitted from this nature-friendly approach include grey partridge and the turtle dove. The bird hide was opened 30 years ago and can be visited at any time, free of charge. Overlooking wetland, pasture, scrub and arable fields, we hoped to catch a glimpse of the resident little owl. After a while, Nicole spotted it through the scope. The birched was perched on a fallen oak tree in the centre of the field, almost completely camouflaged against the gnarled bark. The bird was too distant and concealed to pick out using standard binoculars. A new life spot for us both. Barely larger than a song thrush, the little owl was introduced from mainland Europe in the 19th century. Their diet consists primarily of crickets, grasshoppers and other invertebrates such as beetles and earthworms, as well as small mammals. Other birds are taken during the breeding season.

A very successful end to the day. We drove back to Reepham in high spirits and settled in for the night. We visited the coin-operated public laundry the following morning, situated beside a block of flats near the town centre. A leisurely stroll around nearby Foxley Wood was scheduled for the afternoon. Known locally for the stunning bluebell carpets and diverse selection of native trees, this nature reserve features a rich offering of flora and fauna. A traditional regime of rotational coppicing is followed in order to maintain suitable wildlife habitats. Non-native conifers have been removed. We enjoyed a peaceful circular stroll and made plans to return to Cley Marshes the following day. Out on the boardwalk, we heard the distinctive call of a sedge warbler and managed to locate it in a bush. It stayed there for long enough to enable a photo to be taken. This tuneful summer visitor spends the winter in sub-Saharan Africa. In the hides, we once again had excellent snipe sightings. They are always a joy to observe, poking around with those long slender bills. Moderate decline has led the wader being placed on the amber conservation list. The best pose of the day came from a swallow, sitting on a wooden fence just outside the hide window. The distinctive forked tail was up in the air and I had an excellent view of the glossy head pattern. Another African visitor, swallows are are extremely agile in flight and spend the majority of their time in the air. They rarely venture into towns, preferring open countryside where insects are plentiful. After one last visit to the reserve shop, we proceeded along the coast road to RSPB Titchwell Marsh. The open territory features saltmarsh, reedbeds and freshwater lagoons, while the boardwalk trail near the visitor centre passes through wooded glade. A vast undeveloped beach lies beyond the reserve perimeter and the North Sea of 1953 (which killed around 2000 people) breached man-made defences and transformed the drained arable farmland back into saltmarsh. The RSPB have managed the territory for the last half-century and Titchwell is now the organisation's biggest attraction. On our way out to the lagoons, we saw a ruff cavorting in the water, more or less in the same place as we had seen this medium sized wader the previous year. This was a mere warm-up however. Nicole noticed a pure white shape on the adjacent grassland and we positively identified the distant bird as a spoonbill. After an absence of 300 years from British shores, the spectacular species has successfully established a colony in North Norfolk and can regularly be seen along this stretch of coastline. We sat for a while in the large hide overlooking the main body of water. All manner of ducks and waders were splashing about. This is probably my favourite form of birdwatching, just appreciating the general chaos and listening to the constant cacophony.

A little ringed plover was strutting about on the mudflats. The distinctive yellow circle around the eye distinguishes this bird from its chunkier cousin the ringed plover. The latter also has bright orange legs. As we made our way back to the reserve entrance, we branched along the wooden boardwalk, only to encounter a major twitch. A group of predominantly middle-aged men had their cameras and binoculars trained on the surrounding trees. I hushed tones, they explained that a pied flycatcher had been circling the immediate area. Slightly smaller than a sparrow, the summer visitor breeds in mature woodland, primarily in western territories. It was most likely passing through Norfolk, on the way to a suitable nesting location. The little fellow did appear briefly in the treetops on two occasions, but the amount of foliage in between made it practically impossible to gain a binocular sighting. Nice to be part of the buzz though. Our birding activity was finished for the day but I managed to squeeze in a bit of religious history. Our route back to Reepham took us right by the ruined Creake Abbey. Set in tranquil green countryside, the flint wall remains (plus foundations) of this Augustinian church convey a sad story of monastic disaster, although early signs had been promising. In 1225 Henry III elevated the then-priory to abbey status and the building benefited from many generous donations. After a devastating fire in 1484, the damage was so bad that the abbot was forced to petition King Richard III for financial aid. Despite royal gifts and a notable bequest by Sir William Calthorpe, the nave and parts of the transepts were demolished, reducing the complex to a modest church. To rub salt in the wound, plague struck twenty years down the line, wiping out the religious community and leaving the poor abbot as the last man standing. Closure was complete by 1506 and the building reverted to the Crown. It is free to enter the site and the building is now in the care of English Heritage. We wandered through the archways and took and few photographs before hitting the road. A completely separate commercial development trades as Creake Abbey and can be found close to the old church grounds. A farm shop/café and several artisan traders are grouped around an old courtyard.

An award-winning farmers market is staged every month and around 60 stalls take part. Everything was closed as we drove past, but it's always nice to learn about thriving community businesses. Our final night in the flat awaited us. It had been an excellent stay and the location was perfect, both in terms of the town and wider county. Norfolk never disappoints on the birding front and I managed to get my fix of railway history. We weren't actually heading back to Scotland just yet, we had also booked a five-night caravan stay on the banks of the River Humber in Lincolnshire. I will write a separate post about that experience but have decided to include our visit to RSPB Frampton Marsh during the journey north. It would be out third time at this sprawling freshwater and saltmarsh reserve in the vicinity of The Wash - the largest natural bay in England and a haven for birdlife. We rolled into the car-park and walked over to the visitor centre. One of the greeters pointed to the pool behind the café windows, where a spoonbill was standing in the water. Mission accomplished already! As our sighting the previous day had been close to the limit of binocular range, it was fantastic to see the bird in all its glorious detail. I love the spacious main hide at Frampton, with its 360-degree views over the surrounding scrapes. There's always something going on here and you don't need to spot anything rare to make it a memorable day. Then you shift position within the hide and another birdy panorama opens up. Doctors dispense myriad forms medication to combat mental health issues, yet a big chunk of the solution lies right here! We have seen some unusual species on this reserve and the accompanying phalanx of photographers. Nothing super rare today but we did manage to find the yellow wagtails, hanging out - as ever - among the cattle. It's favoured habitats are arable farmland, wet pasture and upland hay meadows. Now a red-listed species, the yellow wagtail feeds on insects and spiders. Grazing cows churn up the ground and flush out food sources for the little birds. I walked carefully along the field boundary and reeled off a few photos. A Brent goose sat nearby. Around the same size as a mallard, they rely heavily coastal habitats which are vulnerable to development and climate change. Thankfully the global population is regarded as stable.

Once again, Frampton Marsh had not disappointed. The only downside was the downgrading of the café to a (mainly) pre-packed vending station. Previously, excellent soup and hot food was served. The freshly-baked Lincolnshire sausage rolls on offer today were nice though. It was time to continue our adventure by heading north on the A15, swerving around Lincoln and exiting the trunk route just before the Humber Bridge.

Lake District

My annual Thursday/Friday half-term break in February is the ideal opportunity for a trip to northern England. Combined with my regular weekend free time, it allows us to enjoy two full days exploring a location, bookended by additional space on the schedule. This year we booked accommodation in Cockermouth, a market town on the edge of the Lake District. Dolly Duster whisked us down the M74 to Carlisle, where we branched right and covered the remaining 40 miles to our destination.

Arriving in Cockermouth around 3pm, we spent a couple of hours walking around the town before seeking out our accommodation. A famous former resident is William Wordsworth (1770-1850), Poet Laureate for the final seven years of his life. The townhouse (pictured right) in which he was born is now owned by the National Trust, who took over the property in 1938 after a controversial proposal to demolish it and build a bus station on the site. Unfortunately the opening season hadn't yet begun but we were able to view the front exterior of the historic house (built 1745) from the street. The New Bookshop was well stocked and we made a couple of purchases after a lengthy browse. Prominently on display was the latest offering from former government minister Rory Stewart. Middleland: Dispatches from the Borders, released in October 2025, is a portrait of rural Britain based on his time as a Cumbrian MP. He has published a few books with walking themes. There was a poster advertising an appearance by Kenneth Wilson, author of Pilgrim Cello - a tale recounting a bike tour of every English cathedral with said instrument in tow. Worth buying for the concept alone! Needless to say, the in-store talk would be followed by a musical performance. A short walk from the main street brought us to the Jennings Brewery tap room, where I purchased a box of four bottled ales to enjoy during my stay. Jennings is a name well known among real-ale drinkers. The family firm first occupied the Castle Brewery site in 1874, taking over existing premises and launching an expansion programme. Jennings became a major regional brewer, owning many pubs in Cumbria. Their cask ale was shipped across the country and I remember drinking it in various hostelries. A takeover in 2025 by Wolverhampton & Dudley eventually led to Jennings becoming part of the Carlsberg empire. Three devastating floods within a decade and the outbreak of Covid enforced the closure of the tap room and the cessation of brewery tours. Beer production was moved off-site and the the future looked bleak for the Cockermouth operation. In stepped local entrepreneurs Kurt and Rebecca Canfield, who acquired the inactive site, along with the rights to trade under the Jennings name. The town is once again firmly on the British brewing map.

Cockermouth developed around the meeting point of the rivers Derwent and Cocker. We had a clear view of this junction from a footbridge connecting the town centre to the main public car park. Cockermouth Castle loomed overhead, behind the brewery chimneys. The private residence is opened to the public during Festival Week. Owned by the Wyndham family since the 18th century, the castle was recently occupied by Lady Egremont (1925-2013), who worked on decoding operations at Bletchley Park during WW2 and restored the interiors and gardens of Cockermouth in later life. The town has a history of textile production and the dual river system provided plenty of mill power. Many of these buildings have been repurposed for residential or modern commercial use. We proceeded to our accommodation, a town centre apartment within a corner block, directly opposite Sainsbury's. It was a bedsit arrangement inside and perfectly adequate for a few days. A little table would have been nice, rather than the breakfast bar that faced the wall. The bathroom looked more or less new. Pass marks overall. Parking was available at a long-stay facility 100 yards away and the rates were reasonable. We were up early the next day to meet Nicole's friend Hannah for breakfast at Café Fika just down the road. I ordered the Hunter Breakfast - bacon, sausage, black pudding, mushroom, roast tomato, hash brown, poached egg & cornbread. The vegetarian option is know as the Gatherer. A clever bit of word usage. Hannah lives down south but is familiar with Cockermouth and the wider Lake District as her sister resides in the Cumbrian town. We climbed into Hannah's car after leaving the café and headed out for a circular day trip. At this point I should state that I'm not familiar with the inner Lake District, despite the proximity to Scotland. I had only ever explored the fringes, or skirted the region on the motorway. Today would change all that. I would say the mountain scenery matches the Highlands for beauty. Several snow-covered peaks towered overhead as we drove along the valley roads. Traffic in the middle of February is light but I imagine it gets pretty hectic as the tourist season warms up. We pulled into the picturesque village of Grasmere, which is famous for its quaint gingerbread shop, tucked away in the corner of St Oswald's Churchyard. The unique recipe was conjured up by Sarah Nelson in 1854, a former domestic servant who sold her creation outside the family cottage, home to the current shop. A spicy-sweet cross between a biscuit and cake, the gingerbread's reputation quickly spread and food lovers visit from far and wide. The business today is run by third-generation owners Joanne and Andrew Hunter. Staff wear period dress and the wonderful aroma of freshly-baked produce hangs in the air as you enter. Naturally we sampled the wares and I was surprised by the chewy texture. The phrase "I could get used to this" rapidly sprung to mind. The adjacent graveyard is the resting place of William Wordsworth. When the poet arrived in Grasmere aged 29, he was largely unknown and was writing innovative poetry that provided a contrast to the fashionable verses of the time. His work centred around the love of nature, the power of imagination and the importance of empathy. Poetry for a new age, that retains the power to speak to us today.

A memorial daffodil garden was opened within the churchyard in 2003. Entry is free but visitors may sponsor a personally engraved slate paving stone, shrub, or flower. Our next stop was the village of Coniston, where we enjoyed tea and scones in a friendly café. The Ruskin Museum was just about to close as we arrived and it wouldn't have been worth paying the admission charge. The displays explore local heritage and a special exhibition covers the achievements of Donald Campbell who died in 1967 while attempting a new water speed record on Coniston Water in his hydroplane Bluebird. The vehicle was restored after being recovered from the lake in 2001, along with Campbell's remains. Coniston today is a hub for climbers and walkers. Two youth hostels are located in the small settlement. Our final mission for the day was a drive through Wrynose Pass - a challenging single-track mountain pass with gradients of 25% and hairpin bends. The 1281-foot summit is marked by the Three Shires Stone, a monolith marking the tripoint of historic Lancashire, Cumberland and Westmorland. There was a light covering of snow at higher altitudes and we stepped out of the car to admire the far-reaching views down the valley. The road drops to an intersection with Hardknott Pass - where slopes approach 1 in 3. This option was closed off due to icy conditions and we continued south to loop around the long skinny Lake Windermere. Darkness had fallen by the time we passed through Windermere town, which has many facilities and must be mobbed during the summer. Back in Cockermouth, we settled in for the night and the next day saw us set out early for the nearby market town of Keswick, another tourist hot-spot at peak times. Hannah was once again at the wheel and our first stop was the quirky Derwent Pencil Museum. A vintage Morris delivery van was stationed outside and we entered the main galleries via a mock-up of a graphite mine, the source material for pencil lead. We were handed a paper sheet to complete as we toured the museum, all the questions relating to the history of the pencil trade. The local Borrowdale Valley is rich in graphite deposits and the material was first extracted around 1540. Aside from the manufacture of writing implements, graphite (also known as wad, and actually a form of pure carbon) was used in the casting of cannonballs. This military importance meant the mines were always under heavy protection by the authorities. Stolen scraps were sold on the black market. Pencil making started as a cottage industry and grew into the large commercial enterprise we know today. The museum traces this journey within the Keswick area. Three main factories were established by 1811. Derwent came onstream in 1832 is now a global player in the world of art supplies - the majority of which are made in the Lake District. The brand is commonplace in many specialist shops.

The arrival of the railway in 1860 increased trade and also brought an influx of tourists. Quick to spot the chance of making an extra buck, the pencil manufacturers offered special souvenir sets to visitors. Vintage pencil sharpeners were only display, including the hand-cranked type that clamps to a desk. I vividly remember them from primary school. Pencils have uses ranging from serious creative tools to a convenient way to jot down shopping lists. An unexpected twist in the museum script was the role played in wartime espionage. Tiny brass compasses and nylon maps were secreted in the hollowed-out chamber where the lead would normally reside. This top-secret activity was performed in Keswick. The eraser was glued in place at the end of the fake pencil, concealing the carefully crafted contents. The idea of writing implements being not quite what they seem found its way into the early James Bond movies. After completing the gallery circuit, we handed our puzzle sheets to the receptionist. You don't have to be Einstein to predict which small gift we each received. Afterwards we drove out to the Castlerigg Stone Circle on the edge of town. The Lake District was designated a National Park in 1951 and is the largest conservation area in England. UNESCO World Heritage recognition was added in 2017. The park features England's highest mountain, Scaffell Pike, which rises to a height of 3209 feet. Regarding the lakes, both the deepest (Wast Water) and the largest (Windermere) are located within the boundaries. In 1913, the National Trust bought the field containing the impressive ring of 38 stones. Concerns had been raised about tourists chipping off little souvenirs to take home. English Heritage is the current guardian and the Neolithic treasure (approximately 4500 years old) is surrounded by a backdrop of stunning hills and valleys. Quite typically, the stones do not form a perfect circle. A common building technique was to make the ring appear circular to those close to it on the ground, rather than strive for true geometrical accuracy. The largest monolith is estimated to weigh 16 tons and it is reckoned the original structure comprised around 50 pieces. Within the perimeter is a rectangular arrangement of ten stones, the possible remains of an ancient burial chamber and reckoned to be a later addition. Our journey continued south and we stopped at the Sawmill Café & Farm Shop, near the tiny village of Nether Wasdale. The mill closed as recently as 2015, having been converted to electric power in 1963. Our table was located on a wooden terrace overlooking the River Irt. On the the opposite bank we spotted a tree-creeper, mistle thrush and woodpecker. The icing on the cake came in the form of a dipper whizzing up and down the watercourse. One of Nicole's favourite birds to encounter. Before leaving, I purchased a couple of local ales from the shop. We drove the short distance to Wast Water - a three mile long lake with a depth of 258 feet (79 metres). As previously stated, the deepest in England. We parked up by a vintage finger signpost and strolled along the shore. On the far side, impossibly steep scree slopes swept down to the water's edge. I asked myself whether the scenery could rival the Scottish Highlands and - putting all patriotic considerations aside - the answer was an emphatic yes. Daylight hours are limited in February and, following a pleasant drive across an upland moor, we pushed on to the Irish Sea coast at St Bees - the most westerly point of Cumbria. The village has a large caravan site and we wandered along the flat beach in the bitingly cold wind, retreating to the car after half an hour. A large board displayed a map of the Coast to Coast Path, which was awarded full National Trail status shortly after we returned home. Devised by Alfred Wainwright in 1973, the 190-mile route ends at Robin Hood's Bay on the North Sea. It is a challenging test for walkers due to the severe undulations and Wainwright suggested 12 stages, each one finishing at a settlement with overnight accommodation. I would imagine the upgrade to national status provides extra funding for maintenance and marketing. Darkness was falling as we headed back to Cockermouth. A Chinese takeaway awaited and we said farewell to Hannah.

On our final day, we didn't have to depart until the afternoon and I checked out the local railway heritage while Nicole attended a Quaker meeting. Cockermouth Station closed in 1966 and all buildings were demolished. The site is now occupied by the emergency services. A mile of trackbed now serves as a public footpath through the town, known as the Greenway. The old station location was just up the road from our accommodation and I picked up the tarmac trail. It was a Sunday morning and several locals were out and about. I crossed the River Cocker, climbing down the steps to inspect the 1940 viaduct, which replaced the original arched structure. Benches were placed at regular intervals along the line and I read the information boards that told the story of the railway. Many photos of infrastructure and rolling stock were on display. I followed the pathway to the edge of town and I could see the outline of the railway faintly continue through the fields. Much of the trackbed between Cockermouth and Keswick lies under the modern A66. Beyond the latter settlement, a three-mile section has been converted to a walkway. One to note for the future. The route continued to Penrith, where it connected with the West Coast Main Line. The original purpose was to link up the Cumbrian coal and iron industries with the rest of the country. Passenger traffic soon proved popular but the line's fate was sealed as car ownership increased rapidly after WW2. Westwards from Cockermouth, the railway ran out to Workington - a major port. The coastal line from Carlisle to Barrow serves this town today and it's easy to see why the cross country route via Cockermouth was snipped out. That said, Keswick must surely be choked with cars at peak times today and a rail connection would make sense in this context. Several railway footpaths now exist around Workington. I could build a little weekend trip around that. Soon we were bounding back up the M6 towards Scotland. I'm glad I finally managed to visit a beautiful corner of the UK that doesn't lie too far from home. Cockermouth itself has fought back well from the disastrous flood of 2009, when the two rivers burst their banks and the water rose to heights of 2.4 metres. Around 900 people lost businesses or homes. This sad story unfolds on the town's excellent "history wall" - a series of large panels in an alleyway that convey Cockermouth's key events, from Roman times until the present day.