Barry Castle and a herd of cows

I'm still to-ing and fro-ing between Bristol and Cardiff several times a week as the Severn tunnel remains closed for track-laying. As I had an afternoon to spare there mid-week, followed the next day by a morning, I decided to revisit Porthkerry Country Park near Barry, as it it wasn't too much further to drive, and also because the last time I was there, in early May, I sprained my ankle and consequently got little walking done, apart from a visit to St Curig's Church.        

The hemlock water dropwort has gone to seed since our previous visit ... 

... and purple loosestrife and meadowsweet now dominate. 

Cwtch and I made our way up through Cliff Wood, and where the track forked, took the lower path that led along the backs of some houses. Here I made a short detour to visit a tumulus I'd spotted on the map. Westward Corner Round Barrow dates from the Bronze Age. 

It reminded me of Mill Tut, our local round barrow at Badock's Wood, which is likewise in an urban setting, but this tump is literally surrounded by housing, and also an iron fence, which makes it a bit more difficult to translate yourself into the past while contemplating it.  I was glad to see it, though.

meadowsweet

We continued through Coed yr Odyn, and then made our way to the upper car park and single viaduct, where we took a path running alongside the railway. 

Our route then took us along the edge of a wheat field that was itself on the edge of green and gold.

We also walked on paths along the edges of fields lying fallow, which had a variety of wildflowers.

This was a new one for me - it's called fiddlehead (Phacelia Tanacetifolia) and is native to California, apparently. It's grown over here as a green manure. 

wild radish

cornflower

corn marigold

white campion

red shank 

mustard greens

I thought this blue field in the distance had a crop of flax, but perhaps it's Phacelia.

marsh thistle

Our route then took us through fields which warned there was livestock in them at all times. But no livestock. Big phew.

We paused on the bank of Whitelands Brook to look at a ruined cottage, which might be part of a lost mediaeval village abandoned at the time of the Black Death, then crossed via a footbridge. 

The next field had cattle in it, but I checked - no bull, no calves, no problem. Then Cwtch - who'd been put back on the lead before even the first mention of livestock - gave a little growl, just enough to alert the herd's attention. It started to follow us. And it got quicker. Came closer. 

The route said to head for a gap in the hedge, which I could see, so we made our way towards it, but the heifters were still advancing and several times I had to turn towards them and say 'Back!' with my hand held up, which worked briefly and for about two feet. Cwtch, meanwhile, was glued to my legs and it started to feel a bit hairy, literally and metaphorically. 

Through the gap I made for a gate, which didn't look like a footpath gate, but my walking book is quite old and I was beginning to feel like I wanted a barrier - any barrier - between Cwtch and me and the herd, even if we were where we shouldn't be. Except when I got to it, it was about ten foot high and padlocked. 

'Back!' I admonished. 'Back!' 

But the only back was mine, to a fence we couldn't get over and a gate that wouldn't open. 

We sidled back the way we came, close to the hedge, facing the herd. On the way I glanced over into the neighbouring field and spotted a kissing gate. That was it. But how to get there? 

After an age we reached ... well, a gap in the hedge, I suppose, leading to the Field of the Most Desirable Gate, but run through by a brook, and requiring much clambering over boulders and through mud, which, I felt, might have merited a mention in the directions as a distinguishing feature. Nevertheless, Cwtch and I clambered and squelched as quickly as we could, and the cows, bless them, decided the woman and the irritating black and white creature at her heels were altogether too much trouble and started grazing again. 

Back across the other side of the field, I realised why kissing gates are called kissing gates - it's because you want to kiss them in relief when you're finally on the other side. 

Then it was back along the bottom edge of Knock-man-down Wood and under the viaduct ... 

... and a sit-down on the beach to recover, ready to return the next day ...

... when we were off through Cliff Wood again, this time taking the fork that runs along the cliff edge and passing the ruins of Cliffwood Cottage, where, it is said, a wise woman called Anne Jenkins lived in the mid-1700s. 

At the entrance to the park, we headed for town, a short way into which stands what remains of Barry Castle: namely, the late 13th century gatehouse and the walls of the hall.  

We then dropped down through suburbia to a path that circles back to Porthkerry between the cliff edge and some rather grand houses built quite close to it.  

Behind us there were views over to Brean Down and Steep Holm ...  

... all the way down to the Exmoor coast.

Did she?

Then a doze on a bench in the sun until it was time to drive back to Cardiff to pick up The Northerner. At least I dozed; Cwtch was rather more alert. 

And next week we do it all over again.

hoggin

Ticking boxes in Weston-Super-Mare

Like - I should imagine - most people who believe it exists, I'm not convinced the pandemic's done with us yet, so it's a question of ticking the mother box while we can. Last week it was a trip to Nottingham with my children; this week, as she's in Weston for a few days with my niece and her fiancé, I drove down my aunties, Mollie and Janice. 

Except the trickle of relatives became a tsunami, with the two locally-based brothers and their wives joining us. Which meant that by the time I arrived in Weston with the aunts, having diverted to an industrial estate on the outskirts of the town to try to find an emergency toilet for one of them, there were six elderly people, with a combined age of 496, and my rather nonplussed niece and nephew-in-law, who weren't actually nonplussed at all for long, hooray, as they are a nurse and an OT respectively, and, although working in paediatrics, very capable indeed. 

Luckily, it wasn't raining and there was a park two minutes' walk from the rented flat, so we got everyone there by a mixture of car, wheelchair and walking stick, and my niece and her fiancé went off to get fish and chips, fruit juice and compostable plates and cutlery, while I organised another toilet run. And the fish and chips were deemed Very Good Indeed, as were the views from the park and the flat, and they all caught up with each other (with the exception of my aunts and uncle in Devon and Cornwall). And it felt good to facilitate that during this horrible Time of Separation. 

Birnbeck Pier in dire need of some love

Beach, mud, Grand pier, marine lake from the flat

Pier, mud, Brent Knoll, Brean Down

Brean Down and Steep Holm

Steep Holm, Flat Holm hidden behind the trees, and the coast of Wales

Along the cliff edge

Kilve is a favourite place, and since we were newly allowed, we decided to visit to mark Son the Younger's birthday. Of course, the pub was shut, so we sat on the very edge of the cliff, swinging our legs, and had a picnic instead. 

I should add that the bit of the cliff we were sitting on was about three foot above the level of the beach. It soon gets higher, and becomes unsafe anywhere near the edge, of course. 

It hard to see here, but those are not all pebbles; some of them are people - in fact, Kilve beach was more crowded than I'd ever seen it, probably because of a combination of it being the Easter holidays/a beautiful sunny day/just after the lifting of the lockdown. I'm certainly feeling the urge to visit a few of my favourite places, to keep the days in my pocket and look at them during any future lockdown. I'm not sure the vaccination is going to be magic wand we wish it to be.

In view of the busyness, we decided to take a walk along the top of the cliffs, and since most people head south-west towards East Quantoxhead with its church and picturesque duck pond, rather than north-east towards Hinkley Point nuclear power station, we decided a change of route was in order. 

It was too hazy to see more than an intimation of the coast of Wales, but we could just make out Steep Holm to the north-north-east, and every now and then there was a flash of the area's fascinating littoral rock formations. 

There were also several reminders of the locality's history and geography, in the form of old pillboxes.  

We also spotted what we thought from a distance might be a lighthouse or a WWII lookout, but which turned out to be an observation tower, part of the Royal Navy Aircraft Range - apparently, this part of the coast is still used as an air gunnery practice range for helicoptors. 

It wasn't all military stuff, though ... I saw several pairs of stonechats ... 

... my first swallow of 2021, quite a sizeable patch of cowslips, of which this is just a small corner ... 

... and some far more ubiquitous, far more pungent alexanders. 

Eventually we got to within a couple of miles of Hinkley Point C. When it filled the lens of my camera, I decided that was close enough. I still find it hard to believe we didn't switch to renewable energy sources after Chernobyl. (No, wait, I don't.)

I felt happier heading in the opposite direction, even though Bristol is well within the 80km evacuation zone in the event of a Fukushima-style event in the Bristol Channel. 

All along the cliff there are what look like enticing little paths but which actually lead abruptly to the shore, some eighty-odd feet below, so Cwtch was kept on the lead so she could learn about the edges of things in safety.   

Back at Kilve, we resumed our spot on the cliff edge for a bit, and then made our way to the Chantry Tea Rooms, where we queued for takeaway ice cream, eaten in the car park, and very lovely it was too. 

A moment to admire my first flowering garlic of the season, and take a few photos of a tired but really quite photogenic little collie, and it was time to go home. A lovely day to bank against the less good ones.