He turned the sea into dry land, they passed through the waters on foot
Psalm 66 v6
0800 A lovely home-cooked breakfast served on good china by my elderly host who seems to do B and B for the pleasure of it rather than reward. She insists I try some of her home made orange marmalade (‘it’s got a spot of whisky in it’, she says with a wink). I figure that I need all the energy I can muster for the forthcoming ride so I dive in...
0850 Pay the B and B in cash and head out of Berwick over the old bridge to follow Route 1 of the National Cycle Network down the Northumberland coast - my prayers have been answered because the wind has abated - it must have been bad the day before as even the locals comment on it and I daresay they have seen some blasts.
Berwick is such a characterful town that I keep stopping to take photos - not a good idea if you are trying to beat the tide and get on the causeway to Lindisfarne Island by 10am
0915 The cycle path runs between the beach and the East Coast mainline railway which is just a few yards inshore at this point. It’s funny to think that yesterday I was on a train heading into Berwick looking out of the window to the place where I am now cycling in the opposite direction. Looking behind me the Tweed Estuary embraces Berwick between shallow cliffs while ahead the strata in the stone point straight unnatural-looking fingers into the North Sea as though a giant claw has scarified the rocky shoreline.
0945 Approach a herd of black cows who, clearly having been up and about well before me, are already sitting in a group quietly chewing the cud. As I pedal right through the middle of them they take absolutely no notice of yet another fluorescent lycra-encapsulated cyclist but dolefully stare as if to say ‘I know what I would rather be doing, mate!’ There is low cloud in the sky – it could be raining ere long.
1000 Still no sign of Lindisfarne Island but there are skylarks singing and flying all around me. The trail leads over a deserted golf course...
1040 Finally, I am on the causeway to Lindisfarne or Holy Island. According to the tide table notice I will be OK if I am off the island by 1220. As a heavy hint, they have put up a sign saying ‘Will this be you?’ with a photograph of a half-submerged Range Rover and a hovering helicopter rescuing the presumably embarrassed occupants. I can kind of understand how this might happen because the causeway is longer than you think – you can see the other end but it doesn’t seem to get any closer. Around the thin ribbon of black tarmac there are huge expanses of muddy-looking sand regularly pock-marked with worm casts. I keep pushing on - even though the way is level the wind has picked up here and it’s tough going.
1040 Finally, I am on the causeway to Lindisfarne or Holy Island. According to the tide table notice I will be OK if I am off the island by 1220. As a heavy hint, they have put up a sign saying ‘Will this be you?’ with a photograph of a half-submerged Range Rover and a hovering helicopter rescuing the presumably embarrassed occupants. I can kind of understand how this might happen because the causeway is longer than you think – you can see the other end but it doesn’t seem to get any closer. Around the thin ribbon of black tarmac there are huge expanses of muddy-looking sand regularly pock-marked with worm casts. I keep pushing on - even though the way is level the wind has picked up here and it’s tough going.
1100 I reach the island and make my way into the village passing pedestrians who have had to walk in from the car park, yet again demonstrating the advantages of a bike. Lindisfarne is understandably commercialised, pandering to modern-day pilgrims less in search of absolution than a slice of cake at the Priory Tea Rooms.
Having said that, it is not crowded considering it is a Bank Holiday and not so commercialised that you can’t enjoy the wilder parts. I pop into the grounds of the ruined priory founded by St Aiden in the 7th century and admire the gaunt statue of the Saint sculpted by Kathleen Parbury in 1958. It is quite striking, if a little fanciful, and even today there is a little pile of stones at it’s foot where genuine pilgrims have passed that way.
1130 Forever conscious of the incoming tide, I do not have time to cover the whole island – the castle; the heritage centre; the nature reserves all have to be passed by, but I promise myself to return one day and give them the time they deserve. So, I buy two postcards in the priory museum shop, write them, drop them in the post box and reluctantly start on my way back. It is a shame it is a Bank Holiday as the Post Office would otherwise have put a Holy Island postmark on them.
1150 I stop on the causeway to take a photo of the pink carpets of Sea Aster covering the salt marshes and take a last look back at the Island, the castle prominent on it’s rocky outcrop – is there another dwelling more isolated in England?
1200 I can just make out the lorries on the A1 in the distance as I cycle back as the skies are clearing. It seems the tide does not come in so much as up around here since where there were small puddles before there are now large pools and it will not be long before the road is awash. However, I make it back to the mainland comfortably.
1229 Stopping for a drink and a snack, I am listening to a warbling songbird as I write this in the car park on the mainland side of the causeway – it’s not a skylark. I can see it occasionally but do not recognise the song – finch or warbler of some sort....
Two children are playing on a line of giant cube-shaped concrete blocks presumably left over from WW2 - leaping between them like a huge set of stepping stones.
1415 I am making good progress towards my ultimate destination of Alnwick past pretty villages and the imposing bulk of Bamburgh castle. I tune in to the test match which is certainly heading for a draw. The route meanders a bit but never strays very far from the coast. I encounter some showers on the way and my backside hurts like heck – I must invest in some proper cycling shorts and a new saddle for my next set of excursions.
1150 I stop on the causeway to take a photo of the pink carpets of Sea Aster covering the salt marshes and take a last look back at the Island, the castle prominent on it’s rocky outcrop – is there another dwelling more isolated in England?
1200 I can just make out the lorries on the A1 in the distance as I cycle back as the skies are clearing. It seems the tide does not come in so much as up around here since where there were small puddles before there are now large pools and it will not be long before the road is awash. However, I make it back to the mainland comfortably.
1229 Stopping for a drink and a snack, I am listening to a warbling songbird as I write this in the car park on the mainland side of the causeway – it’s not a skylark. I can see it occasionally but do not recognise the song – finch or warbler of some sort....
Two children are playing on a line of giant cube-shaped concrete blocks presumably left over from WW2 - leaping between them like a huge set of stepping stones.
1415 I am making good progress towards my ultimate destination of Alnwick past pretty villages and the imposing bulk of Bamburgh castle. I tune in to the test match which is certainly heading for a draw. The route meanders a bit but never strays very far from the coast. I encounter some showers on the way and my backside hurts like heck – I must invest in some proper cycling shorts and a new saddle for my next set of excursions.
1700 Geoff Boycott goes into paroxysms as Sri Lanka crash all out for less than 100 and England win!
1830 Eventually wind up in Alnmouth which I had been recommended to visit. To be frank, I didn't think much of it, it’s pretty but I prefer the Camel estuary, the river Aln is quite pleasant but there isn’t enough going on for me. The last leg to Alnwick is torture on my aching legs and bum and unfortunately it’s the hilliest part of the route so there is a lot of stopping to...ahem...admire the view – and recover!
1930 Nothing quite prepares me for Alnwick (pronounced Annik) the historic seat of the Percy family. There is a curious monument: imagine Nelson’s Column where one of the lions has climbed up and eaten Nelson – he is looking very pleased with himself with his tail straight out while the others are looking over their shoulders at him as if to say ‘what are you doing up there?’ – I kid you not. Sir Percy’s castle is still the centrepiece of the town, however, and is suitably large and still lived in I think. My B and B is great, attached to a restaurant. The bike is stowed round the back and I am shown up to my room by a young woman - a small room but everything is here including an iron and ironing board (use of which I do not make).
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