Time for some bench marking

Benches without views are commonplace

We’ve been rather grounded the past week or two while Harri juggles the day job and completes the writing of his Wales Coast Path guide (Amroth to Swansea section).

It’s particularly tough being indoors now that spring has finally arrived. Yesterday, the lure of an hour outside in the sunshine compelled me to clean all my downstairs windows. As for the rotary line… well, let’s just say I’m enjoying getting re-acquainted with my enviably skinny friend.

All this sitting around inside and staring at a computer screen has got me thinking about seats, or more specifically, about benches.

Anyone brave enough to sit here?

Benches have a special importance for walkers, particularly in verdant Wales where our bottoms tend to get rather soggy if we plonk ourselves down on the ground. We bought a small picnic blanket a few years ago (half price in Past Times) but forget to stuff it in our rucksacks more often than not.

Which is why, on damp, overcast days, we approach a distant bench as excitedly as Nicholas Crane cycled towards remote chai houses on the Tibetan plateau (he writes about his epic journey with his cousin, Dick, in the hugely entertaining ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’).

I remember walking the South West Coast Path a few years back.  Faced with a particularly steep section which took us from sea level to towering cliffs in one seemingly endless climb, we brightened considerably when we spotted a distant bench. Halfway up, our spirits plummeted again as a couple appeared from nowhere and claimed it for themselves.

A prime location on the Wales Coast Path (Pendine)

Such is the impact that a well-positioned bench has on a walker’s emotional well-being. 

With the humble bench elevated to an almost symbolic level, it would be natural to assume that special care and attention was given to its positioning. A lengthy comparison between one site or another, perhaps? Informal consultation with the local community? Better still, a quick chat with the local Ramblers group? You’d think so, wouldn’t you? The evidence suggests otherwise.

Probably not the safest picnic spot!

As our hiking experience has shown, benches appear in the most surprising of places with service provision (the service here being seating) ranging from overkill to sparse or non-existent.

You'll be spoilt for a seat at Llandudno's Great Orme

Like buses, they have a tendency to arrive in clusters. For miles there’s not so much as a stone on which to perch one’s derriére, then suddenly there’s seating everywhere.

The choice of location is equally mystifying. One would expect a bench to be placed close to something visually interesting – a gorgeous view, historic landmark, parkland or riverside – and yet we often stumble upon benches in the most unprepossessing of landscapes.

Another peculiarity of benches is their apparent ability to encourage natural growth. Walk along any footpath or trail and you’ll find that the vegetation inexplicably becomes thicker in the vicinity of a bench, often blocking any view entirely.  Stroll a few metres from the bench in either direction and the view magically re-appears. There’s no logical explanation for this widespread phenomenon (except perhaps hikers hurling unwanted liquids into the bushes).

At Llanrhidian, on the Gower peninsula, we were left wondering if there’d once been a nasty accident involving a public seat. The sole village bench is sited at the top of a grassy slope next to the church.

It’s a nice spot, but local officials were clearly concerned that ramblers who stopped to idle away a few minutes in this pretty village were an accident waiting to happen. Rather than risk a tragedy - someone rolling downhill like a giant cheese - they have thoughtfully installed a sturdy three-sided barrier in front of the bench.

Benches, eh?  You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.

WARNING: the most dangerous bench in Wales

So, if anyone reading this ever assumes responsibility for the positioning of a bench, I beg you to consider the following before taking any action.

Relax in the scented surroundings of... a car park

      First and foremost, please consider the location. No-one likes eating their sandwiches in a car park next to a row of recycling bins.

      

      Be sensible about quantity. While ten benches in close succession might make the installation process easier, it’s not terribly helpful for people who are walking a ten-mile stretch of coastline if all available seating is in the first half mile.

  

      Call me a romantic but a view is essential. When people sit down they usually like to look at something pretty, preferably at a distance. MOD land and busy car parks do NOT fall into this category.

.     Finally, do remember that it’s not only benches that need maintaining but the area around them. No point in keeping a bench in pristine condition if the surrounding land is so overgrown no-one can reach it. 

More on benches soon. In the mean time, where’s that picnic blanket?

Ferryside, where there's not just one bench awaiting you but four

When is a national trail not a National Trail?

The Pembrokeshire Coast Path - one of Wales's three National Trails

The Ramblers is urging everyone who enjoys hiking to sign a petition to save England’s thirteen National Trails.

The walkers’ organisation is afraid Government plans to radically alter the way National Trails are managed will lead to historic trails like the Pennine Way and Hadrian’s Wall Path becoming ‘little more than overgrown mud-tracks’.

One of Wales's very own 'mud tracks'

National Trails in England and Wales are currently maintained by two national bodies: Natural England and the Countryside Council for Wales.

The Government wants to hand over management of National Trails in England to what they call Local Trail Partnerships. In other words, they want individual local councils to form ‘partnerships’ with other interested bodies which will then assume responsibility for the management and maintenance of National Trails.

The Ramblers is quite rightly concerned that already overstretched councils will struggle to maintain hundreds of miles of footpaths and trails.

At the moment, the proposals only affect England and there are no similar plans in Wales; however, you don’t need a crystal ball to speculate about what’s likely to happen to our National Trails if the Government gets its way because this haphazard ‘local’ management style is already being applied to the Wales Coast Path.

Confusingly, the much-lauded 870-mile continual trail around Wales is not currently a National Trail despite its high-profile launch and national branding. Take a look at the website and you’ll see listed 22 ‘path partners’ (all of whom are involved in some aspect of the path’s establishment, maintenance and promotion). No less than 16 of these partners are local authorities, each of which has its own (constantly changing) political agenda and increasing budgetary demands. No marks then for guessing that in the current economic climate many councillors will not view the maintenance of footpaths as a high priority (or vote winner).

A muddy stretch of the Wales Coast Path
above Laugharne

Partnership is one of the buzz words in the public sector. A former senior manager of mine once used the immortal words ‘if you’re doing it alone, you’re doing it wrong’. He has been (anonymously) quoted in many a high-level strategy ever since.

The trouble with partnerships is they need managing… and administering… and promoting. Meetings have to be organised, minutes and agendas distributed far and wide. Local government (in Wales at least) already ‘facilitates’ (another word much favoured by council officers) various partnerships, e.g. the Community Safety Partnership, the Health, Social Care and Well-being Partnership, and the Children and Young People’s Partnership.  There are probably others but I’ve been out of local government for over a year now so I no longer need to keep track.

I just don’t think local government needs any more partnerships! Moreover, different local authority areas have diverse priorities and some do not prioritise footpaths.

How many cows trekked the
Wales Coast Path  before us?

A few years ago, Harri and I walked the Pembrokeshire Coast Path – one of Wales’s three National Trails – over several weekends, starting at St Dogmael’s in July and finishing at Amroth the following January. 

As we crossed the Pembrokeshire–Carmarthenshire border, the previously well-maintained and well-surfaced coast path immediately degenerated into a mud-bath.

The sad truth is that despite all the publicity, the boasts of ‘year-round activities’ and ‘family fun’, Wales’s newest tourist attraction is almost unwalkable in places. The churned-up ground along some sections, e.g. the stretch above Marros Sands, suggests the passage of a herd of tap-dancing cows; hundreds of metres are passable only in the sturdiest of hiking boots.

Carmarthenshire’s disregard for its footpaths, even the scenic cliff-top trails comprising the Wales Coast Path, strengthens the argument for continued management of National Trails by a national body.

And, being realistic, local councils can’t be responsible for everything. Most already struggle to maintain the smaller, lesser-used footpaths and will often choose to close a footpath completely (or divert it along a busy road!) rather than invest in its maintenance.

Boardwalks - a 'site' for sore eyes
 (and wet feet)

Newport Council promotes 10 Countryside Walks and, as we’ve walked them all, I speak from experience when I say that most of them have sections which are impassable due to ‘invisible’ footpaths, brambles, inaccessible stiles, etc. I’d like to think someone actually walked them before producing the leaflets but I’m not so sure. Last summer, Harri contacted Newport council about an overgrown footpath and was told that it was impassable because no-one used it. Er, we were trying to use it!

It’s the same story with the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal. The towpath from Malpas Road to Fourteen Locks is in an abysmal state; at the steepest point, it’s so muddy and slippery I’m surprised no-one has fallen into one of the locks. Carry on past the Visitor Centre towards Risca and into a new local authority area (Caerphilly) and suddenly the surface is flat and even and a delight to walk/run/cycle along.

I’m really proud that this little nation of three million people is the first in the world to have a continual path around its coastline. It’s pretty impressive, eh?

If Cameron’s Government pushes ahead with its proposals for National Trails, it’s possible that these magnificent historic walkways will gradually deteriorate to the standard of the path above Marros Sands or the ‘invisible’ paths promoted by Newport Council.

If you believe that National Trails are worth saving, please sign the Ramblers’ petition today and urge this Government to rethink its crazy proposals.

And just in case you were wondering, the other two National Trails in Wales are Offa’s Dyke Path (shared with England) and Glyndŵr’s Way.

National Trails deserve national and
not fragmented management

Day 4 - No 'bird' watching here - Kidwelly to Gowerton

The Millennium Coast Path - could that be the sea in the distance?

After an early start (we left Newport at around 7.20am), we found ourselves back at Kidwelly railway station having caught an over-priced train from Gowerton (how we single journey travellers are penalised!). In the morning haze, the previously bleak station was transformed into the perfect starting point for a long day’s walking.

On the fourth day of ‘our’ stretch, Harri and I were planning to cover 23 miles – far more than any one day’s hiking in the finished book but necessary if we were to complete our walking this week.

By now, I didn’t think any decision by Carmarthenshire council could surprise me. Later I was to discover how wrong I could be!

The day started promisingly enough at Kidwelly Quay where groups of bird watchers were already enjoying the glorious views across the estuary.  The official path followed Wales’ oldest canal - Kymer’s Canal - for about a mile before heading inland and alongside the railway. After crossing the track, we were forced onto a busy main road for several hundred metres and then finally joined Route 4 of the National Cycle Network.

By now I should be waxing lyrically about the sea views, but unfortunately, as per the norm, the Bristol Channel was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were the usual fields filled with cows, and as we know by now, where there are cows, there are cow pats; this time they were deposited liberally along the concrete surface, ready to splatter unsuspecting cyclists.

You'll encounter more
 than just cyclists on Route 4

Eventually, Route 4 took us away from cows and across swathes of unoccupied MOD land, until finally we entered Pembrey Forest where there were no views of anything but trees (thankfully, deciduous) for several miles. We walked briskly through the woodland, aware that the sea was less than a kilometre away but unable to glimpse even a wave.

Fortunately, our tedious walk through woodland was interrupted by a rather exciting phone call. A senior editor  at the AA wanted to offer Harri some route-checking work in the Cotswolds later this month. This good news certainly put a bounce into our step and we emerged from Pembrey Forest feeling very upbeat.

We mused about why the official coast path route had diverted us behind Cefn Sidan beach, undeniably one of Wales’ most beautiful stretches of coastline. The beach, which is bordered by Pembrey Country Park, is popular with families and sunseekers, but bizarrely, these eight miles of golden sand seemed to be ‘off limits’ to coast path walkers.

We pondered why Carmarthenshire council had once again steered people as far from the coastline as possible, then Harri recalled reading that Cefn Sidan is a popular, though unofficial, naturist beach. We decided the long detour around the beach must be the council’s way of ensuring hikers aren’t distracted by a little unexpected ‘bird’ watching.

Whatever, we soon joined the 21km Millennium Coast Path which runs from Pembrey to Bynea Gateway on the other side of Llanelli.

At last, after many miles of inland walking, we had rejoined the Welsh coast and, in the early September sunshine, this stretch of the Wales Coast Path proved to be absolutely delightful if not a bit hazardous (there are a LOT of cyclists whizzing past).

Harri enjoying the sun at Burry Port

Neither of us had been to Burry Port before but we were instantly bowled over by this busy little seaside town, with its pretty harbour and colourful houses.

The next few miles brought back (painful) memories of my first half marathon in March this year, though the permanent markers are in kilometres (it was marked in miles on the day). It could have been psychosomatic but somewhere between Burry Port and Llanelli my feet started aching very badly. 

That’s the trouble with these long tarmac stretches – you can cover a lot of miles very quickly but they play havoc with the old soles of we old souls (okay, that's me). 

We limped into Gowerton in the early evening and, forsaking a drink in the pub, drove straight to our home for the next five days – a Travelodge room. At £123 for four nights, Travelodge delivers no frills but the rooms are clean and functional – and the receptionists are always extremely  helpful and friendly. 

After a 23-mile day, that’s really all that matters.

Day 3 Wet everything (Carmarthen-Kidwelly)

Leaving Carmarthen on a dull, wet summer's day

It was clear from the moment we parked in Carmarthen that the weather was not going to be kind to us.

First, which boots to wear? Both pairs were damp, uninviting and distinctively whiffy so I opted for the slightly larger size to allow my fast-disintegrating feet some extra toe room. Only 13 miles today, a stroll in the park compared to yesterday’s 18+ miles.

Harri had warned me in advance that the walk out of Carmarthen might be a bit ‘boring’ – nothing new there then. Actually, for once boring was good because it meant we walked quickly in the rain and had several miles under our belts before an official coast path sign sadistically directed us into a field.

If anyone's listening, I don't mind walking along roads...

On the whole, there was less mud around today but at the edge of one field, several feet of thick, brown, gunge lay between me and the stile. Harri tiptoed across, getting very muddy in the process, but every time I put my foot down, it sunk deeper and deeper into the mud.

At this point, I tend to do my ‘I’ve had enough of this’ speech, accompanied by a little stomping and some reminiscing about ‘perfect’ places for hiking, like Madeira, Portugal, Spain... anywhere that's not wet and muddy. I then peruse said field’s perimeter to see if there’s another way to cross (climbing an oak and dropping from its highest branch, wading through a waist-high river, cutting through barbed wire with my cheese knife) but, unfortunately, on this occasion, there was no obvious alternative.

Now Harri isn’t an overly-romantic man but even he can see when a small amount of chivalry might be a good idea. ‘Stand back’ I heard him shouting, before he proceeded to lift several large stones and hurl them into the mud. A few sank into the brown abyss without trace but two of the larger ones stuck firm and, choosing my route carefully, I was able to wobble my way precariously to the stile. Oh, the joys of coast path walking!

I was excited about reaching Ferryside. A few months ago, my writer friend Marilyn and I went house hunting (for her) in Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire and, out of curiosity, we visited Ferryside to look at a dilapidated terraced house in Horton View, up for auction with a price guide of between £15-20,000. The house ultimately sold for £42,000 and I was curious to see what, if any, progress had been made on its redevelopment.

I had no trouble finding the house, but was sad to find it in the same sorry state as months earlier (hopefully its new owner will bring it back into use in the near future).

Finally, we're back on the blustery, grey coast

We hadn’t passed any suitable seating for hours, but we were spoilt for choice in Ferryside, where four empty benches graced the windy, grey estuary and provided great views of Llansteffan.  All these estuary circulars were getting us down a bit; in Cornwall, ferries still run between Falmouth and St Mawes, Padstow and Roche, cutting down on miles of dreary, unnecessary walking. Hopefully, one day, when the Wales Coast Path is bringing in thousands of foreign tourists, it might become financially viable to resurrect Carmarthenshire’s ferries; until then, there’s no choice but to trek upstream until you reach a bridge.

The Swansea train leaving Ferryside

The route from Ferryside to Kidwelly was unnotable; more paths without views, more trekking through fields and woodland. Fewer cows, slightly less mud.

We entered Kidwelly on the cycle path, but, with the weather noticeably windier than on previous days, there were no cyclists to dodge.

Cold, wet and shivering, the 45-minute wait at the deserted Kidwelly station and the over-inflated single ticket price to Carmarthen (£4.20) did nothing to lift our spirits.

The next section takes us to Burry Port and beyond. It simply has to get better. . .

Day 2 Wet feet (St Clears-Carmarthen)

Come on Carmarthenshire, what about some boardwalks?

It’s official – Carmarthenshire is the muddiest, boggiest county in Wales. And the council officials who have spent years devising the Wales Coast Path are so proud of their fertile, green and wet land that they want to share every last squelchy inch of it with visiting hikers.

This isn't what it said on the packet!

After yesterday’s dismal final miles, we desperately needed decent scenery to lift our spirits this morning. Shod in clean boots (yesterday’s were just too sodden to put on again), we walked out of St Clears on a tarmac cycle path. So far so good...

Four long hours later, we sat down for elevensies at 2.30pm. For almost four hours, we’d ploughed through some of the muddiest fields I’ve ever experienced, watched by hundreds of mildy interested cows as we daintily side-stepped thousands of soft, fresh cow pats (maybe a tiny exaggeration but you get my drift). Some fields were virtually impassable but pass through them we did – Harri has to stick to the official route for his book though he is allowed to recommend ‘alternative’ routes on occasion. On the evidence of the first two days’ walking, my recommendation would be to bypass Carmarthenshire’s ‘coast’ and head from Pembrokeshire straight to the spectacular Gower.

Walking the Wales Mud Bath 

Unfortunately, as author and photographer of one of the official guides, we were honour-bound to walk every single inch, which is how we found ourselves meandering around the heavily cow-populated fields of Carmarthenshire on a convoluted inland detour which provided few glimpses of the estuary waters below.

The highlight of the morning was the ruined St Michael’s Church, tucked away in an eery, wooded glade (the reasoning behind the long detour inland perhaps?). The sight of medieval pilgrim graves with their stone vaults curving around long buried bodies was strangely unsettling.

Medieval graves at St Michael's Church

Finally, after a miserable morning’s walking during which we fantasized considerably about future commissions in hot, dry climates, where coastal paths meandered along stunning coastlines rather than between cow pats, we were rewarded with a glimpse of Laugharne across the estuary.

All those hours spent traipsing through fields and we were pretty much back where we started, albeit with a narrow stretch of water between us and the picturesque Laugharne. Years ago, the two communities were linked by a regular ferry but nowadays, unless you fancy taking your chances and swimming across, there’s no alternative but to walk up the estuary and back down the other side.

There must be a strategy behind this intriguingly
placed section of board walk

The views improved considerably shortly after we passed a National Trust car park and we ate lunch on a bench high above the estuary, looking down at the MOD land we’d been unable to access the previous afternoon.

Llansteffan is a pretty little village, with a wide, sandy beach but nothing much other than a busy tearoom to recommend it. The sun had come out, however, so, in contrast to the morning’s solitude, we were suddenly surrounded by lots of people strolling around.

We didn’t linger – we had 18 miles to cover and progress through the fields had been slow – and were soon climbing up a steep sunken lane out of the village.

I’d persuaded Harri that the only way I’d ever learn to map-read was if he occasionally relinquished his hold on his OS map and let me take charge of directing us. He (sort of) agreed, which was how I found myself gazing up at electricity pylons (in OS language ‘electricity transmission lines’), counting field boundaries and getting unusually excited about a ford.

The afternoon’s walk was a marked improvement on the morning section – clearly defined paths, lots of lane walking – however, for a much-publicised national coast path it would have been nice if we'd been able to enjoy some coastal views.

The final haul into Carmarthen was endless, taking us through steep, narrow lanes, a very saturated woodland, along a busy main road and finally, through school playing fields and a tarmac path into town centre.

This kind of hiking isn’t the stuff that memories are made of – if I wanted to wade through mud and cow pats, along slippery woodland paths and tarmac cycle paths, I could do it much closer to home.

Wales is the first country in the world to open a continual coastal path; the launch, in May this year, was accompanied by much fanfare and, as such, expectations are high.

It’s true the weather has been abominable this summer, turning normally passable paths into mudbaths, but I have other issues with the chosen route.

At the outset, I’d expected clearly defined, walkable paths, amazing coastal views, yomps across beaches and cliff-tops, sunsets on a distant horizon, picturesque seaside villages and colourful fishing boats bobbing in a harbour.

Harri walking the Wales Cowstal Path 

As I took off my boots at the end of Day 2, my abiding memories will be of cows, cows and more cows. Oh, and did I mention cow pats? And slugs?

Day 1 – Setting off (Amroth-St Clears)

The Wales Coast Path was launched in May 2012 -
Harri is  writing the official guide for the stretch from Amroth to Swansea

At the beginning of every hike, I have ridiculously high expectations. Forget the sodden marshlands of last month’s expedition, the endless clambering uphill and the relentless, sheeting rain of yesterday, the next journey promises to be different.

Time and time again, I set myself up for disappointment and that’s how it was with our first three days on the Amroth-Swansea section of the Wales Coast Path.

What made my optimism even less understandable this time around was that I’ve previously walked two out of the three stretches we planned to cover today. Buried deep in the dredges of my mind there were undoubtedly memories of the tough, undulating coastline between Amroth and Pendine, the interminable detour inland around MOD land and the endless wet fields. Whatever, my brain chose not to resurrect bad memories from previous walks and instead I experienced afresh the delights of squelching up the hill from Marros Sands (the boardwalks are a welcome addition but we need many more of them!) and trudging along the roadside path from Pendine.

This being our first day, we were late setting off. Sixteen miles isn’t a daunting distance but the difficult terrain of the five mile stretch to Amroth took us roughly three hours, slow-going by any standards.

There’s no denying the initial climbs are tough – and this being a coast path, the route regularly sends you plummeting back to sea level only to be faced with another soaring cliff – but the hard work is worth it for the views. I didn’t realise at the time, but the vistas across the waves to Caldey Island were the only proper sea views we would have in our three days’ walking.

Last autumn, Harri and I walked from Laugharne to Pendine and back in one day. It’s a tedious stretch of ‘coast’ path, namely because after reaching Pendine seafront, the walker is directed inland almost immediately to avoid the vast swathes of coastline acquired by the MOD during the Second World War. Harri is currently investigating an alternative weekend route along Pendine Sands when the weapons testing range isn’t being used so beach walking should be possible for those who prefer their coast paths to be coastal.

After what felt like a never-ending trek across tarmac, the Wales Coast Path meanders through a succession of fields running parallel to the main road. In some, the path is fenced off and the ground relatively dry underfoot; in too many, however, the path is ill-defined, wet and boggy – just the sort of hiking I love!

The views from Sir John's Hill are well worth the effort

At last, we reached Sir John’s Hill and entered Laugharne via Dylan Thomas’ ‘Birthday Walk’. Now Laugharne is a place that is definitely worth visiting, albeit a bit on the touristy side. The presence of Carmarthenshire’s favourite son is evident everywhere, from the sculpture overlooking the estuary to Brown’s Hotel, Dylan’s writing shed to his former home, the Boat House. It’s a pretty spot to while away a few hours, but unfortunately, we were running late and so it was a quick glance through the shed window and ever onwards (and at that point, very definitely upwards).

The atmospheric interior of Dylan Thomas's
writing shed

The final stretch of today’s walk was virgin territory for both of us and so mildly, no make that madly, exciting. It all started so promisingly – we trotted out of Laugharne along a wooded path high above the water, tiring a little but nonetheless keen to sample the delights of Carmarthenshire’s undiscovered coastline.

As our moods plummeted, the slug count soared. This county must surely be the slug capital of Wales; they were everywhere, thousands of them clinging to the saturated vegetation. I tried to avoid standing on them, but they were so numerous, I soon gave up. And bog run organisers, take note – I thought the Brecon Beacons were wet but they are nothing compared to the sodden, squelching fields of Carmarthenshire.

Carmarthenshire's exploding 

slug population is the only thing to look at for miles

Having worked in the public sector for many years, I understand the concept of committees, camels and horses, specifically how there is a reverse exponential relationship between the number of people around the table and the quality of the decisions made.

Assuming that premise, there were surely hundreds involved in determining the official coast path route for the Laugharne-St Clears section of the Wales Coast Path. In short, it’s terrible: there are no estuary views worth noting, in fact, there is nothing interesting to look at; the path is frequently indistinct, in many places no more than a line cut through the vegetation; there are slugs, slugs and more slugs no doubt relishing the bogginess of the ground.

At the end of a gruelling day there was only one thing left to do – toss my stinking socks into the bin and head to the nearest off-licence.