SALTMARSH
North Norfolk / Coastal Exploration Company / Stonemeal Creek /Brompton / David White
FOREWORD
In this issue, I celebrate the beauty of simplicity and the joy of slow, quiet travel. I recount a boat journey from Wells-next-the-Sea to Stiffkey on a serene winter's day. The pale sunlight gently illuminated the salt marsh, painting the landscape in soft hues of silver and gold. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt and seaweed. It was one of those days where the world seemed to hold its breath and every sound—whether it was the creak of the wooden boat or the gentle lapping of water against the hull—felt amplified in the stillness.
What made this adventure truly unique was the unparalleled joy of unhurried travel. In a world where we often rush from place to place, the Coastal Exploration Company offered a slower, quieter form of travel. The rhythm of the tide and the pull of the oar dictated the journey, creating an experience unlike any other.
There's a profound joy in moving slowly, in gliding silently through narrow creeks and past muddy banks where only the occasional shutter click broke the silence. It reminded me that some of the most meaningful experiences come when we let go of the rush and simply immerse ourselves in the moment. This was an inspiration to embrace a slower pace of life and savour
each moment.
There was a beautiful simplicity to the day, not just in the journey but in how it was lived. Aboard Saffron, we cooked and shared a humble yet hearty meal of tomato soup and sourdough, prepared on a small gas cooker and enjoyed outdoors. The act of breaking bread under the open sky, with the marshes stretching out around us, captured what the Coastal Exploration Company is all about—living in harmony with the environment and appreciating the little things that make moments like this so memorable.
As the day transitioned from sea to land, we pedalled our Bromptons back along the quiet coastal route. It wasn't just the scenery that left an impression—it was the feeling of having spent a day stripped down to its simplest pleasures.
This adventure is a powerful reminder that the most beautiful experiences often come from travelling slowly, quietly, and with a clear purpose.
I hope this story inspires you to seek out your own moments of stillness, to enjoy a meal outdoors, and to reconnect with the landscape in a way that feels both meaningful and sustainable.
DAWN
The time of day when light first appears in the sky, just before the sun rises
17th of January 2024 - It's 0645, and I'm driving, in the cold blue morning light, along the quiet country lanes toward the Coastal Exploration Company to collect some of the gear needed for a single-handed boat delivery from Wells-next-the-Sea to Stiffkey.
The Coastal Exploration Company (CEC) has recently added a couple of Brompton folding bikes to their fleet. I am coming along to see how these 'city bikes' are helping a traditional sailing company be more flexible and reduce their reliance on fossil fuels.
After grabbing a few provisions and testing my self-control as the smell of fresh bread filled the car, I left CEC HQ and continued to meet David, today's skipper, guide, chef, and riding companion.
With the car parked, we wind our way through the narrow alleys that crisscross the older part of Wells-next-the-Sea, making our way toward the pontoons where our small wooden boat is moored up. As we arrive at the harbour, the sun is shining weakly, there's not a breath of wind, and the water hardly seems to be moving.
In the stillness, our footsteps ring out loud on the wooden planks, and we keep our voices low for no reason other than it seems a shame to shatter this moment of quiet.
DEPARTURE
Slack tide - the short period in a body of tidal water when the water is completely unstressed, and there is no movement either way in the tidal stream.
With the day's provisions stowed and the Bromptons safely secured for'ard of the mast, we slipped the lines, David engaged the small electric outboard and we pulled silently into the harbour, the bow carving the smallest of waves that spread out behind us as we turned eastward toward Stiffkey.
Our small vessel, Saffron, is a mussleflat built in Brancaster at
some stage in the 1960s; she has a speedy reputation.
Today, though, her flat bottom and lack of keel make her ideal for our journey. She can navigate the smallest of creeks and can float in a mere few inches of water, vital attributes as our planned passage takes us east along Stonemeal Creek on an ebbing tide, which we need to judge perfectly to pass beneath the footbridge at Warham Salt Marshes and still have enough water to make it to Stiffkey. Assuming all goes according to plan, we'll moor up, hike across the salt marsh, and cycle back to Wells-next-the-Sea before sunset.
SCULLING
A way to move a boat through the water using a single oar that is worked back and forth from the stern.
Within moments of leaving the pontoon, David has rummaged up a couple of enamel mugs and a thermos of strong, hot coffee, and we sit, perched on the thwarts, trimming this hardy little vessel with our weight, watching as the creek narrows and the muddy banks seem to rise up either side of us. The occasional click of my camera's shutter seems loud over the burble of water along Saffron's wooden hull.
Before long, David nudges the bow into the muddy bank and
points further into the thick, Shrubby Sea-Blite to some rubbish trapped by an earlier Spring Tide. 'Just go and grab that, would you?'.
Moving around, on and off boats, is a thing of practice. Your movements are clumsy for the newbie, and I made my way falteringly, trying hard not to slip in the cloying mud before battling through the straggly Blite. Rubbish in hand, I made my way back onboard with a little more confidence and grace, and soon enough, I was pointing out the rubbish and leaping ashore like a seasoned deckhand.
Before long, we had transited into the narrowest section of Stonemeal Creek. David opted to bring the electric motor inboard and, instead, 'scull' us along in a more traditional manner.
Of course, Saffron wasn't built with a motor in mind - originally, she would have been sailed or sculled along when the winds failed.
With a wooden oar in the solid rowlock on the transom, David moved the oar back and forth in a smooth and steady action, propelling the boat forward at a surprising speed. Glancing over his shoulder occasionally, he directed Saffron with an ease that belied years of practice - A rhythmical 'thump-thump' as the oar pivoted first off one jaw and then the other.
In what seemed like no time, we had reached the pinch-point of our journey, the bridge. David steered us toward the bank and ran the bow up to hold us fast in the mud before dropping the mast in preparation for passing under the low footbridge.
With the mast now stowed in the boat, David once again set off sculling, gathering enough speed so that at the last minute, he could pull the oar in, throw himself flat and have enough momentum to carry him clear under and out the other side, jumping up and sculling once more to lodge the bow on the bank and re-step the mast.
PUSSER
British naval slang for the purser, an officer responsible for managing the logistics and finances aboard a ship, including the distribution of food, clothing, and the daily rum ration to sailors *
The end of the forenoon watch was fast approaching, and David was looking for a sheltered spot to drop anchor and make lunch. We had stayed ahead of the falling tide, and the section of Salt Marsh we needed to cross on foot was still flooded, so this was the perfect time to refuel before the cycle leg home.
Meals made and shared outdoors are essential to the Coastal Exploration Company ethos, and the skippers turn a fair hand to chefing. David set the small gas cooker low in the boat and busied himself, cutting thick slabs of fresh sourdough as the homemade tomato soup heated through.
As we ate, David explained the following few stages - how we'd moor up, what kit could be left aboard and what needed to be carried ashore with us, and of course, the route we'd be taking on the Bromptons.
As we wiped our bowls clean with hunks of bread, the paths across the Salt Marsh were slowly emerging, ready for this ship-to-shore manoeuvre.
LEAP THE CREEK
We left Saffron at anchor and set off on foot across the Salt Marsh. The path is still treacherously slippery underfoot, toward Stiffkey from where we would unfold the Bromptons and start the final leg of this day's adventure.
Perhaps 'path' is too strong of a description. To begin with, we are following the merest suggestion of a travelled way, and numerous creeks need a confident jump to traverse. I must admit to secretly hoping David would take a comedy tumble in the mud as I stood poised with the camera. He didn't, but it would have been funny.
As we walked inland, we became aware that the Salt Marsh was no longer our private reserve. People waved and called out to us as we slipped and slid toward the car park, and these interactions marked a transition more notable than the move from sea to shore.
We may be lulled by the tranquillity of today's coastline. If we could go back just fifty or so years, these would have been busy commercial areas, with fleets of small boats fishing or moving cargo back and forth. Whole communities would have plied a living in these coastal regions, and today's holiday cottages would have been filled instead with families who hauled lines, fixed nets and maybe even smuggled a little contraband.
RACING THE SUN
By now, the temperature, which had never got that high, sank as quickly as the sun.
Instead of heading straight to Wells on the coast road, we headed inland to follow the quieter and prettier National Cycle Route 2. The Bromptons whizzed along with effortless ease, and we chatted about how the day had gone and settled on a pub to head toward for a pint of local ale to finish this mini adventure in appropriate style.
Although Andrew Ritchie (the inventor of the Brompton)
was unlikely to have anticipated this specific use for his bikes, he had undoubtedly intended the bike to be part of a multi-model means of travelling. It may have been designed for the city, but the Coastal Exploration Company have demonstrated it has a home here on the Norfolk coast.
With that in mind, David and I folded our bikes and headed into The Crown Hotel for that pint - an action Andrew would most certainly have envisaged.
SINK A PINT
David; Family man, Sailor, Mountaineer, Friend. Interested in tides & knots