Whiteford Sands to Gowerton on Wales Coast Path: Day 10

A day walking around the extensive salt marshes which are, in their own way, as impressive as the long sandy beaches of yesterday.

I woke at 5:30 am, and looked up at the stars from the warmth of my sleeping bag. Although outshone by the bright moon I picked out the "Plough", one of the few constellations I can recognise. Last night it was to the east, this morning it had pivoted to the west. After a couple of energy bars (or maybe they were protein bars) which were hard going on my teeth, I packed up my damp and sandy gear as the sky was beginning to lighten, and found a way out of the dunes down a steep bank, onto the beach and started my day's walk.

First, I had to round the point of the sandy peninsula I was on. The tide was high as I stumbled over pebbles in the half light. Off the point I could see the old, abandoned lighthouse made of cast iron, and in the distance, across the water, the lights of Burry Port. Pembrey Sands, where the Wales Coast Path visits later on, were also visible to the west. Turning to a southward heading on the other side of Whiteford point, I followed the horse trodden path with pine trees on my right. I was expecting to see some sign of the salt marshes that form the north coast of the Gower peninsula, but they were underwater in what must be a particularly high tide. I wondered what had happened to the sheep and horses that normally graze on the short grass of the marsh. The meat of the lambs is said to be very good as a result of their salty diet. This section of low lying track is always wet and muddy, and people and horses had made multiple paths among reeds and small trees to avoid pools of mud and water, only serving to spread their extent. I was glad to reach a section of track, improved by aggregate, where I admired the rising red sun, casting reflections across the water.

Rising sun over salt marsh flooded by the high tide.

Once there was a route across a seawall, but the ancient wall was breached by storms in 2014 and the path has been diverted. Maybe the incursion of seawater accounts for the lines of dead trees standing in the water, although the National Trust has found the accidental development of this new area of salt mash behind the sea wall as a source of a great biodiversity as salt marsh plants have colonised the area, together with birds, dragonflies, otters, crabs and fish. I followed the diversion of the Wales Coast Path up via the café at Cwm Ivy (closed when I passed). A subsequent part of the trail was submerged beneath the tide, forcing me up the signposted alternative, a roundabout route which added a considerable distance. This alternative was itself flooded by the tide in places and I was glad of waterproof boots as I paddled through. Water flowing across the path heading for the sea, indicated the tide ebbing, and I had no further problems today.

The flooded path is actually to the left of the wall, I climbed onto the top!

Horses waiting for the tide to retreat.

Mud sucked at my boots as I walked along the following section of path, at the base of a bluff (the old sea cliffs), through fields of pasture and woods, but the views over the flat expanse of salt marsh was a compensation. At one spot a herd of horses were standing on a grassy patch surrounded by water, no doubt patiently waiting for the tide to recede. With their long, shaggy manes, which swept the ground as they grazed, they had an attractive, if rather rough and dirty, appearance. Maybe they are owned by someone, but they look wild (but not unfriendly) with thick coats for surviving winter outdoors.

After the village of Llanrhidian, the coast path followed a quiet, single track road along the edge of the marshland, which seems a mixture of grass, cropped short by the animals, and clumps of coarser yellowing reeds. Beyond the marsh and the broad estuary of the River Loughor, white buildings at the edge of Llanelli were visible in the distance. At one point there was a "traffic jam", as a flock of sheep seemed to be trying to enter a farm, opposed by a closed gate, while a herd of horses tried to walk along the road through them, and a van (with a dog in the passenger seat) was attempting to approach from the opposite direction.

Crofty was a village at the end of this road section. I took a detour to visit its shop for a Coke and chocolate covered ice cream. As I bit into it, most of the chocolate coating fell off onto the road. A passing man said "What a bugger when that happens". I could only agree. Following the coast path as it skirted around Crofty, I praised a conscientious women clearing up litter that had collected at the edge of the marsh. Then the route was beside the road through the town of Pen-Clawdd, before following a cycle path between the road and marsh. The path was built on the bed of an old railway line that once served coal mines in the area, which surprised me as it is not now an area that I would associate with mines and industry. It was however easy walking before I returned to muddy fields and a quagmire of a track through woodland, where dense brambles prevented any deviation, to reach the town of Gowerton. I reached the station just as a train arrived, as I still had to cross the bridge to the far platform, I thought I would miss it. However, it kindly unlocked the doors so that I could board, and I was soon on my way back home.

Horses on the marsh.

Oxwich Bay to Whiteford Sands on Wales Coast Path: Day 9

Today, beautiful long bays of sand, and some muddy cliff top sections.

The night seemed colder than the three degrees centigrade forecast. A thick coat of frost had covered by backpack when I woke for a call of nature in the early hours. Probably a mistake not to bring my warmer, but bulkier, sleeping bag. My reward for a night camping by the beach was a glorious, uplifting sunrise, the clear sky banded by pink and orange preceding the red orb of the sun rising above the sea, facing the setting moon, as it grew progressively fainter on the other side of the sky. After packing away my bivi and sleeping bag, both damp with condensation I walked along the edge of the sea as it reached high tide, leaving a small strip of sand in front of the dunes. Shells of many varieties were spread out before me among scraps of black washed up seaweed: clams, giant mussels, razorshells, gastropods and molluscs of various sorts. A flock of small, grey and white birds chased the water in and out before rising into the air on my approach. At the car park at the far end of the beach there were signs of life. Two surfboards lay beside a van with its boot up. Glancing inside as I quietly passed I saw a blanket spread out on the load bay, with signs of people moving beneath it. A nearby sign warned that overnight stays were prohibited, but a few people had ignored the instruction. However, they would have been unable to use the toilets as, in addition to a padlocked gate, a large drift of windblown sand prevented entry.

Shells on Oxwich beach

I continued by St Illtyd's church, hidden among the trees, built in the 12th century on the site of a much earlier church. Low trees continued as I climbed up and down a steep hillside, thankful for a few steps in places. Greenery hid a few limestone cliffs. All was verdant with harts tongue and other ferns, ivy and the new green leaves of wild garlic and bluebells. The gnarled, bare branches of the trees were all the more evocative of some mystical landscape than when they are clothed with leaves. After the woods and rounding a headland a section of path crossed fields along a raised beach, an elevated area formed at a time of higher sea level between the rocky shore line and ancient cliffs, now largely clothed in green. Yellow gorse was flowering on the hillside as I approached Port Eynon Bay, the next extensive beach, spread out in front of a village and many static caravans. The receding tide revealed areas in which peat and the remains of ancient trees poked through the sand, a phenomena I have also seen elsewhere on the Gower, it reflects a time when the sea level was lower than today, and trees grew on land now covered by salt water. Despite appearances to the contrary the Smugglers Inn claimed to open, so I pushed through the closed doors, and called out at the kitchen entrance. I was rewarded with a cup of coffee and a Welsh cake for my "elevenses" from a cheery lady, which I enjoyed on a bench looking out to sea.

Coast path around the headland before Port Eynon Bay

Much of the morning was through fields made muddy and rutted by cows, sheep and farm vehicles. Between Port Eynon and Rhosselli, the next village, the Coast Path follows the cliff tops. In some places the trail dropped down into dry valleys (called "slades" hereabouts) that cut into the cliffs, with the inevitable climb back up on the other side. Elsewhere the path moved inland to go around the head of these short features, avoiding a climb but not the mud. There were also several coves with sand exposed by low tides but otherwise rocky. Worms Head are a scenic group of a rocks forming small islands at high tide extending westwards from the end of the Gower peninsula. I stopped by the small coastguard station from where you can walk out to Worms Head at low tide, a sign indicated the times the route was possible. I decided against attempting it today and continued to Rhossili. I had hoped to find a takeaway open but although the car park was full of visitors, everything was closed, so I continued around the church (whose tower with its pitched roof is typical of others in the area) to a grassy area and ate the lunch I had brought with me, looking down on Rhossili bay. Rhossili beach has been voted one of the top ten beaches in Britain, and the expanse of sand is certainly notable for its extent, although I consider Oxwich just as good. Beneath me the remains of a shipwreck poked out of the sands. 

Looking back at Rhossili Bay

Following fields across another raised beach I arrived at the first of a number of caravan parks in the area. I crossed the dunes onto the beach where a number of people were enjoying the sunny Sunday weather: surfers, people with dogs, and families with children. At the far end of the beach, by another island created by the rising tide, the path rose up into the dunes, leading to Blue Pool bay, the next small beach with a famous deep rock pool; as it never looked that blue to me I did not climb down to visit today, although I did admire the natural arch on the other end of the bay. More remote than the nearby beaches only two people were sitting on the rocks today. 

Looking down the peninsula of Whiteford Burrows

I walked down into a second caravan park and onto the wide beach of Broughton Bay, where two horses were exercising. There were noticeably fewer people as the sun was dropping in the sky. At low tide you can walk around the next headland, but today I climbed over it passing a third caravan park. The area's beauty seems to attract many visitors! The path eventually dropped down onto Whiteford Burrows, a long peninsula of beach, sand dunes and pine trees that sticks out northwards at the end of the Gower peninsula. The outward route along the west side of the peninsula is ill defined but there were plenty of tracks among the marram grass in the dunes or you can walk along the beach. I did a little of both. Flocks of black and white birds were floating on the water near the beach, unfortunately I disturbed some of them and they rose to the air as a group, silhouetted by the setting sun. Sunset created bands of gold, then red then purple as the red circle of the sun sank into the sea in the clear but rapidly cooling skies. Before all the light disappeared I picked a sheltered depression in the dunes, close to the end of the peninsula to spread my bivi bag and slightly damp sleeping bag. There were signs around announcing "Danger" and "Perygl" (Welsh for danger), unexploded ordnance was about as the area was once a firing range. Fortunately there was none where I slipped into sleep, as the bright, white moon rose into the starry sky.

Birds at Whiteford Point, an old abandoned, cast iron lighthouse is in the distance and beyond that, on the other side of the water, lies Burry Port

Swansea to Oxwich Bay on Wales Coast Path: Day 8

This sunny Saturday included a long section of promenade beside the beach of Swansea Bay, followed by a succession of coves and beaches surrounded by limestone cliffs.

My plan was to spend the next three days walking around the Gower peninsula camping out in the dunes. Officially recognised as an "Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty", in sunny weather it is difficult to find any superior, seaside scenery.  On leaving Swansea train station I threaded my way through the streets of the city, by the ruins of the 13th century castle, rather lost among the surrounding buildings. Nearby, the Dylan Thomas centre reminded me that the poet once worked in Swansea as a journalist, I was looking forward to visiting Laugharne where he lived, later in my walk on the coast path. Like Cardiff Bay earlier on this long distance trail, the dockland area of Swansea has been extensively redeveloped, although the route avoids the big Tawe Basin marina with its small boats, yachts and National Waterfront Museum, showcasing Wales' Industrial heritage. Instead I followed the trail along the seafront promenade, an extensive beach on my left and a long, bank of modern, white apartments on my right. I followed the promenade and beach for several kilometres to the Mumbles pier. Lots of people were out enjoying the winter sunshine, many on bikes in Lycra, a few on skateboards, and one throwback to an early decade on roller blades. It was all rather crowded with couples and families strolling along, with many yapping dogs enjoying an outing, especially those racing around on the beach. One yellow labrador called "Lucky" approached me for some food, but was disappointed. The winter sun was low in the sky and I was glad of my sun glasses as it glared in my face, silhouetting the people in front of me. As I progressed from the line of apartments to a more parkland setting I was glad to find a takeaway for a morning coffee and a chocolate orange muffin (and a toilet). Nearby the 1930's Guildhall was a striking white building with clean, square lines. The promenade (which was built on the bed of an old railway line) and beach continued passed the restaurants of the suburb of Mumbles, ending at Mumbles pier (which was closed) and a queue for the fish and chip shop. I looked back at Swansea across the bay, although now far away I could still hear the hammer of pile driving at works to secure the harbour entrance.

Promenade by Swansea

Path between Langland and Caswell Bay

After Mumbles Head with its lighthouse a good concrete path took me around a succession of bays: Limeslade Bay, Langland Bay (notable for its line of beach huts) and Caswell Bay being the most significant. Caswell Bay was a childhood favourite with its limestone cliffs to climb on, a small cave and, at low tide, extensive sands. I sat looking at people enjoying the beach while I ate a "Welsh" burger (which the vendor assured me was made with the best Aberdeen Angus beef). The tide was out allowing me to take the route across the sands around a small headland. Other bays followed, rocky and pebbly as the path wound around, no longer paved but not as muddy today as when I last walked this way, when I slipped, gaining a muddy bottom. At Southgate I stopped for can of lemonade, thirsty with the unseasonal heat. The forecast was three to ten degrees centigrade and I dressed accordingly, but it felt much warmer in the sun (and was colder at night). Previously I had overnighted at a Bed & Breakfast in Southgate, but today I continued across Three Cliffs Bay. I now feel this is the most beautiful beach on the Gower, enclosed as it is by cliffs and sand dunes, not immediately accessible by road it has a secret air. A river runs through the middle and there are stepping stones, but today my arrival coincided with high tide when they are covered, so I took the alternative inland route by the artistic ruins of Pennard Castle, which overlooks the valley. After crossing the river I briefly joined the road, stopping at the shop for another lemonade. A muddy track led me down the other side of the river back to Three Cliffs Bay, where I studied the fast moving water for signs of the submerged stepping stones. There were still plenty of people about, some lads around a fire, a mother with teenage children and earlier, people heading home with surfboards under their arms. Along the coast today there were numerous surfers. I mistook the first group for a bob of seals in their black wetsuits. There seemed to be much waiting for a big wave and not much surfing.

Three Cliffs Bay

Dusk was falling as I continued, now alone on the trail, towards Oxwich, and by the time I reached the dunes of Oxwich Bay, the remains of the sunset was a deep red. As a footbridge was down, I followed the diverted coast path up through trees, listening to the evening bird song, to a point higher up the river. I was not too convinced I had the right route, and the twilight did not reveal much about my surroundings, however, bridges appeared at the right moments below a low mist rising a few feet above the reeds. I successfully reached the beach, surprising a couple in the darkness walking the other way. A full moon was now rising in the clear sky above the sea as I found a place to camp in my bivi bag. Sadly, I dropped the sandwiches I had bought for my tea. I did my best to remove the sand that stuck to them but enough remained to give me an unpleasantly gritty meal. Urgh! Hope it does not give me a stomach upset.

A barely visible bridge I crossed in the last light of the day.

Porthcawl to Swansea on Wales Coast Path: Day 7

A day close to urban and industrial centres including the steam and flames of the Tata steelworks.

At 6:15 am I drifted into consciousness, pleasantly surprised that I was warm despite the air temperatures being close to zero degrees centigrade, some puddles being frozen on higher ground. Admittedly I had three layers of clothing on, including a down jacket, in addition to my winter sleeping bag. Another surprise was that the bottom of my sleeping bag was wet on the outside. Having checked I had not camped on a wet patch and that my water bottle had not leaked I concluded that it was condensation. This was the first time I had slept in a bivi bag, and various sources had warned that condensation could be an issue. There was none at the top of my sleeping bag possibly because I kept the top of the bag open to see patches of stars between the clouds. In fact the fresh breeze pushed the top of the bivi bag over my head so I saw little of the night sky but it did mean I was well protected from the cold wind (an advantage of having my feet pointing upwind).

By 7:00 am, having eaten two flapjacks and brushed my teeth, I was on my way just as the dawn was painting patches of orange on the clouds. Crossing the last of the dunes by the transient lakes formed by the winter rain I reached the end of the Kenfig reserve. A sign told me I was briefly on the haul road used to transport stone for Port Talbot's harbour, now a sand coated track. I climbed a large dune in front of me, from the tire marks it was used by scrambling bikes, it was also the wrong route, the coast path ran along the east side of the hill, leading me into a wooded area with reed covered wetlands and fields. Clouds of steam sporadically spewed out of the Tata steel works ahead of me, catching the warm glow of the rising sun. Last night the clouds above the plant periodically turned red as gas was burnt off from some industrial process. The woodland path exited onto railway sidings where I crossed a number of tracks. On reaching the last of these I saw a train in the far distance, I stepped back, fortunate as the train, travelling at high speed, passed me a few moments later. This was the main line from Swansea to Cardiff and beyond. On the other side of the crossing point there were many bouquets of plastic flowers (and one gnome), no doubt commemorating someone who died at this crossing.

Kenfig Burrows in early morning light

Tata Steel Works

A little later, after the BOC works, I reached a large roundabout above the M4 motorway. Here the Wales Coast Path has two alternatives, I could either choose the lowland, blue route, which goes through urban streets, or climb up to the ridge behind Port Talbot on the upland, red route. The latter seemed the more interesting path to me, but it began with a steep climb up wooded hillside to a ruined chapel which I admired while wondering why it was built here. More uphill followed. My reward for my exertions was an excellent view from the ridge top of the Port Talbot steel works laid out beneath me. In my youth we drove by this industrial area to reach the beaches of the Gower peninsula. This was before the motorway was built and a busy railway crossing meant the journey through town was always very slow. Sulphurous fumes used to fill the air making the wait in a queue of traffic most unpleasant. With greater concern for pollution, the smells have long since gone and the air today was sweet as in any other town.

World War Two radar installation.

On my ridge walk there were remains of World War Two structures, including a building that was once a radar station to detect enemy aircraft flying up the Bristol channel. As late as 2020, an unexploded bomb from the conflict was found in the steel works. The path dropped down from the ridge by some houses where I grievously upset the owner of Brombil farm. As the coast path sign was pointing up his driveway I followed it despite the "Private Property" sign. I clearly annoyed the owner who told me the path was a little after his drive and questioned my ability to read. I said sorry and headed off passed the "No Loitering, No Filming, No Camping" etc. signs. My impression was that the farmer might have had a few issues with ramblers. The path continued around the ("Private Property") hillside, eventually reaching houses and a valley, followed by another section of wooded hillside. This ended in more houses where the trail went under a length of motorway built on concrete stilts. A sign, which had possibly been twisted, led me on a small diversion off the coast path but I soon regained it at a roundabout by a large Tesco supermarket. Feeling it was time for a coffee, I diverted into the Aberafan shopping centre for a cup and a cheese toastie.

At this point I could have continued on the Blue route. It follows the promenade beside the long stretch of Aberavon beach ending in the sands of Baglan Burrows. Despite the nearby industry it is an attractive sea side route, but as I had walked it before I decided to see what the upland Red route to Briton Ferry could offer. A strenuous climb up lengthy flights of crude steps was the answer. I passed a man coming down who said he was climbing them four times for "training". I was struggling to mange it once, needing frequent stops which I justified by taking photographs back down into the lines of houses below the wooded slopes. Once at the top the inevitable descent began eventually leading to a suburban area before more woodland walking. A sign was missing a little before a dog kennels and I added a few hundred metres to my day before I realised and retraced my steps.

Climb out of Port Talbot on lengthy flights of steps

Canal towards Swansea

I crossed the wide River Neath high in the air on a road bridge and a prolonged section of walking beside a busy road followed, before the coast path led me to the quieter delights of an abandoned canal. Although the sound of vehicles and trains could still be heard I was surrounded by trees, reeds and lengths of weed filled water on this last length of muddy trail into the outskirts of Swansea. The city has seen much new building in recent years, new apartments and modern offices lined my way, and new tower blocks were in the throws of being constructed. Old docks were being beautified and industrial buildings removed or boutiqified as trendy restaurants and shops. However I had little time to browse as I had a train to catch, which I boarded with just minutes to spare, before it whisked me in a matter of minutes over the distance I had spent the last two days walking.

Llantwit Major to Porthcawl on Wales Coast Path: Day 6

 A day with two types of scenery, first the coast path followed the top of the crumbling cliffs, rising and falling into little valleys, later it crossed sand dunes around the seaside town of Porthcawl.

After returning to the stony beach at Llantwit Major, I climbed steps out of the narrow valley, admiring the cliffs on the other side. The path then faithfully followed the edge of the cliffs, close to my left. As they looked pretty unstable, with a few large cracks and landslips, I took care to keep away from their vertical drop. They are made of the Blue Lias, a distinctive rock formation of Jurassic age, composed of alternating layers of grey limestone and shale, the limestone bands around 20 centimetres thick and standing slightly proud, the shale layers a little thinner, slightly darker and more easily eroded. On the foreshore the limestone formed wave cut platforms, like pavements, the smooth grey rock cut by regular joints or cracks. Periodically the path dropped down into a steep sided valley, flanked by slopes covered with low trees and bushes, bare of leaves at this time of year, a few yellow gorse flowers relieving the drab winter colours. I always seem to walk this section in winter, the paths muddy and slippery, the sky overcast, although not without beauty as the sun sent shafts of light through gaps in the clouds. Today I was joined on the trail by dog walkers and elderly couples, all wrapped up against the cold wind.

Interest was added by a number of sites including a few pillboxes from the Second World War designed to defend Britain from invasion. St Donat's Castle was an older fortification, its crenelated battlements now home to Atlantic College where students from around the world study for their International Baccalaureate. Its buildings extend down to a stony beach, I looked in at an opening in the wall, but all was deserted. Dunraven Castle further down the coast is now in ruins, many of the remains are of a Victorian age when there was a romantic interest in Mediaeval structures, but its foundations were much older.

A lighthouse, brilliant white as if in a paint advert, breaks the skyline near the valley at Marcross, an older smaller lighthouse squats nearby. I remembered this section from walks with my parents as a young child, climbing the lighthouse on occasions it was open was particularly exciting, although nowadays, with GPS and ship borne radar, I wonder whether the lighthouse and the huge foghorn nearby has any utility. At the carpark beyond I was blessed with a building selling coffee and Welsh cakes (for the uninitiated the dough, speckled with currents is made into flat, round shapes and cooked on a gridle). Later, after the town of Ogmore I tried a "chimney" cake, which was new to me. A cylindrical tube was made by wrapping a coil of dough around a wooden form, which was then rotated as it cooked above a heating element, the lad at the stall selling them outside the closed "Pelican in its Piety" pub showed me how I could see it being cooked by looking at a specially positioned mirror above. More of a sweetened bread than a cake I had mine wrapped in chocolate powder (which made it a bit too sweet).

Looking back at the cliffs of Blue Lias on what is known as the Glamorgan Heritage Coast.

Marcross Lighthouse and its older, squat colleague to the left

At Ogmore the Coast Path misses the town (which seems to lack any centre), running through a car park set in a grass covered area cropped by sheep, above the beach distinguished by outcrops of grey Carboniferous limestone. A line of fishermen where casting off from rocks nearby. In their old age, my parents used to come to this car park, and sit watching the sea or reading their library books with sandwiches, a flask of coffee and maybe a hard boiled egg each with some salt and pepper in a twist of aluminium foil. After Ogmore the trail heads inland in order to cross the River Ogmore at a footbridge upstream. I have read that at low tide you can wade across the river close to its mouth, maybe near the sign saying "Danger - No Swimming", but I have never attempted it. A little way upriver are the ruins of Ogmore Castle, beside which are stepping stones for crossing. Today they were under the fast flowing water making the white footbridge further inland, a metal suspension bridge, the only option. All of the paths were muddy today (as they are most of the winter) and the field before the bridge was particularly water soaked and squidgy.

After crossing the River Ogmore and walking by the thatched cottages of the Merthyr Mawr village, I reached the sand dunes of the same name. Hidden among the trees by the entrance car park are the remains of Candelston Castle, a 14th century fortified manor house. After walking through the dunes and following the River Ogmore downstream to its estuary I reached the long beach stretching two or three kilometres towards the town of Porthcawl. Mainly sand with a band of pebbles separating the beach from the sand dunes behind, there was plenty of wood and flotsam washed up. Some kids huddled together at one end of the beach while dog were exercised on the sands. Blue-grey clouds covered most of the sky but the unseen setting sun sent shafts of warm light down to the sea's horizon and coloured sporadic patches of cloud an orange-brown.

Shafts of light from the setting sun beyond the sand dunes on the coast path.

Lights from the holiday camp at Treco Bay, Portcawl, although the no-one seemed to be there.

As I circumnavigated a holiday park of trailers, their windows dark, and wandered through the town of Porthcawl, the twilight turned to a moonless night. Although I had brought some healthy food (tuna and couscous) for tea, I was tempted by the fish and chip shops. After resisting the attractions of the first three I succumbed at the fourth and enjoyed a generous helping of battered cod and chips in the dark of a shelter provided for visitors, out of the wind by the beach, my head torch proving essential. I then continued on the  coast path, sharing the pavement with people out running and dog walkers. Beyond the old Miner's Rest Home, now turned into blocks of luxury apartments, the route follows a boardwalk between the beach and a golf course. A sign stated that the path was closed. Diversions are reported on the Wales Coast Path website, but although I checked I had not spotted this one, maybe it was new. While the notice described a diversion, I did not recognise the street names and it referred to "informal" paths, but gave no clue as to where they went. A map would have been really useful. Sometimes these notices are put up due to maintenance works. At this time of night no-one would be working and if some of the boardwalk was in pieces, I reasoned I could easily divert onto the beach (the tide was out). So having checked there were no river crossings on the route (where a footbridge might be out of action), I walked around the barrier and headed quickly down the path before anyone saw me, my head torch lighting the way. There was no sign of any maintenance activity, and the boardwalk was easy to follow. I have often found that diversion signs are posted for periods well beyond when any maintenance or tree felling works are in progress, I guess it makes it easier for the bureaucrats, who are not accountable for the difficulties they cause, if they were walkers they would surely have posted a map.

After the boardwalk section things were made difficult as I entered the sand dunes of Kenfig burrows, as areas of water reflected what little light came from the sky, appearing as steely grey, mirrored planes of irregular shape among the matt grey-black of the surrounding area. No lakes or ponds were marked on my map, and as the track disappeared into the water I realised they were regions of low lying ground flooded by recent rains. I worked my way around them on the raised area behind the beach but it was hard work in the dark. Time to stop for the night. 

I picked a sheltered spot to camp up in a dune among the tussocky grass on apparently flat ground (although during the night I tended to move down the slight slope). During the long days of the Covid 19 lockdown I had bought a bivi bag on-line for no special purpose. I thought it might be useful should I need to camp in an emergency (although I would also need to carry a sleeping bag), or maybe I was just bored. So tonight I decided to try it out. It meant leaving my back pack and boots outside, which I was not entirely happy with. I put them in black plastic rubbish bags to protect them from any rain. Getting my boots off and trousers down, before climbing into my sleeping bag, all without stepping on the damp sand required a good deal of agility, but in time I was cosily tucked into my sleeping bag within my bivi bag, writing up my day by the light of my head torch.

Barry to Llantwit Major on Wales Coast Path: Day 5

A day above the cliffs of the Jurassic Lias formation on the Glamorgan Heritage Coast.

Leaving Barry railway station I walked through a park with a large area of sand on my left in Watch House Bay exposed by the low tide, so low that the keel of a boat moored to the breakwater opposite was siting out of the water. Cold Knap is a suburb of Barry with more expensive houses. The Coast Path took me around Cold Knap lake which is set among grass lawns crossed by tarmac paths. Swans preened themselves while mallards swam around aimlessly. I deviated from my route, following the brook which feeds the lake with its miniature ornamental weirs, to reach a coffee shop. There was a promenade behind the beach of hard, well rounded pebbles that I briefly joined before climbing up to the area of grass on top of the cliff. On the climb I passed the ruins of a Roman building, just foundations surrounded by modern housing, which made it look like a building that was started and then abandoned. Possibly a public building in Roman times it would have had a good view across the channel.

Lake at Cold Knap

The path followed the top of the cliffs for much of today, dropping into and climbing out of valleys, their sides lined with low trees, bent over by the wind and bare of leaves at this time of year. Stairs helped in places. Porthkerry park was in the first valley, which had an impressive railway viaduct crossing it. 

Recent rain had created many puddles, pools of water and plenty of mud on the path. Anticipating the slippery mud I had brought a trekking pole to help maintain my balance. Extensive slide mark's in the mud of the path left by other walkers' boots showed the difficulties they had experienced. In places the path was across open areas of grass but in others where it was constrained between hedges, fences or by large fields of root crops, the accumulated footfall had created something of a quagmire. One of the problems of walking the coast path in Wales's mild but wet winter. 

A distinctive rock formation known as the Lias formed the cliffs today. Of lower Jurassic age bands of hard grey limestone, about six inches thick alternate with darker clay rich bands. From the cliff top I looked down on the "pavements" of limestone on the beach, cut by numerous and regular joints. On one such area, long ago when I was a child, my family played a game of cricket, but my grandpa was not terribly good at hitting the ball. A number of quarries had been cut in the cliffs, all now abandoned and returning to nature. Gulls cried overhead and crows cawed from the hedgerows. Waves had been undercutting the cliffs which did not look terribly stable. The path went through a few caravan sites, where permanent trailers sat on the cliff tops with superb views over the Bristol channel. Decorations were up inside many of them and I imagine families would be gathering in these holiday homes for Christmas. 

The Lias, alternating bands of hard limestone and softer, shalier rock.

Stony beach, typical of today, with the Lias cliffs and Aberthaw power station in the distance.

The longest section at the level of the stony beach started along the concrete sea wall by Aberthaw power station. This coal fired power station closed in the last year or so, when I walked by here a few years ago there were piles of coal and evidence of activity, now there was none, the railway line which formerly brought the coal now orange with rust. I commiserated at the sadness of its passing with a fellow walker who had worked on the site for 40 years. On the other side of the channel a nuclear power station is being built at Hinckley point, I am not entirely sure that is progress. Proposals for a barrage across the channel which would use the huge tidal range of the sea in this area to generate power seemed to have stalled, the use of such a reliable, sustainable source of power would have avoided issues such as radioactive waste.

After the Aberthaw power station the waymarks indicated that the coast path had changed its route. Previously the route headed inland a little, now it lies directly behind the beach initially following a line of concrete blocks that were part of the defences in the second world war. There were also a few brick block houses sunk into the ground where once soldiers waited nervous or bored for German incursions up the channel.

Eventually the town of Llantwit Major appeared inland above the fields. I followed the coast path down into the Col-huw valley. There is a café by the stony beach, beside the car park, but today it was closed so I turned up the valley. The meandering river had created a classic flat flood plain of wet muddy fields, between steep, wooded, valley sides. Walking up the valley I reached the ancient town of Llantwit Major. Its many pubs were closed due to Covid-19 restrictions, so after picking up a coffee and baguette I repaired to the railway station for my trip back home.

Col-huw beach

Cardiff to Barry on Wales Coast Path: Day 4

Three landscapes today; attractive developments of old dockland areas; cliffs, stones, and sand along the sea shore, and walking on pavement beside busy roads.

Whereas, the previous day's walk went through some of the less attractive parts of Cardiff, industrial estates and wasteland, this morning I walked through areas that had been redeveloped. In the past the areas around the docks had been rough and industrial, my grandfather was a policemen in the area and received an award for breaking up a fight in one of the bars. Now, there are modern flats, trendy restaurants and restored old buildings. From Queen Street railway station I walked down to where a short length of old canal, topped by water lilies, meandered through modern, and no doubt expensive, houses and flats. This lead to an old dock, where a fisherman had set up his tent by a no fishing sign (due to dangerous blue green algae), a cormorant patiently waited on concrete pillar nearby . County Hall, the modern administrative offices for the area, was at the end of the dock. From there I crossed the road to the Wales Millennium Centre, where plays, pantomime, opera and musicals were performed in what now seem distant times before the Coronavirus pandemic. The metal covered frontage has the words in English "In these stones horizons sing", much of the building is faced with Welsh waste slate, slate being one of Wales' major products in the past (and still available today). Curiously the Welsh words on the frontage say something entirely different, in English they read "Truth is as clear as glass forged in the flames of inspiration", thoughtful if not always true.

Old docks with modern flats.

Sculpture beside Cardiff Bay

Beyond the Millennium Centre is Cardiff Bay, once an estuary surrounded by world class docks, exporting coal around the world, it reached its peak around 1900, making Cardiff a major city. Now a barrage has made it a tide free area of leisure (it has is own circular walk, the Cardiff bay trail, if you care to follow it). Looking onto the bay is the Sennedd, the Welsh Parliament where assembly members control areas such as health and infrastructure. Glass fronted to indicate transparency, I peered in, little seems to happen inside. Next sight was the Norwegian church, many Norwegian sailors visited Cardiff in the past (along with many other nationalities), now (or at least in pre-Covid times) the church is an art centre and café. Beyond, I crossed the barrage itself, a sort of large dam or breakwater with a path and road (closed to public motor vehicles) on top, the smooth waters of the bay on one side and the tide out in the Bristol Channel on the other. Given the amount of water flowing from the former to the latter it is surprising there is no hydroelectric plant capturing the energy being lost in the water falling from the weir gates. A sign on the barrage alerted me to the existence of a "Wales Coast Path" App, available for download from the usual places. I downloaded it once I was home. It shows on a satellite map where the path goes and gives other useful information, including the location of a surprising number of shipwrecks, but I struggled to use it for any useful navigation, with its snail like update speeds.

After the barrage I climbed the road up the hill into the older backstreets of Penarth, leaving the modern marinas and apartments behind, then descended towards the Penarth shoreline. On the descent I diverted into a little park called the Kymin. Penarth, which flourished with tourists in Victorian times, has a stony beach (where once I collected alabaster and fossils), some cafés, a lifeboat station, benches on the seafront promenade, and a pier. In its heyday the pier had big shows with pop stars and the like, today it has a café and in better times hosts art displays. Sadly, although the pier was open, its café and gallery was closed due to the usual excuse, Covid 19. Other cafés were managing, although I had to use an App on my phone to order coffee and cake, then discovered I had only bought one of the cheaper cakes, not the one I was drooling over (probably better for me though)! Continuing uphill, I followed the Wales Coast path above the cliffs to Lavernock, at first by road, then on a tarmac path in a grass area in front of expensive houses, sharing the path with older folks and their dogs, and finally along a path between bushes. Lavernock was where the first radio signals transmitted over sea were received by Mr Marconi from Flat holm, an island in the channel. Today there is a caravan site, where I countered three signs saying "NO TENTS", so if you have a tent, you are NOT WELCOME. There are a number of caravan sites in this section of coast, mainly with permanent or static caravans or trailers, providing a holiday or holiday home for those living inland in South Wales. At one time there was a car park and a kiosk selling drinks where I listened to the World Cup final of 1966, but maybe the cliffs have eroded away since then, as now there is no sign of it.

Penarth beach and pier

Looking back at Lavernock point

From Lavernock the path took me through a nature reserve. Among the bushes and rough ground there were the concrete remains of World War Two defences against enemy aircraft and shipping coming up the channel. At Sully, in front of the Captain's wife (a pub serving food), is an island, reachable at low tide. A display told me how much time I had to cross to the island before high tide prevented my return. Deciding against a visit today, I continued along the pebbly coast until the Wales Coast path turned inland passing a field of black sheep. For the next few kilometres I walked beside roads full of traffic. There was a pavement, and periodic Wales Coast Path waymarks, but the road was busy and the walk tedious. Tall, distillation towers of a chemical works reminded me of the heavy industry that once characterised South Wales, but now the coal mines, most of the oil refineries, tin plate works and the like have gone, and the various steel works are just hanging on in the face of cheaper Chinese imports. Much of Barry's industrial past is now gone. Modern flats line the old docks and where once steam engines shunted loads, before being abandoned to enthusiasts, a housing estate is now being built. I stopped at a trendy looking expresso bar, a converted pump house, for some lunch. As a sign required of me I scanned a QR code with my phone, but was unable to order anything. It appears that was just for the "track and trace" system, designed so that I could be contacted if there was an outbreak of coronavirus in the café. I was told I would have to scan a second QR code to actually order something. One QR code can be justified, two was just poor service, so I left to cross the causeway to Barry Island. It is not really an island but it is so different to the rest of Barry that it deserves a separate name, for this is where my family used to go to sit on a Saturday on the sandy beach in deck chairs with my Grandma, a canvas wind shield protecting the adults while us children dug holes in the sand, or, if the family finances allowed, we would visit the fair ground for a ride on the "big dipper". Although Barry Island lost visitors to package holidays in Spain in the years since I was young, since it was made famous by "Gavin and Stacy", a TV Sitcom, and with an upgrade to the promenade, it has seen a resurgence in popularity. Today though, there were few visitors. As I crossed the causeway, the drizzle started. No rain had been forecast so initially I tried to ignore it. A mistake as drizzle turned to a shower turned to steady rain and my trousers were soon wet. I hid in a café for a while, less demanding of QR codes and Apps than the previous one, but it was still raining when I finished, so I continued on a circumnavigation of the island as indicated by the map and occasional waymarks. I deviated slightly from the Wales Coast Path to walk across Jackson Bay, a small quiet beach, a better route which included a stretch walking beside the limestone as its beds dipped into the sea. If you look at the cliffs at Jackson bay, and on the far side of the main beach, you can see where the horizontal, reddish Triassic rocks lie unconformably on the grey, dipping Carboniferous limestone. After the promenade, with its brightly painted beach huts and the small climbing wall, I walked around the final headland and retraced my steps across the causeway to Barry Railway station and a ride home to some dry clothes.