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.