THE early morning mist clung like shredded muslin to the damp cobbles and pastel-coloured houses.

It could be a setting from a Dickens novel, with tiny shops, lights twinkling, tilting for your attention, and curious passages, dark burrows of adventure just big enough for one person to squeeze through.

You are tempted by windows filled to overflowing with appealing jars of fat, contented humbugs and chandeliers of shiny toffees.

Nosing past a store blooming with the aroma of its own rich fudge, I ponder over a display of the rarest and finest jet jewellery. Glistening darkly, this was a much-prized accessory of fashion-conscious Victorians.

But this is Whitby, North Yorkshire, 2004, and I am here on a mission in search of the perfect ... kipper!

Not the synthetic supermarket, boil-in-a-bag jobbie, you understand, but the real thing: oak-smoked, plump and the size of a small lifebelt.

Clattering down the narrow street, I arrive at Noble's blue-and-white-painted fish shop, tucked under the famous 199 traveller-worn steps leading to the abbey and parish church.

Line upon proud line of the bonny, smoked darlings sport themselves ready for the breakfast plate.

But, as shop owner Eileen Noble, explained, you have to be quick. "I sell them faster than they jump into the trawler nets," she told me with a satisfied smile.

And even though her shop had been open less than an hour, I was lucky to snaffle the last pair left in the wake of the early morning stampede of shoppers who had cleaned the white marble slabs of their rich pickings.

"Mind you," she added, "I do really look after my regulars. The locals reckon they are a real tonic, winter or summer."

In fact, I learned that one loyal customer, an elderly gent, makes a round trip of more than 100 miles twice a week by bus to collect kippers for him and his friends at an old folks' home.

And, it seems, TV stars know a thing or too about Noble's finest. The discerning cast of the TV blockbuster Heartbeat are regulars when they are shooting scenes for the series in the town.

Whitby is magical any time of the year, but I prefer visiting in spring or autumn, avoiding the high season deluge of visitors.

And even if Noble's kippers can't tempt you into an early morning stroll, once the mist lifted they call it sea fret' here I was able to gauge the real measure of this pretty little town.

The red pantiled-roofed houses and shops spread like a wild necklace on both sides of the River Esk. Tiny lanes jumble down to the seafront. Tall gables hustle rows of smart terraces.

It was from here that Captain James Cook, a local lad, set sail around the globe, inflaming every schoolboy's passion for adventure with his daring exploits.

The town is proud of its historic connections, but I am bound to say it doesn't exactly shout them from the rooftops. You have to look hard to find the local and much treasured museum tucked down a side street, dedicated to its greatest seafaring hero.

In a bizarre way, Whitby also claims dubious credit for a far more sinister figure: Dracula. Author Bram Stoker conjured up the idea of this diabolical figure here and, every year Dracula fans with faces painted in stark horror masks and wearing long, black flowing robes crowd the resort to celebrate.

On an average day, however, you are far more likely to catch a glimpse of one of the famous present-day TV characters from Heartbeat popping in for a spot of shopping from Aidensfield, in reality the village of Ghoatland, located high on the heather-shrouded moors just 30 minutes away.

When I visited, the town's Royal Hotel, originally built in celebration of the heady days of steam travel, was packed with people cashing in on excellent-value package deals for bed, breakfast and dinner. There's also plenty of self-catering accommodation and small hotels.

Many visitors book coach trips to nearby historic towns and villages but my joy was the rollicking trip out to sea on the town's former lifeboat, which has been converted into a tourist-carrying pleasure craft.

We danced down the craggy coast and ducked into Robin Hood's Bay, the former home of gangs of marauding smugglers who would steal booty from ships wrecked on the treacherous offshore rocks.

But back in Whitby it was time for tea. And no, no kippers. Instead I plumped for a blow-out meal at the Magpie, a marvellous seafood restaurant overlooking the harbour.

GETTING THERE: For details of package and short breaks contact the Royal Hotel, West Cliff, Whitby, North Yorkshire, Y021 3HA. Tel: 01947 602234. A June break costs from £83 per person for two nights, bed, breakfast and evening meal (£98 in spring and summer months).

Tourist Information Centre: 01947 602674. Yorkshire Tourist Board: 01904 70707, www.yorkshirevisitor.com.