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. I’m 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 Year’s 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 Life’s Northumberland Coast marathon as training for a 50 mile race (that I was due to run when I’d started writing this story), but when races cost around £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 didn’t have as many time demands — or so I thought, because planning a 3-day running trip many miles from home with awkward countryside buses makes for quite a stressful “holiday”.

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 it’s 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) — or frankly using that as an evening hub so I could get up there earlier and more cheaply — was no easy feat. Driving definitely helps in these circumstances, but I haven’t 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 couldn’t 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.

I’d planned on about 14 miles for day one, though this was already extended as the bus didn’t 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) couldn’t 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 that’s an appropriate amount of time for a half marathon with photo-stops, but I didn’t actually know what the route looked like. Turned out that there were a few obstacles before I could get to Alnmouth.

As anticipated, it’s 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 I’d 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 I’d 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 I’d 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 wouldn’t be cut off by future inlets.

Images: Day one — 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 6’5”. Luckily I could go back onto the beach and cross, getting just a touch wet, but if the tide was in, I would’ve 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 you’re 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 should’ve stopped as I realised a couple kilometres onwards that in fact I was incredibly hungry and had barely any food left.

“It was feeling a touch stressful and I was only a little way into this journey.”

Images: Day one — 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 wasn’t 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 “footpath”, I reckon this is at only very specific times due to the tides. It doesn’t look particularly inviting, even when you can see people down there.

By this point I can feel my stomach rumbling and I’m 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 I’d still have to go to the shop for dinner, I get off the bus early to visit the most wonderful book shop — Barter Books.

I’d 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 Alnwick’s 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 “station buffet” open until 7pm so I was able to get tea — 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 couldn’t 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 — after this and 17 miles — I got to sleep quite well.

Images: Day one — 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 hadn’t 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, “Berwick! That’s a long journey…” rather than telling me that I should’ve 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 “promenade” with cliffs in the distance, that you’ll then climb up and along. While I wouldn’t like to finish in Cresswell because there’s nothing there, at least it’s a little more quaint that Berwick. So if you did this route, you’d have to choose: food and transport, or something pretty?

Images: Day two — 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. It’s quiet, overcast, a bit noisy with wind and waves crashing below. There’s a lot of craggy beaches and dunes set aside as Nature Reserves, that I can’t stop and explore because I’m 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 you’ll 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.

“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.”

Images: Day two — 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 I’m moving along I’m 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 should’ve, but there’s a diversion due to a change in the railway line crossing. As it’s a very humid day, this exposed added section starts to grate on my energy levels, especially as I can’t really see where the diversion finishes. Finally I’m across, past farmland and walking to Fenwick while I refuel.

Here in these woods a hush descends. It’s strange to be following a coast path, yet now inland. Because of the railway line, the A1, and the mudflats, there isn’t really anywhere else the path can go adjacent to the coast, and so it joins up with the St Cuthbert’s Way. I met some “pilgrims” in the woods who had just been to St Cuthbert’s 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.

There’s one tiny yet annoying patch of deep sticky mud that I simply didn’t 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 it’s a high speed line. Has anyone had to do this before?

I called the signalman and said “I’d like to cross”, and in a rather incomprehensible Northumberland accent he’s asking me “how many are in your party and how long [as in time] do you need to cross?” I’m like… “there’s one, and I don’t know, I’m running, so not very long”. He answers, “you don’t need to run!” So I respond, “well that’s what I’m doing so I’ll run regardless, but perhaps what, a minute? 45 seconds? 30 seconds?” I’m 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, “well, it’s safe to cross now anyway”. So I shout bye, hop over the stile, run across, hop over the stile and then I’m away. But it dawns on me that he won’t know I’m actually over unless I call, right? There’s no cameras. By that point I’ve already gone, and I didn’t 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.

“I called the signalman and said “I’d like to cross”, and in a rather incomprehensible Northumberland accent he’s asking me “how many are in your party and how long [as in time] do you need to cross?”

Images: Day two — Berwick-upon-Tweed to Bamburgh. Logs piled up at the entrance to a plantation on Kyloe Hills, a ewe and lamb, loads of “national” bee hives in a meadow grassland, and view over Budle Bay.

The coast path here is also confusingly the same as St Oswald’s 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. There’s more undulating farmland, you go past someone’s 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, you’re immediately met with a view of everyone out on the beach walking, and you want to go down there, and yet you’re here at the end of a 27 mile run and you simply want a cup of tea, so maybe you’ll come back after.

Bamburgh itself is quite sweet, with a few pubs and a tearoom when it’s 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 Morrison’s in crusty sweaty clothes on a Saturday evening with the temperature having dropped, dazed because I wanted to eat everything but also couldn’t 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 who’d just been to Lindisfarne bird-watching (and sweetly pronounced it Lin-zee-farne), sleep.

Images: Day two — 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 — even for someone who gets bored of tarmac on trail runs — 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 you’re 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. It’s also where you take boats out to the Farne Islands.

Images: Day three — 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 would’ve 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, Lady’s 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 I’m 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 I’m happy in mine. Dunstanburgh is another place that you should explore if you have the opportunity, with interesting craggy hills and what I’m sure would be a dramatic outlook from up above. But I was heading on to Craster, and then Howick, and then Boulmer.

“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.”

Images: Day three — 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.

I’m 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 couldn’t stop in. I was trying to fuel on each uphill; it was difficult on this day to eat as there wasn’t many long hills, and knowing I was stretched for time wanted to keep going. Some cheeky passerby commented, “Having a rest?” Yes, frankly, I am, I’m having a walk up this hill while I eat some sugar because I’ve already run 19 miles or something.

“More undulating cliffs, more expansive views, more crashing waves, more little nooks I couldn’t stop in.”

By the time I knew I was close to Alnmouth, the mental acknowledgment that I’ll soon be done starts to chip away, and the final golf course felt like a kick to that chip, so breaking it down further. You’re 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, “Good for you!” 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 hadn’t 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 I’ve ever come across that doesn’t 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 I’m 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 I’m distraught. So I sit in the shelter, check the times — of course it wasn’t 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.

Images: Day three — 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 I’d went to put my bag in the drying room as reception wasn’t open, then a young lad comes, opens the luggage room, locks it, I check that someone will be there later (as I’ve already asked), he says yes if you’ve 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 didn’t 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 that’s when it dawns on me that if I’d kept my bag in the drying room (which isn’t locked) then there wouldn’t be a problem. As it was, I was messaging them to say can someone come — like you said you would — 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 I’d already stripped most sweaty clothes off and washed my body somewhat in the sink, so I’m 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 messages… Frantically I get changed, make the bus, finish packing my bag at the station, get my train. The train is so packed. I’ve 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 ‘pay at your seat’ feature, which after 20 minutes of struggling to navigate the UX, cancels my order without explaining why, and then the tanoy says “the buffet cart will be closing now because of staff changeover at Newcastle so we’ll see you in an hour”. 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 I’d just achieved.

“An older lady smiles at me and says, “Good for you!” and you wonder what part of you is oozing such triumph (or defeat) but you take it and go yeah, good for me!”

Conclusion.

• The Northumberland Coast Path is interesting in terms of terrain.

• It is possible to run it over 3 days and somewhat enjoy yourself.

• It’s 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.

• There’s lots of places where you could refuel if you didn’t want to carry much, though I wouldn’t rely on it, especially for Berwick to Bamburgh where there’s 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.

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