Return to Merthyr Mawr and the Sirhowy Valley

One thing that has occasionally irked me these last two years was my failed attempt in 2024 to complete a triangular walk in the lanes and through the fields at the back of the pretty village of Merthyr Mawr in the far west of the Vale of Glamorgan, so when I noticed the same walk described in a different walk book I have, only in the reverse direction, I decided to have another go.

When Cwtch and I arrived at Candleston, it was to find a film shoot in progress somewhere near by, with a large section of the car park taped off, but there was no one about, so we slipped through and set off up the stony lane towards Candleston Farm.

Our route then took us along the edge of a wheatfield, following an old wall. So far, so good.

It was at this point that the path petered out and the directions in the book became very complicated. I felt, briefly, doomed to fail again.

We passed a fallen ash tree ...

... and some very curious young heifers, who were thankfully in an adjoining field.

hedge woundwort coming into bloom

Eventually we made our way to a tree-lined track, the trees being low and requiring me to duck under them. Past a farm and we were headed back down a long lane and along the road from Merthyr Mawr to the car park. We had completed the walk. The car park was still taped off, though, and there were more people about, so I decided not to hang about in the hope of re-visiting Candleston castle, but instead headed for nearby Traeth Yr Afon with Cwtch. This is one of the Porthcawl beaches and I was last there in  February 2019 with Son the Younger, although I've often seen it from the other side of the River Ogmore.

Sand Viper's Gloss

Small restharrow

It looks very pleasant in the photos, but actually the weather wasn't unlike something you might experience in February - at least, the wind was. I'd hoped to get to the end of the beach, where the River Ogmore meets the sea, but progress was slow and we had to turn back just before we reached it, staggering back to the car looking like extras from 'Lawrence of Arabia'.

A good day, apart from the £14 I had to pay in car parking charges, which is a scandal, frankly.

The following day, we went back to the Sirhowy valley, just outside Newport, where we did a short walk last year. I sort of had it in my head to do the longer route, but then I remembered how Son the Younger had tried walking it when he lived in Risca and the path petered out and he had to break his way back down the side of the valley, so settled for walking up and down the disused railway instead. 

honeysuckle and foxglove

foxgloves in every direction

hemlock water dropwort

Cwtch being very brave and paddling by herself

bluetit feather

Looking down on the River Sirhowy

Wall lettuce ... 

... and its wall

wood hawkweed

Down by the Sirhowy

And just like that, the two weeks of Severn tunnel maintenance were over, and hopefully - unless it floods or there are more strikes - my driving the Northerner to work is done for another year. Hwyl fawr, Cymru.

Sker Point and Kenfig Burrows

True to form, it being the school holidays, I've driven 400 miles in the last two days. Most of these were in my capacity as Chauffeur to the Star, ie Son the Elder who is back doing some extra work for the first time since the pandemic started. (Can't reveal what the production is or who the big-name star is, obviously, except that even I've heard of him.)

The other sixty miles were with Son the Younger, who needed to get his car repaired in Newport, and who wanted to go on a jaunt to Porthcawl, rather than sit in Dunelm on Spytty Road for a whole day, waiting for it to be fixed, and since both jobs were in South Wales, it was easy to multitask.

The last time we were in Porthcawl, we'd walked along Merthyr Mawr beach to where the River Ogmore meets the sea, and we'd had my lovely old collie Ted with us, who'd had a great time running in and out of the waves even though it was February. We didn't bring our current collie, Cwtch, this time, even though she hails from nearby Neath, on account of it being 32 degrees in my car and far too hot. We decided to walk in the opposite direction too, in the hope that it would be less crowded than the beaches nearer town, so parked at Rest Bay and headed north-west along the coast towards Port Talbot.

Rest Bay with sea holly

Rock samphire

Sorrel

Pink Bay

The further we walked, the fewer people we encountered. It felt wild and bleak and lovely.

Cattle grazing on Sker Point

This is Sker House, the history of which goes back nearly a thousand years to when it was a grange belonging to nearby Margam Abbey, and which has attracted stories of persecuted Roman Catholic priests, and wreckers luring ships to their doom on the rocks of Sker Point.

A rock pool 

No idea whose feather this is

We walked some way along Sker beach and then decided that given the heat, we'd probably gone far enough. A little further ahead there were some naturists, and it was certainly hot enough and remote enough for the sighting not to be a surprise. As we sat and sweated, the skies cleared and the sun came out, burning away some of the mist that had shrouded the views of Port Talbot, Swansea and Gower. There was a bit of a breeze, just enough to make the heat bearable. 

On our way back, we walked along the edge of the dunes, which were thick with vegetation and wildlife. 

wild carrot

restharrow

wild thyme

sulphur beetles on carrot

There were multitudes of six-spot burnet moths, who, when they take off, become a blur of red wings - seen here on viper's-bugloss, spear thistle, wild mint and ragwort. Their wings had been bleached by the sun and the wind ... 

... the same conditions, I imagine, that has stunted the growth of this yarrow.

There are also some extraordinarily round pebbles.

Views from Sker Point 

By now we were tired and thirsty and glad to see Rest Bay on the horizon, although when we finally reached it, a brief glance in passing was all we had time for. Son the Younger needed to get back to the garage, and after I'd dropped him off, I had to dash back to Bristol for a few hours' respite before my midnight return to Wales to chauffeur home Son the Extra. Which is scant rest indeed.  

Traeth Yr Afon and Merthyr Mawr Warren

We had a few hours to fill across the bridge, so we drove through squalls of rain to Porthcawl.

Were we deterred? NO! Not one little bit.

And it did brighten up quite quickly. 

Traeth yr Afon is a lovely, dog-friendly beach. We decided to wander along to its end, where the River Ogmore enters the sea.

The tide was out and the sand pristine. There were really interesting ripple patterns left by the receding tide ...

... and extensive honeycomb worm reefs, which were new to me. 

They're spongy and intricate and the humans amongst us tried to avoid stepping on them.

Ted, meanwhile, was having a literal ball. 

Right down at the water's edge, the tide was coming in fast. 

Just time to chase a few gulls.

By now we were at the mouth of the river, looking across to Ogmore-by-Sea, which I last (and first) visited about 35 years ago. 

We decided to climb up onto the sand dunes, which are part of the Merthyr Mawr warren.

This is the River Ogmore from the dunes.

As at Kenfig and Rhossili, there's a story about a village lost under the sand dunes. Here it's Treganlaw, the 'town of a hundred hands'.  

I was also reminded of John Betjeman's 'sinkininny church' at Trebetherick in Cornwall. 

We needed to be heading back, however ...  

... taking with us a somewhat squitty dog who, for some unfathomable reason, had decided to revive his pupster habit of drinking sea water. 

You love me really, says Ted.