Return to Ogmore

The Severn tunnel being shut for its annual maintenance - and with the replacement bus service leaving Bristol too late in the morning and returning too early in the afternoon to accommodate anyone who works for a living - I've girded my lions for two weeks (Wednesday to Friday) of to-ing and fro-ing to Cardiff to drop the Northerner off and pick him up. The plan - as every year - was to stay there during the day and walk Cwtch somewhere interesting, but on Wednesday and Thursday this last week the temperature reached over 30°C, which is way too hot to be out all day with a dog.

But Friday was several degrees cooler, so after our morning chauffeuring stint ended, Cwtch and I headed for one of our favourite places, Ogmore-by-Sea. 

Having parked in the beach car park, we set off along the coast in a south-easterly direction towards Southerndown. The landscape was very familiar, as Cwtch and I had walked a short way further along this part of the coast in October 2023 - in fact, the south-easternmost point of our route touched the north-westernmost point of that earlier walk.

a female stonechat

We turned away from the coast up a dry valley to a road; then, just past West Farm Coastal Retreat, our route took us up a lovely walled bridle path that was full of flowers ... 

... to a lane called Heol y Mynydd, which in turn led to an area of common land, off which we diverted into a dry - and very sandy - glacial valley skirting the southern edge of Ogmore Down.

This part of the valley has the name Pant Mari Flanders, allegedly after one of several Flemish settlers who came here in the Middle Ages, having either fled religious persecution or been enticed to move here from the Low Countries with promises of rich farmland. The cowl around this well dates from this time.

 

Top row: thrift and bird's-foot-trefoil; red clover; bristly hawksbeard; slender thistles

Middle row: poppy; an escaped snapdragon; red campion; dog roses, one with a thick-legged flower beetle

Bottom row: spiny sowthistle; foxgloves; rough hawkbit; scurvy grass

Eventually we reached the River Ogmore, also very familiar from previous visits, and headed for the sea. 

Looking back up the river ...

... and across to Merthyr Mawr warren and Porthcawl

Back on the beach, Cwtch very bravely went for a walk but only because I rolled up my trousers and went in first.

The Ride of the Valkyries

Modest treasure

Early October at Southerndown and Llantwit Major

Another day, another rail strike. (Solidarity.) Faced with the prospect of two round trips from Bristol to Cardiff through heavy traffic, I decided to spend the day with the dog on the Glamorgan coast instead, and having dropped The Northerner at work, set off for Southerndown, which I last visited 40-odd years ago.  

It was high tide when we arrived, so we walked up through Slade Wood and across several fields to the edge of the village of Southerndown. 

On the way we saw this tree, which appears to be flourishing despite clearly having fallen some time ago ... 

... plus these intriguingly wind-warped whitethorns.

Our route involved several stiles ...

... and a bent old kissing gate (always more picturesque than the modern variety) ...

... although this  newer one wins the prize for best tune.

The return leg of our short walk took us along the cliff edge, with views along to Porthcawl ... 

... and ahead to the cove of Southerndown, which also goes by the name of Dunraven Bay. Poor Cwtch was kept firmly on the lead in case she tried to chase a seagull over the cliff edge.

Meanwhile, across the rain-squally Bristol Channel, the coast of Exmoor.

En route I found these young puff balls, but decided to leave them for someone else to have a fine breakfast once they'd grown a bit bigger.

As we descended to the car park, you could see Dunraven hill fort on the opposite cliff and so-called Dunraven Castle, which is really just a manor house that was castellated in the 19th century. 

Cwtch and I decided against labouring up the long flight of steps to the fort and set off for our second destination, Llantwit Major. Having last visited - inadvertently - at the end of May, during the summer dog ban, I was looking forward to letting Cwtch run on the beach, but just three days into the season of the dog, there were diggers on the beach and it didn't feel safe to let her run. Instead we climbed up the steps up the cliff to Castle Ditches Camp, a second iron-age hill fort.

From here, we could see the lighthouse at Nash Point, where I walked with Son the Younger, his then dog, Lucy, and my old collie, Ted, back in 2018. 

The coast path took us up and down over the ramparts of the fort and then along the edge of a large arable field. 

After a while we turned inland, passing a large piece of farm machinery surrounded by sunflowers, and some sheep, at which Cwtch directed a hard stare. 

At this point we had to make a sizeable detour as our path was blocked by a load of sheep and a lorry, and we ended up in some hellscape of mock wooden cabins. We eventually found a way out and back down to the sea, following a footpath that ran alongside the little River Col-huw. All the whitethorns that were still just blossoming back at the end of May were now clotted with berries, with dashes of white provided by Old Man's Beard.

Back at the beach, we walked out a little way on the limestone pavements the receding tide had uncovered, steering well clear of the cliffs, which don't look all that stable. 

A shower of rain forced us into the car for the last hour of our stay, much to Cwtch's disgruntlement, then back to Cardiff and the eventual drive home.

Another day our in Wales brought to you by the RMT union and ASLEF, but a far better and cheaper prospect than spending twice as long sitting in heavy traffic. I hope they get a resolution soon.