March 29, 2020 by melitat

Day 118 – Sandy Haven to St Ann’s Head 1 Feb 2020

My original plan was to walk down the north side of the estuary, but poring over the map there seemed to be hours of road walking and weaving through industrial estates, and all, of course, not on the actual sea coast. This was compounded by the realisation that there were two points that could only be crossed at very low tide – the first between Ferry Cottage and Sandy Farm at Sandy Haven and the second at Dale. Because of the tides, it would be impossible to cross both in the same day. I therefore made the decision to start the walk at Sandy Haven, or rather at the Baptist church just at the bend in the road. We dropped one car at St Ann’s, then came back to the church where there is a layby to park in. I had just parked when another car turned up. We were not surprised, west Wales seems to be the new Piccadilly Circus – traffic everywhere. The chap crunched into the stone wall . He got out and observed that the collision had sounded expensive. He was there for an ashes-distributing ceremony. He pointed out the stream racing towards the sea and showed us the little lock gates that formed a pool where the congregation perform Baptisms.

A quick five minutes up the main road, then we turned left along a narrow road, before hitting the coast path. Looking back, it was just possible to see where the stepping-stones might be although they were under water at that point.

Stepping Stones at Sandy Haven

The coast was wonderful. The sun was shining and although the wind was strong, it was a magnificent day, and not too cold. We meandered along, stopping frequently for photo. We could see Milford Haven behind us, and the huge complex of Pembroke Refinery that we walked past yesterday. It was far more prominent than it had seemed yesterday. It was interesting seeing the shipping coming in and out of the channel – another Irish ferry, similar to the one we watched yesterday going past the fort.

We stopped for our sandwiches near Watch House Point.

Between Great Castle Head and Watch House Point – looking East.

As we sat on the bench, munching away, two men approached from the west. One looked very much like a character from a soap opera about ‘sailors and country-folk’. He had on an assemblage of waterproofs, a high-vis and a tweed hat, tied onto his head with a bit of string. He stopped to say hello, and his companion gave a quick nod and raced on. We soon found out why. The chap could talk the hind-leg off a donkey. We had a ten-minute monologue – literally – we could not even break in with a question or comment. In fact, his stories were quite interesting – his father was an Italian fighter-pilot, who was a prisoner-of-war, and his mother was from Tiger Bay (the part of Cardiff where Shirley Bassey grew up – once famed for its tough economic circumstances). He himself had been brought up not far from where we met him. His father then went on to be a racing driver, taking part in Formula One trials at Pendine (where I was on day 113). We heard about his schoolmaster, a disappointed actor, who was handy with the cane and broke a girl’s fingers. Spitfires and motor-bikes also got a mention, but it got rather jumbled up. We began pawing the ground, but were trapped by the narrowness of the path. Eventually, one of us managed to leap up and draw the conversation to a close. We scurried off leaving his last anecdote in mid-air.

Shortly after, I managed to lose the others – hard, you would think, on a narrow path, but I had fallen behind for a few moments, and when I passed through a kissing gate, I assumed the others had gone down into the little cove and up the other side – I did not see them turn to explore the folly at Monk Haven. I marched on, wondering why I could not see them. Eventually, I heard my phone ringing. I usually ignore it, but guessed that it was a call to find me.

As the path wound in and out, there were beautiful dells again with many ferns. No snowdrops but early primroses and lent lilies. The sign told us that the stepping-stones at Dale were impassable. We did not much fancy the long route, and having checked the tide times, thought they should be evident, so we went to check and we could cross easily enough.

The crossing at Dale.

We stopped for excellent coffee and cake in the Yacht club at Dale and had a quick glance at the rugby. Wales ahead by 28 – 0 at half time!. There was a bit of road up toward the lighthouse at St Ann’s Head, but before we go there, Sally pointed out a plaque on a stone. It commemorates the landing of Henry, Earl of Richmond in the Mill Bay, below, on 7th august 1485. Two weeks and a day later, he defeated Richard III at Bosworth. Incredible to think he marched 4000 men from Pembrokeshire to Leicestershire in a fortnight and that they were battle ready at the end.

Plaque commemorating landing of Henry, Earl of Richmond.

From St Ann’s Head, I could see across to the breakers on Freshwater West, where I was last summer. It was getting dark and windy, so we turned up the tarmac to the carpark, arriving just before dark.

Everything combined to make this a gold day. 11.4 miles.

March 28, 2020 by melitat

Day 117 – Angle to Pembroke Dock 31 Jan 2020

I had a long trip down yesterday, making a detour to fetch my new Tudor gown for my re-enactment group, The Tudor Players. The picture shows a rather different me from the usual walking gear! The weather was pretty foul, and the forecast was worse. On the upside, I am staying at a gorgeous AirBandB in the little city of St David’s – one of the nicest places I’ve stayed on the whole walk, and I also have the pleasure of friends joining me.

Jessica, Tom, Graham and I set out in two cars this morning around 9.30. We dropped one at Pembroke Dock, after observing the astonishing cheapness of the petrol. Perhaps it’s knock-off from the refineries. We drove on to Angle and left my car there. The walk itself was not hard – up the estuary, on flattish ground, the path weaved between shorelines, woodland and farmland. There was a splendid selection of bird life. Widgeon, pintails, sheldrakes, dunlin, oyster catchers, curlews, meadow pipits, gulls and turnstones – all pointed out to me by the birders amongst us, although I am getting good at some of these myself now – birds with red legs are no longer a mystery and I can tell a duck from a gull at fifty paces! We dawdled for the first couple of miles to admire them. Angle Bay is a lovely, sheltered inlet. The weather was soft and misty, the water still and sound muffled, giving a faintly otherworldly air to it. It was hard to believe that we were close to the massive refineries and industrial complexes of Milford Haven. Once round Angle Bay, the path meanders inland behind the huge Pembroke refinery, which, astonishingly, is cheek by jowl with a 14^th century tower house. We could see Fort Popton on the headland, built for defence during the prime-minstership of the bellicose Lord Palmerston – he of the gun-boat diplomacy. Because of the lie of the land, the refinery was surprisingly invisible as we passed east and south of it, although when we came round Pwllrochan Flats, we passed under the pipes. Once away from the shore, the path went into woodland,

It was easy walking, other than the claggy mud, which was particularly bad after we climbed inland from the refinery. I had over trousers on but my trousers are still caked with mud to the knees. Spring has come early to Pembrokeshire, and there were swathes of snow-drops in the wooded sections. We passed the old St Mary’s Church at Pwllchrochan, which is now a private house. It has the distinctive spire atop a square tower of the district.

One of our number took a different, slightly shorter road route after hurting his ankle so we arranged to pick him up in whichever pub he first got to in Pembroke, after the rest of us had gone on to Pembroke Dock to fetch the car. By the time we had walked at least two miles through the rather unappealing backstreets of Pembroke Dock it was dark. We did not have time to visit the castle, but since I saw it on my last trip up here, I did not mind.

13.6 miles and a silver day – the company compensating for the dull weather and lack of views.

January 25, 2020 by melitat

Day 116 Castellmartin to Angle – 13 June 2019

I am glad I rested yesterday, as when I woke this morning, the sun was shining, I was full of energy and my knees had nothing to say.

I drove up to Pembroke and waited for the bus – as always, I was ridiculously early, but I sat on a bench and watched the town begin to wake up. The ubiquitous strimmers were out in force. The bus driver recognised me, of course, as he clearly makes it his business to give excellent service. When I got on, I was the only passenger, but we picked up others en route. I jumped off at the roundabout I had finished at on Thursday, with directions to go down a different route to avoid the main route along the road – unfortunately, it led to a field with copious cows, all morning-fresh and clustered around the exit stile, so I back-tracked – it was only a couple of hundred yards. I walked briskly along the tarmac, and soon came to another of the parallel paths that the MoD has arranged to keep walkers off the roads. After about 45 minutes, I could see Freshwater West beach – I am happy to say that my suspicion that Barafundle is not the best beach in Wales was quickly confirmed – Freshwater West is superb – only marred by several camper vans blocking the views. Everywhere I looked, surfers were shimmying into their gear, and there was a mobile café serving bacon or plaice rolls. I resisted temptation, and just had coffee. The beach was lovely to walk over, smooth reddish-gold sands, then the pathed climbed up. Several people had informed me that the walk from Freshwater West to West Angle Bay was one of the toughest sections, and there were quite a few steep ups and downs, however, nothing like the horrors around Tintagel. Or perhaps my poles are entirely revolutionising my ability to go up and down. I met a twitcher seeking choughs. Apparently, this stretch is well-known for them. So far, I had not seen any, and thought that I might be reduced to touching up the photographs with red, but, about ten minutes later, I did see some.

It was a glorious day – the sea was turquoise, and the rocks are the most amazing colours – orange, red, purple, and folded and twisted into shapes. One inlet looked like nothing so much as a stick of Toblerone – a row of triangular shaped rocks. The wildflowers continued to delight – no pyramid orchids today, but lots of thrift, and my personal favourite, the foxglove, as well as something that looked like gaura, or possibly a type of white salvia.

I reached West Angle at about 12.45, and bought another coffee to have with my sandwiches, overlooking the beach. To the north, is St Ann’s lighthouse, the other side of Milford Haven.

The village of Angle runs east-west, but the path goes north, and then runs parallel to it, facing into the sound. It is a delightful stretch – hedgerow on one and sea on the other, with a well-trodden path. Lots of people were going back and forth along it, so I don’t know how I came to miss a small turn off and end in a potato field. Since there was a broad path alongside the crop, I assumed I was in the right place. It swung south and I supposed it would take me out by the church at Angle as marked on the map. In fact, it brought me into an overgrown field, which, luckily, had a gate I could clamber over, before sneaking through a couple of back gardens to reach the lane. I had arrived in the middle of the village, rather than the east end. I went into the little church, another one with the vernacular style stone-tower, and a fourteenth century chapel behind, dedicated to sea-farers. I still had 2 hours to kill before the bus, so I found the track and walked back towards where I had gone wrong. I did not quite get there, deciding to turn back when I reached the lifeboat station. I then walked all the way back along the street to the beach, for my only ice-cream of the trip.

The bus came more-or-less on time, and dropped me at Pembroke. Rather than coming straight back, I diverted to see the chapel at St Govan’s, which I could not reach on Tuesday as it is behind the closed section of the artillery range. It is quite extraordinary – a tiny chapel squeezed half-way down an inlet in the cliffs, with the sea pounding below. The legend is that a sixth-century Celtic missionary Govan, going about his business by sea, as the missionaries did in that time, was chased by pirates. He prayed, and an inlet in the rocks was opened that he slipped into, evading pursuit. The current chapel dates at least from the fourteenth century and may be as old as sixth century.

The evening was bright and fine, so I walked toward Bosherton, where I had been obliged to come inland on Thursday, to see more of the marvellous coast. I am sorry to be going home tomorrow – although I think I need to accept that five days in one block needs to be followed by a rest day. In total I have done 85 miles on this leg – about 20 less than I hoped.

A Silver day.

January 24, 2020 by melitat

Day 115 – Freshwater East to Castellmartin 13 June 2019

Owing to a complete misreading of the timetable for the shuttlebus, I did not walk yesterday. Having waited a good half hour at Castellmartin, and been offered a lift in completely the wrong direction by a very helpful lady who even tried to ask one of her neighbours about the bus, I gave up and went to Pembroke to admire the castle and eat cake instead. To be honest, after Tuesday’s marathon which had me seriously contemplating the sanity of this whole project, a day’s rest did me no harm – although if I had planned it, I would have had a lie-in.

Having solved the mystery of the timetable, I went back to Castellmartin this morning, left the car, and caught the bus to the terminal, then all the way back to Freshwater East – the whole thing took three hours. By 11.30 I was 200 yards from the chalet, and had not walked a step.

I fortified myself with more coffee and cake, and set off up the headland. I saw more walkers today than all the other days put together. The weather was perfect for walking, although not so good for photos as Monday. It was broken cloud, with a light breeze and some sunshine coming and going. Eventually, I even thawed enough to take off my waterproof. I don’t generally feel the cold, but it got into my bones on Tuesday, and the chalet is a dank, north-facing, shady place, that will never have any sun in it, and whilst I can’t say it is positively damp, it has a depressing chill. I sit on the sofa huddled in the blankets thoughtfully provided by the host, in lieu of heating. The views were superb – the cliffs on this stretch are of the steep up and down, with long flat stretches along the top variety. I could see all the way back to Llanmadoc Hill on the Gower again. It was another wild-flower fest – red clover, some sort of sea-side loving borage, tiny little rock roses and primula calendula. I forgot to mention that on Monday I saw a tawny owl, down near the set-aside land at St Clear’s. I hoped for choughs today, but although there were hundreds of crows, their legs were stubbornly black. I may have to touch up a couple of photos.

The path drops down to Stackpole Quay, apparently the smallest dock in Pembrokeshire, then on to Barafundle Bay which advertises itself as the best beach in Wales. It was certainly delightful, although I think there are others as good – Porth Oer, near Aberdaron (although I may be prejudiced) but even the next bay along, Broadhaven. was just as gorgeous – rolling golden sands, clear water and impressive cliffs with caves and arches. There is one very odd feature on top of the cliffs – a deep, round hole, about thirty feet in diameter, which appears to be completely natural, and goes almost all the way down to the water. There were other inlets with caves, and the sound of seagulls in them echoed strangely.

The MoD operates considerable swathes of cliff for a firing range and today was one of its days for closing them to the public so I walked around the inland route, which is no hardship at first, because it takes you past the lily ponds at Bosherton – I have never seen so many water lilies. I stopped at a little church – St Michael and All Angels- one of the many Norman churches in the district, built by the Norman Marcher lords, who were encouraged by the English king to take as much Welsh territory as they could. Tucked away in a corner was the tomb of a woman the leaflet named as one of the dowager-duchesses of Buckingham, but I don’t think that can be right – the clothes predate any of the duchesses. I shall have to investigate!

The MoD has provided a reasonable path diversion, so that you are not obliged to walk too much on the road. There was a pleasant enough old trackway, for part of the distance, then a permissive path across fields. Much of it was arranged with a three-foot wide stretch of path, with a fence to one side and dire warning about not touching military bits and pieces. Obviously, one of the few stretches without a fenced off path was a field full of my four-legged friends. I contemplated the alternatives – a long extra section on tarmac, or a scramble over barbed wire and along a deep drainage ditch. They looked harmless, mostly lying down away from the barbed wire edge, except for one calf, right next to it. The worst thing you can do is get between the calf and its mother, which discouraged me going inward of it, but walking straight it might not please mum either. I took the latter approach, and before I got to it, she called it, and it raced off. Good – only two more ahead of me. One ignored me, the other turned its head and waved its horns. The bull was in with his girls and had taken up position near the exit. To go back would surely make him think I was more of a threat than going forward. I looked at the barbed wire again – three strands – I reckoned at a pinch I could crawl under and leap the drainage ditch. Fortunately, he did not do more than watch me, as I walked briskly to the gate and slammed it shut behind me. There was then about a mile and a half of tarmac – so hard on already tired legs.

Tuesday was 16.9 miles, and today a much gentler 10.5 – the diversion reduces the length of the section. I was glad enough to finish though. My knee is causing me some quite severe pain now. I now need to wrestle with the mysteries of the bus timetable again – the driver explained this morning that there were some errors in it!

Today was a Tin day.

July 27, 2019 by melitat

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.

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

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 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.

June 26, 2019 by melitat

Day 113 Talacharn to Saundersfoot 10 June 2019

I had an early start today, as I was leaving the delightful accommodation for a new location, so had to pack everything up and get to Saundersfoot in time for the bus. As it happens, I misread the timetable and left myself with nearly an hour to wait. The bus was then slightly delayed, which worried me, as I had a ten minute gap at Pendine to catch the second bus. However, the driver clearly believed in hitting his timetable, as he haired down the country lanes at a scary pace.

At the Pendine bus stop were another couple of walkers, from North Wales, so we had good chat. There was also a lady who clearly had some mental health issues. She asked me to watch her dog whilst she went back home for something. It was not clear why the dog could not go too. I told her I was catching the bus, and could not wait, but she assured me she would be back. The poor creature set up a tremendous torrent of barking. Another woman at the stop more-or-less told me that she does it all the time. I felt guilty when I got on the bus, and left the poor dog barking, but what else could I do?

Dyklan Thomas’s 30th Birthday Walk.

The sun was not so bright this morning, but Talacharn/Laugharne is still very pleasant, and the first 20 minutes of walking through the woods where Dylan Thomas did his famous walk, to celebrate his 30^th birthday and wrote a poem about it, were lovely.

Woods to the west of Talacharrn.

Then there was a long trek underneath the cliff on a paved track. A rather depressing puppy-farm made a lot of noise, before the path turned up to the road. Once again, considerable effort has been made to keep the path off the tarmac, but the whole four miles was dull. As we approached Pendine, which I discovered was the home of the land -speed record. I was amused by a sign announcing this, together with the words, ‘drive safely’. Another sign for my new collection.

I was worried that as I passed the bus stop where I had boarded earlier, the dog might still be there, but fortunately, it was not. At the far end of Pendine, I bought a coffee and sat to eat my sandwiches, looking back along the amazing beach, where the land-speed record had been set, which, sadly, is largely closed to the public, as an MoD property. There was constant shooting in the background. The path climbs high up out of the village. I stopped at a viewpoint and chatted to a couple with a rather nice dalmation dog, named Jasper. The man’s brother is also walking the entire coast! Quite a coincidence, although I expect there is some statistical quirk that makes it all quite unsurprising. Like two people in every 23 having the same birthday.

Me with the long stretch of Pentywyn/Pendine sands behind

The sun was now beating down, and although the path was quite tough for the next four miles, the views were superb – it was even possible to see the Devon coast in the far distance, and the Worm’s Head was very clear.

I slapped on loads of Factor 50, having decided, foolishly, against wearing my hat. Since the only lipstick I can find that lasts all day (and protects from cold-sores provoked by burning) is pillar-box red, the effect with thick Factor 50 is rather like Coco the Clown.

Pentywyn Sands – Worm’s Head to far right.

By the time I got to Amroth, I was hot and tired. There was a very welcome pub where I sat on a comfortable chair and cooled down. At this point, my blister was still intact.

At Amroth, I began the official Pembroke Coast Path. The beach looked inviting, but the tide was coming in and there were lots of groynes. I did not want to find that I could not get out at the end and have to backtrack, so I stayed on the cob. The path climbs up again, then down onto the road into Wiseman’s Bridge, after which it winds around the promontory, then through a very odd cave (formerly the railway tunnel, I think) with bizarre red lighting. This brings you onto Saundersfoot beach, which, happily, you can walk over.

Beach at Saundersfoot.

I arrived at the new Air B & B, keen to eat and put my feet up. It is very disappointing – absolutely miles from the bus or train station, and when I arrived, the key-lock number did not work. I tried, and one of the neighbours tried. There was no phone signal, so I had to drive to the nearest pub, to log onto Air BandB and check the number. I was definitely trying the right combination. I had to track down the owner and get him to come out. He used an entirely different code. There is no TV aerial, and the injunction on the info sheet to play board games instead is rather limited for a single person. The DVDs provided as an alternative are all what you might call family viewing – eg Mrs Doubtfire! I am not a big TV watcher, but I do like some shows. The owner slightly redeemed the situation by offering me a lift tomorrow morning to the station, now it transpires I cannot walk there very easily. I am going to have to rejig my timetable.

Weather superb – 14.5 miles and another Silver day.

June 25, 2019 by melitat

Day 112 – Llansteffan to Talacharn/Laugharne 9 June 2019

I am so glad to have met James and Anita. Apart from them being extremely interesting and nice people, we were able to circumvent the difficulties of Sunday public transport in Wales. There is a ferry from Glan-y-fferri (who’d have thought?) to Llansteffan, so we decided to begin walking there, and left one car at Talcharn/Laugharne, underneath the imposing Anglo-Norman castle. The countryside is littered with these twelfth-century strongholds, built by the Marcher lords who had licence from William the Conqueror to take as much land from the Welsh as they could and hold it on terms much less onerous than the land they held from him in England. Talacharn castle is more-or-less opposite Cydweli, where we had tea yesterday. The pair of fortresses guard the entrance to the Tywi estuary.

Llansteffan is a lovely little village. We arrived about 9am and set off towards the shore. We agreed to walk separately, as I am slower, and it is very tiring to walk at someone else’s pace. Just as we left the village, we could hear the church bells ringing and see yet another castle.

Church at Llansteffan

The sky was blue, the view over the estuary was amazing, across Cefn Sidan, all the way back to Llanmadoc, and the Worm’s Head beyond. The path starts by running through woodland – my favourite kind of walking – woodland overlooking the sea.

Woodland near Llansteffan

After a couple of miles, the track turns inland, up yet another estuary – this time the Tâf. The walk was largely uneventful – more road walking than is entirely pleasant, my knees do not respond well to tarmac. The poles seem to help, though. By and large, the signposting is good. Carmarthen, like Newport, has the tops of the fingerposts in bright yellow, which helps. I admired a flock of domestic ducks in one field (although Anita told me later they were geese). Surrounded by buttercups they had the air of an advertisement for wholesome food.

Passing that farmhouse, the signage was not brilliant. One gets the impression that some of the landowners are not that happy to have the Coastal Path traversing their fields – poor signs, unoiled gates, bullocks in the field etc, often give the impression that walkers are not welcome. I cannot help thinking that they get the money, so should be a little more accommodating. Of course, many farms are well-arranged for walkers.

Ducks or geese, on a farm near Tâf estuary.

Having looked at the map, it seemed to me that a short-cut was possible – rather than following the official path for about a mile, another public footpath served as one side of a triangle. Sadly, short cuts always mean long delays. The field, although a public footpath, was wall-to-wall bovines. Not just a few, but scores. All far too interested in me. I trekked to the side of them, and entered another field – I could see the path about 200 yards away, but there was no way out of the field without going through the cattle. I turned back and took the official route. It went through another cattle field, but they were tucked into one corner, and rather more docile. I crossed a couple more fields, lots of grass, presumably for sileage, and sat down to eat my lunch. I discovered later that James and Anita had stopped in exactly the same spot! Several fields later, the path decanted onto a minor road. As I turned left, I could hear ferocious barking.

Dogs, unlike cattle, do not bother me, but the two that came trotting out of a farm yard, onto the public highway were ugly customers. One was a labrador, normally a docile breed, and the other a collie. They were not docile at all. They barked and snarled and circled me. The worst thing is to show fear, so I breathed slowly and began talking to them, in both English and Welsh, although I kept my poles in front of me. The lab looked as though she might have pupped recently, so perhaps she was feeling protective. I struggled to pass them. Then they began to calm down as I kept talking as soothingly as I could. The lab came close and wagged her tail, but I was not going to fall for that and try to pat her. I hit on the idea of throwing the apple I had been eating, in the hope they would bound off, but only one fell for it – I was now trapped with one in front and one behind. Not such a good plan. They then bounced ahead and to my left. I hurried past and arrived at a farm gate. Clearly, I had missed the path. A young girl pointed in the right direction (the opening the dogs had shot down). I thanked her, and observed that the dogs were rather fierce to be allowed out on the road, but she obviously could not care less. The brutes had raced off by now, but I was glad to nip down the path and clang the kissing gate firmly behind me. More open fields took me into St Clears. There was a lot of interesting information about the industrial past of the estuary – it is almost impossible to imagine these quiet, rural areas as once having been hives of industry.

The path runs alongside the main road, but a lot of effort has been made to keep the track safely behind the hedge. It then diverts through more fields, used for trail bikes, it seems, and then some of the loveliest fields of the day. I suppose they are ‘set-aside’ land, as they were brimming with wildflowers – buttercups, grasses, yellow-rattle, flag-Iris, red and white clover, all a-buzz with insects, including bright blue damsel fly-type things, bees, butterflies (although not so many of them as you might expect). Butterfly in Welsh is pili-pala – one of my favourite words.

Set aside farmland, near St Clears, full of flowers and grasses.

Passing through several fields, you could tell which had been set-aside longer, and which were perhaps in the first season. There was another strip of woodland, overlooking the estuary, then down a lovely green-lane, before entering the well-kempt wood just north-east of Talacharn, which is, of course, famous for Dylan Thomas having lived there. I know it is sacrilege, but he is not one of my favourite authors, so I did not detour to see his writing shed.

Carmarthen Bay, near Talacharn.

I arrived back under the castle at about 4.30. Most of the tea-shops were no longer serving. Query, why would you turn away custom on a sunny Sunday in June? The season is not that long, surely you want to make as much as you can? One was open, offering an interesting fusion – Asian street-food and tea and cake. Excellent lemon drizzle. Knees a bit grumpy after so much road walking.

Cat has returned, having ignored me last night. Unusually for me, I have a massive blister, just where my right instep meets my heel – my sock must have got a fold in it. Shan’t be bursting it though. Hopefully, it will subside overnight.

Total distance 14.2 miles, and gorgeous weather. Another Silver day – perfection marred by the quantity of road walking.

June 23, 2019 by melitat

Day 111 Penbre/Burry Port to Glan-y-Fferri 8 June 2019

The rain last night was so bad that I let Cat in. I was firm with him: 1. He had to go out when it stopped raining, 2. He had to go out when I went to bed, regardless of the weather. 3. I would not feed him. 4. He definitely was not allowed into the main bed-sitting room, but had to stay in the conservatory.

Those of you who have experience of cats will not be surprised to hear that I was woken at 3.42am by Cat uncurling himself from the small of my back, jumping off the bed and demanding to go out, having dined on the cooked chicken I bought for my packed lunches. How do cats do it? From pleading to be allowed to take shelter from the storm, to the complete run of my accommodation in a few hours!

Today was definitely one of those days when I have to pinch myself to believe I am not dreaming – everything was just right – even getting lost a couple of times was no hardship. I drove to Glan-y Fferri, intending to catch the 9.10 train. I allowed plenty of time to get there, as the narrow lanes can be confusing – in fact I went down one so narrow that a pedestrian and her dog could hardly pass me – it got steeper and steeper and narrower and narrower, and I was lucky nothing came in the opposite direction. I was early, so I sat in the car for a few minutes, then cursed myself as, if I had hurried, I could have caught the 8.24. However, the forty minute wait was a blessing in disguise, as two more walkers turned up. They were doing the same stretch as me today, and, after a bit of chat, we realised we are staying at the same place. We did not walk together – it is very tiring to pace yourself to someone else, and I could tell they would be faster than me.

I joined the path more-or-less where I left it yesterday, going round the dock at Penbre. The dock was created by local entrepreneurs, George Bowser and Thomas Gaunt in the 1810s for shipping coal from Gwscwm and Cwm Capel. It was formed by diverting water from the Derwydd to scour a deep tidal harbour, with sluices for clearing the silt. The original owners failed, but the site continued to be viable until the early twentieth century by which time it had silted up too much to allow big vessels access.

Penbre Dock

Quite a few boats were bobbing in the little dock, as I turned west, inland of the sand dunes. Like yesterday, much of the path was tarmac aimed at cyclists.

Some sort of cycling challenge in progress in Pembrey Country Park.

It runs into a country park, with lots of tracks and trails, and even, rather bizarrely, a dry ski slope. I stopped on a hill to admire the view and eat some muffin. After a couple of miles, it decants onto Cefn Sidan, a Blue Flag beach which is absolutely superb – almost flat with sands graduating from gold to white, living up to their Welsh name of ‘silk’, and lots of low breakers after yesterday’s rain. It was a little marred by the quantity of jelly-fish, but the views across to the Gower on one side, and the headland at Pendine on the other were wonderful.

I was amused by a sign warning against the hazards of too much sun. I think I will start a new page, with best sign of the day.

The rain had rolled away overnight, and the sky was mostly blue with broken cloud. The wind was quite fierce though. I could see my train companions far away and kept an eye on them, as the path turns back from the beach, into Penbre woods. I did not see the path, and was wondering where it might be when I saw that James and Anita had turned back. They told me they had walked a good way further on, and that we must have passed the track. We turned back and took the first path off the beach, but that was a dead-end. We went back a bit further, and left the beach at a clear track, which took us into the wood. We consulted the maps and the GPS, and agreed that about a mile in the same direction would take us to the edge of the wood. I decided to eat my sandwiches, whilst they walked on.

Ten minutes later, I started out, but before long I got lost in the hopeless maze of tracks that weave in and out of the wood, mainly designed for cycling. There was neither jot nor tittle of a sign, after the earlier section had been so clearly marked. After I while I was sure I was going in the wrong direction, so I whipped out my compass (when I say whipped, I mean I unpacked my entire rucksack to find it at the bottom). I was going south rather than north, so I turned around and took a different track, slightly reassured when some passing cyclists told me I was going in the right direction for Cydweli, but they did not mention it was a circular track. At least a mile and half further on, I finally came to T-Juncion with a sign. Coast Path – going in both directions. As I was consulting the map, a couple of locals came up and put me on the right path. She warned me about a field of cows. ‘Friendly or grumpy’, I asked, gripping my poles in business-like fashion.

‘Oh, quite tame.’

Nevertheless, I prepared my mind. In the far distance, I caught site of James and Anita again – clearly they had been lost, too. The track turns across the old airfield, which is huge, and literally riddled with bovines. Naturally, some were on the path. I decided that holding my poles in front of me would make me look bigger. I walked amongst them but, fortunately, although there was a bit of snorting, none of them moved. The track then carried on to Cydweli – hard underfoot again. It was 3.30 by now, and I was keen for a stop. I found a very nice little tea-shop, where my friends had already imbibed, and ate a couple of Welsh cakes. There next section was straightforward, a bit of road walking then up a track to Llansaint, through the little village, with superb views opening up of the estuary, then through more fields and down into a lovely, narrow little wooded glen.

Glade near Llansaint, Carmarthenshire.

I was glad of my new boots – after yesterday, everything was slippery. A steep climb up the other side, then though more fields, mostly well-marked, although I did go the long way round one of them, before coming into another glade.

I could hear some cows bellowing, and was glad when the path turned away from the field gate, although all it did was go ten yards down the hill, then enter the field just below where the cows were congregating. They were noisy, and not friendly. The mud was appalling, real boot sucking stuff, so even if I had wanted to run, I would not have been able to. I was glad of my poles, that kept me upright when I might have fallen. Fortunately, the beasts were more sound than action. I went through the kissing-gate and followed the sign, which seemed to lead across a very steep and muddy field. The path was so muddy it was hard to walk, but to go off the path was impossible as the slope was enough to turn your ankle. I slogged along for about a half a mile, getting muddier all the way, till the path ended in a barred gate. I had obviously missed the route. Unable to face returning, I shimmied under the barbed wire onto the lane. The path then meanders through the back of Glan-y-fferri, back to the car park.

Just as I arrived back, the other couple did and we had a chat to Mrs B & B. Cat emerged, and I had to ignore him as she once again insisted that he was not to be encouraged. I felt like a guilty spouse, pretending not to know my lover.

Distance 15.3 miles and a Silver day.

June 22, 2019 by melitat

Day 110 Gowerton to Penbre/Burry Port 7 June 2019

I had a super drive down yesterday – just on six hours, which, considering I did not go near a motorway, was pretty good time. I chose a leisurely route, with time for morning coffee at Chipping Norton, then along the A40 all the way to Caerfyrddin/Carmarthen, although the journey was marred by the news that the Ford factory at Pen-y-bont ar Ogwr/Bridgend is to close with the loss of 1700 jobs. What with that and the works at Porth Talbot being under threat, the whole economy of South Wales will be badly hit, and it is already a poor area.

Talking economics, rather than staying at ordinary B & B, I am self-catering, in part to keep the cost down. This is not a cheap hobby if I eat in cafes and pubs twice a day for ten day at a stretch. My first location is just outside the town, on the coast path route. I have a little suite to myself – bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette, conservatory, and a deck overlooking the river. It was warm enough yesterday to sit out in my shorts – today is a complete contrast. It has been one of the wettest days of the entire walk – the only days as bad might be the morning at Beachy Head, and a couple of wet afternoons with Chris and Tom in Essex in the winter of 2013/4. The forecast was bad, so I was pleased when I hopped off the train at Gowerton at 8.45 to find that it was overcast, but dry. Between 8.45 and 10.15, there were no more than a few flurries, but by 11.00 we had moved through ordinary rain to what some of my friends call double rain.

The path is straightforward. I can see why the M4 relief road has been cancelled – the back road out of Gowerton is serving as an alternative route already – despite being single track in some parts, there was a constant stream of traffic in both directions. Eventually, the path veeredoff into woodland, then a footbridge over the A48, and through more woodland, before joining the main road as it crossed the Llwchwr estuary. The original rail crossing was built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, and much of his work remains, although it was updated in 1907.

Original built by Brunel.

I was excited at the prospect of seeing the Llanelli Coastal Park – twenty (20???) years ago, it was one of the Millennium Commission projects that I worked on. Previously, the whole area to the south of Llanelli was industrial wasteland, but now it has been reclaimed, and there is a track running through for cyclists and walkers. I would have preferred the track to be a bit narrower, and perhaps less of it tarmac’d. It is hard underfoot and does not blend into the landscape, but I suppose it is easy cycling. The path runs through wetland, past a golf course, and sometimes comes close to the shore, although for long stretches the raised railway obscures the view. There are some nicely-designed seating areas, with slate and interesting levels in the grass, and in some parts, a profusion of wild-flowers – lots of cow-parsley and oxe-eye daisies.

Copious bird-watching opportunities…when it is not raining.

Near North Dock, I could see the leisure centre, which I knew had a café – despite having brought sandwiches, I was cold and wet, and desperate for a cuppa. I was worried it might be closed – not many people would want to be out in today’s weather, but actually, it was packed, and was rather fancier than I anticipated. I opened the door, and the waitress did her best to hide her lack of enthusiasm as I stood in the doorway with water pouring off me.

I had a bowl of soup, then had no alternative but to put my wet coat back on and march off purposefully. I did not hang about and got to Penbre/Burry Port station around 2.30. I had to wait half an hour for a train, which was a cold and dispiriting experience, but at least it was on time. I am sitting in my little conservatory, with a stray ginger cat for companion. I was asked by Mrs B & B not to encourage it, but although I ignored its cries yesterday, I couldn’t bring myself to leave it out in this weather. I hope I don’t get thrown out for breaking the rules.

Distance 11.6 miles and a Bronze day.

June 5, 2019 by melitat

Update – 5 June 2019

No – I haven’t been put off my coast walk by mad cows, but I have had no time to walk since last July. In the meantime, I have completed the Icknield Way, and have sent my second book off to the publisher, so I haven’t been idle. Looking forward to a good chunk of walking over ten days, from Gowerton, across the Llwchwr estuary into West Wales, and, on day five, I should reach the Pembroke Coast Path. Annoyingly, all the luggage transfer services go in the opposite direction, and since I have given up carrying my pack unless there is absolutely no alternative, I am having to do a complex set of bus and train manouevres each day, which has taken most of a day to work out, given the paucity of public transport in the area – and certainly no buses on Sundays.

Once again I have new boots. I love the Zimberland fit, but I have worn away the soles again. I am trying a Scarpa pair – they are a narrower fit, so I have gone up a size. The assistant in the outdoors shop was shocked when I told him I wear two pairs of socks, but given my blister-free history, I am not changing now. I am also trying poles – I have to admit, more for fending off cattle than anything else, but many people do recommend them. I have got folding ones so they can go in the back-pack. Not the twisty ones, I found them to be hopeless when I used them before. Super-light, Black Diamond Carbon poles – only 140g each, which is astonishingly light.

The forecast is not brilliant, but no point in worrying about that.

Melita's Coast of Britain Walk

What on earth have I got in my rucksack?