watery

The crumbling cliff edge is just metres away. An automatic blind, which I can operate without getting out of bed, rises to reveal an ocean view: the dramatic storm-surging North Sea with great black-backed gulls circling nearby and a distant ship on the horizon. A watery gold sunrise lights the clouds and turbulent grey water.

I’m the first person to sleep in the new Kraken lodge at Still Southwold, a former farm in Easton Bavents on the Suffolk coast. It’s a stylish wooden cabin, one of a scattering of holiday lets in an area prone to aggressive coastal erosion. The owner, Anne Jones, describes the challenges of living on a coast that is rapidly receding in the face of climate-exacerbated storms: the waves have eroded more than 40 hectares (100 acres), and the family business “is no longer a viable farm”. Instead, it is home to low-carbon cottages and cabins, “designed to be movable when the land they stand on is lost to the sea”. The latest projects include a sea-view sauna and a ‘dune hut’ on the beach for reflexology treatments “with the sea and waves as the backdrop”.

By train, bus and on foot, I’m here for the beaches, marshes, heathland and villages. Arriving at sunset, Still Southwold feels wild and remote, with lapwings flapping through the twilight like huge bats, but Southwold pier is just an easy 10-minute walk away. Heading to the bus stop next morning, I notice plumes of spray behind the beach huts. Waves are crashing over the concrete promenade near the pier. There’s a contrast between the brightly painted row of huts, with their candy stripes and stained-glass dolphins, and the heaving, uncontainable ocean behind them. It’s a worrying sign, as the path I’ve chosen today is only walkable at low tide. Erosion means the official coast path between Lowestoft and Southwold has been mostly rerouted inland and the soft cliff edges are perilous.

A 20-minute bus ride from the end of Pier Avenue brings me to Kessingland, a village just south of Lowestoft. Heading for the coast, with supplies from Bushells Bakery, I soon reach Rider Haggard Lane. The author of King Solomon’s Mines, H Rider Haggard, spent several summers in a holiday home on the cliffs in Kessingland, where he was visited by his friend Rudyard Kipling. Haggard planted marram grass to stop the sea encroaching and, climbing down steps on to the beach, I find there’s still a wide marram-grass-covered band of shingle. The sandy cliffs include layers of clay and fossil traces of steppe mammoths, hippos and sabre-toothed cats.

At the far end of the beach, near flood management works, a Natural England sign warns that the beach-walking route from here to Southwold is impassable near Easton Bavents. The owners of Still Southwold give visitors a code for a gate between their clifftop farm and Covehithe Beach. I press on, looking warily at the mess of washed-up kelp and driftwood that winter waves have hurled on to the land.

A hardy hiker is heading the other way in shorts, with a battered rucksack. He’s one of only three people I meet all day, and I check the state of the beach ahead. Is it safe? Is it walkable? “There’s a storm surge,” says the hiker. “The tide’s been much higher than expected. The wind’s from the north and the North Sea’s wider at the top than the bottom – it’s like someone blowing on a teacup.” The image stays with me all day, intensified by the milky-brown colour of the water, as the giant-tea-cooling waves roll into the sandy shore.

Benacre Broad is unexpectedly lovely. A loop of woods and marshes surrounds a beautiful and fragile lake, cut off from the sea by a shifting bank of sand and shingle, decked with salt-bleached roots and tree trunks like a natural sculpture garden. The coast here has retreated more than 500 metres in the last couple of centuries, and salt water now often breaches the bird-rich lake. I eat my sandwich in the sheltered bird hide, listening for resident warblers in the reeds, but hear only the roar of the sea.

The atmospheric ruins of a huge medieval church stand on the cliffs above Benacre. St Andrew’s, Covehithe is now just the tall 14th-century tower and a smaller thatched building, under decaying arches, with the old octagonal carved font inside. At the end of the lane from church to coast, a red warning sign says “Footpath Closed” where the old coastal path ends abruptly on the collapsed cliff edge.

Later, the warm bar of the Swan in Southwold is extra welcome after a chilly day on windswept beaches. There’s port-laced mulled wine on offer, as well as creamy Baron Bigod brie from the Fen Farm Dairy or slow-cooked Blythburgh pork with apple.

Next day, I meet friends in the scone-scented Bloom cafe on Southwold High Street and we stroll across Southwold Common to Walberswick. We’re following a section of the nightjar waymarks of the Sandlings Walk, a long-distance hike through surviving fragments of heathland between Southwold and Ipswich. Since medieval times, 90% of what was once a continuous stretch of Suffolk heath has been lost.

The last autumn colours are glowing across Walberswick Common, with its bracken and birch trees. We head back along boardwalks by the Dunwich River, remembering the drowned town of Dunwich not far away under the waves, a kind of Suffolk Atlantis. The wind has dropped today and the marsh is full of noises: the sudden trilling of a Cetti’s warbler and the rare song of a bearded tit from the miles of whispering reedbeds. We cross the Blyth estuary by rowing boat ferry for lunch at the harbourside Sole Bay Fish Company, before heading back towards Southwold as the sun sets.

Accommodation was provided by Still Southwold (cabins from £617 for three nights) and transport by Greater Anglia (singles from Norwich to Lowestoft £10.10, advance singles from London to Lowestoft from £17).