Day 8 - And so it ends - Three Cliffs Bay to Swansea marina

A mammoth bench overlooks Three Cliffs Bay

Our last day of coast path walking this year.

Whenever my spirits plummet, Harri assures me ‘we’ll be back’ – he’s right, of course, because one of the bonuses of being commissioned to write an official Wales Coast Path guidebook is that you also get to devise the accompanying Top 10 Walks book. So, one way or the other, we’ll be back in Carmarthenshire/Gower before the winter’s over.

Harri’s stretch of the path ends at Swansea marina which posed us with the problem of where to park. Parking for anything up to ten hours is never cheap, but was likely to be even more expensive in a city centre.

Harri’s solution was to park midway along the Swansea seafront, catch a bus back to Pennard then walk past our car to complete the final three miles to the marina. There was one drawback – unless we wanted to pay two astronomical bus fares in one day, we’d have to walk back again.

While we were waiting for our bus, Harri spotted a car driver having a quick shave while he waited in rush hour traffic. I’m not sure if this is legal or not – the car wasn’t actually moving at the time - but can you really be paying due attention to the traffic when you’ve got an electric shaver pressed to your cheek? I'm not sure.

Enjoying the sunshine without a care in the world 

At Pennard, the stroll to rejoin the official path at Three Cliffs Bay was infinitely more enjoyable than it was the previous evening when we’d been tired and hungry.  The ever-present cows roamed contentedly around the golf course, completely uninterested in any human comings and goings.

There’s always something bitter-sweet about your last day anywhere and knowing we were gradually edging our way towards urbanisation didn’t help.

As we walked past the beautiful houses of Pennard, Harri spotted his former Masters lecturer, now semi-retired, and we slowed down for a catch-up. After we’d said our goodbyes, I sat on the grass while Harri went off looking for the poet Vernon Watkins’memorial stone at Hunt’s Bay below. Watkins, who died in 1967, was a lifelong friend of Dylan Thomas and the stone is inscribed with two lines from his poem ‘Talieson in Gower’: 'I have been taught the script of stones, and I know the tongue of the wave'.

Unfortunately, like others before him, Harri was unable to locate the stone, leading him to believe that it’s been subsumed by vegetation over the years. 

Explore the beautiful Bishopston valley behind Pwlldu

At Pwlldu, Harri took his final dip of the week and I dipped my toes in at the water’s edge. Higher up the beach, I leaned I closed my eyes and lifted my face, relishing the warm sun on my skin and trying hard to create sensory memories to sustain me throughout the winter months. There’s something magical about the sea; I don’t think I could cope with living in a land-locked country. I seem to remember reading that Bill Bryson was almost an adult before he had his first glimpse of the ocean but then the States is a lot bigger than little old Britain. Newport’s not the most scenic of cities (oops, nearly wrote town there!) but its location is ideal for travelling to the coast.

We continued on our way, eventually reaching the tarmac path that hugs the coastline from Caswell to Langland and beyond. Both are undeniably pretty places but they lack the rugged splendour of Rhossili, Broughton and Oxwich. I sensed I was dragging my feet as the Mumbles headland came into view – around that corner sprawled Swansea, its manmade landscape, its crowds, its queues of traffic. All too soon we were returning to civilisation – how I longed to turn and retrace our steps back to Rhossili.

Looking down at Caswell Bay 

Trying to stay positive, we upped our pace, reasoning that the faster we walked, the sooner we’d be finished. It was late afternoon and we still had the full sweep of Swansea Bay ahead of us, plus a nasty little sting in the tail – that return walk back to the car. At least I wasn’t running it, I consoled myself, remembering how ill-prepared (and over-dressed) I was for the Swansea 10k in 2010. 

As we neared the car park, Harri gave me the option of stopping but I knew we’d be sorry if we did;  aborting the walk with just three miles or so to go would have presented us with future problems. No, I insisted bravely, we’ll walk to Swansea marina as planned (Harri later admitted that he'd been half-hoping I'd insist on stopping!).

The boat park at the Mumbles

I’d forgotten that the docklands area of Swansea has been expanding rapidly in past years; the reality of walking to the marina meant passing block after concrete block of shiny new apartments with their bare, unloved verandahs, all crying out for some TLC. I’m at a loss to understand why anyone would want to live in one of these modern tower blocks when they could buy or rent a terraced house with a nice little garden for less, but each to his own I suppose.

By the time we finally reached the marina, my feet were in a sorry state and I was somewhat regretting my earlier magnanimity. It was, however, a beautiful evening and a cunning plan was forming in my mind.

So that’s how we ended five days and almost one hundred miles of coast path walking – sitting on a bench overlooking Swansea Bay, with a bottle of Sainsburys’ best dry cider and a large packet of Tyrells (definitely the best crisps ever) and (me) getting my hand kissed by a (drunken) stranger.

All in all, a very decadent end to a hard week's hiking.

We finally reached Swansea marina at twilight

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 6 - More bog than blog - Llanridian to Rhossili

The majestic Rhossili Bay with Worm's Head in the distance 

The full splendour of the Wales Coast Path was finally revealed today, no doubt helped by the glorious autumn weather.

With the lure of the open sea and the majestic Rhossili Bay later on, it wasn’t difficult to believe that Harri has landed one of the best jobs in the world.

A concrete path weaves its way around the coastline for several miles from Llanridian and, from the amount of dead crabs scattered in the grass alongside it, we deduced that a recent tide had been particularly high.

Gower's coastal landscape is richly varied

Fortunately, there was no sign of sea water as we made our way past the spectacular Cwm Ivy and North Hill Tors and through the dunes around Broughton Bay. The beach, though stunningly beautiful, is unsuitable for swimming due to the strong tides at the mouth of the Loughor estuary so Harri resigned himself to waiting until we reached the magnificent Rhossili beach for his daily dip.

While he enjoyed splashing around in the sea, I paddled in nearby rock pools, amused by the antics of two dogs who were running in and out of the largest pool and seemed to be having even more fun than Harri. Bbbrrr! I get cold just looking at him.

I’m always astounded at the iciness of the sea around Wales, actually around the UK generally. Years ago, when I lived on the Isles of Scilly and had a beach on my doorstep (literally), I found the best time to go for a swim was after my evening shift as a silver-service waitress. The sea always felt much warmer at that time of day and there was the added incentive of a brandy and babycham in The Atlantic Hotel afterwards – lethal for the legs but definitely one to warm the rest of the body. Does anyone even drink it these days?

Boardwalks - my favourite terrain 

But I digress. At Broughton Bay, we were unsurprised when the official route took us high above the beach and along the edge of Rhossili Down – the views across to Worm’s Head were superb but, even so, I longed for the feel of that fine, white sand between my toes. There's just not enough beach walking on the official coast path - it would be interesting to know the rationale behind some of the more baffling route decisions.

From Rhossili, Worm’s Head looks deceptively close and it’s not unusual for people to underestimate the time needed to walk there and back across the rocky causeway and end up stranded there, Dylan Thomas apparently one of them.  Fortunately, there are now volunteer coastguards who display each day’s ‘safe to cross’ times prominently so there’s really no excuse anymore for cutting it too fine and having to call out the emergency services.

We reached the village of Rhossili in plenty of time for the bus to Reynoldston and killed some time in the National Trust shop. Not for the first time, we mused on how we can walk for hours and barely see a soul then arrive in a popular tourist spot and find ourselves in the middle of a throng. It was exactly the same on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path when it seemed like all Pembrokeshire’s tourists congregated in and around St David’s and Tenby.

There isn’t a bus from Rhossili to Llanrhidian so Harri’s plan to get off at Reynoldston and walk the short distance over Cefn Bryn seemed sensible. At this point alarm bells should have been sounding in my head, but lulled by the warm sunshine, stunning scenery and the promise of another cider at the Dolphin Inn, I agreed enthusiastically.  Reynoldston is one of those sleepy, affluent Gower communities that I never tire of visiting.

A few years ago, in nearby Burry, we experienced one of the most imaginative bed and breakfast arrangements at Green Bank Cottage. This is a place that understands hikers! Instead of the usual unwanted cooked breakfast (as well as being problematic in terms of slowing us down, catching buses, etc. a big breakfast makes us feel sluggish for hours), the wonderful hosts at Green Bank provide a fridge and nibbles in the room and leave a continental breakfast (with hot croissants and rolls) outside your room at an agreed time. Perfect! Other bed and breakfast owners please take note.

Anyway, the day seemed to be going well. All was idyllic on the short, early evening walk to the top of Cefn Bryn. Below us, in Reynoldston, sheep grazed contentedly on the village green and cows predictably gathered around road side signs; we climbed the backbone of Gower on a wide grassy path, barely raising a glance from the wild horses which roam the slopes, foals at their side.

Having a scratch - wild horses mingle with
walkers above Rhossili

I didn’t think anything was amiss until I noticed Harri looking anxiously at the map – this is a sight so far that it should immediately alert me that something is wrong. His verdict? While the path under our feet was wide and distinct, it wasn’t taking us in the right direction and, unless we veered downhill towards the treeline, we most definitely would not end up in Llanrhidian.

There was just one teeny, weeny problem, i.e. what lay between us and the treeline. It was then that I experienced that awful feeling of deja vue – hadn’t we been here before, on this very hillside, facing the very same problem? That problem being how to traverse a bog without a boat/thigh waders/water skis or very long legs? Given that my available accessories were shorts and sandals and very short legs, I instinctively knew this was not going to be pleasant!

Now readers of this blog will know that I’m not too keen on mud or very cold water. Mix the two together and you get icy cold runny mud – my idea of hell on earth! After lots of prevarication (for some reason, Harri prefers to call it 'whingeing'), during which I struggled to think of some solution which didn’t involve holy intervention or a helicopter, I finally accepted I had no choice but to wade through the filthy, revolting bog. And so began one of the most unpleasant experiences of my hiking life.

Just when I’d think it couldn’t get any worse, Harri would study the map again, shake his head and announce that we had to retrace our watery steps and attempt another ‘route’.

After half an hour’s desperate floundering, we finally made some headway and managed to fight our way through to a farmyard – only to have several barking dogs come running at us. Fortunately, their friendly owner came rushing out to assure us their barks were louder than their bites.

Determined to have our cider come what may, we ‘cleaned up’ our filthy, scratched legs on a pavement a few yards from where a man was mowing his lawn. He didn't seem too bemused by our antics so I'm guessing getting stuck in the local bog must be a regular occurrence in these parts.

A few days later, Harri stumbled upon a news story about a woman who’d got stuck on Cefn Bryn last year and had to call the emergency services out to pull her out.  Lucky escape or not,  Harri knows he’s not heard the last of today's misadventure! 

High above Rhossili beach are spectacular 360 degree views 

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'll encounter more
 than just cyclists on Route 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harri enjoying the sun at Burry Port

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

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

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

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

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

Day 3 Wet everything (Carmarthen-Kidwelly)

Leaving Carmarthen on a dull, wet summer's day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Swansea train leaving Ferryside

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

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

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

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