Today is a bright, crisp day, cool in the shade but the sun quite warm. Standing like ghostly sentinels in the sea, in the hazy middle distance, are two tall wind vanes, slowly turning clockwise. By the edge of the path, cliffs fall sixty feet to a rocky shore. A lone fisherman casts a long line from an overhanging rock. The sun glints brilliantly on the wave tops. Flocks of birds swim in the sea. This wonderful winter light, low even at noon, casts its golden glow on the sandstone rocks. A single white sailed boat glides from south to north. You sit on a seat of sorts near the mouth of the Wansbeck and enjoy a cold, crisp, crunchy apple and some coffee, overlooking the sea, feeling peaceful. This is strange since much of the land shows substantial signs of industrialisation – the power station, the wind farm, cranes and the smelter. A few boats lie beached on the opposite bank. Where the river meets the sea, the water turns clockwise in a wide vortex. Frost still clings where the grass remains in shadow.

The river is covered by a thin ice layer, which buckles gently as the water flows beneath it. Gulls stand and walk on the ice, seeming confused. Herons stand on a trunk mid stream. An air sea rescue helicopter sweeps overhead. Kids have written graffiti on the side of the iron girder bridge that carries a railway line from Lynemouth power station – Harry Loves Claire.

At Sheepwash, the path turns north west to climb away from the built up area. The fields are ploughed and sewn to their very edges. The river takes a wide meander to the south west. The sheep here look like bruisers. They are heftily built, and have ears that seem to have been torn off. One seems to have a hole in the centre of its forehead. Evidently a fighting breed, but they do move aside to let humans pass, albeit with a seeming reluctance.