Tag Archives: photography

22. Maldon to Maylandsea

Here is Byrhtnoth, the Earldorman of Essex, bold and fierce, looking out to sea. I see Bradwell Power Station ahead of me and realise am making little progress. I worry about snakes and twisted ankles …. then my phone dies. Continue reading

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21. Tollesbury to Maldon

This walk starts under wide, empty skies and follows a meandering, sea bank. What is the story behind the lonely bench in this isolated spot? Later, I meet a semi-naked man, friendly sheep and excited children on bicycles.
Continue reading

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Stage 20. Old Hall Marshes to Tollesbury

Bradwell Power Station looms menacingly on the horizon. There is the threat of rain and strange colour-changing light. My trousers look like an insect graveyard – sticky webs with spiders, flies, butterflies, beetles, ladybirds… Little flies extract their revenge on behalf of the insect kingdom, attacking my upper arms. Continue reading

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Stage 19. West Mersea to Peldon to Old Hall Farm

This is a day of highs and lows – and of unanswered questions. What has caused the death of all these little crabs? Why am I forced to play “chicken” with uncoming cars? And what is the purpose of that large, menacing building in the distance? Continue reading

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Stage 18. Jaywick to West Mersea

“Ferry,” says a male voice.
“Can you come and pick us up please?” I ask. “There are two of us and a bike.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the man says in a somewhat irritated tone, “I am not a taxi service you know.” Continue reading

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Stage 12. Covehithe, Southwold, Walberswick and Dunwich

What is the one thing more embarrassing then being rescued by the coastguards?
I walk past crumbling cliffs and fallen trees. I can’t resist taking photographs, wanting to capture some of the drama and sadness of this doomed area, as the land gives way to the tides and the greedy sea. Continue reading

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Stage 11. Corton to Lowestoft to Benacre

I reach the the most Eastern point of the British Isles and then head off down a long stretch of deserted beach. Disorientated by a never-ending shingle bank, I miss lunch and am nearly defeated by a disappearing beach as I make my way past crumbling cliffs. Continue reading

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Stage 7. Sheringham to Overstrand to Mundesley

I forget my socks. There is nobody here at all. Nobody. On my right are crumbling cliffs with no way up. If you were caught here with a rising tide, it would be difficult to escape the waves. Continue reading

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