Channel hopping

Looking down towards the Severn Estuary from Portishead

The hot weather’s coming in from India, my 16-year old daughter informed me earlier this week, interpreting the term ‘Indian Summer’ a little too literally.

Whatever. The source of this week’s delightful spell of autumn sunshine is immaterial, the important thing is it’s here and it’s a great excuse to ignore the housework and other home-based tasks and head for the great outdoors.

Once we’ve decided we’re definitely going hiking, the conversation in our house goes something like this:

Harri: So where do you want to go?

Me:    The seaside.

Harri:  What about doing something local? We could walk from the house.

Me:     I want to go to the seaside.

Harri:  I thought you might like to try this new circular walk I’ve read about.

Me:     I wanna go to the seaside.  I wanna go to the seaside.

Harri:  So you’d prefer to go to the coast?

No prizes, then, for guessing that we’ve walked most of the Welsh coastline within two hours’ drive of our home – and we’ve done lots of it several times.

Keen to keep me happy while venturing to new pastures, Harri put on his thinking cap and after extensive research, i.e. checking out our walking bookshelf, he suggested doing the longer loop of the Gordano Round in North Somerset. 

The route involved a long stretch of coastal walking so I agreed. Unfortunately, there was just one little problem – the walk started in Portishead.

Now, for the past 30 years – and based on the verbal say-so of just one disenchanted former resident – I’ve imagined Portishead to be an ugly and industrial place; somewhere to keep away from at all costs.

I couldn’t have been more wrong and I hereby retract all my previously stated views about it.

Portishead is a lovely place, very reminiscent of Minehead, with the same interesting high street shopping and a magnificent, sweeping esplanade (which we viewed from our higher position on the coast path). 

Like other resorts along this stretch of the Severn Estuary there’s a lot of mud at low tide, but on the whole, it’s a very pleasant coastal town, with a marina, a lake, independent shops, distinctive architecture, and plenty of woodland and green areas.

The stretch of coastline towards Clevedon is much easier on the legs than Amroth–Pendine; it’s also popular with dog walkers so keep glancing down to avoid a close encounter with the squelchy stuff.

During the morning, we got talking to an interesting older man who told us how he’d sold his permanent home in the area some years back to buy a £40,000 camper van, and how, on the night of the purchase, he lay awake in bed wondering, ‘what have I done?’  He’s had a great and varied life since, living in different European countries and enjoying the sort of freedom most people only dream about.

Afterwards, Harri and I pondered the UK’s national obsession with bricks and mortar. The Thatcherite dream of home ownership has blighted millions of lives and condemned many people to mundane (and often badly paid and insecure) jobs for one purpose – to service the massive debt that is their mortgage. Why are we Brits so prepared, so enthusiastic, to sell our lives, our energies, our souls, in return for four walls and a patch of grass?  Anyone selling a camper van?

Staying on the subject of over-priced property and frenetic lifestyles, there was evidence of both in Swiss Valley, a stunningly pretty area near Clevedon, where you take your life in your hands just trying to cross the road.  

Fortunately, crossing the split-level section of M5 motorway in the Gordano Valley was easier, though looking down at six lanes of fast-moving traffic from the high-level footbridge was a teeny bit vertiginous (a good word, that one, and acquired in Madeira where almost every hike is vertiginous). 

Nearing the end of our 15-mile loop, we stopped for a thirst-quenching glass of Aspinal’s cider outside The Black Horse, a drinking hole of the very best kind.

Hiking and cider drinking. Could a more pleasurable way of passing an Indian Summer be known to man or woman?

Conquering coast paths

The seven-mile stretch of sands at Pendine

My brother-in-law, Paul, a keen hiker and passionate about the great outdoors, has always hated coastal walking, preferring instead to head for Wales’ more mountainous regions – the Brecon Beacons, Snowdonia et al.

Not me.  Given the option of an amble over the Black Mountains or a tough trek along the Welsh coastline, I’d opt for the latter everytime.  And yes, you did read that right, because as anyone who has done some serious coast path walking will confirm, there’s nothing tougher on the old legs than all those sea level to cliff top climbs – done over and over again in quick succession.

Anyway, with two proposed trips to the Rhinogs rained off in the past month and last weekend’s plans threatening to go the same way, we decided instead to enjoy the best walking this lush land has to offer in south, rather than north, Wales.

And with the launch of the Wales Coast Path looming ever closer (May 5^th 2012), we thought it would be exciting to visit the Carmarthenshire stretch of this new national trail and find out how much progress had been made in waymarking the route.

No more mud, just nice solid boardwalks

Welsh readers will know that the official Pembrokeshire Coast Path ends at Amroth.  When we completed the 186-mile trial in January 2008, we were enjoying ourselves so much we decided to carry on to Pendine Sands (best known as the location of five land speed records between 1924-7). Unfortunately, almost as soon as we crossed the Pembrokeshire border, the path, no longer official or well-trod, deteriorated dramatically, with the absolute low point, a steep climb through thick, wet, squelchy mud from Marros Sands to the cliff-top above (I hate mud!).

I’m delighted to report that said mud is now a thing of the past and, in its place, there are nice solid boardwalks (I love boardwalks!).  So a big thank you to Carmarthenshire Council for sorting out this stretch of path well ahead of May 2012.

While the Council’s coast path officer may be diligent, there’s little he or she can do about the sheer amount of climbing on this short but spectacular section of path (Amroth to Pendine).  It probably didn’t help that we did an out and back walk, creating a sinking realisation (for me at least) that every knee-aching descent was going to become an even tougher ascent when we turned around and did the whole route in reverse.

It’s worth the effort though. The views from the top of those cliffs are amazing – Worm’s Head in one direction and Caldey Island, Tenby and Saundersfoot, in the other.

An active rain cloud heads in our direction 

It goes without saying that we got rained on, but Carmarthenshire coastal rain isn’t quite as wet or horizontal as Rhinog rain (or so Harri insisted), and there is a nice pub at Amroth (the New Inn) where you can sip your favourite tipple for however long it takes for the rainbow to appear.

Ah, Welsh pubs and the characters who prop up their bars – now that’s a subject for a whole new blog.