Saturday 27 April 2013

Day 3: Bosherston to Angle


Weather: Wet, then sunny with bitter north gale
Distance covered today: 30km (18.6mi)
Last night's B&B: Cornerstones 
% Complete: Cumulative distance: 24.7%: 71.2km
GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 3 (click!)

The met forecast said it would be clear by the time I set out. It was; for about five minutes! Then the heavens opened, albeit only for a few minutes. So it was going to be one of those days when one is forever packing and unpacking the backpack, donning and doffing waterproofs, all of which didn’t improve my mood. I was feeling grumpy anyway, as a result of a poorly equipped B&B, and a rather indifferent dinner experience last night.

As I arrived in the B&B, I was informed that I would have to eat at 6pm, because it was a special night at the pub.  This turned out to be “curry night”; a very popular institution, and the feeling was that despite having booked, I wouldn’t be able to get in if I dallied.  Off I went, interested to see what all the fuss was about.  I should have guessed!  People descended on the place in their legions. A queue formed opposite the till and everyone had two things in common; they were all in an extremely good mood and they were, every single one of them, hugely overweight, way beyond obese. A special counter was set up with huge urns of at least a dozen different sorts of curry, basmati rice and naan bread.   One pays one’s money up front (£8.95), and then one can eat as many helpings as one wishes, until there’s nothing left. On my enquiry, I was told that no matter how much they cooked it was almost always all consumed.  People just keep on returning for another helping, because it’s free.

One of the few laws of economics that still seems to apply is the simple law of supply and demand.  If the price is zero, demand will be infinite.  It’s true of the NHS and it’s depressingly true of curry night. I looked around me, though, seeing all these rural folk, all of whom knew each other, having the time of their lives; greeting, laughing, hugging,  sharing intimate stories (some of which I could overhear), being a real community, getting fatter and probably getting diabetes.  Their lives will be shorter, against the trend. Surely they know this, but they don’t seem to care. They are food addicts, just like drug addicts or alcoholics; only far, far happier.  Who am I to judge them?

I helped myself to a really rather small helping of curry and a large glass of red wine. There were no salads and no vegetables.  Hardly had I cleaned my plate than no fewer than four members of staff descended on me, one after the other, trying to persuade me to have some more. My behaviour seemed disturbing to them. I watched conversations about me behind the bar. Finally, when I was paying my bill, extortionate given what I had eaten, the delightful girl at the till asked me in a wide Welsh accent, “You’re South African, aren’t you?” I agreed and asked how she knew. She said her Mum was a Saffer and had had elocution lessons to lose her accent.  My depression deepened.

No wonder I was grumpy this morning!  My mood worsened as I trudged through the Castlemartin Firing Range operated by the British Armed Forces. They don’t shoot on Saturdays, so there is access to the public, and this is essential if one is going to be able to see some really rather special features on the coast of the range.  The range itself is a comment on the state of relations between the government and the armed forces. Of course, all military installations are Spartan, almost by definition. There is though a degree of decay in the local apparatus of the forces which has to be seen to be believed. It is hard to realise that this is still a country at war, even if that war is almost lost.  This is not the fault of the armed forces; they do as they are bid. They simply have not the resources to succeed. Though I am no supporter of militarism, I realise that the politicians who would have the nation “punch above its weight” in pursuit of human rights and democracy have systematically denuded the forces to the point that their credibility must be in question wherever lurk those who would wish us evil. Castlemartin is said to be one of the most important training grounds in Europe for Nato.  It looks pathetic.  Presumably the fancy bits are hidden from the public. We had better hope so!

I got even grumpier when I got to the coast. St Govan’s Chapel was underwhelming in the extreme, after such a build-up in the guidebooks.  Then I completely missed Huntsman’s Leap.  Legend has it that a huntsman, after a night on the town, took his stead to the coast and leapt the Leap. He returned next day to see in daylight what he had achieved, and got such a fright when he saw the gap that he had a heart attack and died of fright! Anyway, I missed it! I trudged on morosely, obeying MOD instructions not to wander off the jeep track, seeing very little…  At least it was flat, courtesy of the limestone.

Then my luck turned. The pictures below do not do justice to the magnificence of Stack Rocks or the Green Bridge of Wales. These magnificent extrusions of limestone have to be seen to be believed.  My mood lifted and I was able to face the bitter northern gale with renewed vigour and determination.

Unfortunately, shortly after I passed the moody splendour of the beach at Freshwater West (to my Saffer friends; Noordhoek without the waves), I ran out of limestone. It was back to the relentless sandstone!  Before I knew it, I was bouncing up and down like a demented yoyo!  I passed a sign that informed me, with typical understatement, that this 5km stretch of the way was “challenging” and that there would be no escape. So it was. The sandstone reared and bucked, twisted and collapsed. In parts the path just disappeared in landslides. In wet weather it would have been lethal, but by now there was bright sunshine and a gale-force and bitterly cold northerly holding me erect as I pushed against it.

Despite these geographic and meteorological impediments, my mood gradually lifted. Once I had successfully reached the end of the “challenging” bit, I was tempted to take a short cut to my destination in Angle, but I was enjoying myself so much that I just kept bouncing along. I reached the pub which was my destination in a state of elated exhaustion after a very long day, to be greeted by a sight for sore eyes. A couple of sailors had moored at the pub and had been just a few minutes late in departing. Given the huge tidal reach, they were too slow to weigh anchor and their yacht is high and dry!  They have to wait for the next tide to try again. All the locals were in hysterics. They have booked into my B&B for the night, but as I write this, they are still down the docks battling to secure their yacht.

It seems feet are the trustier form of transport!

The functional but delapidated control rooms of the Firing Range
They shoot people, don't they...

Delapidated personnel carriers as target practice

Lambs to the slaughter
 
The underwhelming St Govan's Chapel
The wonderful Stack Rocks

The incredible Green Bridge of Wales

The lovely Freshwater West Beach (or Fresh West as the young locals know it)

Landslide right on the path. Fortunately, before I got there!

The notice informing me that this would be challenging and with no exits!

And so it was!! A typical example. One of many!

Another one!

Pyramids of sandstone, tilted skywards!

An LNG tanker leaving the sound

A lamb for Phyllis. I was between it and its Mum, so I was getting it's full attention!

At last, a refinery. More my territory!  This one used to belong to a Major but is now owned by Valero

My B&B companions and their stranded yacht. They have just this second arrived back here!
 
 

11 comments:

  1. Glad your day ended on a high (and dry for your sailor comrades); be sure to fill us in on the conversation at the B and B! Who were these people and do they have other stories to tell?

    Today's lamb was a winner! What a dear little one; great pose!

    Rob and I thought of you today during our Saturday hike on our local stretch of the Bruce Trail. We are finally rid of snow and mud and can enjoy a proper walk in the woods. Trout lilies are blooming.

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    1. Good to know you are walking again! Must be great after a Canadian winter.

      I'm afraid there was no conversation between the sailors and I last night. We were all too exhausted! Pity!

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    2. Heavens Phyllis! What does a 'Trout Lilly look like?!

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  2. At last, a refinery !!!! ha ha... not turned on by the geology today huh? ever the chemical engineer!

    Tomorrow (today) do you walk east up the estuary or do you cross it by boat and continue on the northern limb? .. I guess I will have to wait some days to find out.

    I am off to Zambezi river for a bit of fishing and will be away for 5 days -- but my good wishes for favourable geology, and not demented sandstone, are with you every step of the way. I would point out however, dear Kevin, that if there were no favorably twisted geology, it would not be the scenic wonder that it is. and without favourable geology, there would be no oil either!.

    may the gods of Cmyru bless your journey with wonderful walking and fine weather ....

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    1. Richard, enjoy the fishing. Don't get eaten by a crocodile (or a hippo). I will miss your comments as I progress, but l'll still be trudging when you return!

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  3. Been busy prepping the house for Crete Escapes, so have been pressed to keep up with all this walking. I'd have thought curry was a bit exotic for you, given the cheese n ham n all! Good to see plenty of obesity n no salads. Living next to the Welsh for 15y, I'd always expected them to just die out, as an example of Darwin. One less language, one less tiresome small n insignificant nation... But that's just a Brit talking (note =English!). Hope there are no Welsh amongst the Bloggers! No, they are fine people really, particular Thks to the family who rescued my car with their tractor after a late night accident! Some 35y ago.

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    1. A good thing Richard is off to commune with the crocodiles. He may be Zimbabwean, but his father comes from Welsh stock. He will be too full of fish on his return to do battle with those cross-border prejudices from the English side of the border. Anyway, now that you are a cretin (!), I thought it was the Turks you were on about, or do I have the wrong island?

      Good luck with the Crete escapes!

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  4. KTG,
    Glad you recovered from your Grumpy state. And I think you malign the chapel - it looks a pretty amazing place to build such a structure, snucked down in a gorgeous little cove, out of sight of the rest of the world, minding its own business - unlike the military range or indeed the refinery. But then we inhabit a different time zone...
    But beware as you leave Angle. I bear a permanent scar on my upper lip from slipping on a stone outside our family's holiday cottage accommodation over 53 years ago, and requiring stitches. Come to think of it I think I was gazing at the Oil refinery at the time....
    BW for Sunday.
    Still G. H

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    1. Dear Grumpy Hobbit,
      I should have guessed you would prefer the chapel to the refinery! Actually, I think I did over-malign the chapel on second thoughts. It must have been my mood! Starting out on a two day trek of 35 miles in the wind and the rain affected my perception! And I was particularly upset at missing Huntsman's Leap! Now that I'm on a rest day and raring to go, I'm feeling all nostalgic about it!
      On the other hand, we'll have to agree to disagree about the refinery!
      Your Humble Goat

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  5. Hopefully a flatter walk tomorrow, given that it will be another long one! Vx

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  6. This has to have been a day of potentials!! Crossing a firing range (better to shoot down a delapidated tank than a smart, new one!)a landslide, and dry weather at the right time on very steep slopes. Glad you made it safely in last night after a very long and tiring day.

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