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.

Poets Walking

The summer holidays are almost over, and apart from two road trips to Nottingham to see my mother (and nothing else) (though she is quite enough), I haven't been anywhere at all. This is partially down to coronavirus and partly because there's been a lot to do close to home. So as yesterday dawned fair, the Northerner and I set aside a few hours for a trip to Clevedon, and a wander along Poets Walk, the historical background to which is here.

When something is actually called 'Poets ... ', I'd like to think that's who it's intended for. Back when poetry groups happened in real life, not just via email, I'd always feel a bit aggrieved when I got home from our poetry groups suitably early on a Friday (Poets Day) to find the parking space outside my house had been taken by someone who'd also Pissed Off Early because Tomorrow's Saturday but who probably hadn't written so much as a verse since they were in primary school. 

Obviously I don't really think Poets Walk should be reserved for poets, but it was busier yesterday than I'd seen it before, with all those other stay at homers.

By no means crowded but cliff paths aren't great for social distancing. 

We found a little more space for ourselves and Ted by walking along the edge of the iron-age hill fort on Wain's Hill, with its wonderful views down to Sand Point, Brean Down, Steep Holm and Flat Holm ... 

... before dropping back down to the path above Clevedon Pill, where my great-uncle Joe used to keep his flotilla of boats for hiring out to tourists a century ago. 

Then a quick visit to the World War II pillbox pimpling the face of the far older fortification. 

It's a good place for a look-out, across the estuary to Cardiff ... 

... and back up it.

Poor female blackbird

We wandered around the edge of the Glebe to visit the churchyard.

St Andrew's Church was closed ... 

... but we paid our respects to its resident sheela-na-gig, green man and chough corbels.

... before repairing to a bench to watch a rabbit foraging among the graves ... 

... and a massive car transporter make its way up the channel to Avonmouth.

We rejoined Poets Walk for a short distance ...

... before deviating to skirt Church Hill.

A last view of St Andrew's nestled between the two hills ...

... and an olfactory interrogation on Ted's part of the last two remaining 'Tennyson posts' that constitute the 'Darkened Heart' sculpture erected in 1994 with lines from In Memoriam.  

Then down the hill through the woods to the car park ...

... and home in time for a socially distanced cream tea with the IsamBards, courtesy of David and Alex. 


When shall we three meet again ... ? 

A Birthday Walk at Beachley

It being the dog's 10th birthday yesterday, and a beautiful afternoon for a walk, we decided to continue our exploration of the River Severn, still in England but this time on its opposite bank.

To get to our starting place, we had to cross the old Severn Bridge, cross the smaller bridge over the River Wye into Wales, navigate Chepstow, cross another bridge back over the Wye into England, and then loop down  the peninsula ...

... and park near the Old Ferry Inn, right under the bridge itself.

The ferry in question is the Aust - Beachley ferry, the eastern terminal of which we'd explored the previous Wednesday. The tide was right in today, though, and almost unnaturally calm. 

Here's the western slipway, still in use by the Severn Area Rescue Association, whose lifeboat station is adjacent.  

And here's a Chinook helicopter flying over. (I'm not sure why the bridge is suddenly all tilty in this shot, but it doesn't appear to be in danger of toppling in real life.)

Local legend has it that following his ferry ride from Aust, Bob Dylan quenched his thirst at the Old Ferry Inn.

This might even be another Gents he visited.

Sadly, the pub is closed now and being converted into offices. 

We pottered on what little beach the tide had left us. 

Look, here's a Type FW3/24 pill box, dating from 1940-41 ... 

... and some interesting geology. 

Looking upstream

We decided to wander down to the tip of the peninsula.

Old Man's Beard

St Twrogg's Island - or Chapel Rock - used to be the southernmost point of the peninsula, but is now a tidal island. The ruined chapel dates from the 13th century, although there was apparently an earlier one built on this site. 

This earlier refuge, built around a holy well known for its healing properties, was originally dedicated to St Tecla (Treacla), a 4th - 5th century princess from Gwynedd. (They always seem to be from Gwynedd.) 

She became an anchoress after abandoning her father's court and was later murdered in her cell by pirates. (She is not to be confused with St Thecla who knocked around a bit with St Paul.) 

Subsequently, her cell was used by another Welsh Saint called Triog or Twrog, who kept a beacon burning to warn vessels of the dangerous rocks. There's a lighthouse there now. 

The new Severn Bridge

We were now down by the western pylon of the Aust Severn Powerline Crossing, the longest powerline span in the UK, at just over a mile long.

From here, there were views of the Bridge Over The River Wye (cue a few bars of tuneless whistling) ... 

... and the confluence the Severn and the Wye. 

The grassy path ahead looked tempting, but we decided to return for a closer look at low tide, in a season when the afternoons are longer.

Two blackbirds were chinking at each other across the path as we retraced our steps ...

... and back at the bridge, a little boat was waiting to be trailered up the slipway. 

There was just time for another photo of the birthday dog and his boys ... 

... and to enjoy the intense colours of the last of the sun.

Looking downstream

A few interesting finds on the beach, considering there was so little of it. 
I really should acquire a couple of guides to pebbles and fossils, so as to be able to write with at least a little authority, but we think this is a bit of fossilised wood,

maybe; another fossil of Something; a pebble that looks like a Scandinavian forest in winter (technical term) and ... could it be ... a carnelian?