The Sir Peter Scott Walk runs between the East Bank Lighthouse and West Lynn. From there, you can take a short ferry across to King's Lynn (not running on Sundays). The original article was swallowed by the internet and after many requests to republish it, I do so here. Sadly, I can't find the photographs that went with it.

The article covers the walk from the West Lynn end and ending up at the lighthouse, although the information can also be used from the other end. So Wimps - get to it!

WIMPS GUIDE TO THE SIR PETER SCOTT WALK

The Sir Peter Scott lighthouse (East lighthouse) lies alongside the River Nene and commands the entry to the Wash and fabulous open views for miles around.  It is also at the start of the Sir Peter Scott walk to King’s Lynn

In August 2011 the Snowgoose Wildlife Trust was granted planning permission to build a new visitor centre at the Lighthouse (not built in the end) with the aim of encouraging people to connect with the environment.

As the one accused of doing the most encouraging, it was suggested that I did some connecting with the environment myself by walking the Sir Peter Scott Walk and then writing about it. 

Protests that I was nearly sixty and hadn’t walked more than four miles anytime over the last thirty of those, merely brought self-satisfied nods and general agreement. This was exactly the non-walking type of person we were looking for to test and describe the walk for wimps and ordinary mortals.

The thing is that although there were rumors' that adults and even children had actually survived the ten mile walk, information relating to it is sparse. Several articles have been written about it but as the writers fit them into scarce column space they are far from being guides and sort of say that they are setting off and then after telling you something about the general area and not the walk at all - they finish.

For normal people contemplating an unknown ten mile walk for the first time they need to know a lot more, like what to take, what hazards to expect, are there any ways off the walk if they can’t make it, plus bus services, telephone numbers of the nearest taxi services, the ferry, hospitals and psychiatrists!

So follow me, the world’s worst bird spotter, photographer and wimp walker on a travel across some of the most spectacular open coastal landscape in this wimps guide to the Sir Peter Scott Walk. The walk runs from West (King’s) Lynn Ferry, Norfolk (PE34 3JQ) to the Sir Peter Scott Lighthouse in Sutton Bridge Lincolnshire (PE12 9YT). 

Serious walkers may wish to cease reading at this point as the contents could be disturbing.

What to take? For the end of October it was expected to be a warm day at around 15C but it was also going to be very windy across such vast open spaces, the forecast being 20 mph from the south, so it should be behind me and help to blow me back. That could be a lot stronger along the top of an exposed sea wall.

Wind whips away body heat, so wind and rainproof gear is vital in this type of environment, especially as the weather can change quickly over the duration of the walk. There is no need to fork out vast sums of cash on special gear though because for most of us wimps, ordinary lightweight waterproof jackets with pull up hoods are just fine.

By taking extra layers such as jerseys and vests in your pack, you need never get too hot, or too cold but bear in mind that if for any reason you are forced to stop, you have to be able to keep warm and keep dry.

A vest, shirt, jersey and jacket was just right for these conditions with another lightweight waterproof in my rucksack to put over the other if needed. If rain is a good possibility take waterproof leggings too, because wind driven rain will otherwise soak trouser legs and skirts in no time at all. I took a good bobble hat, gloves, flask of coffee, reasonable walking boots, compass, mobile phone, Landranger Ordnance Survey maps 131 and 132 (the start is right on the join), two KitKats, two flapjacks and two bags of crisps. A ghastly high calorie diet but easy to carry and good if energy levels get low. I’m sure captain Scott of the Antarctic would have agreed!

 Oh heck, the only pair of binoculars I can lay my hands on are thumping great big 10X50 ones. Not sure where the smaller ones have gone to. These ones are really heavy but they will just have to do. 

Although modern rucksacks look impressively like you’re effortlessly carrying a piano around on your back, I don’t like them because with the additional space there’s a temptation to take more than you need and in windy coastal areas anything that big can also annoyingly catch the wind. This small cheap rucksack is made of plastic backed cloth and every few years or so it’s required to do its stuff, which it does and needs no leap of faith to see that it will keep water out, unlike the fabric of many modern ones that say they are waterproof but then suggest that you keep everything in plastic bags.

I plump for starting the walk at the West Lynn ferry end and doing the walk in reverse. This is largely because the landmarks at that end are unknown to me but the lighthouse at this end should be clearly visible from miles away as I draw nearer and that might just be needed to provide the necessary courage to complete the walk.

I scale off the length of the walk while waiting for the taxi at the East Bank picnic site car park.

There has been some confusion in past articles over how long the walk is but I make it just under ten and a half miles. 

The taxi effortlessly covers the road miles that I will soon have to walk back along on the costal path, as the driver and I discuss how the young Peter Scott (son of captain Scott of the Antarctic) came to the East Bank lighthouse in the early 1930’s. He came here as a wildfowler and went through a seismic change to become the world’s most influential conservationist of the twentieth century, founding both  the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust and World Wildlife Fund among many other things.

 A blue plaque on the side of the lighthouse commemorates this.

In addition, he just also happened to become a world famous artist, author, Olympic sailor, world standard ice skater and British gliding champion as well. I would like to say that this was a natural result of people not having television in those days but as he happened to have squeezed in twenty five years of television and radio broadcasting shows as well as visiting just about everywhere in the world for wildlife purposes, I guess we’ll just have to assume it was probably something in the water.

West Lynn lies just a short ferry crossing across the Great Ouse from King’s Lynn. The notice on the wall of the ferry office says open Monday to Saturday every twenty minutes between 7am to 6pm (still correct in 2023). So walkers please note – nothing on Sundays and it’s a good two and a half miles more to walk into King’s Lynn if the ferry is shut.

Everything at the West Lynn ferry looks in top shape, with notice boards describing the history of the fens and King’s Lynn. The ferry looks fun too and means a walk could just as easily end up here with a final crossing to King’s Lynn for lunch etc and I think a lot of people do just that.

A wooden finger post stands beside a board extolling the virtues of the Sir Peter Scott Walk. The taxi driver is interested. He lives nearby and has never noticed it before.

It points to the start of the walk and says ‘Ongar Hill’ three and a half miles. I’ve seen finger posts like this in western films, wind battered, bleached and pointing aimlessly into death dealing deserts.

Oh well, it’s now just after 11am, so I set off down a track that looks like it’s heading into someone’s back yard and up onto the grass covered sea wall.

The tide is nearly at low water and the wind is almost straight down river. Hang on a moment that means it’s coming from the west and not south as forecast - weather forecasts - I don’t know!

This is a spectacular day with almost clear blue skies overhead.

A flock of terns skim across the river from the mud below flying to the far shore like a squadron of small jet fighters. Further along is a flock of black headed gulls loafing around on a sand spit. Others are standing in the shallow water looking bored.

Despite bearing the name black headed, they never are black but more of a beautiful deep chocolate brown. Right now they are in winter colours, so their heads are white with just a small circle of brown behind the ears.

Over the stile I spy a small lady with a huge dog approaching and so drop down onto the lower bank pathway, I have enough problems without tangling with bears! This is dry and easily manageable especially with the tide being low. 

A hedge on the left shields the wind and the sun is warm on my back. King’s Lynn, once possibly the most important trading port in the country basks in the sunlight on the other side of the river. Just along from the modern port a ruined houseboat lies beached on the mud, a sea going relic from ages past.

Two male mallards take to the air on my approach, leaving the ladies behind to face the danger. The term gentlemanly is never associated with male mallards.

The transitional zone as it is called between the bank and the river is marked along this stretch by irregular muddy pillars and castles standing proud of the surrounding mud, each with its own crop of clinging plants. The mud around them deeply imprinted with the footprints of gulls, thrown into high contrast by the bright sunlight.

 A cockle fishing boat in jaunty blue and white passes by heading up river for the fisherman’s quay. The Wash holds huge stocks of both cockles and mussels.

After a mile the path rises to re-join the main track. The walking has been very easy so far over short flat grass and continues to be so. Further along on the left lies a huge complex of industrial buildings, catering for the effluent of King’s Lynn and surrounding areas – was that put sensitively enough? 

 The electrical power needed must be immense though because two towering pylons have been erected to carry the cables across the river higher than any sailing ships masts.

The fields inland are big here compared to those in many parts of the country but even so, are smaller than they will become further along the walk. Old barn structures, farmhouses and plenty of trees make the landscape seem more interesting than elsewhere locally. The flatness of the reclaimed marshes however makes this a unique landscape with distant views and huge skies in every direction.

The pathway enters a long and sheltered field with hedges on either side, ending with a fence and stile. To the left at low level is a fenced enclosure. Metal gates block the track with big E A initials welded to them, leaving no one in any doubt that they belong to the Environment Agency.

Signs proclaim this to be the Billy Kirkam Sluice, an outlet from the intricate but essential myriad of interconnected inland drains and ditches that keep many square miles of reclaimed marshland dry. To the right lies the sluice outfall.

Rather than taking the clearer lower pathway over the gate I duck under the wooden fence. There is a stile by the fence but it is not complete. Heading off again between a narrow row of hedges, the hawthorn branches are beautifully festooned with bright red berries. This will be a haven of sheltered food resource for any bird crazy enough to be out here in winter.

In the open again and a post with a yellow label (courtesy of Norfolk County Council) points onwards. A sunbathing pheasant moves off down the landward slope throwing me a dirty look over its shoulder for having disturbed it. The wind strength increases further out and the back of my neck is freezing but this has been a really easy flat and delightful walk along the river so far.

  Bigger fields are now in evidence as the river banks begin to open out on either side. The width of the river has been remarkably consistent so far giving one a feeling that it would never turn into an estuary. Over on the far side a flock of black shapes; tiny in the distance, skim low across the water and settle onto the grass below the sea wall. Off with the rucksack and out with the binoculars.

The binoculars were confined to the pack a while ago because their weight was making my neck sore. Small, cheap, light ones are of far more use to the average non-specialist user. These weigh a ton and are the size of two factory chimneys.

I never spend much on binoculars (-£20). Partly because they’re really easy to damage by knocking, dropping, or leaving in a hot car but also because cheap pairs on a bright day will generally do 80% of what expensive ones will, but test them first. I would in any case, rather not have to worry about just chucking them around my neck or into my pocket as and when I wish.  This 10X50 pair is fine for general use even on these extensive marshes but the more powerful the binoculars the heavier they become and as sunshine on the marshes often produces a heat haze, even the best optics often can’t see very far. Today however it is very clear with sharp images.

The black dots with traces of white under their tails prove to be a flock of about 80 Dark-bellied Brent (Brant) Geese. These began to appear over the last few weeks, flying in vast distances from the boggy Artic tundra of northern Russia to spend the winter here and sometime around February to March at the latest, they will leave.

In front of them at water level are more black headed gulls.

Three herring gulls with their black wing tips follow a fishing boat as it comes in past the red and green channel marker buoys, the gulls veering and jinking around as they beat against the wind.

The footpath suddenly veers away from the Great Ouse as a wooden farm gate, stile and notice board block the way. The notice board shows the Sir Peter Scott Walk but sadly, despite the helpful ‘you are here’ signs, it shows no place names, nor where ‘Ongar Hill’ as advertised on the finger post might lie. I presume it has to be where the first ‘P’ for parking is shown. According to the ‘key’, public footpaths are supposed to be indicated by pink dots but although the ‘P’ sign is inland, there are no dots shown leading to it.

A small lake lies to the marsh side, reflecting the deep blue of the sky. The shape reminds me of a miniature aircraft runway, with a long main runway and short crosswind leg to one side.

Juggling Land Ranger maps 131 and 132 together, I make the distance covered so far two and a quarter miles, so only eight to go but even then, that's twice as far as I’ve walked for some years.

My brooding eyes turn from the warnings of deep pools, hidden creeks, soft mud and being cut off by the tide for anyone daft enough to leave the main sea wall. They drift across to the distant dots of the Brent geese. They’re not much bigger than mallards yet they’ve just flown thousands of miles, so if they can do that, I must have it in me to do the next eight.

Over the style and off. No more worrying, it’s the other end or nothing now.

The inland fields are really big and incised by the widest deepest drainage ditches I have ever seen around here. They must be at least three metres deep with the fields themselves some two metres lower than on the seaward side of the sea wall. The marsh soil is dark and has presumably sunk as the peat content has dried out after enclosure. Some parts of the reclaimed Fens have shrunk by around six metres, or, as they say, ‘they shrunk the height of a man in the life of a man’.

In a distant field is what must rank as the world’s largest haystack. It’s made from absolutely massive rectangular bales and beyond that lie the ruins of the WWII Ongar Hill coastal defence battery. Built to house a pair of 6" guns, the battery commanded a large part of the Wash and the entry to King's Lynn, Sutton Bridge and Boston that were all busy ports during the war. The guns were ultimately moved to Northumberland. The empty windows of this decaying but once powerful and friendly defender now stare blindly out to sea.

A quarter of a mile further along and the main sea wall swings right to follow the line of the latest marsh enclosure whilst the old sea wall branches to the left for Ongar Hill. There are no signs as to whether it's permissible to use the old track or not but you would have to go that way if the distance were to match the 3.5 miles claimed on the ferry finger post.*

I stay with the main sea wall, and again as it bends left. Navigation for the whole walk is really as easy as it gets, involving simply keeping to the main sea wall. Although not expected today, it is important when on any strange coastal walk anywhere, to keep track of where you are in case a sea fog rolls in. If you know where you are, then by using a compass there will be no panic or difficulty in getting to where you should be. Mobile phones these days have a huge series of apps that can be used for locating where you are, but if the battery goes flat, the old compass is still a handy standby. Strange how many people don’t even know how to use one these days but I guess that’s me showing my age!

Everywhere the walking proves to be flat and easy on good short grass. It seems highly unlikely that this walk would ever need more than a normal pair of walking boots or even shoes.

With no sheltering banks or trees, the wind has really picked up now and is ferociously battering away on my side, it feels more like forty miles an hour than the forecast twenty. In the warm sun and with a good bobble hat pulled down over the ears however, I’m comfortable and don't need gloves.

Everything to seaward looks like solid rough grazing land but the occasional glint of water suggests the existence of hidden deep drainage channels. Without prior knowledge that would be dangerous ground to walk on.

There are far fewer birds in evidence than I expected to see at the moment although there are always small groups of gulls high in the blue sky passing out to sea, or crabbing their way across the wind. The tide is low of course and that means most birds will be on the foreshore that I can’t see from here or out of the wind in the sheltered creeks.

If the gulls overhead make any noise, I don’t hear it over the now tearing sound of the wind.

A mile of straight walking and to the left, a pathway runs down some steps and over a wooden bridge. That is definitely the path to the Ongar Hill car park because there's a van parked in it. If however, one were to take this route to Ongar Hill, it would be almost four and not the three and a half miles originally stated on the finger post.

Far in the distance is something that looks like a tiny black exclamation mark. It turns out to be the first person I’ve seen for three miles.

I speed up with the incentive of closing the distance but as if on cue, the figure turns around, sees me coming and begins moving away. So begins the exciting Ongar Hill sea wall chase! A pair of gates with more giant red E A letters blocks the path but is just a momentary obstacle as I leap over the stile beside it. The figure is definitely nearer now as it follows a tight left hand twist in the path.

Momentarily my attention is distracted by high pitched piping as a flock of oystercatcher’s spring from a hidden creek to get blasted sideways across the marsh towards the coast. I struggle to get the camera out of a zipped up pocket to see how many of them there are. One, two, three – eight of them but too late for the camera.

Just ahead are some beautiful multi coloured cattle grazing on the marsh, so they get photographed instead including some nice zoom shots.

I turn to continue my quest but what’s this? The figure has vanished!

Speeding onwards I come to a corner post and stile with nothing on either side. Standing absolutely solitary they look more like a dramatic monument rather than bits of a long gone fence.

Down below, the solitary figure I have been chasing is now heading inland along an older sea wall bank running at right angles.

On again. 

In the distance, the path zigzags sharply and the roof of what looks like a farm house appears above the sea wall. I check the map – nothing. This map was given to me. It’s in good condition but what’s the date of it? Ah, - possible reason for not having the building marked on it is that the map is eighteen years old.

A sudden explosion of tiny black dots the size of pinheads fill the air half a mile away, the circular form changing from almost solid black to invisible as the hundreds of tiny bodies throw themselves around the sky in unison, rising and falling before the circle stretches to one side at the bottom to form a pocket and then deflates rapidly as the birds flow from the pocket in a torrent across the top of the sea wall and out into the fields beyond.  I have no idea what they were.

 Then another cloud of bigger black dots swarm around the far bank and glide in to land almost exactly where the others took off from. These are bigger birds but identification will have to wait until I get closer because the wind is really ferocious now and has twice blown my bobble hat completely off, so the binoculars can jolly well stay where they are for now.

The second lot of birds have settled near a small lake on the marsh. The inland drainage ditches form a graceful ‘D’ bend as they lead to a sluice that must feed the lake on the other side of the sea wall. A gate blocks the path over the top of it.

The culprit behind the disturbance of the birds skims past below, following the land side of the sea wall. The wind is so strong that the marsh harrier hardly moves a feather.

Passing over the wooden stile, I see that the incoming birds are a flock of two hundred and fifty Brent Geese. They seem to be enjoying just resting in a wind shaded fold of the land.

The deep blue reflections of the sky from the small lake are stunning. An Egret stalks the small sand island in the middle, lord of all it surveys, while redshanks wade about the shallows. Two sleepy black headed gulls drift around with heads tucked into their shoulders.

The smaller dots have come to rest some distance away but I’ll catch up with them soon.

Another half mile and the building turns out not to be a house at all, but a cattle shed complete with feed silo, cattle troughs and stacks of hay. It all looks highly civilised for a building so far out on these lonely marshes.

I make it nearly five miles so far and decide to have a break. It’s one o’clock. Nearly two hours since I started but as I have been photographing, observing and writing, this was never going to be a speed walking attempt.

 I take the binoculars out and sweep the horizon. From here I can see a gull covered line where the marsh meets the waters of the Wash. In the distance and to the south east is the Norfolk coastline. Even through the haze it can be followed all the way to the tiny white Hunstanton lighthouse perched up on the cliff and as the coast slips shyly away around the corner.

To the north east is a faint smudge marking Skegness - twenty three miles away.

I wade down the face of the sea wall through the deep grass. This is weird stuff, far deeper than it seems and with a sinking in the mud sensation that must be some kind of spongy root formation.  Up there the wind still rages but in the sheltered lee of the sea wall beside an almost dry creek it’s a real sun spot with only fitful gusts of wind - lovely! I’m not mad enough to take my jacket off, but undo the zip.

For some reason the ends of my toes are sore as if the boots are too small. Can’t think why that should be, because they‘ve always been OK before. I daren’t take them off though, as tales of people never getting their boots back on again run through my mind. Otherwise I feel absolutely fine.

The sky is without a cloud and there’s not a soul in sight anywhere. The grass rustles as I lie back. Coffee hasn’t tasted so good in a long time and this feels like a good day to be alive. If this was a still day, the air would be filled with the sounds of the marsh and cries of birds.

The big features on the next leg of the walk are two grass covered mounds. The first is some half a mile out from the sea wall and connected to it by a soil causeway. The second lies nearly two miles away into the Wash.

These were made in the mid 1970’s when there were plans to form a wall of sand across the Wash and turn it into a huge freshwater lake. These two trial banks were apparently made to test the theory. The furthest out one became known as ‘Doughnut Island’ because it’s circular with a hollow in the centre.

Exactly how these outsized sandcastles were supposed to prove anything I’m not entirely sure and after having spent £3 million of taxpayers money, I think everyone else came to the same conclusion and wandered off.

‘Doughnut Island’ is the only high tide island in the wash and is now of major importance for breeding and roosting seagull colonies.

I carefully put my rubbish into the pack before scrambling up the bank and facing the battering wind once more. Take nothing but memories and leave nothing but footprints.

Around the next bend and another flock of oystercatchers explode from a hidden creek before vanishing into another, simply swallowed up by the marsh.

From this point onwards low groynes of soil banks stick out from the base of the sea wall every now and then. It’s not immediately obvious why they should only be from here onwards but someone must have thought they were needed to stop sea erosion.

I pass through an open gate, yet another with the E A letters on it.  The smaller black dots previously seen pouring over the sea wall are closer now and spaced out over two absolutely massive fields.

I struggle to extract the binoculars as the wind turns things into a bit of a farce, sucking the map out of the pack, blowing it around and generally knocking me about as I try to hold the binoculars steady. They are lapwings, at least four hundred of them in amongst the green shoots of wheat and making a lovely pattern.

Inland across six open miles, the power station chimneys at Sutton Bridge peep through distant trees. To the west, the white RAF fire control tower for the Wash target range shows through the haze. I have found it difficult throughout this walk to make any sense of the distances out here because although there are land features, they are simply not on the normal scale of towns and cities despite the fact that you can see for miles.

The track leading to the first trial bank draws near. A small lane leads to a hammerhead turning space for coaches on the land side. There are gates at each end of the hammerhead with a stile and a big green and white Environment Agency warning sign. These state that driving on the sea wall is forbidden. The penalty for this offence is stated as £5 on conviction. Hmmmm, that sounds more like a fee to do it rather than a penalty!

A rusting metal cut-out of an open winged bird, sports the letters FWA. It looks a bit like a totem pole. The initials stand for the Fenland Wildfowlers Association who help manage and control the foreshore along here. Whatever the views one holds about wildfowling, it is far better when organised than when it isn’t.

This hammerhead is not a marked car park but would be an ideal drop off or pick up point for anyone wanting to do just part of the walk. I make it about three and three quarters of a mile from here to the picnic site car park by the Sir Peter Scott Lighthouse, or six and three quarters of a mile to West Lynn ferry.

All thoughts of walking out onto the trial bank fade as I consider the hours of daylight left, the unknown walk still remaining and having no knowledge as to the tidal conditions it can be accessed under.

I pass a small copse of Cypress Leylandii trees on the left, sheltering a large pond network. This is probably a bird flight pond and a farm reservoir. It’s nice to see these features developing in such an open landscape because they are of huge benefit for all wildlife.

On the other side of the sea wall the colour of the marsh grasses seems to have changed to a more brownish shade than previously as the path enters a series of sharp bends.

These bends are caused by different land enclosures that have taken place over the years and that sets the sizes of the fields too. At one time these marshes extended eleven miles inland to Wisbech.

A third of a mile beyond the last sharp turn and we step over the line from Norfolk and into Lincolnshire. Not that you would know it however as no signs are in evidence. This boundary probably marks the historic outlet of the river Nene into the Wash before the new cutting was made in 1830 but I'm not sure.

From here at last I can see in the distance where the mouth of the river Nene is beginning to open up. On the field beside me stands a heron and around twenty oystercatchers. There are literally hundreds and hundreds of tiny brown dots too but I’m afraid they’ll have to stay that way because I’m no good at identification from here and the binoculars are definitely not coming out again.

Although it’s nice to know what the birds are, more people seem to be put off coming out to see them simply because they think they are hopeless at bird identification than for any other reason and that’s completely nuts. Identification is simply not essential to the enjoyment of seeing them and sharing the same habitat.

 The small birds at the back seem to be taking it in turns to leapfrog the flock as they work across the field. The wind is not as fierce now, probably due to the inland tree line.

The lighthouse shows in the distance and with the walk more or less in the bag I decide to settle beside a creek, enjoy the landscape and have another cup of coffee.

The mud sides of the small steep creek I settle beside have dried out into small hexagons, each lifting slightly at the edges as they dry. The sun picks them out in sharp relief as the creek silently waits the flood of the tide.

The last bend now approaches before the sea wall turns west heading inland alongside the River Nene. At 100 miles long, it is the tenth longest river in the UK.

My toes are killing me as I pass over a newly patched section of the sea wall, the bright green grass on the patch is growing from some special matting. This is all that’s left to show where a gaping hole was cut in it a few months ago to lay cables for the offshore wind farms.  

The sun is getting lower now, its light more silvery as it makes silhouettes out of the first people I have seen for five miles.

The first is looking through a spotting scope at the seals that haul themselves out onto the mud banks at the entry to the river. His name is Tony. He says that he comes here whenever he can.

Assuming I am returning from slightly further along the sea wall, he asks if there is anything worth seeing there. I casually announce that I have actually come from West Lynn and he is hugely impressed. The furthest he has apparently managed to go in five years is two corners further along the sea wall and that took him half a day apparently.

 Painful toes now forgotten, I am on the home straight as the Sir Peter Scott lighthouse draws near, bravely flying the Union Jack flag and looking exactly like a small foreign legion outpost.

I reflect on what a great day it has been and how surprisingly easy a ten mile walk actually is if one simply takes ones time. 

Oh, and the sore toe problem - sorted in five minutes. Wimps remember to trim your toe nails before a walk of this length!

* Later research showed the footpath does go the direct route to Ongar Hill and from the car park to the sea wall. So that would be a really nice loop.

** Please note that car access to the Hammerhead may be restricted.

October 2011

Time taken on walk 5 hours

Walk distances - overall 10.33 miles

West Lynn ferry to Runway Lake                                                 2.27 (2.27) miles

Runway Lake to Ongar Hill car park turnoff on main sea wall      1.3 (3.57) miles

Main sea wall at Ongar Hill to cattle barn.                                     1.4 (4.97 miles)

Cattle barn to inner trial bank hammerhead                                   1.7 (6.67 miles)

Hammerhead to county boundary                                                 0.97 (7.64 miles)

Hammerhead to river Nene                                                          3.06 (9.58 (miles)

River Nene corner to picnic site and Sir Peter Scott lighthouse  0.75 (10.33 miles)

Map and link from the Long Distance Walkers Association Click here  

Map grid West Lynn Ferry starting point    = 52’45’23 N   X  0’23’16 E

Map grid Ongar Hill car park                      =  52’47’50 N   X  0’20’43 E

Map grid trial bank hammerhead                =  52’48’41 N   X  0’17’10 E

Map grid Sir Peter Scott Lighthouse           =  52’48’30 N    X   0’12’50 E

West Lynn Ferry 07974 260639   

Ferry charges are a very reasonable (adjusted to 2023) £1.40p for Adults and £1.10p for children one way and £2.30 and £1.70 return.  

Further Information

These are some taxi  numbers from the internet (2023), I have no personal experience of them: 

King's Lynn Taxis 01553 763636   King's Lynn Cabs 07367 670000   Clenchwarton Cabs 07717 681693

For West Lynn Ferry and bus information etc click here                                                         

Nearest Hospital A&E = Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Gayton Road, King's Lynn, Norfolk
PE30 4ET  Telephone 01553 613613

For BUS NFORMATION SERVICES 505 bus click here