Wentwood

Tuesday 24 March

Consideration was given to the possibility of squeezing two hills into today, but it would likely have been exactly that: a squeeze. Or perhaps a rush, constantly wondering whether I would make my afternoon deadline to be home. So, instead I opted for just the one hill, but shunned the option of parking less than a mile from the summit, instead choosing to take a bit of a meandering route up through the forest from Parc Seymour.

A good choice, even if I do say so myself. A nice bit of woodland preceded the managed forest, and so much did we enjoy it (particularly as our ascent was in the sunshine) that instead of taking the short route (down the road) back to our start point, we meandered back through the woods, where the path choices were plentiful (and some of them were even shown on the map).

Recent forestry works have temporarily messed up the summit and our approach, but one benefit of that work is that rather than the summit being fully wooded, with a wall of trees preventing views, you can now stand at the trig and look out over the Severn Estuary and the Severn Bridge. When I say ‘stand at the trig’, I mean ‘stand relatively close to the trig’, as the forestry works have created a camouflage wooded-defence around it:

Trig point in disguise

As I already said, we chose to wander back through the woodland for our return, on a nice dirt path (well, nice except the little bit torn up by tyres), noting as we went that the clouds were looking very dark and foreboding. We must have walked the right route at just the right pace, as we hadn’t been back inside Colin for more than 2 minutes when the heavens opened; hail and rain lashed down in a way that made us mutter “Glad we’re not out in that!”.

(6.4 miles; 1300’) 

And, that was that: it was time to go home, after a most enjoyable trip involving 178 miles of Welsh Coast, followed by 11 Marilyns, over the course of 15 days, 13.5 of which were dry and most of them sunny.

4 Marilyns West of Caerphilly

Monday 23 March

Mynydd y Glyn

Mick described our route up this hill as being like a salute: we took the long way up and the short way down. Having found somewhere suitable to park a 6m van in the residential streets of Cymmer (arriving after the local residents had left for work would have made it easier), off we set up well-trodden paths, knowing that at some point we would have to leave those paths to reach the summit.

It turned out that the well-trodden paths didn’t follow the lines of the rights of way, and further turned out that a barbed-wire fence didn’t feature any crossing places, even where the rights of way lay, all of which led to a very circuitous ascent, variously over grass and slag heaps. Here I am standing at the top, from which snap you may notice that the views were somewhat curtailed, even though the cloud was well above the summit:

Our descent was a much simpler affair, as we headed straight for Cymmer, handily finding a stile exactly in the right place over the only fence we needed to cross.

(2.8 miles; 900’)

Cefn Eglwysilan

It’s possible to drive to within about 200m of the top of this hill, but it involves a tiny lane with no obvious parking, so we opted to leave Colin in Trallwn on the east edge of Pontypridd and we walked up the road instead.

The final ascent from the road must be a bit of a ‘mare of bracken in summer, but at this time of year we could see trods through the remains of last year’s growth, which led us steeply to the top. It was still heavily overcast, with the views being lost in the murk:

(3 miles; 900’)

Craig yr Allt

This was the outing upon which a cyclist mistook me for a horse! It’s not an everyday event, and probably not one to which I would have confessed, had I been in the cyclists shoes.

That was within minutes of leaving Colin, as we made our way steeply down* a path which is still shown on the OS maps as being a lane, but which has been sealed off at each end for long enough that nature has reclaimed most of its former width. (*If I’d paid any attention to the contour lines I may have chosen a parking spot which didn’t involve heading steeply downhill before we started on our objective!)

As for the hill itself, its shape was far more pleasing than the previous two, and judging by the well-trodden paths to and along its ridge, it is popular place to visit. Its shape also suggested it must be a fine viewpoint on a clear day. It wasn’t a bad viewpoint even on this day:

The final pull back up to Colin wasn’t as bad as it had seemed in descent and no-one mistook me for a horse on the way back...

(3 miles; 700’)

Garth Hill

This hill will be remembered as the one where I attempted to navigate Colin, on a really tiny lane, around a bend that (due to the combination of steepness and angle of bend) was physically beyond him. A retreat was made (that was quite a manoeuvre!) and we decided that rather than trying the lane from the other direction, we would simply extend the walk by taking the lane on foot. 

The offending bend

A number of public footpaths in this area appear to be missing (no signage from the road; no evidence of them on the ground), but we did finally find one which took us off the road and towards our objective. We could have continued following that path, giving us a nice gentle route, but when we saw a trodden line up the side of the hill we took it. Steep enough to touch the ground in front of you with an outstretched arm, we certainly gained height quickly … and I also quickly decreed that we were going back down the long way. Surely nobody’s knees would forgive them for descending that way!

A broad, grassy ridge awaited us once we had huffed and puffed our way up, together with a substantial layer of mizzling low cloud. For a day when it was meant to rain all day, we couldn’t reasonably complain about finally having to don waterproofs half a mile before our final summit. Of course, I did complain as the weather was now robbing us of even limited views.

There are a number of ancient burial mounds along this ridge. This trig lies on top of one of them.

A different set of paths saw us off the hill, before we trod the tiny lane again in the other direction, where I tested Mick to see if he could describe all 8 of the hills we had visited over the last 2 days. He confirmed what I thought: when visiting this number of hills in a short space of time it’s really difficult to remember them all without jogging the memory by looking at a map!

(3.2 miles; 1000’; Total for day: 12 miles; 3500’)

Three Mynydds (Mynyddau?) and a Foel

Sunday 22 March

Mynydd Drumau

Pulling up outside of the church in Bryn Coch at the same time as the congregation for the early morning Sunday service, I realised that when I’d researched where we could park for this hill, I’d not considered that we might find ourselves there on a Sunday morning. The congregation was small; I don’t think we put anyone out.

Having made our way up a lane and through some woodland, a small amount of trespass was required to reach the top of the hill (probably no more than five minutes worth) and it was nice and early on a Sunday morning, so what were the chances of the farmer seeing us?

There’s a clue to the answer to that question in this snap of me at the trig point on this unremarkable hill:

Lambing sheep = early morning farmer visits. As it went, he was too busy wrestling a sheep to the ground to pay us any attention as we hopped over one of his gates and made our way back to the public footpath. Arriving back at the church the early congregation had departed, and so did we, towards another Mynydd.

(3.3 miles; 600’)

Mynydd Marchwyel

It would have been perfectly possible to visit the top of this, our second hill of the day, without a single step of trespass. However, I had decided that the preferable approach was from the village of Cilfrew, which required us to trespass for a total of around 3.9 miles. But, it was Sunday morning, so what were the chances of meeting a farmer?

To reduce our chances further, a blistering pace was set as we sweated our way uphill in the sunshine and I was pleased when we finally crossed a fence into the forestry, 250m before the trig point, which put us onto access land.

It certainly isn’t a hill that boasts views from the summit:

But the return journey made up for that:

We made it back to Cilfrew without (to the best of our knowledge) anyone having witnessed us sneaking across the private land (except for the two dog walkers, who were also trespassing).

(5 miles; 1000’)

Mynydd Dinas

The inland alternative to the Wales Coast Path, around Port Talbot, goes very close to the top of this hill, but I had opted to stick with the coast on that walk and return to visit the hill afterwards, so that’s what we did for our third summit of the day.

A very pleasant walk up was had, with extensive coastal views. The steel works of Port Talbot did, of course, draw the eye, and being so vast with so many smoking chimneys it looked like something out of a previous, more industrial, age. I did take a snap, but you can’t really see what I mean about the steel works. Did I mention that I really do need to get a new camera?

Easily locating the path which leads to the trig point (prior research had paid off again), I had expected to find another trodden path from there to the “ground 2m NE of flat rock 65m E of trig” (i.e. the highest point). Not only was there no such trodden line, but the depth of heather, mini trees and spikey things made me think that there was no way we were going to locate that rock.

Striding along the path towards the trig

Thrashing around, I was just about to give it up as a bad job when I stumbled across that elusive rock, completely surrounded by heather (I’m standing as I am to hold back some of the heather so you can see the rock):

Sure enough, 2m away a small patch of heather proved not to be as deep as that surrounding it, and I found myself standing on the highest ground.

Whilst we hadn’t had the hill to ourselves (four walkers, one runner), it had been pretty quiet for a sunny Sunday afternoon. We were nearly back down in Baglan when we rounded a bend and were met with this view:

That was a big group! But they were well grouped together, so we got away with just half a dozen greetings without leaving anyone out.

Consideration was given to continuing, on foot, straight from this hill to our next one, but for various reasons we stuck to Plan A, which was to drive around to Pontrhydyfen, as we intended to stay there the night anyway.

Foel Fynyddau

Arguably, with hindsight, we might have been better approaching this hill from Baglan after all, but if we had done that I’m sure it wouldn’t have been a memorable outing (I’m having enough trouble remembering which hill was which, making memorable snippets a bonus), and there’s nothing like encountering a hundred blow-downs in your path to make a walk memorable:

The clambering that ensued was made even more ‘interesting’ by the quantity of brambles, and there were thoughts that we should have stuck to the modern, maintained (but very meandering) forest track rather than trying out this old, abandoned (direct) one. Of course, by the time we got to the worst mess of fallen trees we had put enough effort into this route as to make us reluctant to back-track, and our persistence (and clambering) did eventually pay off.

We spilled back out onto the modern track (by which I mean we climbed over the last tree and jumped down onto the track, from which vantage point the old track was invisible) just as four mountain bikers passed by. I’m sure they must have wondered where we’d been and why.

A better line was found to shortcut the final switch-back, leading us directly to the top, which I concede was a little cluttered from some angles…

… but gave good views:

A much better (and more direct, but far less memorable) route was taken to get us back down.

(4.75 miles; 1400’; total for day: 16 miles; 3600’)

 

It had been a lovely warm spring day, although that evening the forecast told us that it was to be the last fine day of this long run of high pressure.

Mynydd y Betws and Mynydd Uchaf

Saturday 21 March

It came to my attention last night that today was quite an important day in the world of Six Nations Rugby. Whilst Mick had only suggested that he would be pleased if we could be somewhere with TV reception in time for the England match, I knew that his preference would be to watch all three matches back-to-back. As he has been so kind as to be my personal chauffeur for the last week and a half, it would have been mean of me to drag him up hills instead.

So, a rest day was declared and after a lie-in, an extra day at our campsite (electric + excellent TV reception) was booked as soon as the office opened at 9am.

That gave us 3.5 hours before the first kick off and I reckoned that we could just squeeze a couple of hills into that time (I would have been right too, if it hadn’t been for a stop to refuel Colin and a bit of a traffic jam on the way back).

I think we can still count it as a rest day, mind, as the entire distance walked in bagging these two hills was under 1.5 miles. Mynydd y Betws was a particularly quick outing, as the top lies adjacent to the road, although we did span it out a bit by walking over to the grassed-over mounds and dips which are clearly still discernable as the site of a castle, plus there was a bit of wandering around in searching for the highest point.

Mynydd Uchaf involved a little bit more effort, involving around 150’ of up (compared with about 10’ for the first hill).

Whilst the day may have been short on walking, it was big on views, with very few signs of civilisation (if we overlook the wind farm) being evident around us. Surprisingly, there were still a few little patches of snow sitting on the south side of the Brecon Beacons.

WCP: Gowerton to Pembrey

Friday 20 March 2015

Distance: 15.5 miles

Weather: Wall-to-wall sunshine (although the sun did almost disappear briefly at about 9.25am)

The original plan had been that I was only walking as far as Gowerton on this trip, following which we would spend a few days visiting some of the coastal(ish) Marilyns which lie between the Gower and Newport. That plan changed yesterday, based on the weather forecast; with yet more sunshine forecast I couldn’t resist squeezing in just one more day walking along the coast.

The sunny days are leading to cold nights, and last night was the coldest yet, but even at 7.15, as I strode off down a nastily-busy little lane, there was promise that it would soon warm up.

There’s not much to be said about the first bit of the route, which saw me approach and cross the River Loughor, but once over the river (via the road bridge), off I veered to the salt marshes, which has been designated as the Millennium Coastal Park. For the most part that was quite pleasant, although unspectacular.

At Machynys, Mick strode towards me and performed his usual about-turn, which saw us walking together towards the west side of Llanelli. It was fortuitous that we met when we did, as Mick was well equipped with solar eclipse viewing gear, whereas I had none. Thus, at 9.27 (when everyone within sight was stopped and viewing through one means or another) we got to witness the eclipse:

Mick’s solar eclipse viewing gear: a light coloured Tilley hat and a pair of reading glasses

The day, which had been warming up nicely, cooled back down noticeably as the moon got in the way, and it was quite a while later when it felt warm again. By then, I had paused for coffee in the comfort of Colin, before joining hoards of people out on this section of the Millennium Park (I think the ease of access together with there being a seafront promenade cause the popularity of this particular area).

In terms of prettiness, the highlight of the day was probably the lighthouse and beach at Burry Port, where the lighthouse we passed first thing yesterday at Whiteford Burrows appeared to be just a stone’s throw away across the water.

Hard surfaces prevailed today as the WCP followed cycle paths, and even the last section through the sand dunes to Pembrey was no exception, although here the surface was formed by that plastic grid stuff, through which grass can grow (although on this occasion it had been filled with grit).

Finding Mick parked up at Pembrey I decided to call it a day rather than continuing on to Cydweli, and so that’s it for this section of the Welsh Coast. It has been most enjoyable, made more so by the weather (if we overlook the Barry day). There’s some surprisingly nice coast down here, and I’m already looking forward to the final section (235 miles to go), which will take me through Pembrokeshire.

For now, though, I need to spend some time looking at a map, deciding which hills we’re going to visit this weekend and how we’re going to approach them.

WCP: Llanmadoc to Gowerton

Thursday 19 March 2014

Distance: 17.6 miles

Weather: Glorious again, although hazy views

I tend to wake up early when out and about walking on a Colin-based trip, mainly because I tend to fall to sleep too early. I woke up early again this morning, which was a bit annoying as it had been a later night than usual and I hadn’t slept well. As a result I felt like i was going really slowly today (hmmm, just looked at my speed profile for the day and my perception and reality don’t quite align).

Unusually, Mick started out with me today, on the basis that 5 miles after setting off the route would take us back within 500 yards of where Colin was parked, having walked up one side of the narrow spit of Whiteford Burrows and back down the other side.

If I had paid more attention to the path closure notice before we set out along the spit, I might have decided to omit the excursion (even the official Coast Path gives the option to omit it), but I’m glad that I didn’t pay more attention, as this spit is well worth a visit. The west side was a large expanse of beach sided by dunes (after today’s news, I looked out for wet wipes washed up, but all I found was the usual thousands of pieces of plastic of various shapes, sizes and types):

Then, within yards of rounding to the east side we were in a green land with a large variety of plants.

It was definitely the highlight of the day, even though we did then find the continuation of the path to be closed (yep, we ignored the closure, hopped over the gate and went to have a look at the ‘washed away section of wall’ which confirmed to us that it’s not passable), causing us to perform a closed loop around the point. With Mick headed back towards Colin, I continued on the 1-mile diversion. I was certainly glad a while later that I had mis-marked the route on my map and didn’t need to walk right the way into Cheriton, as there are now stepping-stones and a permissive path cutting across the marshes.

The following path along the marshes was interesting but not spectacular, then it was onto tarmac for the rest of the day (bar a little section of fields right at the end of the day).

I finished my day at Gowerton Caravan Club Site, even though I knew that it doesn’t open for the season until tomorrow. Instead, we’ve driven a little way to park up for the night, right on the edge of the salt-marsh where we’re watching the tide come in and hoping it’s not a high enough tide to cover the car park (which it clearly does sometimes).

WCP: Port Eynon to Llanmadoc

Wednesday 18 March 2014

Distance: 13.2 miles

Weather: wall-to-wall sunshine

I had an incentive to walk briskly today, as I have a friend who lives on the north side of the Gower and the sooner I reached Llanmadoc, the more afternoon we would have available to us to catch up. Thus, I set off at a clip … and made a complete meal of the first mile of the day due to deciding to shun the official path in order to stay closer to the coast. I eventually got back on route, but not without a bit of scrambling and more ascent than if I’d just followed the WCP to start with. Ah well, you win some…

Ascent was a minor theme of the morning. Underfoot the path was lovely and, once again, the surroundings were spectacular (particularly under the gorgeous blue skies), but it did involve lots of sharp little ups and downs.

Having rounded Worms Head (which I could have visited as the tide was low, but it would have been an out and back for no great reward, so I didn’t), I met (with 7 miles walked) the first other walkers of the day. I’m not sure where everyone was; there weren’t even dog-walkers to be seen.

Below me now was a massive expanse of beach (about 3.5 miles long and, being low tide, very wide) and, as I suspected from the map, at Rhossili I was able to access it. In so doing not only did I have some delightful sandy walking, but I missed out a few wiggles in the official path as it heads through the dunes.

There was only the smallest handful of people on that beach (really, where was everyone on this gorgeous sunny day?), and one of them was Mick walking towards me out of the haze.

Being just a few minutes after low tide when we reached Burry Holm, we probably could have continued on the beach to round the headland and the next little bay, but we took the safe option of heading up into the dunes (as it goes, looking from above we reckon we could have made it around at sea level, but it looked like there’s probably only a very small window of opportunity around low tide).

We could have stayed on the beach all around the west side of the isthmus at Whiteford Burrows, but that wasn’t on the agenda for today. Instead, inland we went to find Colin parked just where Mick had left him in Llanmadoc and soon we were sitting drinking tea and putting the world to rights at Rhian & Paul’s house. An excellent afternoon and evening was had, after a fine morning’s walking.

WCP: Mumbles Head to Port Eynon

Tuesday 17 March

Distance: 15.6 miles

Weather: Hazy morning, giving way to a glorious afternoon

What a splendid day’s walking that was! Had the weather not been hazy, it would have been coastal walking perfection. Whilst Swansea Bay was perfectly nice, I found it incredible that such a change in surroundings could be gained in the space of a handful of paces, upon rounding Mumbles Head. Suddenly, I was on a rugged coastline, wiggling around, heading up to cliff-tops and down to bays, with gorse predominating around me. Gorgeous!

I confess I was a little worried, about 3 miles in, that the local authority had installed a tarmac/concrete path the whole way around the Gower, as that was what I had been walking thus far …

…however, by the time I reached Caswell Bay (where I should have headed down to the beach at the first opportunity, rather than following the coast path around) the tread had become more natural, and beyond that bay I was happily on grass and dirt paths.

Mick had encountered issues with getting Colin parked at Oxwich, due to a tardy car-park-opening-man, so I didn’t meet him until just east of Threecliff Bay, which you can see in this snap (it is a really bad picture; I do need a new camera, but it wasn’t helped by the haze):

Threecliff Bay is the start of an enormous expanse of sand, which at low tide runs all the way to Oxwich, and it is a stunning location. The coast path would have you wiggle your way across the dunes behind the beach, which surely can’t allow such appreciation of the coastline, but fortunately for me, Mick had already done a recce and established that (if we rushed, to beat the tide) it was possible to get around Great Tor, keeping to the beach for 2.5 glorious miles of firm sand.

We made it around the headland with a matter of moments to spare before it would have required a paddle; half an hour later I was having an early lunch in Colin.

Persuading Mick that joining me for the first half an hour of my afternoon was preferable to sitting reading his book, I led him past a chapel and up 273 steps. That’s a lot of steps, and thus it’s understandable that after undulating gently at that altitude for a short while, he shunned the notion of accompanying me down the steps towards Oxwich Point, on the basis that by the time he got to the bottom it would be time for him to head back.

It’s a shame he couldn’t accompany me along the next section, as it boasted more incredible scenery, by now with the sun bursting through:

At Port Eynon I was (yet again) tempted to continue on another 4.5 miles, but once again managed to talk myself into moderation.

We might have stayed at Port Eynon where (contrary to my internet research) one of the campsites was open. However, when quoted £27 for a bit of grass for the night we reverted to Plan A and are now parked up as the sole occupants of a Certified Location up the road (complete with toilets and showers) for half the price. I do believe that’s the most we have ever been quoted for a night at a campsite.

(As an aside, we spent last night in a large car park, tucked away right at the very far corner from the entrance. At 1am I was woken by a car pulling up right next to us, despite every other space being free. A minute later another car pulled up. I had to know what was going on and thus had a peek out. As they pulled huge multi-part rods out of their boots, I had the answer: fishing. At 1am! They returned at 5am. I struggle to understand the attraction of fishing in the first place, but going out for 4 hours at 1am on a cold night? Madness!)

WCP: Port Talbot to Mumbles Head

Monday 16 March

Distance: 15.3 miles

Weather: Overcast with just a few drops of light rain

Having spent the night parked up on the seafront at Aberavon Sands, I was but a handful of paces from the beach when I set out this morning, giving me a lovely start to the day:

That dog walker is the only person I saw on this stretch of beach at 7.30am

Shunning the official route, I kept to the beach until it hit the River Neath and then took to its bank, as I suspected the marked route would involve soft sand followed by tarmac, whereas my way was (bar a few paces) firm sand followed by grit track.

The river (as so many of them do) called for a bit of an inland diversion, under the M4 and across the adjacent bridge which carries a dual carriageway. So noisy with traffic was it on that bridge that when Mick phoned me to tell me where he was, I couldn’t hear a word he said. The views at this point weren’t great either:

A path adjacent to another busy A road, followed by a bit of B road, took me to the Tennant Canal, which was far superior to the road walking. In fact, it was incredible to think that I was only 10 minutes away from the busy roads I’d just walked and that I was heading towards a city:

At the point this snap was taken the canal is so disused and covered with reeds that it’s not possible to discern that there was a canal there. Earlier then canal had been obvious.

At the point I located Mick availing himself of the wifi in a MacDonald’s, I was over half way through my day and it felt like lunchtime. My watch told me it was 9.40am! I declared I was going to walk slower for the rest of the day.

A short while later, upon rounding a corner and crossing some dunes just past Swansea Docks, it was a joy to see a huge expanse of sand which was ahead of me. Thus, instead of the expected route along the promenade, I took to the water’s edge, not appreciating for a while quite how far away from the prom I had strayed. By the time I spotted Mick about to stride past me at the top of the beach, I was over half a kilometre away from the prom! Funnily enough, I had that lower section of beach all to myself.

It’s not possible* to walk the beach all the way to Mumbles Head, so we were eventually forced onto the prom to walk along The Mumbles, before reaching Colin’s resting place at Mumble’s Head just after noon. As always, I’m tempted to carry on a few miles, but I’m already 6 miles ahead of schedule and there’s no real benefit in me getting further ahead; I’m not short of time on this trip.

Tomorrow, I’m looking forward to another change in surroundings, as the Gower awaits.

 

(*Actually, it probably is possible, but the underfoot conditions made it undesirable.)

WCP: Ogmore to Port Talbot (Aberavon Sands)

Sunday 15 March

Distance: 20 miles

Weather: dry but overcast

On the north side of the River Ogmore lies a large area of sand dunes (some of which are positively towering), and those dunes were the first notable section of my day. I couldn’t see a way marker in the car park at the road-end which precedes the dunes, so I followed my nose and the general direction of the line I had drawn on the map. On reflection, perhaps I should have followed the river, but looking at my GPS track, I did take a straight line back to the coast, even if I did feel like I was wandering around, going up and down. I was rather pleased finally to reach the beach, not just because it offered some easy walking, but also because it’s the first proper beach I’ve walked on this section, and I do like a nice beach walk:

I did have to return to the nasty soft sand of the track through the dunes for a short while, where the combination of tide and rocks suggested that further progress down the beach would be difficult, but once back on the sand I was so merrily skipping along that it completely escaped my notice that I was approaching Porthcawl and that Mick would be heading towards me.

It’s a good job he was paying attention, or we would have passed like ships in the night (not for the first time on the Welsh coast!), as he stuck to the marked route and I stuck to the water’s edge.

On the far side of Porthcawl the surfers were out in huge numbers (and those in the car park were rather more modest in their changing practice than the trio we encountered yesterday). Today’s observation is that I’m yet to see a surfer walking towards the surf. They always leave their cars and immediately break into a run.

People were out in force on this not-sunny-but-not-bad-weather day, but they soon thinned out as the distance from the car park increased and by the time I got to the dunes at Kenfig Burrows I was on my lonesome again.

The way from the dunes to Port Talbot was unattractive and blighted in places by trail bikes, and there’s not much to say about the route through the residential areas of the south side of the town, but once on the riverside, to the north of the docks I was happy again with my surroundings. The big industry of this area was evident, but (to me) interesting:

Around the corner, where the river meets the coast, suddenly the surroundings changed in the space of a pace. Ahead of me now was a beach and a large promenade. Also there was Mick, once again walking towards me. We continued another mile and a half up the prom before calling it a day – and another good and interesting one it was too.

WCP: West Aberthaw to Ogmore

Saturday 14 March (0730-1410)

Distance: 15.8 miles

Weather: Dry, but overcast

There is much that I could say about today and it’s going to be difficult to choose what detail to include and what to omit. I fear that in making those decisions, I’m going to fail to be concise. The headline is that today’s coastline was lovely, with plenty of interest along the path.

There was one downside of the first 7 miles, and that was mud. I knew, in setting out on Tuesday, that we were still in mud season, but those first 7 miles were the muddiest mudfest, which saw me taking tiny careful (squelching) steps and still slip-sliding all over the place.

 Typical of the first 7 miles of today. I suppose it did rain quite a bit yesterday, though.

That, however, is the only negative thing I can say about the day. Some paths around fields were largely inoffensive (except for their muddy state) but uninteresting, but the majority of the day was along the cliffs. Interesting cliffs they were too, with clear sedimentary layers being evident.

Mick met me just before a very interesting place called St Donat’s (a very well preserved fortified village, by the looks of it), of which I failed to take a decent photo, and we walked together back past the a lighthouse complex to where Colin was waiting to provide me with a comfy seat for elevenses.

The one thing that has surprised me over the last 20 miles of coast is how many surfers there are. I’d seen a few yesterday afternoon, then about an hour before dark our car park suddenly filled up with chaps who leapt out of their cars, donned wetsuits as fast as one can don tight neoprene and ran towards the sea with their boards, obviously eager to spend as much time as possible in the water before dark. It’s now become apparent that wherever there is access to a beach, there will be a small handful of surfers. Three provided us (or me) with good entertainment as I took elevenses, as they pulled up right in front of Colin, leapt out of their cars and promptly (without any efforts to conceal themselves on the far side of their vehicles) stood in full view and stripped off *all* of their clothes before struggling into neoprene. I say! I almost blushed.

Leaving Mick to scoot on round to park near the end point of my day, and walk back from there to meet me again, I continued (blissfully on firm grass; I’d been dreading another 8 miles of mud) along more lovely coast, diverting where necessary up and around a gorgeous wooded inlet, then passing the remains of a fort/fortified house and a (closed) visitor centre before bumping into Mick again.

Half the world was out along the next section of coast, and who can blame them? There are definitely many worse places to spend a nice dry Saturday in March.

A couple of miles of out-and-back inland diversion is required at Ogmore, to get to a bridge over the river, and along that section I stopped for a wonky lunch (which is to say, I stopped for lunch in Colin, who was parked on such a slope that it was a two-man effort to retrieve stuff from the fridge without the entire contents sliding out*). It was then just a mile to the point where it made sense for me to finish my day. Mick (who managed to walk a total of 10 miles in walking out to meet me today) was happy enough with my early finish: as I type he is happily shouting at the rugby.

(*It confounds me as to why Colin’s Thetford 3-way fridge, which is clearly designed for moving vehicles, does not have shelves with a lip on their edge.)

WCP: Lavernock to West Aberthaw

Friday 13 March (0800-1420)

Distance: 17.9 miles

Number of muddy miles: too many (unusually, I was glad to get onto tarmac more than once today)

Weather: wet

Number of backtracks caused by paths shown on the map now being in the sea: 2 (there’s a reason the WCP went around the houses, but I found that out the hard way)

Number of backtracks caused by losing the path: 1 (it turned out to have been re-routed and I subsequently found it further up the road)

 

My experience, gained from all my days spent walking (and that is quite a lot of days), is that it very seldom rains for an entire day. Today was one of those rare days, with not a single dry minute during the whole time I was walking.

That is not what I had expected based on the forecast I saw yesterday morning, which showed a band of rain passing through overnight, before getting stuck over the middle of England for the rest of the day. By this morning that forecast had changed to showing the band of rain stuck over the area of today’s walk. Oh, how I wished I had decided to walk on an extra 3 miles yesterday (although I’m sure Mick was happy with my decision, as it meant that he didn’t have to drive me anywhere first thing).

The grey, murky wetness did rather mar the day, but I must have been having some fun when one attractive bit of coast distracted me enough that I completely forgot, until a mile too late, about my thoughts of taking a shortcut towards Barry.

Had I taken that shortcut, then the timings wouldn’t have aligned such that Mick, me and a MacDonalds all came to be within 100 yards of each other at the same time. I was more than happy to spend half an hour out of the rain and, over a McMuffin-based second breakfast, take advantage of the wifi.

Heading back out into the rain, I thought I still had 3.5 miles to go to reach Barry Island, but it turns out that there’s a pedestrian walkway further to the east, and I felt no guilt at omitting a bit of my circuit of the island by entering via the walkway and leaving via the more westerly roadway. Perhaps it was the miserableness of the weather, but I found myself entirely underwhelmed by the island, with only my visit to Friar’s Point standing out as having any merit.

Back on the mainland, the depiction of cliffs on the map led me to believe things were going to get a bit lumpier than the last 3 (relatively flat) days, and I wasn’t wrong as I was sent steeply down into clefts before heading equally steeply back up the other sides. The lumpiness was short-lived and by the time I met Mick at Watch House Point, flatness had been resumed, as we made our way to and around West Aberthaw Power Station.

Despite the rain, and the disappointment with Barry Island, it wasn’t a bad day’s walking, with some attractive bits of coast outweighing the street-plodding through Barry.

WCP: Lavernock to West Aberthaw

Friday 13 March (0800-1420)

Distance: 17.9 miles

Number of muddy miles: too many (unusually, I was glad to get onto tarmac more than once today)

Weather: wet

Number of backtracks caused by paths shown on the map now being in the sea: 2 (there’s a reason the WCP went around the houses, but I found that out the hard way)

Number of backtracks caused by losing the path: 1 (it turned out to have been re-routed and I subsequently found it further up the road)

Not just wet from above. The two posts visible in the big puddle in this snap are WCP way-markers.

My experience, gained from all my days spent walking (and that is quite a lot of days), is that it very seldom rains for an entire day. Today was one of those rare days, with not a single dry minute during the whole time I was walking.

That is not what I had expected based on the forecast I saw yesterday morning, which showed a band of rain passing through overnight, before getting stuck over the middle of England for the rest of the day. By this morning that forecast had changed to showing the band of rain stuck over the area of today’s walk. Oh, how I wished I had decided to walk on an extra 3 miles yesterday (although I’m sure Mick was happy with my decision, as it meant that he didn’t have to drive me anywhere first thing).

The grey, murky wetness did rather mar the day, but I must have been having some fun when one attractive bit of coast distracted me enough that I completely forgot, until a mile too late, about my thoughts of taking a shortcut towards Barry.

Had I taken that shortcut, then the timings wouldn’t have aligned such that Mick, me and a MacDonalds all came to be within 100 yards of each other at the same time. I was more than happy to spend half an hour out of the rain and, over a McMuffin-based second breakfast, take advantage of the wifi.

Heading back out into the rain, I thought I still had 3.5 miles to go to reach Barry Island, but it turns out that there’s a pedestrian walkway further to the east, and I felt no guilt at omitting a bit of my circuit of the island by entering via the walkway and leaving via the more westerly roadway. Perhaps it was the miserableness of the weather, but I found myself entirely underwhelmed by the island, with only my visit to Friar’s Point standing out as having any merit.

Back on the mainland, the depiction of cliffs on the map led me to believe things were going to get a bit lumpier than the last 3 (relatively flat) days, and I wasn’t wrong as I was sent steeply down into clefts before heading equally steeply back up the other sides. The lumpiness was short-lived and by the time I met Mick at Watch House Point, flatness had been resumed, as we made our way to and around West Aberthaw Power Station.

Despite the rain, and the disappointment with Barry Island, it wasn’t a bad day’s walking, with some attractive bits of coast outweighing the street-plodding through Barry.

WCP: St Brides Wentlooge to Lavernock

Thursday 12 March (0830-1345)

Distance: 16.7 miles

Weather: Misty, but dry save for about 10 spots of rain

That was a day that did not go as well as I would have liked. A day that caused me to declare that ‘I hate Cardiff’. A day that caused me to spend a good ten minutes whinging as soon as I met up with Mick in Penarth.

The first five miles were all good (even if I did have to negotiate my way around some path-blocking, big-horned, hairy coos), with lovely salt flats and lots of bird life. Then I got to a place where my map told me I needed to turn inland, but the waymarks on the ground were contradictory and I decided to follow a marker.

By the time I concluded that I was most definitely not on the official route anymore, I was loathed to turn back, so praying that I could get out at the other end I ploughed on over less-than-ideal terrain. With three sides of a square walked, I rounded a bend to see very tall, barbed wire topped gates ahead of me. Noooooo! I really didn’t want to backtrack for more than a mile over salt-marsh!

I didn’t backtrack. I didn’t scale the tall gates, or the adjoining fence. Much mud was involved. But, I did get back on track, and I had been far truer to the coast than the official route at this point.

Then I got to this bit of the path:

I’d already passed one bit which was completely blocked by fly-tipping, before I got to this patch of wasteland, which is adjacent to a permanent gypsy site. The path then took me behind that site (being chased by a goose part of the way), where I could have taken many photos of the mess, but I settled for this one:

Ploughing on a little further (incredulous when I passed way marks which confirmed that I wasn’t reading my map wrong; why did the planners pick this as a suitable route?), I saw someone and a dog ahead of me and suddenly felt convinced that person was a mad axe murderer and the dog a killer one. So, I back-tracked, made my way across more wasteland, waited for what felt like a week and a half for a gap in traffic to cross a road and took an alternative route. An industrial estate took me to a housing estate, of the sort where many gardens were adorned with various types of household waste. It certainly wasn’t the best introduction to Cardiff.

Back on the proper route things didn’t get better when, at Atlantic Wharf, I had to walk past two drug-smoking hoodies who looked me up and down in such a way as to cause my unease to rush back. Again, I made for the road and followed it to Cardiff Bay.

At the Bay Cardiff started to redeem itself, although either a lack of waymarks or a lack of concentration on my part saw me wander off towards the wrong side of the bay. I wouldn’t have taken this photo from this location if I’d been heading the right way:

I’m pleased to say that from there nothing more went awry (apart from the discovery, at the end of my day, that my Fitbit battery had expired 5 miles into the day, and that I had forgotten to restart the Garmin Gadget after pausing for elevenses), and just after the Cardiff Bay Barrage I saw a familiar man walking towards me. He duly put up with me venting my whinges about the day, before we proceeded (up, down and along) through Penarth, which gave excellent opportunities to oggle some sizeable, sea-facing houses.

I confess that I was tempted to continue on for a few more miles, as I had finished my day so early, but the legs are reminding me that they’ve become unaccustomed to this level of walking, so I’m being kind to them with an afternoon off.