Episodios
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As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
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As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
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¿Faltan episodios?
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As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
-
As this is part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when weāre looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Listen to an episode each month reflecting on the previous month's activities.
Follow ā ā @stephaniesteele.studioā ā on Instagram where you'll find an accompanying reel.
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A 67-mile journey along the North Sea in early March, featuring some cows, some tarmac, a lot of golf courses, some castles, and some dramatic waves. In 2022 I was due to run the Race to the Castle event from Threshold Trail Series, a 100km route over 2 days through Northumberland finishing at Bamburgh Castle. Iām from the North East, but have never truly explored Northumberland, apart from the week as a teenager when we went family camping at Seahouses, and a New Yearās staying in the absolute middle of nowhere completely sick with a stomach bug. As I tend to book races dependent on what I want to see, the race was then a reason to get up that way.
However, parts of the route had been devastated by Storm Arwen and were not passable, so the race was cancelled. I had considered entering Endurance Lifeās Northumberland Coast marathon as training for a 50 mile race (that I was due to run when Iād started writing this story), but when races cost around Ā£50 and there are public transport costs and schedules at play, it made sense to simply go up there myself and alone. That way I didnāt have as many time demands ā or so I thought, because planning a 3-day running trip many miles from home with awkward countryside buses makes for quite a stressful āholidayā.
This post takes you through the 3 days exploration I had, with a bit of a review for the coast path itself, in case you fancy doing it.First up, I live in London, so itās something like 300 miles to get up to Northumberland. The Northumberland Coast Path starts from Cresswell up toward Berwick-upon-Tweed on the Scottish border (or vice versa). Planning this trip to suit train times, bus times, the cost of it all, and wanting to fit in a trip to see my mum in Teesside (just below Northumberland) ā or frankly using that as an evening hub so I could get up there earlier and more cheaply ā was no easy feat. Driving definitely helps in these circumstances, but I havenāt driven in 16 years.
As it was, I had a train home on the Thursday, then a train the next day to Darlington, then to Alnmouth, then a bus to Alnwick where my YHA was. A quick unpack and redress in the bathroom (because I couldnāt yet check in) ready to catch the limited bus to Cresswell, and I was out for my first day of the route.
Day one: Cresswell to Alnmouth.Iād planned on about 14 miles for day one, though this was already extended as the bus didnāt stop in Cresswell itself, and the additional bus I hung around in blistering wind for (after popping into a pub for a last minute poo stop) couldnāt go where I needed it to as a tanker had gotten itself stuck on the narrow country lanes. It was March 3rd, before Daylight Savings, so I only really had until 5pm before it was dark, and by this time I think it was 1pm. Usually thatās an appropriate amount of time for a half marathon with photo-stops, but I didnāt actually know what the route looked like. Turned out that there were a few obstacles before I could get to Alnmouth.
As anticipated, itās quite bleak, in that rugged not-much-going-on and overcast type way you get on Northern beaches. Beautiful though, like pretty much pristine. Could feel the salty air hitting my skin in the hearty breeze. And fortunately my body was moving ok on the sand dunes. I should mention that Iād been ill for a month with a flu brought on by stress from looking after a mum with a recent broken ankle. The pit stop Iād planned the previous night turned out to be needed as a check in for her and the dog, so adding to the feeling of rushing. So I was still congested and slow, without much running during that month to ready my muscles for what was to come.
The first obstacle came with a tidal inlet, and the Northumberland Coast Path (or otherwise, England Coast Path) signs telling me to go inland. Which I did. Until I came to a gate taking me into a field with many cows staring at me. I retreated, went back to the beach and decided to cross the very shallow strip of water and run along the sand. It was the only bit of sand Iād get to run on in the whole 3 days. Because I knew I was following the coast, my watch map was really only to help me should the official route divert, and running along the beach I simply peered over the dunes to see if there was a way back on route so I wouldnāt be cut off by future inlets.
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Images: Day one ā Cresswell to Alnmouth. The Northumberland Coast Path, the North Sea, Coquet Island and Amble's pier.
I was cut off anyway, this time by an inlet that housed giant blocks placed as if you could jump across but only if you were 6ā5ā. Luckily I could go back onto the beach and cross, getting just a touch wet, but if the tide was in, I wouldāve had to go back inland where no doubt there were cows. It was feeling a touch stressful and I was only a little way into this journey. And then the dunes disappear and youāre running along tarmac in a Country Park, where longhorn cattle appear (cute and docile) and a fake tree sculpture made of bricks.
An island with a lighthouse comes into view, known as Coquet Island, now a seabird sanctuary. And then you arrive into the port of Amble, as expectedly Northern seaport as you can imagine, with lobster pots and breakwall and dilapidated wooden pier. Unfortunately the route out of Amble towards Warkworth is then via a path next to the road, though you can look out at the muddy River Coquet. Warkworth Castle comes into view on a hill on the left, looking actually pretty good for a 12th Century building, especially as the sun was getting lower in the sky (it was now 3.30pm) so an orange lilt was over the bricks. If you were just out for a jolly good time, then Warkworth would likely delight you with tea and cake and whatever, and probably I shouldāve stopped as I realised a couple kilometres onwards that in fact I was incredibly hungry and had barely any food left.
āIt was feeling a touch stressful and I was only a little way into this journey.ā View fullsize
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Images: Day one ā Cresswell to Alnmouth. Amble's lobster ports and harbour, then various views of the Northumberland Coast's beaches.
As it was, I carried on, back on the dunes towards Alnmouth, which was actually stunning. It was quiet, there wasnāt really any wind, and it felt like if I popped my head over I would be able to spot Dobby and Harry Potter and the funny house that would never exist on such a beach (though, despite similarities, turns out this was in Wales; Teignmouth, not Tynmouth). Though you can see Alnmouth at this point, the town is cut off from this side by the mudflats, and while it seems you could walk across as the map shows a āfootpathā, I reckon this is at only very specific times due to the tides. It doesnāt look particularly inviting, even when you can see people down there.
By this point I can feel my stomach rumbling and Iām worn down. The Coast Path official goes into town, while the bus stop (as far as I was aware) only left from the railway station in the other direction. Deciding that I can simply tag on this kilometre bit of the path on my final day, I go for the bus. Fortunately the station has a toilet and a vending machine, so while I await the bus back to Alnwick, I scoff a pack of crisps and a chocolate bar. Realising that Iād still have to go to the shop for dinner, I get off the bus early to visit the most wonderful book shop ā Barter Books.
Iād had twenty minutes before my early afternoon bus to Cresswell so was able to pop in. Knowing it would be my only chance to visit due to the long second day, and tight third day, I wanted to come back. This place is full to the brim of books; situated in Alnwickās old railway station, it has so much charm. There is an overhead miniature railway and quotes painted on the walls. It does feel quite Hogwarts, actually. But, crucially, they also had a āstation buffetā open until 7pm so I was able to get tea ā like, a real cup of tea, but also a real northern dinner, or, what we call tea. Strangely they had toast with their chips and beans, but that did me fine. It seemed that they registered my hunger and topped me up greatly, so I actually couldnāt finish it all and took it back to the hostel to be my supper once this lot had settled. Heartily recommended for books and food.
Needless to say ā after this and 17 miles ā I got to sleep quite well.
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Images: Day one ā Cresswell to Alnmouth. Barter Books in Alnwick with a map of the North East in the "buffet car" room, quote painted on the wall, a selection of mountaineering books, and a dinner of beans-chips-toast and a cup of tea.
Day two: Berwick-upon-Tweed to Bamburgh.I messed this up a bit. While I had written down what buses I absolutely needed to get, I hadnāt anticipated that two buses left at the very same time to the very same place, but one took a shorter amount of time as it did less stops. So there I am hopping onto a bus at 8.20am, with the bus driver in an almost incoherent Northumberland accent saying, āBerwick! Thatās a long journeyā¦ā rather than telling me that I shouldāve been on the other bus (which he did tell me 1 hour 40 minutes later when we arrived into Berwick). I arrived there ok anyway, and had managed to fuel, but was now an hour behind schedule. It was the 4th March, by the coast, and it was cold. Like, icy cold. Going into a public toilet to strip off layers and ready myself to run the 27 miles of that day felt quite nerve-wracking.
Normally when you do a designated route, you do it in stages all in the same direction. But because of the need to get a train home to London the following day, and where it was possible to get buses from in this area, it meant that day two needed to be my longest distance at 27 miles, and to start from the finish/start of the Northumberland Coast Path of Berwick-upon-Tweed. It starts off incredibly industrially, with a huge bridge over the River Tweed and then over to Tweedmouth, I guess the standard look of any port town. Though, you do then get a classic North Sea view as you run along the āpromenadeā with cliffs in the distance, that youāll then climb up and along. While I wouldnāt like to finish in Cresswell because thereās nothing there, at least itās a little more quaint that Berwick. So if you did this route, youād have to choose: food and transport, or something pretty?
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Images: Day two ā Berwick-upon-Tweed to Bamburgh. Witches' pyre on the beach, grassy farmland adjacent to the dunes, the mud and sand flats of Goswick Sands.
The cliffs go on for some time. Itās quiet, overcast, a bit noisy with wind and waves crashing below. Thereās a lot of craggy beaches and dunes set aside as Nature Reserves, that I canāt stop and explore because Iām on a tight schedule, but can appreciate from afar. Cheswick Sands are quite dramatically expansive, though the path takes you up through grassy farmland where sheep graze. You eventually come upon Goswick Sands and start to see Lindisfarne. Sticks head out across the mudflats, which after having walked the Broomway seem to be marker points for how to safely cross, though it looks incredibly claggy and mean out there.
Hitting the Causeway that goes the 4 or so kilometres to the island of Lindisfarne itself, across the mud and sandflats, I realise that according to the sign, the tide is coming in. Looking out to the causeway I can see people with cars milling about, but stopped by the Refuge, a little tower where people can wait out the tides should they get their times wrong (do a search, and youāll find photos of abandoned cars under water). I run up to where the people are and watch the tide coming up and over the causeway, before feeling too anxious and retreating. I sit on a boulder and eat my sandwich while the cars drive past and home.
āI run up to where the people are and watch the tide coming up and over the causeway, before feeling too anxious and retreating. I sit on a boulder and eat my sandwich while the cars drive past and home.ā View fullsize
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Images: Day two ā Berwick-upon-Tweed to Bamburgh. The tide coming in up to the Lindisfarne causeway, a man who hopefully won't get stranded checking out the mud flats, and a sign stating the danger of the causeway.
The path here follows marshy grassland and goes through the middle of more giant boulders, like 2.5 metres high and wide; as Iām moving along Iām checking OS because it feels so unnervingly close to the mudflats, with the map showing grass tuft symbols as if this marsh could indeed flood. Thankfully the route now starts to head inland towards Fenwick and the woods of the Kyloe Hills. Or, it shouldāve, but thereās a diversion due to a change in the railway line crossing. As itās a very humid day, this exposed added section starts to grate on my energy levels, especially as I canāt really see where the diversion finishes. Finally Iām across, past farmland and walking to Fenwick while I refuel.
Here in these woods a hush descends. Itās strange to be following a coast path, yet now inland. Because of the railway line, the A1, and the mudflats, there isnāt really anywhere else the path can go adjacent to the coast, and so it joins up with the St Cuthbertās Way. I met some āpilgrimsā in the woods who had just been to St Cuthbertās cave, and who were impressed of the distance I was running that day. We chatted briefly about the joy of being in such a quiet and scentful wood, however dramatic it was that you could still see devastation from Storms Arwen, Malik and Corrie that took out 8 million trees across Northumberland in 2021/22.
Thereās one tiny yet annoying patch of deep sticky mud that I simply didnāt want to go through, because I knew I was heading back to the coast where of course there would be sand. Got through though, and then it was on towards Belford where you rejoin with the world. You have to do the strangest thing here however; passing through the town you then enter a huge swathe of silos, which are actually seemingly accessible by the public (not gated off), and then reach a busy road, go on a bit more, and then reach a railway crossing. The sign tells you that you must call the signalman before you cross, as itās a high speed line. Has anyone had to do this before?
I called the signalman and said āIād like to crossā, and in a rather incomprehensible Northumberland accent heās asking me āhow many are in your party and how long [as in time] do you need to cross?ā Iām likeā¦ āthereās one, and I donāt know, Iām running, so not very longā. He answers, āyou donāt need to run!ā So I respond, āwell thatās what Iām doing so Iāll run regardless, but perhaps what, a minute? 45 seconds? 30 seconds?ā Iām looking at the stile I have to cross first and then again at the other side. Apparently they give a minute per person usually anyway. At that point a high speed train comes past, and signalman says, āwell, itās safe to cross now anywayā. So I shout bye, hop over the stile, run across, hop over the stile and then Iām away. But it dawns on me that he wonāt know Iām actually over unless I call, right? Thereās no cameras. By that point Iāve already gone, and I didnāt want to call back from the other phone in case he needed to be taking a call elsewhere. It added to the drama doing this strange thing, it really baffled me.
āI called the signalman and said āIād like to crossā, and in a rather incomprehensible Northumberland accent heās asking me āhow many are in your party and how long [as in time] do you need to cross?ā View fullsize
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Images: Day two ā Berwick-upon-Tweed to Bamburgh. Logs piled up at the entrance to a plantation on Kyloe Hills, a ewe and lamb, loads of ānationalā bee hives in a meadow grassland, and view over Budle Bay.
The coast path here is also confusingly the same as St Oswaldās Way, but anyway, it takes you via some nice farmland, past what shows on the map as a converted windmill, yet seems to be historically just there for attractriveness. Thereās more undulating farmland, you go past someoneās bee hives, more farmland, and eventually you hit the golf course and Budle Point taking you around the headland into Bamburgh. Arriving here on a Saturday, youāre immediately met with a view of everyone out on the beach walking, and you want to go down there, and yet youāre here at the end of a 27 mile run and you simply want a cup of tea, so maybe youāll come back after.
Bamburgh itself is quite sweet, with a few pubs and a tearoom when itās open. Bamburgh Castle is imposing up on its hill, and for me the sun was setting so a warm orange hue was cast upon the structure. Checking the bus times at the bus stop, I realised that the online timetable was incorrect and I was really only just in time for the last bus back to Alnwick. This meant no retreat to the beach to cool my feet, no sand, and no thorough enjoyment of where I was. Getting a takeaway tea and muffin from the pub, having a wash in the sink there, and making my way to the bus stop was all I could muster. My remaining food was eaten on the bus journey home, and so this time I really did have to go visit the supermarket for dinner.
Walking around Morrisonās in crusty sweaty clothes on a Saturday evening with the temperature having dropped, dazed because I wanted to eat everything but also couldnāt make decisions, and with a little bit of a waddle because I needed to stretch it out again after an hour-long bus journey. Shower, dinner, stretch, chat with my hostel roommate whoād just been to Lindisfarne bird-watching (and sweetly pronounced it Lin-zee-farne), sleep.
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Images: Day two ā Berwick-upon-Tweed to Bamburgh. Crashing waves at Harkess Rocks, the view of Bamburgh Castle across the beach, and me at the bus stop after a whistle-stop in Bamburgh.
Day three: Bamburgh to Alnmouth.The earliest bus would get me into Bamburgh at 9.40am on this Sunday for day three of the route. Breakfast eaten and last toilet stop taken, I head out of Bamburgh into what is frankly the most pointless part of the coast path yet. Going into some farmland instead of following the road ā even for someone who gets bored of tarmac on trail runs ā was an utter waste of time, if only for the up and over of the many stiles. I took the opportunity to have another wee.
But actually, it was otherwise proving to be the most coastal of the route so far. Running alongside the dunes, the grassy farmland was sandy from the windblown stuff and so immediately you feel like youāre in the right place. Exmoor ponies were hanging out, you go up and down the dunes, the sky on this day was clear and blue. Seahouses is a fun little town with harbour, and here I saw eider ducks for the first time. As a young teen here with my family, I recall it being very seaside-y, and was unable to capture that on this day as I was only running through, but could gather that it would be a nice little afternoon out for locals. Itās also where you take boats out to the Farne Islands.
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Images: Day three ā Bamburgh to Alnmouth. Eating a pain au chocolat before heading out from Bamburgh, the eider ducks at Seahouses, Exmoor ponies on the dunes somewhere, and more mud flats at the tidal inlet of Beadnell Bay.
You then hit Beadnell, which definitely felt less seaside-y and more town-y, but there are toilets here and other pubs and cafes. The views kept opening up to the ravaging sea, to grassland blowing in the wind, to bleak mostly-empty beaches, as you run along the rippling dunes and cliffs. My favourite part of the whole route was probably Newton Links, on past High and Low Newton-by-the-Sea. It was an intimate single file dune trail, with little National Trust cabins dotted around, and then an opening up of the bays. Again it was a time when it wouldāve been wonderful to be able to head down to explore the nooks and crannies of the sands, with names such as Collith Hole, Beadnell Haven, Nacker Hole, Ladyās Hole and Football Hole, but such tight time schedules can be burdensome. Even when you think running gives you more freedom to see more stuff, actually, you end up cramming more in than perhaps is necessary. For this third day I needed to cover 22 miles.
You reach yet another golf course at Dunstan Steads, and Dunstanburgh Castle comes into view. Suddenly the waves were incredibly loud down below, the wind was gusting, and Iām feeling so fresh in my short-sleeved t-shirt and shorts. So many people had commented or looked at me in shorts, which I understand as it was early March, but please, you focus on your own clothing choices as Iām happy in mine. Dunstanburgh is another place that you should explore if you have the opportunity, with interesting craggy hills and what Iām sure would be a dramatic outlook from up above. But I was heading on to Craster, and then Howick, and then Boulmer.
āEven when you think running gives you more freedom to see more stuff, actually, you end up cramming more in than perhaps is necessary. For this third day I needed to cover 22 miles.ā View fullsize
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Images: Day three ā Bamburgh to Alnmouth. A strange hue over the dramatic sea on the coastal cliffs towards Dunstanburgh, the National Trust huts at Newton Links, Dunstanburgh Castle in the distance and the castle up close on top of a cliff.
Iām unsure I could distinguish between the three, only that I knew I could get a bus if I really wanted to (to ensure I made it back to the hostel in time for my bus to make my train), however, I realised I was making good headway, and that was beneficial because as I reached one of those towns, the bus drove past. Just had to keep going. More undulating cliffs, more expansive views, more crashing waves, more little nooks I couldnāt stop in. I was trying to fuel on each uphill; it was difficult on this day to eat as there wasnāt many long hills, and knowing I was stretched for time wanted to keep going. Some cheeky passerby commented, āHaving a rest?ā Yes, frankly, I am, Iām having a walk up this hill while I eat some sugar because Iāve already run 19 miles or something.
āMore undulating cliffs, more expansive views, more crashing waves, more little nooks I couldnāt stop in.āBy the time I knew I was close to Alnmouth, the mental acknowledgment that Iāll soon be done starts to chip away, and the final golf course felt like a kick to that chip, so breaking it down further. Youāre so ready just to be finished. I think what did it, is that it was unclear whether it was 20 miles or 22 miles that needed to be run, based on the route already covered, and based on the OS. I reached the town at the bottom of the golf course, saw the toilet and started heading there to wash up. An older lady smiles at me and says, āGood for you!ā and you wonder what part of you is oozing such triumph (or defeat) but you take it and go yeah, good for me! I have a wee and a wash and then continue the run around the headland to try make up the coastal path I hadnāt actually finished because of day one when I cut it short.
But a cafe comes into view so you choose the sensible option. This, by the way, is the only cafe Iāve ever come across that doesnāt have a till or a waiting point, so there I am crusty and sweaty in early March in shorts and a t-shirt in the middle of a house it seems, and no one knows what Iām doing, but I get my tea and I head to the bus stop and see a bus coming that makes me panic so I run with my tea to the bus that drives away and Iām distraught. So I sit in the shelter, check the times ā of course it wasnāt my bus, but Alnmouth has very confusing routes and stops such as the buses only sometimes coming into town. I get layers on, eat remaining food and do some stretching.
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Images: Day three ā Bamburgh to Alnmouth. The clouds and waves as anticipated for the North East coastline, cliffs towards Boulmer, and a well deserved cup of tea at the end of 67 miles.
Now this is where my day got really bloody very frustrating. That morning Iād went to put my bag in the drying room as reception wasnāt open, then a young lad comes, opens the luggage room, locks it, I check that someone will be there later (as Iāve already asked), he says yes if youāve already checked, and so I go on my way. Of course, Alnwick YHA did not note down that I was coming for my bag by 4pm at the very latest, the new lad didnāt tell anyone, and so I arrive at the hostel to find it closed. I manage to sneak in the back when guests have opened that door, and thatās when it dawns on me that if Iād kept my bag in the drying room (which isnāt locked) then there wouldnāt be a problem. As it was, I was messaging them to say can someone come ā like you said you would ā to open the luggage room, as I have to get a bus at a certain time to make my train from Alnmouth. By this point Iād already stripped most sweaty clothes off and washed my body somewhat in the sink, so Iām pretty naked in the reception just awaiting someone to show up.
The person arrives 10 minutes before the bus is due to leave and says I was lucky that she was on her phone to receive the messagesā¦ Frantically I get changed, make the bus, finish packing my bag at the station, get my train. The train is so packed. Iāve had no chance to go buy food because I chose to go to the hostel first and get changed, and then was stuck inside for fear of leaving should someone show up, and so all I want on this train is a tea and an assortment of food. I use the LNER āpay at your seatā feature, which after 20 minutes of struggling to navigate the UX, cancels my order without explaining why, and then the tanoy says āthe buffet cart will be closing now because of staff changeover at Newcastle so weāll see you in an hourā. When it finally opens, I discover that it was the out-of-stock noodles that cancelled my order, but I manage to get a tea and a coffee and some crisps. 90 minutes into the journey I can finally settle a bit and make sense of what Iād just achieved.
āAn older lady smiles at me and says, āGood for you!ā and you wonder what part of you is oozing such triumph (or defeat) but you take it and go yeah, good for me!ā Conclusion.The Northumberland Coast Path is interesting in terms of terrain.
It is possible to run it over 3 days and somewhat enjoy yourself.
Itās tricky to do so with only a few days and travelling by public transport, but is manageable.
Bamburgh to Alnmouth is by far the most picturesque and coastal part of the route.
You need to give yourself time to actually get on the beaches.
Thereās lots of places where you could refuel if you didnāt want to carry much, though I wouldnāt rely on it, especially for Berwick to Bamburgh where thereās lots of farmland.
Thank you for reading.This is one of my posts about running adventures. Others include: A February Visit to the Lake District and Winter Skills in the Cairngorms. I intersperse it with more educational sustainable living posts, such as on Plastic Free Periods, Supporting food security through veg box schemes, and Repair as an act of healing. There are also posts on fibres, textiles and fashion.
I wonāt send you a newsletter for each blog post, but each month I write two resource-full newsletters elsewhere, along with a variety blog posts, so if you subscribe to my newsletter, youāll hear about those (or add me to your RSS feed).
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Not all trips to places with mountains need to be about the big things.The Lake District National Park has so many pockets of delight. I have travelled there many times to enjoy its nooks and crannies of lakes and fells and villages, but with time (and age, and experience) I have shifted my notion of what can make a good Lakes trip.This story is all about one such Lakes trip in February where a bout of some flu thing meant I could only really focus on the micro adventures. View fullsize
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Images: Trying to take a photo of myself with Windermere from an old stone jetty; Post-run trying to assess what I look like.
Familiarity with the Lake District.The Lake District is a National Park in Cumbria, in the North West of England. It is expansive and yet intimate, with the fells seemingly squished together so you could stand on one summit and reach the other. Though I appreciate Walesā ruggedness, and Scotlandās majesty, I frequently return to the Lake District for its familiarity.
Iāve been there during floods, where the road adjacent to Ullswater was under water and buses had to drive through lake, however, as I was there for the Dirty Double Helvellyn pair of races from Lakeland Trails, all I could do was get stuck into the sogginess.
Iāve been there during a crisp snowy March, where I lost my winter hiking virginity to find it completely soundless up on Helvellynās summit. I also broke in my fear of the unknown by traversing Helvellynās somewhat notorious Striding and Swirral edges, before doing the same on Blencathraās Sharp Edge the next day.
Iāve ran a marathon around the area of Coniston, attempted to summit the Old Man of Coniston during what turned out to be a storm with the Ordnance Survey app guiding me precariously down to safety, and eventually summiting on another occasion during another wet day. Iāve also screamed and laughed with school friends in Coniston Water itself during an outdoor adventure camp upon learning that speedster Donald Campbell had died in the lake during a record attempt.
And similarly did the same in Ullswater with Outward Bound when we had to team-build a raft, but Iād been in a zipline accident the day prior and so my 15 year old body was a whiplashed mess.
Iāve been to the Lakes to run an ultra ā two in fact, and two months apart ā where the scenery and the exposure and the technical trails tested me physically and emotionally.
Iāve also, of course, summited Englandās highest peak, Scafell Pike, with that long drawn out entrance and viewpoint over Great Gable, where on another hike, I sat unmoving on the steep scree side facing towards Wast Water examining where I went wrong and how Iāll ever get up (or down), pulling myself together to simply move somewhere, and start sobbing when on the summit in sheer relief.
Iāve also been there to participate in a SwimRun race across Derwent Water during a very choppy yet humid day, only to come down with the same sickly illness the other 15 or so team members came down with, though was apparently not a symptom of blue-green algae ingestion.
Travelling around the Lake District.I actually chose to go to the University of Central Lancashire in Preston because I could easily drive up to the Lake District. What I didnāt count on was how demanding a BA Fashion degree would be, nor that Iād be working in the Student Union on weekends, nor that Iād give up my car after only driving for 2 years. I realise now that itās actually well connected with trains and buses, but I was a naĆÆve teenager, even after Iād travelled for 7 weeks around Europe via trains.
These days I will revel in the more compact adventure that can be found in the Cumbrian fells and lakes. Of course, if I do have more time in the place then Iāll still plan in something longer, though not necessarily requiring more drama just because thereās more time. And thatās what Iāve come to appreciate. Perhaps because I have already been there and done ridiculous things, I donāt feel I need to participate in that all the time. For instance, I would hike up Scafell Pike again, but would probably include it on a grand running route to make it all the more impressive (and so Englandās Highest Summit would likely pale in comparison), and Iād have to be staying near to Seatoller or Langdale anyway ā which I donāt tend to do because I usually have 3 days and that isnāt straightforward logistics on rural public transport, and I want to do lots of things rather than one big thing.
So instead, Iāll plan shorter things that are more accessible, and this is where Iāve found absolute gems. Itās as if with each trip I become more localised; brought into the secrets of the landscape.
After I lived in Preston, I moved to London and here is where Iāve stayed. It means that when I travel up to the Lakes Iāll get a train to Penrith and a bus across to Keswick (for Derwent Water and Catbells/Blencathra area) or down to Glenridding (for Ullswater and Helvellyn area), or a train to Oxenholme Lake District (then Windermere) and a bus up to Ambleside or Grasmere ā and there Iāve been able to get to Coniston or Thirlmere quite easily. With previous longer visits I have stayed in Langdale, so more accessible for the Pikes, the Scafell range and Seatoller/Seathwaite.
I have yet to visit Wast Water because that requires more time, or otherwise money and foresight to book the Black Sail Youth Hostel so Iām not carrying camping equipment over fells, or a journey around from the coast. And have yet to visit Buttermere and Crummock Water; though accessible from Keswick, Iāve for some reason always gone down into the park than across. This area is on my wish list for another 2023 visit.
Iād rather be on Helvellyn.I should mention that I have a porcelain cup that reads āIād rather be on Helvellynā.
This is why I locate to the central fells area. Itās got a bit of a hold on me. The summit itself is simply a continuation of the other high points around, where the massif separates Thirlmere reservoir on the west side, and Red Tarn and downwards to Glenridding and Ullswater on the east side, or Fairfield and Grasmere on the south side. Itās a sort of pilgrimage for me to visit each time Iām up there, trying new routes each ascent.
The last time was in February of this year, where I was anticipating snow following on from a Scottish Winter Skills course, though simply got a lonely and sharp steep ascent from Thirlmere via Sticks Pass, hard icy ground, 40mph winds and a summit to myself. The time before that was in July 2022 on my visit for the Lakeland Trails ultra 55km (59 actually), and just moments after Iād finished pitching my tent at Glenridding Campsite following an afternoon train-bus journey, I was speed-hiking up and across Striding Edge also for a solo-summit before heading back via Swirral Edge with an orange-hued perspective, still air, and skylarks singing above.
But all this is to say that, although I have my familiar favourites, Iāll always seek out a new route or hidden story, where you have to put in some work to achieve the thing that isnāt common. The grand opening of fells and lakes you didnāt know could exist, a dense wood, a picturesque brook, a big tarn or a little tarn, a Ā£1 ferry crossing, or the cute cafĆ© thatās only advertised by a chalk A-board. I feel utterly privileged to be able to experience what this unique place has to offer ā not least the conversations with locals, who rightly are pissed off by tourists and yet want to champion their home for the wonder it offers.
Thereās a lot to say about the Lake District. Iāll probably write more another time, but for this story I wanted to share my latest trip of February 2023 and the micro adventures I experienced.
February 2023.Train: London ā Oxenholme Lake District ā Windermere (Budgens at the station has toilets, and you can stock up on your food supplies with more choice than other villages)
Bus: Windermere ā Ambleside (you can get an open-top one in summer, which is thrillingly breezy!)
Stay: Ambleside YHA (managed to get a good deal with it being winter, but I wouldnāt want to stay here in busy summer due to the creakiness, banging doors and lack of kitchen space)
I was two weeks into a flu thing brought on by stress, so although I was so ready for fresh air and had enough energy to move, any uphill increased my heart rate and I started coughing up. It meant that I shifted my attention to local routes and a lot of grace to take it as it came.
Day one: Ambleside to Windermere via Orrest Head.After dropping off bags at the hostel and changing, I headed out and up along a wooded and well-maintained trail via Skelghyll Wood towards Orrest Head, and down to Millerground Landing by Windermere town. My aim was to get to the town, go down to the lake for a dip (after spotting Elise Downing recommending it), and then a bus back to Ambleside. I realised however that I was pushing it for daylight, and would need to carry so much additional kit to keep warm after a winter swim, that this element wasnāt worth it. Immediately though, my heart rate increased and I was reminded by the coughing up that it wouldnāt be a straightforward jaunt.
It was around 6 miles ā which was enough to feel like Iād done something, and enough to feel comfortable ā with a super snappy fun downhill towards the lake (what goes up must come down!) But prior to that was a nicely undulating path up high and across farmland, metalled finish, with views across and down to the southern part of Windermere (lake). At one point I spotted someone clearly associated with fell running just in front of me whoād popped off this little hill, and so I said to myself, well if a local is doing it then so must I.
Millerground would be a cool place to swim, with plenty of hiding places, nice lake gradient to enter it, and at this dusk time, enchantingly misty. Overall, this route was a lovely mix of terrain and perspectives ā from the rooted forest floor to the open farmland ā with plenty of places to stop and accessible at each end by buses.
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Images: Ambleside to Windermere via Orrest Head. 1. View over Windermere (lake) from high up; 2. sign for a tearoom with distance for runners, joggers and walkers; 3. View of Windermere from Orrest Head as dusk comes in; 4. Millerground by Windermere's shore.
Day two: Helvellyn via Legburthwaite and Sticks Pass.To get any semblance of winter after the snow had quickly thawed, thereās only the option of going up as high as possible. So this day was all about a Helvellyn summit.
Taking the bus on route to Keswick from near the hostel, I got off towards the end of Thirlmere at Legburthwaite for a relentlessly steep path directly up the massif to Sticks Pass, and then a right to the summit of Raise at 883m. As soon as I reached the pass, the wind found my exposed position and more layers came on ā additional gloves, balaclava, waterproof trousers. This was the first time I was using my folding trekking poles, super helpful already on the steep gradient up, but even more so useful as gusts tried to throw me off my feet going down and back up to White Side at 863m.
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Images: 1. Ambleside YHA jetty at 8am; 2. View of Thirlmere and opposite fells at 9.40am shrouded in shadow; 3. The view of the path up to Sticks Pass; 4. Me on Sticks Pass wrapped up in all the layers.
Iāve been up via Thirlspot before, with a much nicer gradient across rather than up, but I donāt like to do the same thing twice when itās a rare occasion anyway, even if itās a different season. The hike here from White Side to Lower Man at 925m becomes more ridged ā and therefore more blowy, and this is where I came across a few individual folk each heading away from their Helvellyn trip to another destination, hoods up and poles in tow.
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Images: 1. View from Raise with Ullswater in the distance; 2. Clouded view towards White Side (10.30am); 3. View across to the crags above Thirlmere; 4. Clouded view from Helvellyn's trig point showing the cornice and down to Striding Edge.
Up on Helvellyn itself (950m) the entrance/exit of the two edges of Swirral and Striding look unfathomable from up above, as if thereās no way to navigate down on to them. But I was heading over to Nethermost Pike (891m), Dollywaggon Pike (858m) and then down the steep zig zags to Grisedale Tarn. Thereās a sudden quietness that hits once in this sheltered area, and I always have an urge to go swimming in the tarn, but itās never the right time; perhaps in summer once Iāll take on a particular trip to go into the menacingly dark depths of Grisedale and Red Tarns. Instead, I eat a sandwich before another quite hardcore descent.
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Images: 1. Rime Ice on the Helvellyn summit shelter; 2. Me on Helvellyn's summit, wrapped up but happy; 3. View from Helvellyn summit across the cornice to Nethermost Cove and Striding Edge with Grisedale Beck in the distance; 4. View of Grisedale Tarn from the way down from Dollywaggon Pike at 12pm (the dull colours are exactly what it looked like!)
I really like the way down from Grisedale Hause; itās technical and dramatic. It is horrible when itās been raining though, and so during the 2022 Lakeland Trails Ultra it was slow-going with treaded shoes not wanting to be grippy, but the Tongue Gill stretch down to High Broadrayne is a great gradient and well-maintained so itās mostly runnable. Unfortunately, thereās then the terrible stretch of road into Grasmere where you really donāt want to run, but somehow you pick up pace at the thought of a cup of tea. Grasmere village itself is very sweet, and this time I came across a modern-looking tea room ā Freda & Ray ā with pasties and chai lattes and cakes where I could warm up, wash my face and reflect. And then you can have a mosey in the Heaton Cooper Studio gallery while awaiting the bus back to Ambleside.
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Images: 1. Eating my traditional Grisedale Tarn sandwich; 2. View back up to Grisedale Hause with someone coming down; 3. The warm brown tones of the Lakeland Fells with a couple of grey Herdwick Sheep; 4. My chai latte and pasty at Freda & Ray.
Upon arriving back at the hostel with enough light, I did fancy a swim and fortunately thereās a jetty outside the hostel with a ladder entrance to the lake. Of course I needed a shower after my hike-run, so quickly grabbing stuff and heading out, I popped into the water, immediately feeling incredibly exposed by all those hanging in the hostel pub with panic rising from the choppiness caused by Windermere boats. It was a swift 125m, but felt refreshed.
Day three: Windermereās West Shore.Set to rain for the whole day, I didnāt want to be going up high, and also a bit risky to swim alone, though decided to run with my swim stuff anyway just in case I came upon a spot. Having never visited the West Shore of Windermere, I decided that thatās where I would head, finding out that you can get a Ā£1 car-passenger ferry (the type thatās pulled along on an underwater cable) from Ferry Nab to The Ferry House. I set off in full waterproof running gear and then had to strip down to acclimatise, being kindly allowed to use the staff toilet at Joeyās CafĆ© at Claife Viewing Station despite not wanting to purchase anything as I was about to run, but being told that there was another Joeyās at Wray Castle with the beautiful promise of āthe same if not moreā.
Claife Viewing Station is wonderfully romantic, with stained glass half windows to frame the lake. From here the track follows plantations of Scar Wood, Harrow Slack, Belt Ash Coppice, Low Blind How, Heald Wood, Fleming Wood, and Arthur Wood, all the way to Wray Castle where things eventually open up. It is an accessible path, apart from the bit I took uphill at the start, as part of the Miles-Without-Stiles routes noted as āfor manyā and āfor someā. Itās really picturesque when itās raining actually, because thereās a particular hushed noise amidst the drizzle. I went along a jetty at one point and then realised I could smell bacon from the fishermen on the other side.
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Images: 1. Windermere and its West Shore from the Ferry Nab terminal; 2. View through Claife Viewing Station's stained glass window over Windermere; 3. Very misty and drizzly day over Windermere with evocative treeline as seen above from Scar Wood; 4. From the West Shore looking out on misty Windermere.
I hadnāt been going for so long, but with a heavier backpack it pushed my head slightly down so affecting my breathing and making for a tiring run; your movements become laboured and youāre less able to look around. Though Iād seen spots where I could swim (quiet with a shallow entrance), I was already wet and cold and felt that it would be a struggle to warm up again. The rain got heavier as I arrived at the plant-fuelled Joeyās CafĆ© Wray Castle with the promise of āmore stuffā totally fulfilled (and perhaps too fulfilled as Iād carried so much food to eat that needed to be eaten so I had less to carry for the last stretch). It would be a wonderful place to visit just on its own for brunch, and in fact there were loads of cyclists out, which shows that the Western Shore was also good for that sport.
The way from Wray Castle takes you up to the road because of private land ownership, but there is a maintained footpath to follow that is still dramatic, as the view continues to open up with fells all around. Arriving back at Clappersgate, itās then just a short hop into the town for food, or back to the hostel. Thereās nothing like a cup of tea and some slow movement ā perhaps with a book ā after a rainy day adventure, to get warm and feel yourself coming back into the world.
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Images: 1. An old wooden jetty heading into a misty Windermere; 2. A boat house in High Wray Bay; 3. A cool boat house below the castle, reminiscent of Harry Potter; 4. Wray Castle; 5. Assortment of bakes at Joey's Cafe Wray Castle; 6. My running get up with heavy backpack and waterproofs after layering in the bathrooms.
Day four: Loughrigg Fell and swims in Rydal Water + Grasmere.I really wanted a winter swim. After having such a great time the previous July and September in Grasmere and Rydal Water, I wanted to go back. This is where my rule of not going to the same place fails, however I was going there via a different route.
Heading from my Ambleside hostel into the village and into Rothay Park, I started tracing a route up towards Loughrigg Fell that I happened to have run down at the end of my 59km Ultra, bringing with it all the memories of the relief and joy of that downhill finish. But of course, this time I was going up. Loughrigg Fell is essentially one craggy fell with lots of trails, so unless youāre following the main well-maintained track to Loughrigg Tarn (another place for a summer swim!), you just have to keep plodding on through the bogs with one eye on the highest point, or on Grasmere or Rydal Water once over the summit.
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Images: 1. View over the Fairfield Horseshoe as seen on the way up Loughrigg Fell; 2. Some mosses; 3. Rydal Water as seen from Loughrigg Fell summit; 4. Inside Rydal Cave; 5. Fishes in the eerie blue water of Rydal Cave.
But you could have a lot of fun criss-crossing running yourself here. Heading down to the main Loughrigg Terrace path (so named because itās a terrace cut into the hillside), I was able to find the Rydal Cave highlighted on local signs. Very busy on this Saturday though so I swiftly moved on and down to Rydal to find a swim spot. Thereās a small wooded section close-ish to the mouth of the Rothay as it flows and flows onwards to Windermere, and here is where I chose to hide myself and launch into a swim. As these waters are a river inlet rather than a lake that takes on water from high up, theyāre pretty temperate, and although it was February and nippy, it didnāt feel blistering like it had been in the London reservoir I regularly swim in. Still, it was only about 3 minutes in the water (I timed myself with breast strokes as my watch was already timing and paused for the walk).
Getting dressed and popping a sandwich in my hand, I headed off on the walk up the well-maintained track following the lake towards Grasmere for my next swim. In summer I had done Grasmere first due to the flow of water, so preventing any biosecurity issues, but for this trip I weighed up the fact that my route took me to Rydal first, so logistically better, and that the water would eventually flow back into the place Iād just been anyway (noting on Strava that I hope I hadnāt messed up the ecosystem). I had however washed my swimsuit from Windermereās swim the night before because blue-green algae is frequently spotted there. I have a particular spot now on Grasmere to launch from, so it feels familiar and comfortable, even when youāre probably visibly naked to some eyes on the main beach area, and when people will pass under your tree nook at the tideline ā to their shock more than mine.
Post-swim, and more food in hand, I take the track into Grasmere Village, past super pretty cottages and lots of ferny land before another stop in Freda & Ray for a pasty and chai latte, a mooch in Heaton Cooper Studio, and a bus back to Ambleside where I pick up a box of hearty salads from Rattle Ghyll Deli. Local, familiar, friendly; this is the Lakes I like to intersperse into those bigger adventures.
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Images: 1. View of Rydal Water from my chosen swim spot; 2. View of Grasmere from my favoured swim spot there; 3. Me satisfied and warming up at my Grasmere swim spot; 4. Heaton Cooper print of Rydal Water; 5. Always stop at Rattle Ghyll Deli in Ambleside for hearty salads.
Hometime.I then had to get myself to Windermere station, top up on more food from Budgens for the journey home, and take the train to Oxenholme Lake District for my main Avanti train to London.
I always plan trips to make the most out of the full day, though it felt strange leaving on a Saturday rather than at the end of a week. Iād had to arrange myself to have this unusual set up due to a friend staying earlier in the week, a freelance job, and the fact that the hostel price per night on a weekend was extortionate. But four days away feels like a massive privilege regardless of when it happens.
Though I didnāt get the full snowy winter experience I had planned on, I still had plenty of mini adventures to remind me of the season and magnificence of the Lake District, had received lots of fresh air to get the flu shifting, and spotted some new gems. I was also supposed to be training for an upcoming 3 day 67-mile run along the Northumberland Coast Path two weeks later, and so any additional movement was a reminder that I am strong and resilient ā just as the Lake District is. Ever-changing, yet strong in its character, ready to be challenged.
Image: āThe world reveals itself to those who travel on footā, quote from a book that I canāt recall, with postcard of the Lhairig Ghru picked up on a trip to the Cairngorms.
If you liked this story, you can find more within my archive, some of which also have audio recordings ā such as Winter Skills in the Cairngorms Part One, Walking the Broomway, and Some Days Spent Exploring the Lochs and Trails Around Aviemore. I try to write them each week, interspersed with posts on sustainable living, so if you want a little dose in your mailbox, please subscribe on Substack. Otherwise, sign up to my newsletter here for overall updates.
