Day 29 – Happisburgh
to Weyborne - 18th June – 17.8 nm
The wind has shifted in
the night and is now roaring across the cliff-top campsite. The boats
are rattling and creaking disturbingly on the van roof. This means an
early rise, as I reluctantly emerge from the warmth of my maggot, to
turn the van back into wind - before the boats head down the coast on
their own. Yeah whatever...
But I figure that this
means I won't need to be putting on damp paddling kit for a few more
hours, a quick glimpse of endless-white over the cliff edge confirms
things; it's blessedly back to my maggot for now.
The tide runs from
lunchtime, but the forecast only gives a drop in the wind
mid-afternoon, with a little swell due in later. We are determined to
salvage some miles from the day and so head down to the beach. It's
another hurry-up-and-wait day, as we sit in the car park, ready for
any changes in the wind.
The lunchtime starts
are surprisingly unpopular within Team Fatboy – the late start
makes it difficult for Team Manager to get a run/walk/cycle/'swim'
out of the day, when combined with the daily drive and admin.
While I don't miss the
early starts, the late finishes make post paddle admin, feeding and
planning rushed, while kit drying is also difficult late in the day.
But that's the way it is, I'm no King Canute.
While we wander around,
watching the water, it becomes clear just how significant the erosion
problem is here. The soft cliffs are swifty moving inland, witnessed
by the amputated roads and skeletal pipes protruding from the muddy
cliff faces. The beach is littered with disturbingly recent remnants
of unfortunate houses, claimed by the coffee coloured waters below.
It is a sad sight.
In-vain sea defences
are strung along the beaches, making access difficult. From a
paddling point of view, these defences make the sandy coastline surprisingly exposed and limited for many miles. At high-water there
can be no get-out options for unexpectedly long distances. Damaged, and
paradoxically eroded defences can make the game of landing-roulette a
little too frequent.
But life goes on; the
wind does drop and soon I'm on the water.
Nothing dramatic
happens - I paddle, the boat goes forward, that's it.
The late start means an
inevitably early disagreement with the tide. Cromer sulkily slips by as the
wind falls completely away and conditions go oily. I know what this
means, the tide is going to change; and I suspect, that in turn,
means that the wind is going to strengthen once again.
I paddle through slack
as I pass West Runton (where in 2012 the Post Office kindly held a
re-supply parcel for me - it's those little things in life...) But by
Sherringham the tide is against me and soon the wind strengthens,
right on the nose.
Before long I'm
scratching along at 3 kts or so and decide it's time to call it a day
at Weyborne. I pick Norfolk's only shingle beach, a refreshingly grey
hue this time though. The wind, flow, swell and a horde of angling
types conspire to make for a tricky, pearl-dive of a landing, through
a rather nasty dump. Team Manager gets wet feet as she has to grab
the bow, to help stop me from sliding back down the slope, into the
nasty bit.
While we carry the boat
up the sliding shingle, she soggily apologises for the lengthy walk
to the team van. After that landing I really don't give a monkies how
far it is. I'm just happy to be off.
