Merrily to Berrow

The forecast was for rain later in the morning, and we hadn't got up as early as we'd intended, and the traffic would probably be trying as it was Easter Monday but we went to Berrow anyhow in search of big skies and sand and light.

Looking back at St Mary's with Crook Peak in the distance

over the golf course

'It's busy there today,' said a fellow dog-walker we encountered as we meandered along the sandy lane to the beach. When he was out of earshot, I reminded a concerned Northerner, who'd clearly forgotten there are no cafes, ice cream vans or toilets for miles around, that we usually had the seven mile beach entirely to ourselves, so busy could be as many - or few - as twenty people. 

St Mary's and Brent Knoll

And so it proved. Four horses, a considerable number of dogs, and maybe two dozen people scattered from the gap in the dunes where the footpath ends to the cars parked at the southern end of Brean.  No wreck of the SS Nornen, though, as it was high tide.

Generally, Cwtch isn't interested in fetching balls or sticks, at least not for long and definitely not when we're somewhere with a lot of distractions, like a field with smells and tussocks and anthills and wooded paths and so on, but when there's just sandflats, she's up for a bit of chasing and fetching ... 

... if not surrendering the ball once she's brought it back.

She's still not keen on the sea, though ... 

... and showed no promise when it came to weaving through the wooden piles comprising the breakwater, like those collies who are amazing at Agility do at speed. 

As we turned back, we noticed the rain was drifting off the Quantocks towards us, an hour later than forecast but still heavy-looking and almost certainly wet, so we headed for the footpath at the gap in the dunes - or at least where we thought it was, because it turns out the wreck is the point I take my bearings from and with the tide high and its yellow buoys removed, who knows where along the beach it - and by extension we - were, exactly. We did find it without too much trouble in the end, though it seemed further down the beach towards Burnham than usual.
 

Then the winding walk back under the brush, through the slacks and over the golf course to the Church and the car.

It was a longer-than-usual drive home through heavy rain and traffic (due in part to a (not serious) accident on the M5), my pockets stuffed with translucent shells and a piece of driftwood like a breaching whale and my eyes full of the not-quite-sealight of the Somerset coast. 

 

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.

A Road Trip to Portishead

The Northerner's phone needed fixing and all the Apple shops are shut, but he came across someone who could repair it in Portishead, and suddenly we were going on a road trip and packed the dog, so we could have a walk along the coast path and she could have her first glimpse of what you might laughingly call 'the sea'. 

These days you have to take what you can get. 

But it was a mild and dry day, the light was lovely, and the path we walked very sheltered, judging by the size and shape of the trees that line it. 

Upstream, the new Severn bridge was visible, and just beyond I could make out the pylons of the Aust Severn powerline crossing, but the beautiful older bridge was invisible in mist.

I haven't been able to find out the name of this cove we passed, so maybe it's regarded as the far end of Sugar Loaf beach. Anyhow, I really liked it, with its neat tideline of bladderwrack.

Shortly afterwards we reached our destination, Black Nore lighthouse, which was built in 1894 and decommissioned in 2010. 

By now storm clouds were sweeping up the Channel, and although it was darker on the Welsh side, we decided nevertheless that we should probably head back to the car. 

We did pause for a bit at Sugar Loaf Beach proper to wander down the slipway and show Cwtch 'the sea', but to be honest, she didn't much care for the mud. 

A brief postscript this morning, in the shape of a return visit to retrieve the phone, now in full working order, and the chance of a wander up to Battery Point. Cwtch enjoyed exploring the warth in weather that wouldn't have disgraced late April.   

Battery Point lighthouse is still in use, although its two-tonne fog bell was removed in 1998 for fear it might cause the structure to collapse. 

The Severn bridges were even harder to make out than yesterday ... 

... though it was interesting to glimpse Avonmouth from a different angle ...  

... and Denny Island, midway between England and Wales and marking the boundary between the two, looked positively Mediterranean. Roll on spring and summer.