There are rides to be taken from Maldon, as I’d scoped out when we decided to stay here two days. Still, over dinner last night we decided that a walk along the Saltwater Marsh Trail sounded more appealing. We start out together this morning but we barely reach the waterfront before Rachael strides off and quickly disappears in the distance.
I’m stiff and achy today for some reason but I end up putting in a respectable walk of nearly eight miles, more than I’d expected when I started out. I follow the Saltwater Marsh Trail to its end at Northey Island and stare across the road to it longingly before deciding I should heed the posted injunction against visiting it without a permit. Also, in the back of my mind is the caution I’d read about not getting trapped there by rising tides. I didn’t check the tide schedule before setting out and presumably there’s plenty of time left but I see no point in taking chances.
Instead, I continue walking along the bank of the river. The trail is much less maintained and trodden down beyond the crossing to Northey Island, and for most of the way I’m walking through a very narrow path that’s almost totally overgrown, thinking about ticks. I keep thinking I’ll turn around, but the proliferation of small butterflies keeps me curious; and there’s a spot two miles out where from the map it looks like it might be possible to cross over to the road and walk back on the pavement. I decide I’ll slog through the weeds to that point, and then either cross over to the road or turn around and slog back.
Leaving Maldon, looking back along the riverfront promenade. The tide is still ebbing but is much lower than when we were here last night.
For perspective on the tide, here’s a shot of the Thistle returning to port last night along the same stretch of river as I’m standing at this morning.
Beyond the walkway to Northey Island the trail gets fainter and less trodden. I don’t think many make it out this far. I’ll remember to check for ticks at the end of the day.
The path, such as it is, continues for miles and eventually connects up with pavement. A loop of about fourteen miles would take you back to town eventually, after another five or six miles of wading through the weeds. More than I’m up for today.
Here’s the spot I imagined I might cross over to the road at, but it doesn’t look quite accessible even if it’s open to the public. I think there’s a channel in the way I’d have to wade through or hop over.
Here’s a man who likes his privacy. He’s sitting on the trail a mile past Northey Island, hunched in the shade beneath his umbrella, working on his laptop.
The butterflies slowed me considerably on this walk. It was a windy day and it takes a lot of patience and luck waiting for enough of a lull to get a decent shot.
Back on the outskirts of town I find a bench in the shade and sit down to check the phone for Rachael’s location. We need to coordinate since she has the only key to our room. I’m pleased to see that she’s not far off and coming my way so I just sit and see what else the tide’s bringing in.
There were few birds along the river when I walked out, but they’ve come in with the returning tide. Hundreds of black headed gulls, but also egrets, swans, coots, a cormorant, and even an oystercatcher.
When she arrives, Rachael sits down on the bench with me and immediately pulls out the phone to show me the track she followed and some photos she’s returned with. I’m surprised to see that she made it out to Northey Island, where she spent a considerable amount of time rather than slogging through four miles of weeds like I did. She professes surprise on hearing that she wasn’t welcome there without a permit.
Fortunately Rachael made it out to the end of the quay to see the statue of Brythnoth, who died here in 991 AD defending against a Viking invasion in the Battle of Maldon.
Scofflaw Rocky claims not to have noticed that a permit is required for walking to Northey Island. Forensic evidence scraped from her phone proves otherwise though.
Scott AndersonTo Rich FrasierPoor moral fiber, or maybe just poor judgement. What can you expect, looking at the company she keeps? Reply to this comment 1 year ago
Rachael’s done her eight miles of course, but she’s after more so she soon leaves and heads off upriver in the other direction while I return to the White Horse Inn to get on with my important research project. She returns four miles later, sounding not particularly impressed by the walking conditions she found in that direction.
For dinner we go out for Italian - but not the Italian we were targeting last night. This time we land at Luigi’s, a very appealing little place with mostly outside tables, set in a secluded patio off the street and filled with tidy red and white checked tablecloths. Luigi’s is a family affair, with all the wait staff looking like sisters. They’re from the far south, Calabria, which doesn’t surprise me from their appearance. It’s the kind of place we’re happy to give business to, and we’d certainly come back if we ever return to Maldon. They do rooms also, so we’d be curious about that too.
A photo from an undisclosed location, I think on the other side of the river.
