Pride before fall Sam and me It’s several days since I could update the journal – and what exciting days they’ve been. To include the whole lot in one entry would be too much, so suffice it to say that I’m actually doing this at home, at last, on Monday morning, having spent a blissfully comfortable night in our own bed. To pick up the threads of where I left off, on Thursday we drove to Dale for the final circular walk and I had my first introduction to the Pembrokeshire coast. We called briefly at the National Trust car park at Marloes, where John Jenkins was to start the smaller four mile walk. We were delighted to see a nice crowd of walkers getting out of their cars and after a quick ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ we drove on to meet Sam and his companions at Dale, for the eight miler. As we came to the coast path, we were fortunate that the skies cleared, for the scenery was unbelievably beautiful – the sea such a deep clear blue and the various small islands adding fresh interest at every turn. Many people had told me I would love this coast line, but I was unprepared for its exceptional qualities. I’d had the most wonderful surprise when Sam announced that he’d already raised over £600 for Granny Trek and then he proceeded to chat to walkers throughout our day’s walk together and increased the total by a further £100+. If only Sam had joined me at Lowestoft and walked the whole lot! We’d have reached our £60,000 target by Bury St Edmunds! Across the water I could see St David’s Head – my destination for Saturday – and marveled that my challenge was almost conquered. Next morning we parted from John and Susan, who proved to be such warm and generous hosts, to move the motorhome in to Haverford West before I started the day’s walk. We had passed the property the evening before, just to be sure where we were to go, and I’d quaked at the narrowness of the drive gates on a very busy road. There was about an inch to spare on either side of the wing mirrors as I went through and up the steep driveway. Luckily it leveled out at the top and due to an electric lamppost used as an outside light at night, we were able to plug in the electric and leave Julia happily for her day. Since the early days of this great adventure, when there were such steep learning curves in coping with the new technology, as well as managing the motor home, we were feeling pretty smug about our abilities. They say pride comes before a fall and I was metaphorically flat on my face when I took well over an hour to find my way out of Haverford West! I thought the GPS was pointing the wrong way because I wasn’t starting out on the actual route, but in fact it was because I’d programmed in the wrong walk day!!! Having adjusted that, I then found I was too far west and was walking up a road on the wrong side of a disused race course. A lady I’d asked for help had no idea where a farm road might be, leading from the north-west corner of the town. “What I need is a farmer” I muttered to myself, and low and behold, there appeared before me a flock of some two hundred sheep! The farmer in the leading vehicle soon gave me directions and then Rudi and I waited to one side as the bleating band trotted by. Rudi was extremely good and quiet until the very end, when one young lamb stopped and looked as though it might turn round and run back, unseen by the two busy sheep dogs. Rudi gave one little bark, which made the would-be truant go forward and the farmer’s wife, bringing up the rear, gave him a nod of thanks. It was a relief to get onto the right path and we pressed on as fast as we could, having already added two or three miles and an hour or more to a very long day. There were a lot of country lanes, which gave the advantage of easy route finding, though it was lovely to walk a section high up in the fields with a view across the sea to St David’s Head. The only other footpath section was spoilt by yet another unmarked diversion to a bridleway. To be fair, this could have happened five years or more previously, but not yet appeared on the OS maps. The path should have traveled in a more-or-less straight line from the lane to a farm. Halfway up, where we emerged from a copse to a field, a barbed wire fence barred our way and we had to turn right, in completely the wrong direction. Had I found the correct path? Was there another one down the lane? Had I missed one further back? The bridleway disappeared up over the steep hill and rather than struggle up what may be the wrong way, we turned round and went back to check we were in the right place, even though the grid reference on the GPS confirmed our position as correct. After a wasted twenty minutes, we climbed up the hill in the wrong direction and found that – hey presto! – the bridleway went all round the edge of this very large field. We’d now added even more mileage and time to the day. A mobile phone message from Julia told us that Tom and Mavis from Newport Ramblers were waiting with her at Middle Mill, which was a lovely surprise, so Rudi and I tried to go up a gear and hurry along, but our legs were tired, our muscles aching and when we at last arrived, we just missed our new friends. Time to be driven back to Haverford West and negotiate backing out of those narrow gate posts. After Julia had quickly washed up her day’s dirty dishes, I edged out into the road, which thankfully was much quieter now that it was early evening. Mission accomplished, I waited for Julia’s car to go into the lead – my trusty guide over so many weeks – and we set off up the hill. Circling a roundabout there was the most almighty crash from the back of the van. The cupboard over the sink had flown open and all the crockery, plus bottles and boxes of foodstuffs, had crashed to the floor and smashed into smithereens. It seemed pointless to flash Julia to stop, as to clear it up would have made us even later and I couldn’t see it could get any worse. I drove on with the aroma of Worcester sauce in my nostrils and followed Julia as we took the ‘pretty’ route through St Davids and at long last reached the lovely camp site by the sea that Joan Leahy and her husband of Kingston Seymour had so kindly booked and paid for. Having almost ‘lost it’ after such a tortuous day, I left Julia to the clearing up and walked to the cliffs with Rudi and Fritz. Just across the water lay St David’s Head – close enough now to stroll to for a pleasant evening walk for normal people – and I tried to believe that the next day I would walk the final few miles from Middle Mill. It wouldn’t register, so we returned to the motor home, where Julia had miraculously removed every tiny bit of broken glass that might have got into the dogs’ paws and was busily preparing our final evening meal of the Granny Trek. Will complete the Journal account of the walk tomorrow. |