‘Easing into the palpable atmosphere before me, I listen and watch. The background notes are those of curlew that are difficult to see but heard so readily, their wistful calls carry on every breath the sea exhales; theirs is the ever expressive voice of the salt marsh‘
I am between the villages of Stiffkey and Morston on the North Norfolk coastal path and looking across the salt marsh. What has taken my eye is a boat but it is no ordinary boat and resembles an ark, of all things. Bearing to one side, it appears stranded in one of the many creeks that crisscross the landscape. There are folk applying themselves to the task of painting the primed boards in the heat of, what is turning out to be, a day of warm April sunshine; it will be thirsty work indeed. Beyond the ark is a run of sand which, at low tide, reveals a sun-kissed stream at its end. Working this lazy low water are curlew, greenshank and redshank, plovers, avocet, oyster catchers and what I thought was a bar-tailed godwit that caught my eye before it flew. They all appear rather oblivious of each other and me, and are getting on with the day in earnest.
I like to head off the beaten track and always find walking the many interior paths rewarding. They remind constantly of how the heart or inner workings of the landscape here are mostly hidden, with their secret scrapes, briny pools and dunes lying mostly between and below the marshes’ floral cover that renders them a chanced-upon find. There is an exceptional variety of birds and flora here, again mostly out of sight and seldom seen by a casual passing visitor. These rare qualities inform those who see every aspect of this landscape as not just a view but a living, breathing place and one that is truly unique.
The coastal path runs the entire length of the salt marsh and beyond so my amble today will cover around five miles before turning back towards Morston. Looking seawards upon an endless view, I wonder how on earth I ever believed I would actually reach those distant, white-crested breakers. By way of explanation; when I first tried to walk a way through the marsh, the sea appeared to move equidistantly away with every footstep I took towards it – it was all most disconcerting. The more you see or try something the more familiar it becomes, naturally. So with this seed of wisdom I tentatively made several attempts over time to find preferable routes to the sea. Eventually I found that if one is careful and utilised the tidal flows, a route could be found to the golden sands and those white-crested breakers with little in the way of jeopardy.
In the summer months particularly, the rewards from the getting there are many. Sea lavender abounds and brushes an impressionist’s daub across the scene. You will find lagoons that form due to the tidal shifts; these warm up quickly in the heat of the day and offer the most luxuriating soak, a therapy of sun and buoyant salty water. There are rare plants, shoreline birds and many insects unseen inland are – it’s altogether another world away.
Of course, not always are things here so visible, at any month in the year the eye can travel infinitely on a clear day. There are days too where, far from being clear, the sea fret subsumes all before it. This has to be one of the most eerie of sights and experiences. By degrees, time is lost within Norfolk’s keenest and most impenetrable mist. Imagine if you will the fluid movement of a large board-rubber over chalk – such is nature’s efficiency in concealing the huge swathes of land very quickly.
This thoughtfully placed bench is well suited to viewing and rests all at the foot of a three-path crossing; one of these makes its way from Stiffkey village through fields and meadows to end here on the coastal navigation, the second being the coastal footpath and the third takes an incidental climb through the seemingly impenetrable gorse and what remains of its unmistakable, fresh, coconut fragrance scenting the air. Beyond this mass of evocative but spiny contradiction is a cliff or what really can only be described as an elevated wooded walk that I read time and again as a ‘Grimms’ Fairytale’. Norfolk’s most northerly topography is overwhelmingly flat; there are cliffs but most are ever so apologetically low.
Easing into the palpable atmosphere before me, I listen and watch. The background notes are those of curlew that are difficult to see but heard so readily, their wistful calls carry on every breath the sea exhales; theirs is the ever expressive voice of the salt marsh. In a year’s progress there are few better opportunities for a sighting or two than those in April and the start of nesting season. One may observe openly many of the marshes’ inhabitants and today it is the redshank who busy themselves weaving amongst oyster catchers and the constant skeins of geese that land rather haphazardly on the mudflats. The redshank, with their ruminating amorous intentions, are very singular and clearly visible today, commanding my attention and focus. A male ardently affirms his tryst but becomes distracted and scurries across the silt flat to see off two interlopers. With all his honourable, steadfast intentions and goodly deeds the apple of his eye has, now he’s left her side, taken to her legs and finds interest anew a little way off. Oh well ‘fortune favours the brave’ or so they say, but I’m sure he will win the day and his prize but it may not be her.
Time now to move on and head through the gorse into the fairytale imagery of the wood, a mass of contorted beech, oak and hornbeam atop the cliff side. Over the years their elemental and sculpted forms have craned over and are set inward to seek shelter. The prevailing north and easterly winds that assault this exposed coastline are never far from ‘a return’ and over millennia the wind, just as the sea has to the salt marsh, informed every conceivable view. Throughout the tree-lined amble one can find bluebells, wood anemone, horse parsley and the pretty heads of columbine.
The wood’s end is my journey’s also. I will walk the path that passes the fields and meadows into Stiffkey, purchase some much needed provisions at the general stores, have a chat with Martha and then there’s the return to Morston Quay…
Writing & Images Pallenpool, North Norfolk 2026
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