Cefn Bryn and Cwm Ivy

Time to go west, we decided, and headed for lunch in a pub in Llangennith that had been recommended to us, followed by a walk at Whiteford Sands. But first, a stop on Cefn Bryn, the ridge of common land that runs for five miles through the Gower peninsula, to find the Neolithic burial chamber (dolmen) called Arthur's Stone. 

Two rooks flying over the Loughgor estuary

'I've found it!'

'Ah, but do we know for sure that Arthur was there?' a friend would ask a week or so later, and the answer, of course, is no, we don't. But we do know that he progressed east along the other side of the Loughgor estuary, through Carmarthenshire, and shook a stone from his shoe, because this is the very stone, which, having flown through the air across the river, landed on the opposite bank. Proof! 

Looking towards Burry Port ...

... and Llanelli

It was such a staggeringly beautiful spot, even when scads of rain came bowling up the estuary (but miraculously didn't touch us). 

And back at the car park, looking south, Lundy Island in the Channel, which I still haven't managed to visit (though I long to) on account of having a dog.

Scarlet waxcaps

After lunch in the King's Head in Llangennith, we headed for Cwm Ivy, just beyond Llanmadoc, and a walk through pine woods to the sand dunes and salt marsh that line the River Loughgor at its estuary.  

Unfortunately the Northerner's bad knee was troubling him so we couldn't walk as far as the cast-iron lighthouse at Whiteford Point, although it was visible in the distance.

CLOCKWISE from top left: Scotch rose; Sand Viper's Gloss and Autumnal hawkbit; Small restharrow; Autumnal hawkbit 

Beyond the warth is Whiteford Sands. After a blow along the beach, we looped back through the dunes and slacks to regain the pine wood and, eventually, Cwm Ivy.

Once back, we settled in at the very dog-friendly cafe for Cappuccino and a fully-justified brownie apiece, while enjoying the view. A memorable day. 

mermaid's purse and oystercatcher feathers

A flying visit to Cuckmere Haven

One of my favourite vistas is salt marsh. Hard to explain, but like moorland, it feels more accommodating to my eyes than, say, an urban landscape, with lots of long distance focussing, fewer verticals to punctuate the skyline, and no harsh or glaring colours. Perhaps something in me that is bleak and featureless corresponds in some way.

Anyhow, before we get too metaphysical, I made a flying visit to Sussex yesterday to spend time with my daughter and her partner, during which we drove to one of my favourite places, Cuckmere Haven.

Any day trip to Sussex from Bristol is necessarily  rushed, but yesterday the timings got really messed up, as we opted to stop at the pub for lunch first and they must have been short-staffed in the kitchen or something. It was nearly two hours before we were served, and as lovely as it was sitting around the table chatting and escorting wasps that strayed indoors back outside, it would have been lovelier still to exchange some of that news while sitting on the beach or poking about along the shoreline. But so it goes.

By the time we'd eaten, we only had about an hour and three quarters before we had to be back in Saltdean to pick my daughter's partner's car up from the garage, so we walked briskly down the chalk path that runs between the naturally meandering river and the straight channel that was cut in 1846 to alleviate flooding upstream.

One thing that struck me yesterday was that there were a lot fewer flowers - and butterflies - than the last time I was there, almost exactly two years ago. I did see the brilliant flash of a few Chalk Hill Blue butterflies, but none lingered long enough for me to photograph them, and since we were on a route march, neither did I. Maybe the long dry period in May and early June contributed to the dearth of wild flowers.

rock sea lavender

Haven Brow, with Belle Tout lighthouse in the distance

Stone mushrooms!

hagstones

'This is the closest I'm getting to the sea!'

Cwtch liked being on the beach, but even though she was determined to shadow me, there was still no way she was going to get even her claws wet in the sea, and she spent much of her time standing right behind me at the water's edge. 

Seaford Head

the remnants of Viper's Bugloss

the last few yards of the River Cuckmere before it meets the sea

I don't normally wear patterned clothes but couldn't resist this flowered top

As we hurried back up the river to the pub car park, one of us mentioned our forthcoming visit to the Bluebell Railway to ride on the Flying Scotsman, and how much my late father would have enjoyed hearing about it, only for a Spitfire to materialise overhead at that very moment, as if he might have heard us and wished to point out it was planes he fixed during the war, actually ... 

... followed by (we think) a Hawker Hurricane. 

  

Perfect timing, as was dropping my daughter's partner off to pick up his car with a minute to spare, before the long drive home. A lovely day, but next time I'll spend longer on the beach.

A Return to Cuckmere Haven

There was a balloon fly-past along our street yesterday morning, as part of this year's Covid-secure fiesta, which made for an auspicious start to the day's long drive to the South coast and back, to visit my daughter. 

And the day, spent (mostly) in Cuckmere Haven, which is one of my favourite places, lived up to the hype.

After lunch in the Cuckmere Inn, we walked down to the sea. The last time I was here, in late September 2017, it was autumnal. Yesterday it was summery and hot, but not quite too hot, which was a relief.

  Small cabbage white on fleabane

We made our way down to the sea along the flower- and butterfly-filled lane that runs along the right-hand side of the valley. 

Thistledown pretending it's sheep's wool

Glimpse of the cliffs

Chalk Hill Blue butterflies on vetch

Common Centaury

Viper's-Bugloss

Looking back up the meandering River Cuckmere 

Down on the beach I found a handy bit of wall to sit on. It's funny but once you've got your eye in, interesting pebbles present themselves even when you aren't really looking. Here's a hagstone masquerading as a geode. Or vice versa.

Down on the water's edge, where the River Cuckmere meets the sea, it's easier to get a sense of why this run of cliffs is called the Seven Sisters.

Just visible on the furthermost cliff is Belle Tout lighthouse, which we visited a couple of summers ago. And in the opposite direction, the coastguard cottages on Seaford Head. 

Seaford Head 

The looping River Cuckmere comes to its conclusion

The trouble with a long car journey is that the day's inevitably curtailed. One day I'll have a holiday in East Sussex. For now, though, it was time to head back up the valley, taking the path running along the right bank of the river, with a final goodbye from an unseen but nearby raven. 

Swan and little egret

Swan

An expanse of salt marsh