The Beach Beyond the Dunes

There was something different in the air this morning.

Nothing dramatic. The sky was blue, the sun was already up and another beautiful Northumberland day seemed to be getting itself organised.

But the first few minutes outside felt cooler.

Fresher.

It's heading towards late summer now, and occasionally you catch the first tiny hint that the season is beginning to turn.

It reminded us of those first mornings back at school in September. Leaving home wearing the new blazer because the morning felt almost chilly, then unceremoniously stuffing it into a backpack for the walk home because summer had returned by lunchtime.

Today had that feeling.

So we started early.

We were going to find a beach.

The mile before the sea

One of the lovely things about Ross Back Sands is that you have to walk to it.

There isn't a car park behind the dunes. No promenade. No café overlooking the beach.

You leave the car behind and set off on foot.

And honestly, the walk there is almost as lovely as the beach itself.

The route initially takes you through the tiny hamlet of Ross.

It's the sort of place that immediately starts your imagination going. A handful of houses, quiet lanes and countryside stretching away around them.

Lucy and I decided it felt like somewhere you'd have been sent to stay with grandparents for the summer as a child.

Bicycles abandoned against stone walls.

Sandwiches wrapped in paper.

Home when the sun goes down.

Very Enid Blyton.

Beyond the hamlet everything opened out.

Recently harvested cornfields seemed to stretch for miles, their stubble still intensely golden beneath that fresh blue morning sky.

Every so often the landscape gives you one of those wonderfully ordinary Northumberland moments.

A farmer approached us on a quad bike.

Standing proudly on the back was a young collie.

Perfectly balanced.

Completely at home.

Meg watched him pass.

We could almost hear her thinking:

That's what I should be doing.

The grass isn't always greener, Meg.

You've got a camper van, regular beach walks and an alarming number of café visits.

You've done all right.

Somewhere beyond those dunes

The walk from Ross is roughly a mile, but the landscape changes so often that it seems to pass much too quickly.

Fields give way to rougher grass.

Then the dunes appear.

And suddenly you know the sea is just beyond them.

Strangely, those final couple of hundred metres always seem longer than everything that's come before.

You can hear it.

You can smell it.

You know it's there.

But you can't quite see it.

Then you climb the last rise.

And...

Wow.

Ross Back Sands stretched away in both directions.

Far to the south, Bamburgh Castle sat on the horizon.

Turn north and Holy Island lay beyond us.

And between the two...

nothing.

No deckchairs.

No windbreaks.

No families unloading half the contents of their cars onto the sand.

Nobody.

As far as we could see, the beach was ours.

Our own little piece of England

We turned left and began walking north towards Holy Island.

Meg had company today — Lucy's mum's dog had joined us — and the pair of them immediately decided that the North Sea required investigating.

They paddled at the edge of the water while we followed the shoreline.

There are moments when Northumberland manages to make you feel incredibly small.

This was one of them.

An enormous beach.

A huge sky.

Holy Island in the distance.

And four sets of footprints where, moments earlier, there had been none.

For a while it genuinely felt as though we were the only people left in the country.

Our own little piece of England.

We walked for about another mile before spotting something further along the sand.

A seal.

She appeared to be doing exactly what we'd come here to do — enjoying a quiet morning beside the sea.

So we stopped.

There was plenty of beach for all of us.

We turned around and left her to it.

Then followed our own footprints home.

A beach that belongs to more than us

Ross Back Sands forms part of an important wildlife area, and that's worth remembering if you're visiting with dogs.

During the bird-nesting season, visitors are asked to keep dogs on leads, and at other times they should remain under close control.

We'd actually spoken to a ranger who was setting up as we arrived.

The main nesting period was almost finished, although there were still hatchlings remaining in one nest, so knowing what was happening locally helped us make sure the dogs weren't disturbing anything.

It's a small price to pay for being able to enjoy somewhere that still feels this wild.

Perhaps that's partly why Ross feels the way it does.

It isn't simply a beach provided for us.

We're visiting someone else's home.

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER BREAKFAST

Eventually there came a familiar development.

Rumbling stomachs.

Yesterday we'd eaten an excellent breakfast at The Running Fox.

Today we'd somehow decided another full English was necessary.

For comparison purposes.

Obviously.

We headed back towards the A1 and Carnaby's at Brownieside.

If you've travelled this stretch of road for long enough, you might remember when this site looked very different.

There was once a service station here and, back in the day, a Little Chef.

Both are long gone.

In their place is something much nicer.

Carnaby's occupies a lovely stone barn arranged around a courtyard and serves food from morning through the afternoon.

Inside it's bright and welcoming, there's a small gift shop to investigate, and the menu goes well beyond the usual café suspects.

Their salads in particular always look fantastic.

We ignored all of them.

Full English, please.

THE GREAT BREAKFAST COMPARISON CONTINUES

This was going to be a difficult test.

The Running Fox had set the bar rather high the previous morning.

Carnaby's didn't disappoint.

Another generous traditional breakfast, using good locally sourced ingredients and cooked beautifully.

With tea and coffee, the bill came to a little under £40 for the two of us.

Very good indeed.

There was, however, one drawback for us.

Dogs are welcome in the courtyard but not inside the café.

The weather was lovely, so eating outside wasn't a hardship at all, but it does mean Carnaby's becomes a little less practical for us on a cold or wet Northumberland morning.

The building is L-shaped and we couldn't help thinking that a small dog-friendly section accessed from the courtyard would make a huge difference.

Northumberland has become so wonderfully dog friendly that when you're travelling with one — or two in today's case — it inevitably affects where you choose to stop.

Meg would like it recorded that she considers this an important matter of public policy.

That said, Carnaby's remains a very good stop.

The staff are friendly, the toilets are spotless, there are baby-changing facilities, parking is easy and that little shop makes it surprisingly difficult to leave without buying something.

It can become busy around lunchtime at weekends, so earlier is better if, like us, you enjoy having somewhere almost to yourselves.

And next time...

I really am having one of those salads.

Probably.

THE BEACH BEYOND THE DUNES

Driving home, we kept coming back to that moment.

Not the breakfast.

Not even the seal.

The top of the dunes.

For almost a mile we'd been walking towards the sea without seeing it.

Through the little hamlet.

Across those enormous golden fields.

Past a working sheepdog who had temporarily caused Meg to reconsider her career choices.

Then through the dunes.

Until suddenly Northumberland opened up in front of us.

Bamburgh at one end.

Holy Island at the other.

And an empty beach between them.

Some places make an entrance.

Ross Back Sands makes you earn it.

And perhaps that's exactly why it feels so special.

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