Cotton

Day 114 Saundersfoot to Freshwater East 11 June 2019
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Day 114 Saundersfoot to Freshwater East 11 June 2019

I am so tired, I could cry. Although individual days don’t make me more tired than they used to, I find that cumulatively, I become wearier and take longer to recover.
After the debacle over getting in last night,  Mr AirBandB offered to give me a lift to the station, which I swiftly accepted. I had quite a long time to wait, but better than a 45-minute walk up the road. It was overcast with a poor forecast, but not actually raining whilst I waited for train at Lamphey.it is a request stop, which always seems so funny for a train.  Also waiting were a couple doing the stretch from Dinbych-y-Pysgod/Tenby today. We realised we must have been on the same bus yesterday, when the lady commented about the lunatic driving.

I alighted at Saundersfoot, by which time the rain was coming down in stair-rods. I had 1.5 miles to walk to get back to the track, on hard tarmac for most of it, although at least there was a back lane off the main road. Out of Saundersfoot the path quickly rises through woodland. I met a few people coming towards me. One Canadian couple who warned me of a bull in a field en route. People should not keep bulls on the public footpath, I exclaimed pettishly. They did not seem to agree, just assured me it wouldn’t hurt me. Trepidation over this rather distracted from the scenery,  especially as the next people I met confirmed that indeed there was a bull in with the cows, which had chased their dog. But they were no problem really – fortunately, their optimism was not misplaced. The path went up and down, still through woodland until I came to the cow field. Fortunately, chasing the dog had worn them out, and they were clustered under the trees, away from the path. Another couple of walkers were conveniently in the field at the same time.

The path came out on a track above Tenby. As you wind through the back of the town, there is a long stretch of strange corrugated concrete, with the ground showing through, rather than tarmac. This makes an excellent surface for walking – the ridges make it easier under foot than tarmac, and it allows drainage, so surface water does not build up, but it is not muddy.  Environmentally, it is better to, allows plant life to continue.

Path above Tenby

Concrete track above Dinbych-y-Pysgod/Tenby

Despite my efforts with lipstick yesterday, I broke out in blister on my mouth – far worse than the one on my foot which had gone this morning. I therefore needed to make a detour to chemist. My coat has ceased to function in its main purpose of keeping rain off so I was soaked to the skin by this time.  I opted for a long lunch in a cafe, in hopes that the rain would ease, but no. I don’t mind the odd wetting. I’m healthy, well-fed and sleep well, so unlikely to come to harm, but the prospect of 10 miles saturated through was unappealing. I was just wondering about how and when I could replace the defunct not-waterproof, when miraculously, a Mountain Warehouse shop appeared in front of me. 15 minutes later, I emerged in a new waterproof. A nice long one that covers to mid-thigh, unlike many which are rather more about form than function.

Tenby is probably gorgeous in the sun, but signposting of the route somewhat lacking and I went in a circle, before finding the way out to the shore. The rain teemed down. The path rose up and down over numerous headlands.

Steep section towards Maenorbyr

Steep section towards Maenorbyr

Step steps steps down down down, then  and up up up over and over again.  I saw a little shrew on the path, reminding me that on Sunday, I saw a tawny owl.

Shrew on path west of Dinbycch-y-Pysgod

Shrew on path west of Dinbych-y-Pysgod

My poles are a revelation. I don’t know how I have managed without them, or quite why I couldn’t get on with the previous ones I had. Perhaps they were the wrong size, and too heavy. I missed the path above Maenor Byr, but fortunately there was an alternative route. Around 5pm, the rain slackened and I began to dry off. I could see Freshwater East in the distance, but it never seemed to get any closer. About 15 mins before I reached the house, the rain began again, meaning everything was wet when I got home. A very hard 16.9 miles and the forecast for tomorrow is poor.

Only a cotton day.

 

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Day 100 – Newport to Cardiff 22 Dec 2017
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Day 100 – Newport to Cardiff 22 Dec 2017

Today is my hundredth day of walking. I have done 1,587 miles –  around 24% of the whole (assuming a distance of 6,500 miles). My average day is 15.9 miles. I have walked in eighteen counties (including Greater London) and on twelve different official long distance routes.

All very pleasing: just a shame today’s walk was not particularly special. I took the train back to Newport, then spent some time getting lost in the town’s backstreets as I worked my way back to the path. The Cornish pasty I ate yesteIMG_3014rday didn’t agree with me, so I had to make numerous diversions to find loos.

The weather was not cheerful. A heavy fog all day meant that visibility was never more than a hundred yards, and there was a fair bit of road-walking with quantities of lorries and vans thundering along.  Route finding was also hit and miss – on one occasion, I reached a farmhouse at the end of a long, muddy track, expecting to follow a path back onto the sea wall, but seeing no sign of it. The owner was at home and informed me that the path had been allowed to grow over and was now impassable. I had to make a long detour round.

Once I reached the sea wall again, it was straightforward, if uninspiring because of the lack of views.  Eventually, I reached the river Rhymni, and walked up the east bank, then back onto a busy road, before bearing off onto a track running parallel.  The track was ugly – litter everywhere, old bits of metal, shopping trolleys, plastic containers and so forth. There were also lots of small ponies tethered. I had been surprised all day at the number of horses and ponies I had seen – more than anywhere else on the walk so far.IMG_3022

In the distance, I could see a number of caravans, and this, together with the ponies, led me to wonder if I were approaching a Traveller site. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a young lad of about fourteen appeared, with a dog on a lead.

‘You’re on private property,’ he announced.

‘No, I’m not. This is the Coast Path’.

‘It’s not. It’s private. It’s my dad’s land.’

‘No, the map shows clearly that it is the coast path’.

‘My dad just bought it last week.’

I shrugged my shoulders and carried on.

‘I’m going to tell my dad.’

I felt a bit nervous. The path wasn’t getting any more attractive – there was evidence of burnt out vans and other debris around. The lad himself didn’t look dangerous, but who knew what a father or elder brother might be like?

I carried on. He turned back and asked, in a more conciliatory tone, what I was doing.

I explained that I was walking up to Cardiff, and tried to be friendly, admiring his dog, and stroking her. He was a nice enough boy, in fact.

The path came to a point where you could either drop onto the road, or turn left alongside the caravans. I didn’t like either option much, but the road was very busy, with no pavement, and in the fog I didn’t like to chance it. The boy indicated that the path went left, and, having assured me that I would never make the five o’clock train, dropped back as I hurried on.

I have seldom been nervous on the walk (other than cow incidents) but I did not much like going behind the caravans and up onto a very dirty, overgrown outcrop of land where I could hear major works of some sort but, with the fog, could see almost nothing. The path at this point suddenly became very poorly signposted, and I had to guess amongst several tracks. I scurried on, over debris and eventually made it back onto the main road, where it was wide enough to have a footpath.

A long and tedious road-bash took me into Cardiff, where I missed a train by one minute. Great Western surpassed themselves today. The next train was cancelled, and I had to take another train to Newport and change there.IMG_3029

I can’t decide whether to walk tomorrow – I am going to family near Glossop for Christmas, and if it is foggy would prefer to drive up early.

Definitely a below average day, so ‘cotton’. 16.2 miles.

Day 97 – Weston-in-Sea to Portishead 31 October 2017
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Day 97 – Weston-in-Sea to Portishead 31 October 2017

Today has been a very mixed day, and I am glad to be on the train home.

It started very well. I had a lift down to the seafront at Weston and, after attempting to leap out of the car in a bus stop and being sharply beeped by a bus, got onto the beach just about where we left last night. The morning was fine again – there was rain about 6am but it had gone off, and although it was not so warm or bright as yesterday, it was still very good. Slightly windier perhaps.IMG_2781

I had a lovely walk along the firm packed sand at Weston, then rounded the headland to the north, past the old burnt out pier at Birnbeck. Alongside what is known as the Toll road (despite tolls having IMG_2786disappeared some 150 years ago, there is a track through a rather pleasant stand of trees. After a mile or so, it drops down onto the beach at Sandy Bay. Another walk along the sands for a good couple of miles and I was eating up the planned 18 miles.

At the north end of sandy bay is a National Trust headland. I climbed up and could see across to Portishead. A brief discussion with a man in a van who told me I was about trespass, led me back to the right path, just beside the river Yeo. According to the map, you can’t cross the Yeo for miles, but I had been informed that a new crossing had been made for walkers and cyclists, so I had my eyes peeled, but could see nothing. I continued along a lane until I reached a point where a bridle way was supposed to cross the fields to Wick St Lawrence. The sign pointed across a field, next to a lane which read ‘private’. I must say the signage in Somerset is terrible. I haven’t seen a coast path sign since south of Weston. The gate onto the bridleway was tied shut. Undaunted, I hopped over, and walked through a field. Only when I reached the end could I see there was no way out, and that the bridleway must be along the lane. I returned and managed to open the gate this time.

Along the lane and into a field which had a helpful notice written on a plastic picnic plate ‘bull in field’. IMG_2812This was hard to believe. Even the most cantankerous farmer wouldn’t keep a bull on a bridleway. I looked around and the field appeared to contain only sheep. Some very poor signposting later, I emerged onto a track. This decanted directly into a farm yard, with a padlocked gate at one end and more scrap than Steptoe and Son’s yard. I could see another track, so, thinking that must be the exit I followed it through piles of rusting junk. Another locked gate. Up and over.

Finally, a third gate, which could be opened, and I emerged to see three startled people in the lane. I was prepared to give them a piece of my mind about the locked gates, had they challenged me, but they confined themselves to a surprised hello.

I kept walking along the lane to Wick St Lawrence, hoping al the time to see a sign for the river crossing, but nothing. Eventually, I decided to google it. Fortunately, I had signal. All I could find was articles about delays to its construction. I found an article from another coast walker describing her long, tortuous and, ultimately unsuccessful journey to find it. I concluded that I might as well just follow the road, over the M5 to Hewish – the only place where a crossing is visible on the map.

Unfortunately, this was so far that I knew I could not make my rendezvous with Jane at Portishead for. Lift to the station. Disgusted with the whole thing, I left a message asking if she could rescue me early. She was tied up for an hour, but could come then, she said. I agreed to meet in Kingston Seymour. This meant continuing east and then meeting the A road, before turning back north and slightly west to cross the river. As I walked along the S road, I saw a bus pass by and thought that might be a better option. I found a stop and saw that I had 25 mins to wait for a bus to  Clevedon, back on the coast. I left a message for Jane to revert to plan A and waited for it. It was not especially late, and I arrived in Clevedon town centre about 1.45. I had got cold waiting, so had a quick but excellent coffee and friand.

There was a good 15 mins walk to get to the seafront, but I picked up the path thee that goes all the way to Portishead along the cliff edge. I was IMG_2831glad I had not given up. The walk was pleasant and easy, with the sound of the sea in my ears.  I made excellent time, and was quite surprised when I came to the end of the path considerably earlier than expected. As usual, there were no way markers. I walked up the road, and found myself in one of those housing estates that are like a maze. I asked the way to the main road.  The man looked surprised when I mentioned my destination, but directed me. When I got to the junction, it looked nothing like the map – no wonder I was surprised at my speed. I had not come nearly as far as I thought. I had at least 2 miles to do on the road. Thoroughly annoyed by now, I snagged another bus, and got to the meeting point with just enough time to buy food for the train.

After a long wait at Bristol Parkway, I am now on train, but feeling rather grim. I think the sandwich I ate has disagreed with me. Looking forward to my own bed. My knees are hurting. And so are my ears. A woman on the train is yakking without drawing breath. Not a silent second from Bristol to Didcot so far.

16 miles of a below-average ‘cotton’ day.