Cefn Bryn (again), Port Eynon and Rhossili

One of the things I most enjoyed about holidaying in Gower was that while there were lots of places to see, we didn't have to drive very far to see them. The peninsula is 19 miles long and about six miles wide; our holiday cottage was sitated equidistant from both coasts and nowhere was more than a short drive away. 

So it wasn't too surprising to find ourselves driving past Cefn Bryn the very next day after we'd visited, so we stopped off again, this time taking a slightly different route that led to the Great Cairn.

The weather was dryer, if less dramatic, than the previous day, with clearer views.

We watched a couple of ravens take on what looked like a kestrel for a while, both sides giving as good as they got.

A different view of Arthur's Stone

the longest slug I ever did see

We then drove down to Port Eynon, which was a little disappointing, on account of most of the beach being very dog-unfriendly. We found ourselves corralled in a rocky corner with other dog owners and their dogs, while the sandy - and sunnier - larger part was empty. 

Knowing me, knowing you ...                               Aha!        

Cwtch and I made our way down to the Salt House, which is believed to have been built in the mid-16th century for salt production, although the usual tales of secret tunnels, smuggling and piracy attached themselves to it in Victorian times.

Dewberries

Then on to beautiful Rhossili, one of my favourite places, where we had lunch in a cafe called - aptly - The View, after which we ventured down to the beach. A couple of choughs blew overhead.

Worms Head

The wreck of the Helvetia

Cwtch didn't want much truck with the sea

The wind blowing ribbons of sand along the beach was mesmerising, but it was time to leave so we made our way up from the beach ... 

... and back to Three Crosses to load up the car and head for home. We were leaving a day early, as I had a reading the next day in Portishead, but we'd had a memorable if not very summery holiday, with plenty left to explore another time.

A bit of out and aboutery

My dog, Ted, got me over my complete lack of confidence when it came to driving, by insisting in the early days that we went out at least once a week to visit new places, so I've decided to keep trying to get out as often as I can in his honour, even though it's hard right now, not just for reasons of grief but also Covid-19. 

Arnos Vale is somewhere I wanted to get to before it closes again. The IsamBards did a poetry walk there in early spring and we had another planned for Midsummer's Day but ... well, you know the rest. 

I missed wandering there through the summer, and now it's definitely autumn. 

It's also a bit more overgrown than usual. It took Will and I a while to find my grandparents' and infant great-uncles' grave, even though I'd committed its whereabouts to memory. More or less. 

Must get over there with some shears, we said, even though the grave is sinking between the roots of an ash tree. 

In some places the cemetery's like a painting by  Henri Rousseau.

Tyger! Tyger! 

I love this wild patch in the heart of Bristol. 

I also love Clevedon, so we popped down there too. First stop was Clevedon Craft Centre, which I last visited 12 years ago.

Then on to the beach, where we sat in the sand and scrabbled for sea glass, which was mostly too new and sharp-edged to be worth collecting. 

It was a lovely interlude, though ... 

... on a windless day. 

Out on the pier, I could see Church Hill, St Andrew's and Wain Hill, where we'd been on our last jaunt with Ted, when all had seemed well. Impossible to think that visit had been less than two weeks earlier.

There's somewhere else I've needed to go badly all year and that's Dartmoor. I didn't want to risk letting a whole year go by without setting foot on it. 

I didn't want to go without Ted either. 

In the end the Northerner and I decided to have a short walk and film my three Dartmoor-based poems from The Shadow Factory, as it doesn't look like we'll be having a proper, in-person launch any time soon. 

Except that when we arrived it was clear the conditions were against us.

And walking up steep Cox Tor in the teeth of the wind was attrition.

I staggered as far as the first outcrop of rock on its summit and howled and howled for my dog.

But I still had to get to the cairn with its trig point, a short distance that looked as wide as an ocean, rippled with waves from the Ice Age. 

It was so windy, even the landscape seemed to be coming unhinged. 

We made it as far as the big cairn to the north. 

There were amazing views in all directions, here over to Brent Tor, with West Devon beyond.

There were some very steep sections on our descent to the car.

Coming in the opposite direction was a man with two border collies. One had classic black and white markings, like Ted; the other as dark as a shadow. There's no way of knowing what went through their collie minds, but the dark one headed for Colin and the other for me, and they licked our hands, and swapped about, and they were just beautiful and so gentle. 

It was a slightly strange and special moment. If there's a message there, it's a loving one. It was always all about love.