Ljs: Ale and hearty

A new walking route in spectacular, if chilly, Northumberland, takes in no fewer than 48 pubs

'It's about appraising your place in the world. Artificial light is not natural, office light is not natural; walking is what we're meant to do." Well-trodden words for sure, but utterly convincing in the salty air ? and when spoken by Mark Reid, the man behind the successful Inn Way long-distance walking and pub guides.

Mark's is about to introduce me to his 94-mile, six-day Northumberland circular route, which casts a loop around the northern reaches of the county, from the market town of Rothbury via the Coquet Valley, the coast, Chatton Moor, the Cheviot Hills and, most importantly, a tempting 48 country pubs. While each stage is a minimum of 11 miles, the long coastal stretch is easily broken down into shorter sections.

So this is the section I've chosen to road-test. It runs for 26 miles, from Warkworth in the south, a sleepy Georgian town crowned by an imposing castle, to Bamburgh in the north, with plenty of pub stops along the way. When we meet in Warkworth the sky is mackerel grey, the air chilly.

The first day will be a toe-rubbing 15 miles. Crossing the medieval bridge over the river Coquet, which loops the town, we admire the golden-leaved trees along its banks, and reach the beach, where a dank fret consumes the coastline. Mark's dog, Elvis, a short-haired German pointer, is unleashed and pounds the sand energetically.

First stop is Alnmouth, once dismissed by John Wesley "as a small seaport famous for all kinds of wickedness", but now home to palatial waterside Victorian and Edwardian villas. We're already five miles in but, after a brief stroll up elegant Northumberland Street, admiring the granaries, inns and cottages, we decide on another three before lunch. "That way we'll be over halfway," we agree.

The light is milky as we reach Boulmer Haven, where curlews dot the shore, and two young locals man the Volunteer Rescue Service lifeboat. Like most villages along this coast it's a former smuggling capital; it's also where we get our first sighting of a coble, a flat-bottomed fishing boat with a high prow.

"Its shape dates back to the Vikings," says Mark. "Incredible, isn't it, that its design has lasted that long?"

Throughout the hike, as you might expect, talk frequently turns to food, ale and provenance. We are disappointed that some of the pubs we visit don't serve local ale and I tell Mark that the previous night, at the Warkworth House Hotel, I ordered mussels, assuming they were Northumbrian, only to be served the larger, green-lip variety. The explanation offered by the charming waiter was that "they're from New Zealand because they're better". In fact they were chewy and dry.

On entering the Fishing Boat Inn in Boulmer, a rather basic pub with a pleasant conservatory (and no Northumberland ale), we ask where the fish is from.

"I'm not sure," admits the barman.

"Local boats," says the waitress, eventually.

"Is it good, the fish and chips?" I ask.

"Fair to middling," she says, leaving us to deduce whether her response is humility or indifference, as the cod is actually a delight: succulent flesh, light batter.

Our most spectacular meal comes later that night, when we eat at The Sportsman Hotel in Embleton: real Northumbrian mussels, plump and juicy, followed by linguine with crab caught by the owner's "good mate" Gary Little, who is credited along with other suppliers on a short menu. There's no better example of excellent, local produce.

We curl round the harbour in Craster towards the Jolly Fishermen pub, Mark educating me in its most famous export, kippers. "During the herring season, the girls who gutted 2,000 herring a day would sleep in buildings above the herring sheds," he says. "That's where the term kip house comes from."

There's little sign of industry on this late Sunday afternoon, apart from some riotous singing in the pub, where we sip (Yorkshire) ale as a cast of boozy locals belt out Cliff Richard classics.

The light is murky as we approach remote Dunstanburgh Castle, a gaunt ruin perched on the edge of the wilderness. Surrounded by a swamp-like former moat, the castle was built by a paranoid Earl of Lancaster in 1313, yet it failed to protect him and he was executed less than a decade later.

We reach the Sportsman Hotel, an imposing detached house with sea views and contemporary bedrooms, as darkness falls. After the aforementioned dinner and a night out at the Blue Bell Inn, where we thrash resident pool champions Dennis and Dickie in an impromptu tournament, we breakfast on kippers.

The sky is still overcast as we set off on day two across a manicured golf course. "We all wear our uniforms, don't we?" says Mark, as we observe a lady golfer resplendent in velour tracksuit and pink visor.

By 11am we're in the pub, and the ale doesn't get much more local than this. Low Newton is a gorgeous hamlet whose white-washed cottages, and the Ship Inn and Brewery is, even on an off-season Monday, already attracting a flow of visitors. We chat to Michael Hegarty, who set up shop here in 2007, about his dozen or so ales, all with charismatic names such as the golden Sandcastles at Dawn.

Nearby Beadnell Bay is the day's highlight, a huge expanse of serenity which takes a full hour to cross on foot. Beadnell harbour, built in 1798, is atmospheric even at low tide, with its smell of seaweed, boats being mended by fishermen in oilskins, and lobster pots piled high.

"It's the only harbour on this stretch that faces west," says Mark, and I make a mental note to return one day to watch the sun set.

A kestrel hovers above as we reach Seahouses, a busy little port ferrying visitors back and forth to the Farne Islands. We scoff crab sandwiches washed down with Farne Island Ale at the Olde Ship Inn, Mark's second-favourite pub in the UK (his first is in his beloved Yorkshire Dales). It's a nautical delight: roaring fire, sepia photos of fishermen, ships in glass boxes, floorboards made from the decks of boats. After lunch we wander the unmade roads and former herring yards, woodsmoke rising in the air.

But we press on because Bamburgh is our final destination, only a couple of miles north. Mark reads out a lengthy history of the fairytale castle, complete with Norman keep, as we amble over the most deserted golden sands yet. Beneath its ramparts, oystercatchers soar into the air.

"It's all very well to learn about the history," says Mark, "but it's more important that we're carrying on that process ? having a pint, a crab sandwich, walking." He puts his book away. "History is happening now."

You might argue that that's another well-worn idea, but in the salty air I couldn't agree more.

? For details of the Inn Way route see visitnorthumberland.com. Mark Reid's The Inn Way ? to Northumberland is published by InnWay Publications, �8:95. Returns to Alnmouth from London with East Coast Trains (08457 225225, eastcoast.co.uk) cost from �25. The Warkworth House Hotel (01665 711276, warkworthhousehotel.co.uk) has doubles from �85 B&B. The Sportsman Hotel (01665 576588, sportsmanhotel.co.uk) has doubles from �90 B&B