England Coast Path - Severn Estuary to Bridgwater Bay

Approaching the imaginatively-named Second Severn Bridge on the English side

Whenever we walk along the south east Wales coastline between Llantwit Major and Worm's Head, we find ourselves pondering on the way the English coastline (opposite) creates an illusion that the open sea is upriver and vice versa.

The reason is simple: the Somerset Levels (scene of such devastating flooding last winter) are so flat they barely register on the horizon, so from across the Bristol Channel it appears the ocean is endless. Of course, Wales's mountains prevent the same confusion occurring from an English standpoint (although they frequently 'disappear' in low-lying cloud).

There's something appealing about exploring a place that's felt familiar for so long, yet remains unexplored and for us, the stretch of coastline between the Severn Bridge and Minehead - more than 110 miles - certainly fell into that category.

We crossed high above the River Avon on a motorway bridge

As always, Harri had a hiking book in mind. His idea was to link up the two longest waymarked trails in the UK - Wales Coast Path (870) and South West Coast Path - creating around 1700 miles of coastal walking. We'll publish the book ourselves later this summer in various digital formats.

The England Coast Path will eventually provide 2,795 miles of continual coastal walking, but well-managed access to all of England's coastline is still several few years off so we knew we were facing a challenge.

Our proposed route would start in the middle of Chepstow and finish in Minehead... and we had just five days to walk it all (the book will split the walk into ten days).

Harri's plan was to utilise existing waymarked long-distance trails as much as possible:

• the Severn Way - between the Severn Bridge and the River Avon
• the Gordano Round - Portishead to Clevedon (we've previously walked part of this lovely route)
• the River Parrett Trail - from Bridgwater down to the coast
• the West Somerset Coast Path - from the mouth of the River Parrett to Minehead.

One of the Somerset pills that sent us heading inland

We knew there'd be gaps and that we'd have several large rivers (Avon, Ax, Parrett) and pills to navigate (taking us farther inland than we would have liked), but on the map it appeared do-able in five days.

Brean Down to Minehead is earmarked as a priority for development of the English Coast Path (Natural England) so we anticipated that this section of our route would be straightforward, even if we encountered problems elsewhere.

So how did we get on?

Well... we've walked most of the route in our allocated five days. We had no choice but to stop at Watchet as we feared missing our pre-booked train from Taunton to Newport otherwise. That leaves us with the final eight miles to Minehead yet to walk.

The beautiful Somerset coastline with Minehead in the far distance

The route itself is varied but interesting, passing through Severn Beach, Bristol, Portishead, Clevedon, Weston, Burnham-on-Sea, Bridgwater, Watchet and Minehead, as well as several smaller villages.There are rivers (large), rhynes (reens to we Welsh) and pills to circumnavigate as well as motorways to cross (the M5 twice and the M49 once). There are promenades, marinas and beaches, piers, headlands and endless stretches of beach. There is even a nuclear power station (Hinkley Point B), although the diverted footpath keeps you well clear of the actual site).

Following the (lengthy) border fence around Hinkley Point

Some sections are breathtakingly beautiful, others boast interesting rather than picturesque landscapes. Like any coastal walk, some miles are a pleasure to walk, others less so.

Later in the summer, we'll return to walk those last eight miles and then we'll publish the ebook at camau.co.uk

For more about each day's hiking, keep reading this blog.

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

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!

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.

Publication day looms

The author in the Brecon Beacons

 ‘I would like to thank my partner for… providing cheer and company on the walks themselves, and for not complaining – too much – when the weather took a turn for the worse.’ 

Harri Roberts, author, Day Walks in the Brecon Beacons

Can there be anything more exciting than seeing your partner's words in print as his first walking guidebook hits the shelves (figuratively speaking)? To see your own contribution acknowledged in black and white?

April 1 marks the official publication day for Day Walks in the Brecon Beacons (although the book has been available to pre-order from publisher Vertebrate and other online book stores for several weeks now). Underneath the thumbnail of the cover and book description on Vertebrate's site, there’s a little bio about Harri, which I’m going to repeat here:

Harri Roberts is a freelance writer, editor and translator based in Newport, Gwent. He has authored a number of Welsh walking guides, including a forthcoming official guidebook to the Wales Coast Path (Amroth to Swansea section). 

His love of the Brecon Beacons developed during research for an ambitious guide to the Cambrian Way, a high-level, Welsh ‘end-to-end’ across some of the most scenic and mountainous terrain in the country.

The trail levels out above Talybont reservoir 

So it’s finally looking as if all the hours of driving, freezing nights huddled in our tiny tent, aching legs and sore feet (plus the long hours confined to the study writing it) have been worth it. 

And just in case you're in any doubt, writing hiking books for a living is a long, mostly uphill struggle. 

I say this with feeling because I’ve been there alongside Harri from the outset and I'd like to believe my small contribution (photography and sandwiches) has gone some way towards helping him fulfill his lifelong ambition. 

To this end, I’ve trekked miles up, down, across and around Wales in sun, wind, rain and drizzle. I’ve been frazzled, frozen, soggy and sunburnt, hungry, thirsty, blistered and just bloody fed up. I've laughed and cried, paddled through icy waters and assisted in freeing countless sheep from barbed wire fences. I’ve ‘lost’ the camera more times than I care to remember, and spent more on bus fares in six years than in my entire previous lifetime.

Occasionally, for practical reasons (like needing to be dropped off/picked up miles from civilisation or a bus route or hiking in particularly difficult terrain like the Rhinogs), Harri has opted to walk alone but those occasions were relatively rare and as publication day of this first book approaches, I wear my hiking writer’s partner badge with pride. 

I've walked the miles, captured the images, earned my title. I've worked hard so that on April 1, I can announce with complete authenticity, 'Today, readers, I'm going to be The Walker's Wife'.

Looking down from Allt yr Esgair

Not that hiking in the glorious Brecon Beacons, with its spectacular peaks and escarpments, gorges, open moorland and peaceful valleys, can really be considered 'work'; rather we've simply been indulging our passion with the promise of a pay cheque sometime in the distance future .

Fortunately, the majority of our Brecon Beacons hiking was done last spring before the jet stream got stuck down south and the mountains were transformed into bleak, verdant bogs. Later, we were glad we'd seized the moment and spent the fine weather exploring trails, footpaths and quiet, metalled lanes.

We hiked some of the most popular spots in the National Park and some of the most remote. We joined a convoy of hikers approaching Pen y Fan from the north ridge (amazingly, we’d managed to forget it was a Bank Holiday weekend) and enjoyed the company of sheep on the isolated slopes of the (confusingly named) Black Mountain.

In early March, just two days after completing the Llanelli Half Marathon (my first ever race of this kind) and sporting rather spectacular blood blisters on the soles of both feet, I was back in the ‘saddle’, scaling a Black Mountains escarpment (Route 6: Castell Dinas and  Rhos Dirion) .

In May, and with the Black Mountains walks done and dusted, we battled against cold winds to complete a ten-miler around Mynyydd Llangatwg and Craig y Cilau (Route 9). 

Llangors Lake: a beautiful setting for bird-watchers

The landscape was always interesting and varied, even for a seasoned Brecon Beacons visitor like me.

The beautifully constructed wooden bird hide on the western shore of Llangors Lake was a wonderful surprise, as was the wooded ridge of Allt yr Esgair (Route 8). In the book, Harri describes the latter as ‘a pure delight, with panoramic views complemented in May and June by a wild profusion of colourful flowers’ . I can sum it up in two words, ‘absolutely stunning’.

The serene Olchon Valley (Route 5), just outside the National Park, is off the well-trodden tourist track but is equally appealing (the valley is now known as the setting for the film Resistance, based on the novel by Owen Sheers) and well worth walking.

Another Black Mountains gem is the 11th century Partrishow Church, with its intricately carved 16th century rood screen and the chilling, faded wall painting of a skeleton holding a scythe, hourglass and spade. 

A rival for Italy's Leaning Tower of Pisa?

A couple of miles away, subsidence in the hillside has caused the tower of St Martin's Church, Cwmyoy to lean precariously like a Welsh Leaning Tower of Pisa. 

One morning, we stumbled upon a field of daffodils, out of place against the wild heather-covered escarpment looming above but uplifting nonetheless.

We wandered among sheep, cattle and horses, along the Roman road of Sarn Helen, sections of Offa's Dyke and behind waterfalls.

Finally, in August and after the wettest summer in 100 years, we finished walking the Brecon Beacons and, for me at least, the hard work was over.

Inevitably, some memories fade as the months pass. But it doesn't really matter because we'll always want spend time hiking across the varied landscape of the Brecon Beacons, book or no book.

An unexpected field of daffodils 

Starter for ten

The snow-covered cliff tops above Marros Sands

There’s nothing quite as exciting as starting a new project, be it a script, a diet or a walking book.

Last week, against a bleak and snowy backdrop, we started our on-the-ground research for Harri’s latest commission: a top 10 walks guidebook to complement his official Wales Coast Path book (Amroth to Swansea Marina)

The top 10 format has already proved a great success for its publisher, Northern Eye Books.

These beautifully designed little books cost just £4.99 and provide clear directions, Ordnance Survey maps, eye-grabbing panoramic photographs and interpretation of points of interest along the way.

Until recently only walks in the Lake District, Peak District and the Yorkshire Dales

were covered, however the good news is that publishers Carl Rogers and Tony Bowerman have decided to roll out the format to include circular walks along the Wales Coast Path. It’s a great idea and will hopefully encourage many more people to explore Wales’ beautiful coastline and nearby countryside.

Still on solid ground - the steps above Pendine 

First to be published in the Wales series was fellow Outdoor Writers Guild member Sioned Bannister’s offering on Cardigan Bay North (available direct from Northern Eye).  

Sioned is the OWG social media expert and she has written a great little book, which I know Harri and I are going to find extremely useful on future holidays. (And in the mean time, we can just enjoy looking at those gorgeous panoramic photographs.)

The snow had all but disappeared when we left Newport but, as we travelled along the M4 corridor, we could see it was a different picture further inland. We later learned that snow had caused widespread disruption in Carmarthenshire the previous day.

‘Do you think snow settles on sand?’ I pondered and, for once, my personal sage could not provide the answer.

There's nothing to beat sun, sea... and snow

There was an empty car park at Pendine and almost nobody about, but we duly paid our £3 parking charge and pulled on extra layers.

My heart sank when Harri headed past the seafront café and towards the steps leading to the cliff top. Now perhaps it would be wise to check in advance what’s expected of me on any given walk, but strangely I always forget to ask pertinent questions like ‘where are we going?’ and Harri sensibly omits to mention words like ‘steep’ ‘mud-bath’ or ‘arduous’ in his pre-walk briefings.

The uphill section was actually fine. There was no ice underfoot and the view across the snow-covered Pendine Sands was spectacular. We trudged across the cliff top in crisp, clean snow, relishing the crunching underfoot and the snow-laden gorse bushes.

It was only when we began to descend to Morfa Bychan beach that things started to become a bit hairy. Mud, it would seem, doesn’t always dry out underneath snow but, when the temperature isn't low enough, lies there oozing and squelchy, ready to send the unsuspecting hiker sliding down the mountainside on their backside. I tiptoed along, envisioning my fate, concerned about doing more damage to an already dodgy right foot, begging Harri to turn back.

Of course, we didn’t because Harri has a book to write and we must walk every inch of every walk – even those which are ultimately rejected. Instead, we headed straight up the opposite cliff, towards Marros Sands. 

One of Carmarthenshire's churned up fields,
 temporarily covered by snow

I’ve written about this section of the Wales Coast Path several times already so I’m not going to repeat myself. Suffice to say, it’s not pleasant when conditions are wet… and, once again, they were.

A short distance inland and the walking conditions immediately improved, lifting my spirits.

The village of Marros boasts a camping site, a church and an unusual war memorial, modelled on nearby Neolithic tombs. We lunched briefly on the stone benches in the church porch, but it was too cold to linger and we were soon on our way again.

The final stretch of the walk was stunning scenery-wise, however I struggled to get warm again. As we descended into a wooden valley, we came across a stunning log cabin, presumably a holiday let in the warmer months.

The Marros war memorial and church

At low tide, it’s possible to walk from Marros Sands to Pendine along the beach but the timing wasn’t right for us so we walked up an old cobbled path and emerged at the top of Pendine.

The day was closing in, but it seemed too early to head to our functional Travelodge room, so we decided to warm ourselves in Spring Well public house. For anyone who doesn’t know it, the Spring Well is the sort of pub every village/small town should have –  friendly if slightly eccentric locals willing to entertain passing strangers, a heavenly log-burning fire, ginger wine, but best of all, its very own kitler.

This walk may or may not make the final ten but seeing Stella the cat twitching her little grey moustache made the day's cold and muddy conditions worthwhile.

Stella has no idea why she attracts so much attention