Coast Path Adventure Day 16: A Trip Inland, Schoolboy Errors And The Manly (Stupid) Option

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23rd June 4pm Hereford

Day 16

Now anyone reading this that has an aptitude for geography will note that Hereford is not in Wales. This is because I have decided to take a few days off from my coastal trek, mainly at the behest of a certain young English lady who decided to take a few days off work and requested the pleasure of my company while doing so. So far be it from me to deny a lady her wishes, and always being willing to see more of the great British countryside, I boarded a train at Milford Haven this morning and made my way back on to English soil.

After all, I figured I’ve earned a bit of R&R after the last few days (not that I really have to justify myself to anyone, one does as one pleases these days without the need to explain myself to anyone. But anyhow, I digress…). After getting up early and making a quick getaway from Newgale through the foggy Welsh morning, I was none too pleased to be caught in a couple of short but very sharp showers. Gritting my teeth and pressing on regardless, I was very pleasantly surprised when in a couple of hours conditions cleared up and it turned in to a lovely day to be scrabbling along the Pembrokeshire cliff tops.

In light of the favourable conditions and the fact that I hadn’t done much over the past week apart from engaging in various acts of debauched revelry, I decided to knuckle down and really get some miles under my belt. That way, if the weather turned nasty the following day I could have another rest without feeling guilty. Added to all this was the fact that my fitness levels had by this stage drastically improved despite all my boozing and I was actually enjoying the physical challenge of walking at a brisk pace with a full pack.

Thus I progressed at full steam and made good progress covering the twenty or so k’s of the scheduled leg of the walk. Still feeling pretty good, and having forgotten to write down the length of the next leg, I decided to make the most of the good weather and crack on after a short rest, bottle of Lucozade and a flapjack. Either the wind had picked up significantly or the next stretch of coast was more exposed, or perhaps a little of both, but for the next couple of hours I was battered by a strong wind that literally blew me about and make walking in a straight line quite difficult, which when you are walking along a cliff edge close to a perilous drop into a freezing ocean, goes from mere annoyance to major, sphincter-clenching concern. Yet somehow I managed to avoid falling to a watery death and eventually, much to my relief, the wind died down.

After a while I reached a point where I had two options; cut across a shortcut where I could see my destination town of Dale juts a mile or so away, or take the long way around the headland and complete the entire leg of the coast path. I chose the latter, manlier option as there was still plenty of daylight and it was save me backtracking the next day. “Besides,” I said to myself, “it’s only a quick jaunt around the headland, how long can it really take?”

By this stage the fog had descended and was sitting ominously out at sea, but it had been there a while without doing anything much so I figured that the weather would hold for at least the hour or so that I estimated it would take to get to Dale. I figured wrong. About half an hour in to this final stretch the heavens opened and the wind picked up and I soon resembled a drowned, very miserable rat. The manly option was now starting to look suspiciously like the foolish one, but I had no choice but to press on while mentally reprimanding myself for being such an utter dropkick (I mean I could actually see the town from where I was standing! Could have had the tent up by now and been warmly ensconced in the pub listening to the rain lash the windows and laughing quietly to myself about all the poor fools stupid enough to be stuck out walking in such awful weather).
Anyhow, self-flagellation aside, my quick hour’s jaunt ended up being two hours of soggy, unpleasant slog and when I finally reached town I was wet, exhausted and extremely irritable. Asking a passer-by as to the whereabouts of the nearest campsite, I was informed that there wasn’t one really, but a farmer several miles down the road took caravans in one of his fields, and another farmer a little less far out of town, but more out of the way, let campers set up on his property. Mustering all the politeness left in my knackered frame, I thanked the man and set off down the road in the direction that he had indicated.

A few hundred metres down the road and over a hill (but thankfully not far, far away) I came across a narrow, raised patch of grassy land beside the road. Being too tired to care if anyone would object and not really being able to walk much farther anyway, I though “bugger it” and set up camp there. Tent up I hobbled back in to town and had a surprisingly nice, home-cooked prawn and squid green curry at the pub before hitting the hay. Now this in itself requires further explanation, for unfortunately I was not able to hit the pillow and pass out from sheer exhaustion as I would have liked.

The place I had set up was on a slope, and one that turned out to be steeper that it had at first seemed. This in itself if no huge problem, I have camped on an angle before juts fine, but in my tired state I made the schoolboy error of setting up along the slope rather than straight up and down it as I should have done. Consequently I kept sliding down to one side and finding a comfortable sleeping position became nigh on impossible. However, I was too tired and it was too late to be bothered to get up and remedy the problem. Eventually my levels of exhaustion exceeded my level of discomfort and I was able to grab a few hours of frequently interrupted rest.

Next morning I rose early again (not that I really had a choice) and after packing up spent the rest of the morning lounging in the sun and corresponding via text message with the lovely Fiona as to what our plans for the next couple of days were going to be. Eventually it was decided that I was to get the bus to the next town, which was a larger industrial centre that conveniently had a train station, and either stay the night or get the train in the Cardiff before heading on the Herefordshire the next day.

I have to say that entering Milford Haven and walking around for a while was a slightly strange experience after so long in the picturesque Welsh countryside. The charming rural atmosphere had given way to a grimy urban landscape framed by the backdrop of the large refineries that were the town’s main source of income. I had first noticed them on the last leg of the previous day’s walk as they loomed out of the fog like something from a post-apocalyptic computer game that would involve shooting large amounts of aliens/other baddies.

Along with the landscape I noticed a change in the people too. No longer were there faces full of good rural vigour, but pallid ones with a greyish complexion that spoke of poor diet, lack of exercise and long hours indoors working menial jobs. Too young mothers in track suits pushed strollers into pound shops on the dirty high street. It was as if someone had removed a small slice of one of the rougher areas of Manchester or Liverpool and slapped down on the Welsh coastline. I have to say it was a little disconcerting.

As if I didn’t find the place unappealing enough, I was sent on a wild goose chase around town in the heat with a full pack trying to find a tourist information centre in order that I might enquire as to the whereabouts of a youth hostel or other budget accommodation. I finally discovered, after much faffing about, that it had been shut down some time ago. I was beginning to see why. After asking around I eventually learned that there were no campsites or hostels anywhere nearby, but that there were some decently priced BnBs in town. Being tired and frustrated I decided that was my best bet and set off in that general direction.

After a short search I had found the street and sized up three potential options, eventually opting for the one that seemed the dodgiest and therefore hopefully the cheapest. I turned out to be right on both accounts. Single rooms turned out to be £25, which seemed reasonable enough to someone in my state of exhausted annoyance, so I decided that the Starboard Hotel was for me. Going inside I was led though a fantastic Fawlty Towers-esque establishment. There was no natural night to speak of and the stale air inside bore the distinct aroma of generations of cigarette smoke trapped in the ancient carpets. Adding to the overall effect was the décor and furniture that had doubtlessly not been changed since John Cleese and Connie booth graced television screens for the first time. It was fantastic.

Being led to the very top floor I was surprised to find that my ‘single’ room was actually a twin share and so I quickly set about spreading out and making myself at home. For all the musty antiquity of the rest of the place, the room was actually quite nice and came complete with TV and very respectable ensuite bathroom. After taking care of some washing and other domestics I headed down to Tesco to get some provisions. For all its urban grimness, there were some perks to being in a larger, more industrial town for a change, and once stocked up I headed back for an extremely enjoyable evening of eating, drinking red wine and lying in bed watching crap telly. It certainly made a welcome change to the previous cold, sleepless night in the sloping field anyway!

So today I rose, checked the train timetable and deciding to catch the 11.08 rather than the 9.08, was able to take my time and luxuriate in the quite exceptional breakfast provided by the Starboard. Kicking things off with my first bowl of Cocopops in years, I then slowly worked my way through en entire large plate of full English, two rounds of toast, a jug of orange juice and ta large pot of coffee, all while reading the paper. It was heaven!

Waddling contentedly back to my room on a very full stomach, I got ready and made my way downstairs to leave. Now I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about doing a runner, which would have been perfectly possible as there was no-one about and they’d not taken any ID off me, but my conscience, the size and quality of the breakfast and my general unwillingness to incur any bad karma all combined so that I paid my dues and was on my way. All that remains to say of today is that after an uneventful train journey to Hereford (changing at Cardiff), I now find myself waiting for Fiona and living the life of Ray Davies, that is to say “now I’m sitting here sipping on my ice cold beer, lazing on a sunny afternoon, in the summertime…yeah in the summertime…”

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Photos

A Refined View
One of the picturesque refineries near Milford Haven.

Drowned Rat
Again, due to photography-inhibiting conditions, I shall again substitute a picture of a sodden animal to convey a sense of my watery discomfort.

Hard a' Starboard
The reception desk at the Starboard Hotel

Milford Misbehaven
The port at Milford Haven. Do not believe everything you see, it is by no means as nice as this photo makes it seem.

Keep On Strollin'
A typical Milford Haven resident.

In All Her Refinery
Ugly by day, it does make for a good night photo though.