Our changing landscape

The Atlantic Ocean... beautiful but lethal

Last Christmas, Elinor bought the DVD of zoologist Nigel Marven’s hilarious ‘Walking with Dinosaurs: The Giant Claw & Land of Giants’ as an extra present for Amber, 8, and Imogen, 6. 

In these films, Nigel time travels back to a time when dinosaurs roamed the earth and interacts with them (okay, you do need to suspend your disbelief ever so slightly). It’s real, laugh out loud entertainment and the dinosaur encounters look very realistic. There’s one memorable scene when a giant herbivorous dinosaur sneezes all over Nigel and there are frequent near-death encounters with smaller species who view him as a timely snack.

Harri and I loved it; the children… not the slightest bit impressed.

Maybe it’s because I know I’ll never experience the thrill of time travel firsthand that I’m riveted by the BBC’s computer-generated glimpses into prehistory (Walking with Cavemen is another favourite). What fascinates me most is how the earth's landscape and climate have changed dramatically over millions of years and continues to change right in front of our eyes.

 Europe's oldest skeleton was found in Goat's Hole Cave

The BBC website’s In Pictures section currently features a fascinating article about Britain’s Lost Villages. Photographer Neil A White’s project documents the massive coastal erosion along the North East of England. A previously inland village, Skipsea, is gradually getting closer to the sea, its coastal road all but collapsed, and the fate of a static caravan site increasingly uncertain.

Skipsea’s current-day residents have to live with the knowledge that nearby cliffs are eroding at an annual rate of nearly two metres. It's scary stuff and they are not alone. Coastal erosion is also taking place in other parts of the UK.

A house in Torquay, bought at auction in 2010 without a structural survey, is now teetering so close to the cliff that it’s uninhabitable. Only last summer, a 20-metre stretch of the South West Coast Path collapsed at Burton Bradstock, tragically killing a young woman who was walking on the beach below.

In the series A History of Ancient Britain (screened on BBC2 in 2011), archaeologist Neil Oliver was shown the ‘Red Lady of Paviland’, a skeleton discovered on the Gower peninsula in 1823 and now believed to be the oldest human remains in Europe.

The Upper Paleolithic era human skeleton, so-named because it was dyed in red ochre and was originally believed to be female, was found during an archaeological dig at Goat’s Hole Cave, between Port Eynon and Rhossili.  

The Bristol Channel has replaced a tundra plain

The skeleton is unusually complete and is indisputably  Homo sapiens. Yet despite the location of his bones, this young mammoth hunter, who lived over 30,000 years ago, was not a coastal dweller. As Britain descended into the last Ice Age we were still connected to Europe; the sea level was 80 metres lower than today and the cave where he was buried would have been located on the edge of a large tundra plain stretching south towards Exmoor.

Scientists now believe that dinosaurs disappeared off the earth over 66 million years ago, a timescale which makes 30,000 years seem relatively recent. Yet, during that period, our landscape has changed dramatically. 

And as Neil A White’s photographs demonstrate so graphically, the sea has continued to claim the land surreptitiously, with just the occasional dramatic event. 

The Wales Coast Path officially opened in 2012 and yet already one section between Port Eynon and Oxwich is so badly eroded that a diversion is in place. 

The ever-changing nature of the Gower coastline

If you ignore the cost to human lives, the ever-evolving coastal landscape is actually rather exciting. 

One of my favourite exhibits at the National Museum of Wales, Cardiff was always the counter which graphically illustrated how continental drift was widening the gap between Europe and the US at the rate of one inch a year (I don't know if it's still there). The gradual movement of tectonic plates is imperceptible; over a human lifetime, the Atlantic Ocean will have widened  no more than the length of a dining room table but no-one will notice it happening. But over millions of years…as I said, it's exciting stuff. 

The Gower peninsula we know today didn't exist until the last Ice Age ended about 12,000 years ago and sea levels rose rapidly. And the landscape is still changing, most noticeably on its north coast.

At least from the Roman period, the three-mile wide Loughor Estuary was an important access point for boats. Penclawdd was a thriving port and the numerous pills that run between the mud flats were easily navigable.

Unfortunately for the village, the estuary’s main channel naturally fluctuated and, in the late 19^th century, a wall intended to confine it to the north side of the estuary had the unwanted effect of accelerating the silting up of the estuary on the Penclawdd side. Now, rather than facing the open sea, the village looks out over salt marshes and mud flats, at the wild ponies grazing on them. 

We’ve grown accustomed to witnessing constant changes to our built landscape; new housing estates springing up everywhere (one last year in Rhiwderin), constant road-building, office refurbishments and demolition (this week, the long-overdue tearing down of my former workplace, County Hall, Croesyceiliog).  

Natural disasters aside, the natural landscape undergoes a more subtle transformation, with gradual processes like erosion going unnoticed during a human lifespan. 

The changes are happening though, day by day, year by year, whether we realise it or not. 

And 30,000 years from now, the Gower peninsula - indeed, the whole of the Welsh coastline - will be dramatically changed from the current-day landscape.

Visiting Gower... again and again...

Whiteford Point's unusual cast-iron lighthouse can only be reached at low tide

Our first-ever mini break as a couple was a two-day hike from Rhossili, Gower to Mumbles, with an overnight stay at Oxwich. It therefore seems fitting that, six years later, Harri and I have just completed his third walking guidebook on this beautiful Welsh peninsula.

This latest book was by far the quickest to complete in walking terms. Top Ten Walks: Carmarthen Bay and Gower Peninsula was an absolute pleasure to research and easy to walk (the longest walk is just six and a half miles).

Picturesque Pwlldu Bay on the south Gower coast

The scenery on what Harri describes as ‘a small but priceless gem’ is stunning and astonishingly varied. In the introduction to his first Gower book (awaiting publication by Northern Eye Books), he expands, ‘Here are hidden coves and glorious sandy beaches, high cliffs and windswept downs, dunes, marshland, wooded valleys and picturesque villages. Almost every path on Gower opens up a new and rewarding perspective, a different aspect of the peninsula’s varied landscape.'

And he's absolutely right. In the twenty-first century, Gower remains astonishingly unspoilt, in large due to the long-time commitment and determination of the Gower Society, whose mission statement proclaims (or perhaps warns) it's ‘Guarding Gower for all its worth’.

The registered charity was founded way back in 1947. I won’t list all its aims here, just what I consider the most relevant ones:

• to encourage an appreciation and love of Gower
• to preserve its character and antiquities, and to oppose any threat to its amenities.

Harri, deep in thought on Rhossili Downs

No-one could dispute the Society's success in preserving Gower's natural landscape, despite what they claim was an unfair portrayal of members as 'the bad guys' in the 2012 BBC 2 mini series, Gower.

True, there has been substantial house building in villages like Llangennith, but on the whole the peninsula remains as wild and unspoilt as it was back in the 1940s, which is quite amazing when you consider its appeal and proximity to Wales’ third largest city, Swansea.

The Gower Society gets full marks for preserving what makes this little peninsula (the winding roads are deceiving – Gower is barely more than 15 miles (24 km) long and seven miles (11km) wide) so special - its incredible natural beauty. 

On that first weekend back in 2007, Harri and I booked into a small bed and breakfast in Oxwich, where the dour-faced proprietor was clearly a graduate from the Basil Fawlty School of Customer Service (either that or she disapproved of our obvious age difference). Despite its popularity, Oxwich, with its population of under 200, boasts just one eaterie, the Oxwich Bay Hotel.  When we showed up, on a Saturday night in June, without a prior booking, it was bursting at the seams. Seeing the dismay on our faces (surely our rumbling tummies weren't that loud?), a kind-hearted staff member (presumably a protégée of Sybil rather than Basil) said we could eat at a table in reception if we didn't mind. We assured him we didn't!

Since that first weekend, we’ve returned to the Gower many times. One memorable place we stayed was The Slope, in Middleton. This tiny space was originally built as a summer dwelling for the owners to move into during the summer when they let their neighbouring (and much larger) home out to holiday-makers. A local tenant farmer, Jack Gibbs, built The Slope in the early 1900s using cliff limestone, handmade bricks and some beach-combed timber. Sadly, he died in World War 1.

The Slope - small but perfectly formed

The building was converted into self-catering accommodation by the present owners in 1994 and the result is delightful. The ground floor combines a kitchen and diningroom and there's a shower/toilet cubicle concealed in an under-stairs cupboards. Upstairs, the open plan bedroom, with its television and comfy chairs, doubles as a sitting room. The Slope is small but perfectly formed; we stayed for four nights and would happily have moved in permanently. 

On another trip we stayed at Greenbank Cottage, Reynoldston, a B & B where the friendly owners have come up with the most brilliant and practical of ideas. Being hikers themselves, they understand how frustrating it is to have an early start thwarted by a slow-to-arrive cooked breakfast. Their solution? To provide a basketful of warm rolls and croissants outside your private French doors at an agreed time. And in case you get the 'nibbles' in the night, there is an assortment of biscuits and other snacks provided (there's a table and chairs and also a very useful fridge). 

Their simple idea means guests can set off as early as they wish (with some nice fresh rolls for lunch!). Other B & B owners, please take note.

There's something quite magical about a beach at low tide

Of course, not all our overnight stays have been so idyllically located. Soaring fuel costs have forced us to look for cheaper accommodation, like the Swansea Travelodge just off the M4 (there's no breakfast but the rooms are clean and spacious and the reception staff are always wonderfully friendly and helpful (more input from Sybil Fawlty perhaps?).

So with Harri’s third Gower book done and dusted, we no longer have our bona fide, i.e. work-related, reason to wander alongside wild ponies grazing peacefully on the salt marsh and mudflats of the north Gower coast or to get wet feet walking to Whiteford Point at low tide. 

There's no pressing need to climb the long, high ridge of Cefn Bryn, struggle against the wind to reach the 193-metre summit of Rhossili Down or to photograph Gower’s amazing views.

There are no longer any work-related reasons to visit Gower, just spiritual ones. 

A friendly local on Harding's Down

Top Ten Walks: Carmarthen Bay and Gower Peninsula by Harri Roberts will be published by Northern Eye Books later this year.

                                                                                       

What's in a name?

Hiking in mid Wales beats cooking Sunday lunch

I was lying in bed a few nights ago thinking about this blog (as you do) and it occurred to me that some readers might consider its name rather sexist. As ‘The Walker’s Wife’ was I perhaps suggesting that Harri was the pro-active doer and I was the little wife who follows, quite literally, in his footsteps.

It’s absolutely untrue, of course, our relationship is based on equality and shared respect, but in the middle of the night it seemed imperative that I explain the origin of the blog's name. So here goes...

I’ve always been passionate about walking, although in my younger days my wanderings were limited by a lack of transport (my parents didn’t own a car until I’d left home and I didn’t learn to drive myself until my late twenties) and the inability to read a map. Nonetheless, walk I did, as often and as far as possible.

Those early walks weren't anything like the scenic hikes I now enjoy with Harri. For a start, I usually had a reluctant walking companion in tow - a friend, boyfriend, my younger sister... I once even persuaded my then 60-year-old dad that a brisk afternoon walk around Grwyne Fawr reservoir in the Black Mountains was exactly what he needed. To explain, I'd treated myself to my first proper hiking boots and I was desperate to try them out in proper hiking country. 

The majestic Black Mountains

Recently retired, Dad  reluctantly agreed to join me on a strenuous, high speed hike on a scorching summer afternoon. Strenuous because my spur-of-the-moment expedition involved a meandering climb to the summit of Waun Fach (811 metres), high speed because my part-time job at Tesco (in Newport) required that I be sitting at a till in my uniform at five o'clock. My poor dad stoically tried to keep pace with me, a knotted white cotton handkerchief on his head as he struggled uphill and down, never quite sure where we were heading. 

That afternoon was probably the closest I've come to killing one of my walking companions... although, now I come to think of it, there was the freezing cold Boxing Day when my (lack of) navigational skills resulted in an ex and I combing the snowy slopes of Coity Mountain as we searched in vain for the Lamb and Fox (we later learned it's located on the Blorenge, on the other side of the valley). So you see, despite my great and enduring passion for the great outdoors, I didn't really have a clue when it came to preparing for hiking jaunts, planning routes or reading maps. As for using a compass... well, the less said about that... 

In my late thirties, I joined Gwent Mountaineering, a long-established club for mountaineers, climbers and walkers in South East Wales, where I met some very nice like-minded people, like the Abergavenny-based writer and publisher Chris Barber. 

Harri on top of a summit ... somewhere (I just take the pics)

There was just one problem - our weekly meeting places tended to be hard-to-find car parks in remote mountain areas, frequently a two-hour drive from my home, e.g. the Radnor Forest. With three children to drop off en route, Sunday mornings became just as hectic and stressful as working days. I lived in fear of arriving at the designated car park and finding everyone else had set off ten minutes early. 

The Ramblers met closer to home, and I enjoyed quite a few walks with our local group before a particularly opinionated (male) member told me outright that, as a mother, I should be home cooking Sunday lunch rather than enjoying a ramble. His forthright views (though extreme and misogynistic) rather put a dampener on things. 

Unfortunately, my career and family commitments meant I did very little hiking for several years and then, in 2006, Harri walked into my life (well, to be precise, into my office). We became friends and soon discovered we shared a love of the outdoors, hiking in particular. He texted me one day to ask if I'd like to accompany him on a 'yomp' that Sunday.

The absolutely stunning Whiteford Sands, north Gower

Little did I know it at the time, but that first walk over the Blorenge, would mark the beginning of a whole new life for me - as an outdoor writer's other half. 

Harri started writing for the Walking World website and soon secured a commission to write a book of day walks on his much-loved Gower peninsula. 

Other commissions quickly followed and I found myself spending more and more time accompanying Harri on his hikes. I prepared our packed lunches and was put in charge of photography. 

How cute - who could eat them?

I enjoyed being involved in Harri's new career, but one aspect of things bugged me. The remit of a guidebook author is to explain accurately and succinctly how to navigate a particular route. Guidebooks demand a lot of mapping and photographs and there simply isn't room to wax lyrically about pretty little coastal villages, how we freed a sheep from a barbed wire fence or the hilarious incident that happened in the local pub.

Yet so many interesting things did happen while we were out walking and these often amusing incidents added hugely to our enjoyment. I mused out loud that I'd like to write about walking too; not in an instructional way but linking our walking experiences with my own thoughts and ideas.

As I'd anticipated, Harri was 100% supportive of the idea and, since day one, he's been my blog's biggest fan. 

He will always be the one who pores over maps for hours on end and knows his north-west from his north-east. Me? I get enthused by newborn lambs, piglets and an unexpected field of daffodils in the Brecon Beacons.

And so The Walker's Wife was born. Not because I'm anti-feminist or subservient, but because like other outdoor writers, I yearn to share my love of wild places with others. 

... the irony, of course, is we're not actually married.

It's good to strike up a conversation with the locals

Day 7 - Beach Bypass - Rhossili to Three Cliffs Bay

Romance is alive and kicking at Three Cliffs Bay

I knew I’d be complaining about bus fares before long.  Today, our bus driver’s embarrassment was all too apparent. A single fare from The Gower Inn, Parkmill to Rhossili was £4.30 each, he told us, so why not pay the extra 20p for unlimited travel all day? £4.50 per person and we could travel from Swansea to Rhossili all day long if we so wished.

Unfortunately, coast path hiking is a strictly one-way business and a single bus journey is all that is required; we had no choice but to count out the disgraceful £8.60 fare.

Still, not every business is as money-grabbing as First Cymru; the assistant manager at The Gower Inn very kindly allowed us to park at the rear of their car park free of charge. Nice pub, good value food, friendly staff.

More Swiss Alps than Wales Coast Path?

It was still a bit hazy when we arrived at Rhossili but there was a certain amount of excitement in the air. A lone dolphin had been spotted close to the beach and was attracting a lot of attention from visitors. Yesterday, we’d spotted a small, dead porpoise (at least we think it was a porpoise) on the beach so presumably dolphins are regular visitors to these waters.

Thankfully, Rhossili has remained relatively uncommercialised. The hotel, few cafes and shops are generally unobtrusive and, unlike Land’s End in Cornwall, the Welsh headland is blissfully free of highly-priced ‘attractions’. 

I presume this is because Rhossili is owned by the National Trust rather than a private owner who can sell it to whoever he chooses at whim. Long may this state of affairs continue.

It was just as busy this morning as yesterday afternoon but once we’d passed the coastguard hut opposite Worm’s Head the crowds disappeared and we pretty much had the coast to ourselves for the next few hours.

The coast is far more rugged from Rhossili onwards, with high cliffs and lots of rocky inlets, which sometimes involve a steep descent followed by an even steeper ascent (okay, I know that’s unlikely, but the uphills always feel tougher to me).

Culver Hole is well worth a detour

Harri climbed down to Culver Hole sea cave but my footwear – well-worn Brasher sandals – wasn’t really ideal for rock climbing so I was content to wait at the top. Culver Hole is owned and maintained by the National Trust and featured on BBC’s Coast programme a couple of years ago. It’s well worth seeing if your footwear is up to the vertiginous and difficult climb down.

The big beaches on today’s itinerary were the iconic Oxwich and Port Eynon, beaches I’ve visited many times with my children and walked on previous Gower expeditions.

Why wasn't I surprised that the official Wales Coast Path directs walkers around the back of both. So mind-boggling are the constant detours around some of Wales’ best beaches, that I’ve just checked the Countryside Council for Wales website to see what criteria were used to determine the official path.

The website states that the path is ‘as near to the coast as legally and physically practicable, whilst fully taking into account the needs of health and safety, land management and conservation’.

I'm still none the wiser. I understand the need for conservation, but presumably a beach that attracts thousands of holidaymakers, local people and dog walkers every week isn't going to be adversely affected by a small cohort of Wales Coast Path hikers. One thing Harri and I can vouch for, is that with a few notable exceptions (Snowdon, St David's, Cader Idris, Pen y Fan), Wales really isn't in danger of being overrun with hikers any day soon. 

However... Harri is writing the official guide so the official path we followed, even if it mean missing almost the whole length of Oxwich beach in favour of the burrows behind (which are very pleasant but have no sea views). An exciting new addition to the landscape is a smashing little footbridge across the pill between Oxwich and Nicholston Burrows - there's even a sea view at this point though not for long. Soon we were heading inland, on a steep, sandy path running between trees.

A welcome addition to Gower's gorgeous coastline

And here I must raise the question of accessibility. I know, of course I do, that a coast path can never be completely accessible. People with mobility problems, those in wheelchairs, families with pushchairs - I'm sure they understand that, even with the best will in the world, there will be natural landscapes which remain inaccessible to them.  

What I cannot accept is an official footpath that’s almost completely inaccessible to everyone – and I include the super-fit Harri Roberts. 

In the midst of Nicholston Woods, there were several instances where we were literally scrambling up sand dunes with overgrown vegetation, including brambles, attacking us from either side. At one sandy ‘crossroads’ there was no signposting at all and we had no idea which path to take. This lack of signage could, of course, be down to sabotage as we had earlier spotted several official signs with graffiti scribbled on them. Still, it was extremely frustrating, especially as there wasn't a beach or wave anywhere to be seen to lift our flagging spirits.


We had planned to walk to Pennard today but hobbling across Three Cliffs Day, we decided to call it a day and head inland instead, past the spectacular ruins of Pennard Castle. 

Scrambling through the burrows
behind Oxwich

We were descending through more woods into Parkmill at around 7.15pm, when a couple approached us and asked us how long it would take to walk to the beach.  Given the distance, the terrain and the fast-disappearing daylight, we were incredulous. It was clear these two weren't hikers - not feet-aching, armpit-smelling, stomach-rumbling, cider-longing hikers, definitely not official Wales Coast Path hikers like Harri and me.

Day 5 - The Gower 'proper' - Gowerton to Llanridian

A 'beached' boat makes an interesting landmark

It’s hard to believe nearly two years have passed since Harri and I completed his book of circular walks on the Gower peninsula (soon to be published by Northern Eye Books). 

Like most people from south east Wales, I’d always felt I knew the Gower peninsula quite well. Once I’d passed my driving test (first time on my 27^th birthday with a very freckly-faced examiner), it was easy to pack the girls in the car and head for Rhossili, Port Eynon and Oxwich beaches. Years later, when Dad was living in West Cross, we discovered Pennard and lunched at The Gower Inn regularly.

Beautiful landscapes abound on Gower

Walking Gower with Harri has been an entirely different experience. We did most of our walking in the winter when tourists are few and far between, the roads quiet and the vast beaches practically empty. Harri introduced me to less ‘touristy’ places, like the spine of Gower - Cefn Bryn (more on that in a future blog) – and small inland communities, like Reynoldston, where sheep graze on the village green and cows mill around road signs.

In the introduction to his book, Harri describes the Gower as ‘a small but priceless gem’, adding ‘the peninsula is ... a place of stunning and astonishingly varied natural beauty. Here are hidden coves and glorious sandy beaches, high cliffs and windswept downs, dunes, marshland, wooded valleys and picturesque villages. Almost every path on Gower opens up a new and rewarding perspective, a different aspect of the peninsula’s varied landscape’.

Wow, I couldn’t have put it better myself. It’s true, every word. Gower is absolutely an absolutely stunning part of the world; unfortunately, the high house prices reflect this.

Entertaining local 'residents' in the front garden

These stepping stones are a recent - and very welcome - arrival

Our fifth day’s walking took us along the northern shores of the peninsula, past Penclawdd, Llanmorlais and Crofty.

Until the end of the 19^th century, Penclawdd was a thriving sea port but, according to Wikipedia, a 'training' wall built around that time with the intention of confining the fluctuating channel of the River Loughor had the effect of accelerating the silting up of the Penclawdd. 

The modern landscape is compelling if not exactly the stuff of picture postcards; at low tide, the empty mudflats with their deep-sided pills stretch almost as far as the eye can see to Whitford lighthouse and the open sea beyond. Wild horses graze here, inexplicably venturing out into the middle of the estuary at low tide. The few boats that remain tethered along this stretch of coast, relics of more prosperous times, have long since been abandoned to the relentless onslaught of mud.

If you’ve ever enjoyed cockles at Barry Island or Trecco Bay you’ll probably have been eating cockles from Penclawdd. We watched as a convoy of four-wheel drive vehicles and quad bikes edged carefully across the tidal mudflats to reap the day’s harvest before the fast-approaching sea forced them back to the shore. Until the seventies women were the main cockle gatherers, using donkeys to carry their catch back to shore; sadly, today’s obsession with profit and economy of scale has seen an end to this traditional way of cockle fishing.

Wild horses graze on what was once a busy estuary

Our need to return to the car meant that we        could only cover eight miles of the Wales Coast Path today. Rather than hang around for an infrequent - and expensive - bus we instead decided to do a circular route back to Gowerton via Llanrhidian and The Dolphin Inn – or The DolphInn as Harri likes to call it.