Day 28
St. Govans to Manorbier: 11.5 miles (in theory)
Spot of the Day: The Lilyponds near Bosherston
Reason: I added an extra mile or two to my trip to see the lilies in bloom, and in doing so destroyed my feet - so it better have been worth it
If I may say so, oww. Oww. Oww. Oww.
I hurt my feet today. I have blisters on all the toes of my right foot, and things falling off said toes that I sincerely hope were former blisters. In theory 11.5 miles shouldn't have been that bad, but I had to go see the lily ponds at the beginning of my walk near Broad Haven, and I wasn't tracking how far I walked there, so by the time I finished at the Manorbier Hostel in Skrinkle Haven, who knows how far I'd walked.
Let's start the day with an hour and a half bus ride
So as I mentioned yesterday, I'd been staying at the lovely lovely lovely campsite at the National Trust site at Gupton Farm for the last few days. In theory this is only a mile or 2 from Broad Haven. But in reality the busses in the morning don't go that direction - they go Freshwater West to Angle to Pembroke, then wait in Pembroke and then Stackpole to Broadhaven. Basically although it's only a few minutes counterclockwise, the bus goes clockwise. Thankfully the equally lovely lovely lovely people who ran Gupton Farm offered to take my backpack to my next stop so I wouldn't have to figure it out. Which was amazingly kind of them. Another reason to love Gupton Farm.
Anyway, getting on the bus I basically broke the bus fare system which didn't have a way to account for my staying on for the second run. But the very kind trainee driver in a Hawaiian shirt took care of it when we got to Pembroke, and I had a good time chatting with the other supervisor driver in the back of the 16 seater bus. In particular I learned that the buses are smaller this year than in year's past - and it's entirely possible in the summer that there won't be enough space. But apparently if that happens and it's the last run, the drivers promise they'll come back and you won't be left rideless in Angle with no way to get back to Pembroke. Granted, it might take them 2 hours to come get you, but they'll find you eventually.
Then on to the Halloumi Breakfast
Rather than get started, I thought it might be a good idea to get breakfast, as it was now 11:15 and I'd run out of non-food-in-a-bag breakfasts while at Gupton, being as it was entirely secluded. Enter Slow Pig, a lovely food truck (here they're not called food trucks, which I said to someone once and they laughed at me, anyway this was more of a food trailer) right in the Broadhaven parking lot.
Although I wanted nothing more than a hot dog from the place that said it specialized in free range local well raised pigs, I couldn't justify a hot dog for breakfast so I had a lovely halloumi and egg sandwich. With Pembrokeshire sourced hot sauce even. All great with friendly service.
On to the trail, or let's go to the lily ponds first
High on salty halloumi and eggs, I started walking, and within five minutes had detoured to the Lily Ponds. Originally created in the 18th century for fishing, they were then landscaped and covered in lilies. Although not entirely blanketed anymore, there are certainly still enough there to merit a visit in June or July when they are blooming. So of course I found myself aimlessly wandering around bridges and paths with a hundred other people.
Although it was nice to be there, I can only walk a certain amount each day - and I wasn't really paying attention to how far I was going.
Barafundle - Best of British Beaches
So, after leaving the lilyponds, and moving on to some clifftop walking with fabulous views back towards St. Govan's, I found myself starting to feel a little footsore even as early as getting to Barafundle Bay. I've seen this written up in many places as one of the best beaches in Britain - and not just because it's alliterative. It really is quite nice.
Surrounded by cliffs on three sides, a lovely forest on one side, and today with azure water in what was turning out to be a rather steamy clear day, it was a beach I'd want to spend more time on. It was also possibly the one beach I've ever been to where every person on it besides me seemed whiter than the sand, but that's no one's fault really. For the first time I saw many people out in just swimsuits - no wetsuits in sight.
Strangely, as I was walking out through the arch on the hill to one side of the beach, I heard a woman advising her large group of teenagers that they were required to wear shoes on the beach. Specifically, she said in case of washed up needles or other garbage. I looked back at the spotless beach and wondered wtf she was talking about. Then she admitted that if she was here herself she'd walk barefoot, but it was company policy to require shoes. That is quite the liability policy that company has.
Giving Stackpole proper a miss
When I got to tiny Stackpole Bay - again a well-kept National Trust site, all I wanted to do was sit down and have lunch. Since there was a small cafe in the old boathouse, that's exactly what I did. I'd been thinking of going to visit the estate itself, but seeing how many people were there on a weekday, how far inland it was, and already being a bit worn down, I decided to just stick to the coast path.
Oh yes, did I mention how many people were in between Broadhaven and Stackpole? For a Wednesday in June, I'd say a lot. I decided I was particularly glad I chose specifically not to come here in the 'high' season - i.e. July and August - when I was walking on the cliffs past Broadhaven and a single man decided to walk no more than five feet behind me for about ten minutes. Not being used to having people around, his footsteps and breathing seemingly right on top of me were pretty annoying. I tried to slow down so he could pass me. He slowed down. I tried to speed up. He sped up. Finally, I stopped and literally stared intently at absolutely nothing waiting for him to go past. He passed me, walked ten feet further on and stopped and stared at the same nothing I was staring at, and even took a picture of it.
I laughed kind of maniacally to myself and then glared at him. At which point he turned back around and went back to where we'd come from. I don't really know what that was about, and the introverted hiker in me doesn't really care to know.
Anyway, that part of the path was rather crowded, as was the Freshwater East area and in particular Barafundle Bay. However, the parts in between - Stackpole to Freshwater East, and Freshwater East to Manorbier, were charmingly quiet (Freshwater East itself was busy). The cliffs changed a bit here, from sheer limestone cliffs to more undulating dark rock.
I probably would have appreciated it more if my feet weren't starting to really hurt.
Marnorbier will cure your ills
When I got to Marnorbier I had a choice - walk the 3 additional km to Skrinkle Haven where the hostel was, or go inland and have dinner. Given how much my feet hurt, I was actually contemplating trying to find a bus from Manorbier, but decided I'd go off the trail, find the town's pub, have a drink and see if that would at least dull the pain enough that I could walk to Skrinkle Haven.
Yes, that's right, my thought was to fix the problem with alcohol. And it worked too. The pub in town was called the Castle Inn, and I learned it had been refurbished within the last 6 years when two older women with rather posh accents came in and had a loud amusing conversation with the barman about the last time they were here that made me think they may have been drunk.
Anyway, the place looked lovely, there was a garden, several rooms with mismatched upholstered furniture, a tv showing just live shot of a beach break over and over, and tonight a small amount of decorations for an event where a man was coming in to tell sea tales. I really wish I'd been able to stay to find out what that meant, but it sounded fun.
But truly the best thing about this place was they had FRIED CLAMS. I'm not sure I've ever seen fried clams outside the US, and to be fair, these were called Popcorn Cockles, and as they were cockles they were tiny and clearly not fed on cornmeal and garlic like those of us in New England who know what we're about do, but they came with garlic aioli and were really good so frankly close enough. After that, listening to Bob Dylan, James Taylor and Bruce Springstein and drinking a pint of cider, I easily made it around the Priest's Nose, across Old Castle Head, and through the safe access part of another military firing range.
At which point I was suddenly confronted by two alpaca heads staring at me from above the high grass. I don't have anything else to comment about that - except that it was kind of surprising.
I hobbled into the hostel and set up my tent. After I sat down, I realized exactly how bad my feet felt. I considered having a rest day the next day - realizing I haven't had one in two weeks - but thought I'd see how I felt in the morning. Maybe I could convince an alpaca to carry me.
