England Coast Path - Portishead to Clevedon

The old docklands at Portishead have been tranformed into a non-tidal marina

A long, tough day of inclement British weather and mixed spirits (though sadly, not of the gin and tonic type!).

We woke at 6.30am to brilliant sunshine and the prospect of a pretty long day's walking. Harri is usually meticulous in working out route distances ahead of us walking them, however work commitments up to the last minute meant that for once he didn't have time to properly plot our routes so our overnight stops were planned using Google directions (and road maps). Not something we will ever do again!!

I'd also made another massive mistake... wearing new and untested thick (and cheap) walking socks with my trail shoes yesterday was a really bad idea as it left my little toe (a hammertoe) very sore and blistered. Perhaps understandably, Harri and I had envisaged that flat walking would be so much easier than the hilly walking we're accustomed to in Wales that longer distances wouldn't be an issue. How wrong can you be? Those endless hard surfaces, with not a dandelion-filled meadow in sight, play havoc with your feet. My poor little toe resisted being squashed back into the same shoe that had done it so much harm the previous day but with just the one pair of shoes with me, I had little choice. It was that or barefoot walking...

We popped into the Lidl next door to grab some of their delicious croissants (the chocolate/almond ones are my favourite) and returned to our Travelodge room to eat. With no inkling that we were about to set off for a 30 mile stroll in sunshine, heavy rain and (almost) darkness, we lingered over a leisurely breakfast.

The marina lock at Portishead... the tidal range in the Bristol Channel is the second largest in the world

It was about 9am when we finally emerged to what promised to be a glorious day. We paused for a while to watch two boats passing through the lock at Portishead Marina and held our breath as a small dog, confused by the open lock gates (and temporary disappearance of the bridge), came close to plunging off the quayside to the waters and mud below.

The first point of interest today was the Royal Inn, though I only realised it was interesting when we read an interpretation board at the top of the hill above it. I pondered dashing back down for a photograph but even the shortest hill becomes Mount Everest with a large pack on your back so in the end I didn't bother.

The Royal Inn's curious claim to fame is being the only seaside hotel built by a public authority during the nineteenth century (it opened in 1831). The hotel also featured in Isambard Kingdom Brunel's ambitious plans to make Portishead the centre for transatlantic travel. A purpose-built pier would enable passengers to disembark from the transatlantic steamship, the SS Great Western (his ship), staying at the Royal overnight before heading onwards (presumably to London).

It never happened. Rather than flourishing as a tourist destination, Portishead expanded as an industrial port. A deep-water dock was built and when a pier eventually appeared (almost a decade after Brunel's death) it was used by steamers travelling to Cardiff, Newport and Ilfracombe. With the docks now gone and modern apartments and restaurants lining a yacht-filled marina, it seems that Brunel's vision for Portishead to be on the tourist map might yet be realised.

Battery Point, near Portishead

We rounded the headland to reach the esplanade and lake grounds, an area we've passed before on the Gordano Round and liked very much (there's an artificial lake, a lido and children's play area). We meandered past Battery Point, the closest land anywhere in the UK which large ships pass. There are great views across the Severn Estuary from here and if, like Harri and me, you know the Welsh coastline quite well, you can have fun spotting familiar landmarks like Aberthaw Power Station and Nash Point.

The coast path between Portishead and Clevedon is well-walked and easy to follow. It also remains delightfully close to the actual coast, which is always a bonus.

It took 60 men 18 months to build Clevedon Pier

What wasn't so good was the huge grey cloud which was heading across the estuary in our direction... talking about directions or one at least, Clevedon's most recent claim to fame is providing the location for One Direction's latest music video (it was filmed on Clevedon Pier, described by late Poet Laureate Sir John Betjeman, as 'the most beautiful pier in England'). While not a fan myself, I can see that the arrival of the world's most successful boy band might have caused something of a local stir.

By now, we were getting ever so slightly nervous about the weather. The wind was getting noticeably stronger and there was that cloud... yet in the other direction, there was sunshine and blue sky. We quickened our pace, for some reason looking over our shoulders every minute or so, as if we could somehow outwalk the storm cloud that was chasing us (just like Jake Gyllenhaal managed to do with frost in the very silly 2004 film, The Day After Tomorrow).

Clevedon celebrated Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee with a grand oil-lit bandstand

If you haven't visited Clevedon, it's a great place with lots of interesting things to see (and an awful lot of benches). As we walked (for me, read limped) along the seafront, we passed a wonderful bandstand (built in 1887 to celebrate the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria) and a restored drinking fountain (also Victorian).

As I photographed them, Harri wandered off to find somewhere to stop for elevensies. Clevedon's planners clearly recognise the need to provide sheltered places to sit along the promenade - I couldn't believe my eyes when Harri found a row of benches facing away from the sea and protected from behind by a high wall.

We were delighted to find this row of sheltered benches on Clevedon's seafront

We had miles left to walk and the weather was about to change for the worse, but for now we settled in a (relatively) warm place to enjoy some Lidl chocolate (it's the best).

England Coast Path: Severn Estuary to Bridgwater Bay by Harri Roberts will be published by camau in ebook format in August 2014.

Same place, different pace

The view across the Severn Estuary

Many landscapes look dramatically different depending on the season and the weather, and – as I discovered this weekend – on the speed at which you happen to be travelling through them.

I’ve visited Newport Wetlands at Nash many times since it opened in 2000.

In fact, my very first trip to this popular nature reserve was in an official capacity. As the local reporter, I was charged with covering the launch event for the South Wales Argus. On that occasion, the nature reserve lived up to its name; the weather was appalling, torrential rain and high winds. Fortunately, I’d had time to dash home to grab my hiking boots and a waterproof jacket; the lady dignitaries present, however, were dressed formally in suits and high heels. The poor women spent their entire time outside battling to keep their umbrellas up and side-stepping large puddles.

Across the reeds is Uskmouth Power Station (there were once three chimneys)

Newport Wetlands was established by the Countryside Council for Wales (CCW) to mitigate the loss of the wildlife habitat in the area after the Cardiff Bay Barrage was built. The land now occupied by the reserve used to be an ash-covered wasteland owned by the neighbouring coal-fired Uskmouth power station  (where, incidentally, my dad worked for over 30 years).

After the ash was removed, the site was landscaped and it now covers salt marsh, reed beds, saline lagoons, wet grassland, and scrub. At high tide, the site sits below sea level and water levels are regulated to ensure the saline lagoons get enough sea water.

According to the literature, ‘Newport Wetlands and the adjacent Severn Estuary are home to internationally and nationally important numbers of wintering and breeding wetland birds’.

I was there on that first (wet) day

Newport Wetlands certainly attracts keen bird-watchers, however, my guess is that many local people, myself included, enjoy visiting because it’s close to the estuary (and therefore the sea), boasts a fantastic children's playground and has lots of nice trails to walk around.

There is a lot of wildlife, specifically birdlife, but without binoculars, it’s hard to spot species like the rare bearded tit, black-tailed godwit, little grebe, knot and whimbrel (if you do remember your binoculars but are still not sure what you're looking for, the Wetlands Centre offers plenty of useful illustrations and information). Unfortunately, without binoculars, the only birds we spotted this weekend were ducks and swans.

The lesser-spotted Newport swan (as seen without binoculars)

When I first bought my mountain bike, Harri and I cycled all the way from Rhiwderin to the wetlands on Route 4, a round trip of about 25 miles (a permissive cycle route runs through the wetlands as an off-shoot of the main route).

We’ve also walked the Wales Coast Path from Chepstow to Cardiff and the official route passes along the seaward side of the reserve as far as Uskmouth Power Station before heading past the Wetlands Centre towards Nash village. 

I’ve even enjoyed interval training sessions there with Lliswerry Runners. On a warm summer’s evening, what could possibly be more enjoyable than sprinting alongside the (almost) open sea, a salty breeze blowing gently against your skin and the sound of seabirds calling?

The rather wonderful East Usk Lighthouse

The only drawback is the number of midges on the attack – their favourite snack moi!

Anyway, the point I’m making is that all my previous visits to Newport Wetlands have been for the purpose of fast activities – running, cycling and hiking at Harri’s speed.

On Saturday, I meandered around the reserve with my long-time mate and for the first time, I noticed the small things. Like the strange rusty-looking sculptures with cut-out silhouettes of birds, like how incredibly straight the reens are and the massive size of the lens that some of the serious bird-watchers were using.

Anyone seen this bird?

We idled along the main trail (love that word, idled, even though I’m so bad at it) and then took a left turn to walk alongside the sea wall and past the lighthouse. There were people everywhere: couples, dog-walkers, young families. East Usk Lighthouse, in particular, seemed to be attracting lots of attention.

It gradually dawned on me that my natural walking speed is fast. And I like fast. I was finding it really difficult to slow down, to stroll, to dawdle, even when engaged in the hugely enjoyable task of chatting with a friend I hadn’t seen in months.

We left the main reserve and wandered along a metalled lane, then turned onto a grassy one. At the far end, there was a locked gate to climb and, as my friend hesitated, I bolted over it, again realising how accustomed the Walker’s Wife has become to an active lifestyle where covering large distances at speed and clambering over obstacles has become almost second nature. 

Stop that dawdling ... the cafe's about to close

We’d planned to linger over a cuppa in the café, but, astonishingly, even on sunny spring weekends it closes at 4pm, so we set off home (I’ll said it before and I’ll say it again, Wales can be SO bad at catering for tourists).

Our stroll had lasted for about two-and-a-half hours and I doubt we'd covered much more in miles. In terms of stretching the old muscles, it barely counted as exercise.

But for once I didn't care. I’d already run six miles that morning and, you know, sometimes it’s rather nice to view the world from the slow lane.

UPDATE: Newport Wetlands features in a recent BBC news article and video, which claims the Wales Coast Path attracted 1.6 million visitors last year. 

Did they really write that?

On our travels we often spot some hilarious writing, many typos and abundant translation mistakes. Here’s a gem from a leaflet titled, Caravan & Glamping in Carmarthenshire. Writing about the friendly staff at Jenkins the Bakers in Ammanford, the writer notes: ‘be warned, they will also make sure you leave with half a dozen deliciously Moorish [sic] welsh cakes!’

 I had no idea the Moors’ rule stretched as far as west Wales!

Rollicking on the riverbank

Trying to work out if there's a quicker way to the finish line

Given the lengths I usually take to avoid any contact with mud, I still can't believe I spent nearly two hours yesterday wading and splashing through reams of the stuff. 

My second ever cross-country race was ever-so-slightly more ambitious than the three-miler I completed around Cefn Wood a few weeks ago - three times more ambitious actually (yesterday's race was a nine-miler). There was also considerably more mud to contend with in Bristol thanks to a fatal combination of wet weather and lots of bridle paths. A more cynical person might harbour suspicions that Thornbury Running Club organisers had taken great pleasure in devising the muddiest, most slithery route possible.  

The Riverbank Rollick takes place mainly on trails and across fields (90% is off-road). The route starts at the Pithay near St Mary's Church, in Thornbury, goes out to St Arilda's Church at Oldbury and then back through the village of Littleton and over Thornbury Golf Course. There is 120 metres of climbing and the titular riverbank is the Severn. 

So how did this grandmother of two, a confirmed short-distance road runner who doesn't own a decent pair of trail shoes, end up competing in a mud-bath of a race alongside two hundred super-fit mudo-philes?

Ruth is feeling energetic before her first XC race

Well, the blame lies firmly at the feet of fellow Lliswerry Runners, Claire and Zara, who, fresh from their success in the considerably tougher 20k Bog and Bryn around Henllys last November, persuaded me that cross-country racing is actually really good fun. 



Harri, an experienced cross-country runner, had been disappointed to miss the Bog and Bryn, so he agreed to join me in the Riverside Rollick (on the proviso that we ran separately!).

The race was originally planned for January 19, however persistent snowy conditions in the weeks before resulted in some uncertainty over whether it would go ahead.

The day before, Newport parkrun was cancelled for the first time in its two-year history (we run along a wooded riverside path and many branches were snapping under the weight of the snow); things weren't looking good. Then the news came through - the Riverbank Rollick was postponed until April.

There were huge sighs of relief in Rhiwderin. I'd been increasingly half-hearted about the prospect of running through mud and water, up grassy slopes and along the Severn Estuary in cold, wintry conditions. Thanks to the icy, arctic weather, I'd done hardly any distance running since Christmas. A spring date bode well with regard to weather conditions; with a bit of luck, there might not be any mud underfoot at all!

Last weekend, the outlook was looking good. When Harri and I completed our final two walks on Gower, the coastal paths had almost completely dried out. From the evidence on the ground, it was hard to believe that the winter just gone had been exceptionally wet. Things were looking promising for a good weekend rollick.

But if you can rely on one thing, it's the unpredictability of the British weather. By mid week, it was raining again with forecasts of heavy showers at the weekend. 

By Saturday evening, we'd accepted that the Riverside Rollick was going to be a wet affair. Feel the fear and do it anyway, I told myself.

Lliswerry ladies were out in force

So I did it, I ran the nine-mile Riverbank Rollick and I can't believe how much I enjoyed the whole, mucky experience. Thankfully, the rain held off while we were running and though yanking one's shoes out of squelchy, clay-like mud was never going to be easy, I somehow managed to stay upright.

What really made the event special though was the wonderful camaraderie between runners.
I've always laughed at the tags 'attached' and 'unattached', wondering how someone who runs at my speed could ever be attached to Lliswerry legends like Keith, who recently completed a 100-miler, Speedy Gonzales (and appropriately named) Miles, or the amazing and very modest Emma, still in her teens and with a lifetime of running successes ahead of her. 

Still smiling at around 7.5 miles

Yet race with your running club and suddenly you are very much attached, even if you're never going to be one of the first four across the line (the only times that count for team prizes).  I wore my Lliswerry vest (still sporting its Welsh dragon on the back) with pride and loved the noisy encouragement from faster team members as I splashed through the final stream (the sting in the tail) and raced (uphill again) towards the finishing line.

The fact I finished at all, however, is due to the support of three friendly Hogsweed Trotters, who offered me encouragement throughout the race, and, most importantly, towards the end when I started doubting my ability to keep going. 

Cross-country running is tough - even tougher than road running. You need your wits about you when you're plodding along a squelching bridle path with a stream on one side. 

There are fields to slip and slide across, stiles to climb and rough terrain to trip you over. It's almost impossible to switch off, to get into 'the zone', before the next challenge confronts you.

The hill that brought many of us to our knees 

A long, steep field climb faced us as we neared the eight-mile mark, followed by another muddy track, a fence to clamber over and finally, in the woods, a rope with which to haul ourselves up the almost vertical footpath. 

For me, the toughest section was undoubtedly the mile-long riverside stretch along the Severn (between Oldbury-on-Severn and Littleton-on-Severn). Though flat and grassy, it was completely open to the elements, specifically a strong, gusting wind. Despite my best efforts, I knew I was slowing down and I couldn't help feeling a bit demoralized as runners I'd passed in the first three miles came flying past me.

My finishing time was 1:47:41. Harri was waiting, already changed into his warm clothes. He'd completed in an amazing 1:11:02 despite very little training (he cycles more often than he runs!).

Fellow Lliswerry Runner, Ruth and me. Happy to have finished.

I'm starting to love all the statistics that go with running. Within an hour or so of getting home, we were able to see that Harri had averaged 7.58 minute miles, while I'd taken three minutes more to pass each mile marker (11.57). This statistical breakdown certainly explains how crossed the finishing line a full 36 minutes ahead of me.  

So were Claire and Zara right about cross-country racing being great fun? You bet they were! 

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?