Walking on the edge: a three-day hike along Cumbria’s rugged, overlooked coast

Coastal erosion, a pervasive and intensifying challenge, is an inherent part of this region’s character and an undeniable aspect of its ongoing transformation. This natural process, exacerbated by rising sea levels and more frequent extreme weather events linked to global climate change, constantly reshapes the shoreline, presenting formidable obstacles to human endeavour. However, much like the legendary railway navvies of the 19th century who carved their audacious paths through challenging terrain, the dedicated planners, engineers, and builders of the England Coast Path (ECP) have undertaken sterling work. Their monumental task involves not only plotting a viable and accessible public footpath along the entire English coastline but also constantly shoring it up, rerouting sections, and implementing innovative coastal defence strategies. Yet, despite these diligent efforts, there are, and always will be, sections of the path that become compromised, temporarily impassable, or even permanently altered due to the sheer power of the sea. It is a living, breathing trail, ever-changing. My chosen section, a three-day walk southwards, offered a vivid illustration of this dynamic reality. My final destination, the picturesque village of St Bees, was only reachable via a necessary diversion, a testament to the ECP’s responsive management. Far from being a hindrance, this adaptability is an integral part of the adventure, immersing the walker in the raw, untamed essence of the coast. We are incredibly fortunate to have the ECP as a national trail, as its establishment ensures that issues and obstacles arising along England’s extensive coastline are usually addressed promptly, benefiting both public access and environmental conservation. The ECP, once completed, will be the longest managed coastal path in the world, a testament to its ambition and complexity.

My journey commenced at Maryport, a logical and historically rich starting point. It’s where the Cumbrian Coast Line, a railway steeped in industrial heritage and scenic beauty, gracefully meets the seashore after its southward journey from Carlisle. Rather than immediately setting off on foot, I yielded to the urge to linger and explore, a decision for which I was profoundly grateful. Maryport, while possessing a certain "ramshackle" charm, is a truly fascinating locale, a mosaic of layered histories. Its story begins over two millennia ago when the Romans established a significant fort here, naming it Alauna. This fort was not merely an outpost but a crucial component of the Roman Empire’s coastal defence system, extending beyond the famous Hadrian’s Wall and safeguarding the western flank of Britannia. The acclaimed Senhouse Museum in Maryport stands as a proud custodian of this heritage, boasting Britain’s largest collection of Roman altars and inscriptions found at a single site. These meticulously preserved artefacts offer invaluable insights into Roman military life, the deities they worshipped, and their interactions with the indigenous Celtic populations, painting a vivid picture of a bustling frontier settlement.

Beyond its Roman roots, Maryport flourished as an important industrial port in the 18th and 19th centuries, driven by the coal and iron industries, with shipbuilding also playing a significant role. This rich industrial past captured the imagination of the celebrated artist L.S. Lowry, known for his distinctive depictions of industrial landscapes and working-class life. An L.S. Lowry trail in Maryport guides visitors through the very streets and scenes that inspired his unique compositions. I followed this trail, winding my way from the historic church beside the quay, ascending the steep town steps, and tracing the paths he once walked. Along the way, informative panels celebrated other less well-known but equally gifted local painters, revealing the artistic spirit nurtured by this rugged landscape. Among them were Sheila Fell, hailing from nearby Aspatria, celebrated for her powerful, often stark, depictions of the Cumbrian landscape, and Percy Kelly, born in Workington, whose distinctive style, characterized by thick lines and dark, brooding landscapes, captured the essence of industrial West Cumbria. Kelly, a fascinating figure, not only played for Workington AFC under the legendary Bill Shankly but, in later life, underwent a profound personal transformation, living as Roberta Penelope, adding another layer of intriguing complexity to the region’s cultural tapestry.

Stepping onto the coast path proper, the expanse of the Solway Firth unfurled to the north, offering tantalizing first views of Dumfriesshire across the shimmering waters. The path was remarkably quiet, the empty strand a welcome contrast to more frequented trails. At Flimby, the "path" itself transformed into a captivating natural spectacle: a meandering line of kelp, deposited by the tide, stretching across a pebble beach, beautifully bordered by vibrant, flowering sea kale. As I walked, clouds of cabbage white and small blue butterflies took flight around me. West Cumbria holds a special ecological distinction as the only area in northern England where the small blue butterfly, a species of conservation concern, can be found, thriving in its specific coastal habitats. An unfamiliar call and a sudden flutter of white wings prompted me to consult my birder app, revealing a pair of sandwich terns – an "amber" status bird on the RSPB website, indicating a species of moderate conservation concern. These migratory seabirds, with their distinctive shaggy crests and sharp calls, added to the wild beauty of the scene.

The landscape continued to unfold with a captivating blend of natural beauty and industrial echoes. Patches of fragrant heather and vivid rosehip bushes dotted the terrain, interspersed with occasional dunes offering glimpses of sheltered ecosystems. A diverse array of birdlife accompanied my journey: swallows deftly swooping to pick off flies, herring gulls asserting their presence with raucous cries, black-headed gulls gliding effortlessly on the thermals, and carrot-beaked oystercatchers announcing my presence with their distinctive, fluting alarm calls. To my left, above the resilient marram grass, the visible legacy of human endeavour presented itself: industrial plants, still active or silently fading, and rows of old workers’ terraces, their stoic architecture a testament to generations of labour. The Cumbria coast, in its raw, unvarnished beauty, feels less like a polished "Countryfile fantasy" and more akin to a poignant "Morrissey lyric" – an authentic, slightly melancholic beauty that acknowledges its industrial past without romanticizing it. Large, strategically arrayed boulders served as visible sentinels, protecting the vulnerable coastline against the relentless assault of storms, a constant reminder of the ongoing battle against erosion. Amidst this rugged panorama, two teenage girls, unfazed by the industrial backdrop, bronzed (or perhaps simply pinked) themselves on sun-warmed rocks, embodying the simple, enduring pleasures of a summer’s day.

Workington welcomed me after a brisk seven-mile walk. I had visited the town previously for a "Where tourists seldom tread" feature, exploring its hidden histories for this newspaper. However, arriving on foot and directly from the shore imbued the experience with a fresh perspective. Workington, as its name suggests, is a town forged by industry, its identity deeply intertwined with its past as a major coal mining, iron, and steel centre, and a busy port. Decades of hard work have undeniably shaped its populace, imbuing them with a steely resolve and a genuine, unpretentious friendliness that is instantly endearing. I spent the night above town at the Hunday Manor Hotel, which offered superb panoramic views over the sprawling coastline and, in the hazy distance, back towards the majestic fells of the Lake District, providing a tranquil vantage point after the day’s exertions.

The following day’s walk to Whitehaven, at approximately 12 miles, promised to be the longest stretch. The initial part, descending back into Workington, proved to be a pleasant surprise. From my elevated position at the hotel, I had observed the expected fuel silos, warehouses, and industrial estates, but around the harbour, the landscape transformed into an unexpected tableau of grassy knolls and verdant slopes. The views were breathtaking: to the south-east, the imposing silhouette of Scafell Pike, England’s highest mountain, rose majestically, while to the north, the Scottish coastline shimmered across the Solway Firth. In the distance, the dramatic sandstone cliffs and a wide, inviting inlet hinted at my destination – Whitehaven.

This particular walk was undertaken during the UK’s fifth heatwave of the year, a period characterized by some of the driest and warmest conditions in living memory for this region. As the mercury steadily climbed, I ascended onto the clifftops, the air thick with the scent of sun-baked earth and sea salt. I paused at The Howe, a prominent hill originally created from industrial slag – a powerful symbol of the landscape’s transformation by human activity – to gulp down much-needed water. Here, a striking three-metre steel and wood crucifix, erected by a local man in poignant memory of his wife, stood as a quiet testament to personal grief and community spirit. From this elevated point, the path presented a somewhat messy section with scant waymarking, a reminder of the ECP’s ongoing development, but I eventually found my way to Harrington. This "bonny little suburban village" offered a charming contrast, with kite flyers enjoying the stiff breezes on the bluff and smart little terraces marching neatly up the side streets. I enjoyed a well-deserved lunch, watching the regular trains come and go along the Cumbrian Coast Line, a practical reminder that one can always cut short a walk and hop on a train if needed. Further along the cliffs, I passed a large windfarm, its towering turbines a modern emblem of renewable energy, before approaching the village of Parton on a peaceful bridleway that sliced through expansive sheep fields. The air was filled with the delicate, hairy seeds of thorns, bursting in the intense heat, a sensory detail that underscored the pervasive warmth of the day.

A well-defined path beneath dramatic, weather-sculpted sandstone cliffs guided me into Whitehaven, a town widely regarded as one of northern England’s loveliest. It offers all the amenities a tired walker could desire, from comfortable accommodation to excellent dining options. Crucially, while it warmly caters to visitors, Whitehaven has managed to retain its authentic character, avoiding the pitfall of "selling its entire soul to tourism," a fate that has befallen some of the more intensely visited Lakeland towns. This balance allows it to offer a genuine experience, rooted in its rich history and vibrant local community.

Whitehaven’s past is one of extraordinary industrial prowess. In the 17th and 18th centuries, it was a thriving port, a vital hub for shipping a diverse array of goods, including tobacco, coal, ceramics, iron ore, limestone, and textiles. Tragically, it also held the dubious distinction of being the fifth most active British port involved in the transatlantic slave trade, a dark chapter in its history that is increasingly acknowledged and explored. The older streets of Whitehaven are still lined with the dignified, if sometimes crumbling, mansions of wealthy merchants and shipowners, silent witnesses to a bygone era of immense prosperity. Iconic landmarks such as the elegant Victorian-era lighthouses, guarding the harbour entrance, and the distinctive chimney known as The Candlestick, a relic of its industrial past, are unmissable features of its skyline. Between these enduring structures lie ghostly traces of former tenements, once bustling coastal batteries, and long-silenced engine houses, each whispering stories of Whitehaven’s layered past. However, the relentless forces of nature and the march of technological progress eventually led to the town’s decline as a major port. Increased silting in the harbour and the advent of larger, deeper-drafted ships rendered it less competitive, leading to its eclipse by the burgeoning deepwater ports of Liverpool and Glasgow. The once-thriving shipbuilding industry gradually relocated to Belfast, further diminishing Whitehaven’s maritime dominance. Today, a powerful blend of nostalgia for past glories, the enduring grit of its people, the grandeur of its Georgian architecture, and the poignant beauty of its decay all mingle in Whitehaven’s collective maritime memory, creating a town of profound historical depth and character.

To truly immerse myself in Whitehaven’s layered history, I spent time at The Beacon, one of the UK’s finest and most rejuvenating town museums. Its engaging exhibits skillfully weave together maritime, social, and industrial history with local geology, offering interactive displays that bring the past to life. Below the museum, the Howling Wolf Bakery and cafe provided a welcome respite, serving delicious cakes, gourmet toasties, and excellent coffee. The town boasts a vibrant culinary scene, with a wide array of great restaurants to choose from. I can personally recommend The Peddler, creatively housed in the former bus station, and Zest, with its prime waterside location, both offering excellent dining experiences. Beyond these, every kind of pub, chippy, and cafe caters to diverse tastes, reflecting a town that genuinely caters to both locals and visitors.

A significant new addition to Whitehaven’s offering is The Edge hotel, which opened in October of the previous year. This impressive establishment is set to bolster Whitehaven’s ambitions to compete more directly with the renowned Lake District for tourism. Conceived as a modern base for coastal activities, its development underscores a commitment to fostering tourism that aligns with the region’s natural and cultural assets. The Whitehaven Harbour Commission, which owns the property, is deeply committed to supporting walkers, cyclists, musicians, and various community groups, ensuring the hotel integrates seamlessly into the town’s fabric. With 16 ensuite rooms, many offering stunning views over the marina – an attractive juxtaposition of historic quays and jetties (known locally as "tongues") and thoughtful modern additions – The Edge is a striking architectural statement. Its irregular polyhedral shape is both eye-catching and contextually apt, with its rust-coloured facade evoking a post-industrial aesthetic while also subtly suggesting a robust storm barrier. Furthermore, its commitment to sustainability, evidenced by air-source underfloor heating and solar panels, aligns perfectly with a region increasingly famed for its innovative approaches to renewable energy.

The final leg of my journey presented an alternative route, with coastal erosion on the original footpath forcing a necessary inland diversion. However, after two days of immersive walking and the elation of reaching this penultimate stage, I was too buoyed to be bothered by a minor detour. My extended coast walk, covering approximately 23 miles directly (but considerably more with my explorations around towns and hikes to and from the Workington hotel), culminated dramatically at St Bees Head. This magnificent headland offered breathtaking views of spectacular coves, hidden beaches, and sheer, towering cliffs that plunge into the Irish Sea.

Here, where the ECP converged with the recently inaugurated Coast to Coast National Trail – the legendary route established by Alfred Wainwright – I encountered a few fellow walkers. Interestingly, they were predominantly Australians rather than Brits, all enthusiastically heading inland for the iconic landscapes of Ennerdale and Helvellyn, destinations where they would undoubtedly encounter crowds and join queues. My own company, in stark contrast, consisted solely of the wild, untamed residents of the cliffs: graceful fulmars soaring on updrafts, sleek cormorants diving for fish, vociferous herring gulls, majestic ravens, and agile kestrels. When I stumbled upon a small, bustling colony of kittiwakes, their delicate forms nesting precariously on tiny cliff ledges, I decided it was the perfect moment to sit down. I soaked up the gentle sea breezes, the vast, uninterrupted horizons, and the profound, all-encompassing silence that defines this truly "edgy" corner of the UK, a silence punctuated only by the cries of seabirds and the timeless rhythm of the waves.

The trip was supported by Cumbria Tourism, Avanti, Northern, and Stagecoach buses, making the journey accessible and convenient. Stagecoach offers flexible DayRider and 3-day Explorer passes for easy travel around the region. Doubles at The Edge hotel start from £117 B&B, while rooms at Hunday Manor Country House hotel are available from £125 B&B, providing comfortable and welcoming stays for those wishing to explore this captivating and often overlooked stretch of the Cumbrian coast.