From Sea Frets to Soggy Socks – A Coastal Camping Misadventure
Sometimes the best adventures are the ones you don’t plan.
On a whim, we packed up for a weekend on the East Coast. The plan was simple: a bit of camping, some exploring, and plenty of photography around Flamborough, Cayton Bay, and Scarborough. Sunshine, landscapes, wildlife—it all sounded perfect.
There was just one small problem: our usual Premier Inn was fully booked.
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Finding a Place to Stay
“Let’s camp instead,” we said. Easy, right? We’d just turn up at a site and grab a pitch like in the old days.
Except, that doesn’t work anymore. After being turned away from two or three sites, the panic started creeping in. Eventually, a quick online search saved us and we booked into The Flowers of May near Filey.
It wasn’t the cheap £20 weekend I’d imagined—more like three times that—but the site was spotless, in a great spot, and even had a fish and chip shop. Perfect.
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We spent the afternoon exploring Flamborough’s cliffs, snapping photos and soaking in the views.
Flamborough lighthouse print available here
By evening we had stocked up at Tesco, enjoying fish and chips, and sat outside the tent with a drink in hand. The weather was warm, the sky clear, and we stayed out past 11pm. For a UK summer evening, that felt like a small miracle.
For a moment, camping really did feel like the right choice.
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The Reality Check
Then came the night.
The tent dripped with condensation. The air bed went flat. Numerous trips back and forth to the toilet block broke up what little sleep we got. By 4am, we gave up.
Nick suggested I take the camera out—after all, there was plenty of wildlife about and we could hear a tawny owl calling in the distance. So, after the delicate gymnastics of squeezing out of a two-man tent without flattening her, I finally escaped… only to find thick sea fret. I could barely see my own hand.
It was pointless going anywhere, visability was too bad!
Coffee it was in the car, a shower and hang about until 9am, and hope the sea fret lifts.
By the time 9am came we were both shattered.
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Exploring the Bays
Still, we pressed on. First Cayton Bay—its wide sands and rolling waves always worth a visit. Scarborough, then Burniston Bay, one of my favourites. It’s quiet, rugged, and full of memories of my younger days fishing for cod.
Sea fret over Scarborough.
Originally, the plan was another night in the tent. But truthfully? We were done. We missed our bed, our comforts, and most of all, dry socks.
We decided to head back to the camp site and pack up the tent, we couldn't do a repeat of Friday.
The tent went down, we called at Aldi, stocked up with supplies for the rest of the weekend, and we drove home. Opening the door, we looked at each other, sighed, and said the words: home sweet home.
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Final Thoughts
Camping had its charm when the kids were little. These days, though? Give me a Premier Inn any day.
Still—the fish and chips were spot on, and the photos? Worth every soggy second.