Cliff Walking

The ECP hugged the edge of the cliff as I travelled northwards. The cliffs were quite impressive with some precarious sea stacks dotted along its length. The fossil hunters were out on the beach again today, walking slowly along with their heads bent down, seemingly in deep concentration. Every so often one of them would bend down and pick up a large boulder and then crash it down on to another rock. If ever there is a zombie apocalypse then I think that the fossil hunters will blend in quite well with the living dead. The walking was easy on a flat, grassy path. I could see what looked like oil terminals on the mouth of the river Wear up ahead. It didn't look that far away. Distances can be quite deceptive on coastal walking though. Undulations in the terrain and inland diversions can soon add time and distance to a walk. As if to prove the point, it wasn't long before I headed inland at Ryhope Dene. The path dumped me out on the A1018. 50 metres of pavement walking brought me to the other side of the dene and a footpath back to the coast. An information board told me that in times gone by, Ryhope beach offered the possibility of some R&R time to the local miners. I wondered if the sea was black with all the pit spoil dumped over the cliffs as occurred at Harden, Easington and Blackhall collieries further south. 

Sunderland's Outskirts

Gradually houses started to appear over to my left. These were a good distance away with grassland separating us. Suddenly, a head popped out of the deep grass midway between myself and houses. The person had a red hoody on and just seemed to be standing there on the spot. It was only when I got closer that I could see that there was a tent pitched next to the standing figure. It wasn't a wild-camping tent though; it looked like a cheap pop-up. I guessed that the guy was probably homeless. At Hendon beach the grasslands disappeared to be replaced by buildings. It looked like quite a bit of money had been spent on the area but it felt unmaintained and a little desperate. There were a couple of carparks and half a dozen parked cars. The terminals at the mouth of the Wear were in touching distance now. It was a place I might walk my dog, but I couldn't really see families settling down on the beach for the day. 

Fears For Wears

A tunnel under the railway line brought me out into a mixed domestic and industrial area. I had wondered how well the route would be signed within the urban area. Not too bad as it turned out. Small, green 'acorn' signs attached to lamposts led me northwards towards the city centre. On approaching some high rise flats my paranoia kicked in and I packed my cameras away into my rucksack. The flats and surrounding area looked tidy enough though and I felt a little bit guilty at my pre-judgement. Before it reached the river Wear. the ECP headed off eastwards on a tour of the old and new dock area. I lost my green acorn guides for a while, but it didn't really matter much since the area is copiously dotted with blue plaques and information boards giving much detail on how Sunderland looked not so long ago. It was easy to get back on to the ECP since all I had to do was head northwards and I'd reach the River Wear. 

River Wear

The active port was fenced off and so I was corralled down a street towards the River Wear. I could see the Wearmouth bridge up ahead. Both banks of the river have been developed and a lot of the old warehouses modernised into new office space and flats. I reached the River Wear at the point of the old ferry landing. A blue plaque informed me that a ferry had operated from here as early as the 7th century and that the fare was one halfpenny (0.2 pence) from the 18th century up until its closure in 1957. If only inflation worked like that nowadays. It was a pleasant walk along the quayside towards the bridge. Boats tied to buoys bobbled about on the river. There was nobody else about on this side of the river although I could see plenty of walkers and runners on the other bank, near the University. The first person I came across was a tall, red faced man sat on a bench. At first I thought he was talking into a phone, but it was only when I got nearer that I saw he was talking to himself. There was a half full bottle of White Lightning on the pavement next to him. 'Haway pal' he slurred as I approached. 'Good morning' I offered in reply. I could hear him continuing his conversation with his demons for a good while after I past him. Poor sod. 

Wearmouth Bridge

The Wearmouth bridge is a poor man's Tyne bridge. I wouldn't say that to a Mackem though. It's green and has the same shape and design as the Tyne bridge, but it is noticeably smaller. Size isn't everything though and the Wearmouth bridge has the advantage of a better upstream view than its Tyne cousin. I followed a steep path up the steep embankment. A huge ten storey (I think) set of flats has been built at its south end. The residents must have a wonderful view, but the constant drone of traffic, and the frequent rattle of a Metro train going across the railway bridge, must drive them mad. I walked across the bridge and inevitably found a blue plaque giving its history. The first bridge was built in 1796 and then rebuilt by Robert Stephenson in 1857. The Stephenson's built so much stuff it makes you wonder if they had any time for leisure. The latest incarnation of the bridge was built in 1927 and designed by Mott, Hay and Anderson who sound like a firm of solicitors rather than structural engineers. Wearmouth Bridge is a fine bridge...it's just not as good as the Tyne one. 

Return To Hendon Beach

I was feeling so confident about the area now that I kept my cameras out of my rucksack. On returning down the quayside I heard a soft buzzing noise and saw a small drone flying up the middle of the river. When it was level with me it halted. I'm not sure why, but I find drones a bit voyeuristic and an invasion of my privacy. I guess that's rather hypocritical coming from somebody who often includes other people in my photos. I thought about raising my fist at it and shouting a few expletives, but the controller must have assessed my annoyance and redirected the drone back downstream. White Lightning Man was still sat on his bench continuing his debate with his demons and so I took an alternative route around him. Some green acorn signs pointed me on a more direct route back to Hendon Beach. On a street leading away from the river I found an old Merchant House that was now called Angels Place, according to a large mural on the gable end of the building, Angels Place. A sign above the front door said that it was HAMC (Hell's Angels Motor Cycle) Tyne And Wear. I thought about knocking on the door and asking the manager whether he thought he needed an apostrophe after the Angels on his mural, but on reflection I thought it would work both ways and so I didn't bother.

Going back through the railway tunnel to Hendon Beach I came across a young bloke holding one of those horrible, huge mastiffs on a lead. There was no way he'd have been able to hold it if it went for me and I was relieved to see it was muzzled. There were a few more people walking about the beach area compared to this morning but I was expecting a lot more to be out on such a sunny Sunday morning. As I approached the cliff area at the end of the beach, seven trail riders came speeding past and disappeared along the ECP. I followed them at a more sedate pace. I'd survived Sunderland's suburbia. It had been an interesting experience athough I was glad to get back to the countryside again. I just hoped that I didn't meet the trail riders further along the ECP.

Return To Seaham

I didn't see the trail riders again. They could quite easily have gone over the cliff edge and I wouldn't have noticed since the cliffs were pretty shear. There was no sign either of the chap with the cheap tent. A Kestrel teased me for a while. It kept soaring above the fields or along the cliff edge but always seemed to disappear when I got the long lens camera out. At Ryhope Dean I saw a man in a red hoody. Could this be the cheap tent man from this morning? As I got near he turned away from me and looked into some dense undergrowth. Something wasn't quite right and so I kept my distance. When I returned along the other side of the dene I saw him sat on a bench looking out to sea.

There were hundreds of cars in a field near to the carpark where I'd parked. I'd seen some arriving when I'd set off walking this morning. I assumed it was some sort of an event, maybe something like a 10K run. I couldn't believe the number of people there now. Plastic bags from the event had blown across the field and had got caught in a barbed fence near to the cliff edge. It turned out that it was a 'Giant Car Boot Sale.' Each to his own, but I can think of better ways of spending my spare time on a sunny Sunday.

The weather had kept good and it had been a great day. It had been a good mixture of clifftop walking and historic wanderings in Sunderland. That's the Sunderland to Hartlepool section complete on my North East England Coast Path Venture. I've just got the Hartlepool to Middlesbrough section to complete before ticking off the coast between the rivers Wear and Tees.