Thursday, 15 June 2017

Burning the calories between Brean and Burnham


Today's walk starts off at Brean Village Hall where I find a footpath running up from behind the bus shelter & public conveniences. The going is difficult slipping and sliding on the soft sand but I make it to the top and am greeted with the sight of the beautiful beach.


It's really blustery today so my sunhat has to be tucked away in my bag.  The goal today is to walk the 6-7 miles from Brean to Burnham-on-Sea.  This part of the Coastal Path is all along the beach and is the second longest stretch of sand in Europe. How wonderful seeing it stretched out before me.  Nothing but sand and sea with a brilliant blue sky above.


As with yesterday it is not long before I spot those monsters of the deep.  Huge, huge jelly fish beached on the sand.  Honestly, the beach is virtually littered with the creatures.   My mind goes back to childhood and the TV series of Quatermass!


A couple of miles further on & I meet a horse and rider.  Forget about the view.  Forget about the waves pounding on the beach.  Forget about everything except the Smartphone.  What a world it is that we live in!!


The waves certainly show how blustery it is today - churning up the soft sand and turning the sea a muddy brown. 



Good job I purchased a take away coffee in Costa before boarding the bus in Weston because there are no coffee shops here.  Oh but wait a moment - what is that ahead?  It's certainly no match for Costa Coffee or Starbucks but I suppose it would do if you were desperate.



As I glance across the bay I can make out the hazy shape of Hinkley Point C - the new nuclear power station.  Such a blot on the landscape.  Those of us who live on the north coast of Somerset wouldn't stand a chance if that suffered a melt down. I wonder whether I would need to revert to teachings from the 1960s when those of us working in London were told that in the event of a nuclear attack we should shelter under a tin bath in some large open space!!!!  Honestly, I kid you not.


Today all I have to shelter under is my hoody!


As I walk I am mesmerised by the light sparkling on the wet sand.


So much so that before I know it I find I am in deep s**t.  Without realising I have walked into a trough of very wet sand and it is quickly oozing up over my shoes.  Cripes, the last thing I need is to get stuck in sinking sand!  I manage to squirm my way to safety but my shoes tell all!


The scenery is really magical but from now on I MUST concentrate on where I am and where I am going.  No more getting lost in my own little world.


After one and a half hours I spot Burnham in the distance.  

 

The first sign of getting back to civilisation is when I pass the old Lighthouse on stilts.  This was built way back in 1832 but still stands firm against the winds.





 Having reached Burnham-on-Sea it is now time for me to leave the beach.


And head off along the Prom towards Britain's shortest pier.  I know that a few yards further down the Esplanade can be found Burnham's public toilets.   These are free, unlike those in Weston-super-Mare.


The No. 20 bus stop is at the top of Pier Street and after my two hour walk I am more than ready to flop onto the bus.  How lucky I am to have a walk such as this just a bus ride away from home.  I shall do this walk again - after the influx of holiday makers have left!


Wednesday, 14 June 2017

Along The Flats and Up The Down

The Carrot Bus Shelter, Weston super Mare
Having put on half a stone in weight over the winter the time has come for a few early summer walks along the Somerset coast.  Perfect timing - just before the schools break up and the onslaught of holiday makers begins.  The weather has also picked up so there is nothing to stop me.  All I have to do is set my mind to getting out and about rather than sitting and researching at my computer.

Yesterday's outing started at The Carrot Bus Shelter in Weston super Mare where I caught the No. 20 bus to Brean Village Hall.  The half hour bus route meanders its way through the twisty narrow lanes of Lympsham passing delightful old farm houses on the way.  What a relaxing way to start the day.


A couple of months ago I was fortunate enough to acquire a couple of old photograph albums on eBay.  All that was known about them was that they captured scenes of farm life somewhere in Somerset towards the end of the First World War.  After much research I narrowed the locations down to Lympsham and Brent Knoll.  How wonderful to now be travelling along the same lanes and be looking out over the same fields as shown in those old photographs.

 
Alighting from the bus as Brean Village Hall I set off along Warren Road in search of a footpath which will take me up and over the sand dunes onto Berrow Flats.  I find a track at the back of a car park and make my way up.  The soft sand makes the going very difficult and my right ankle (still recovering from injury) complains bitterly at being strained with every step.

 
But it is well worth the effort.  When I reach the top and slide down the dunes on the other side I am greeted with the wondrous sight of an almost deserted beach.  On the right a couple of miles up to Brean Down and The National Trust Cafe.  On the left 6 miles up to Burnham. 


The only people I can see are a couple of elderly ladies walking their dogs and a friendly beach warden engaged in picking up other people's rubbish.


Being a loner this deserted beach looks like heaven on earth to me and I set off at a brisk pace towards Brean Down.  My ankle thanks me for making for the wet sand which provides a modicum of support whilst cushioning the impact of footfall.  Pounding for miles along concrete pavements does little to improve an injury.  As I walk along the clouds began to melt away leaving the sun to sparkle on the receding sea. 


Peaking out from behind the sand dunes I can see the tops of caravans and holiday chalets.  What a wonderful location - bet it costs the earth to own one of those!  40 minutes later I reach the end of the beach and treat myself to a pot of tea from the cafe.


Sitting on the beach side deck I relax whilst watching a young man collect seaweed from the beach.  At first I think it might be winkles that he is after but the photos show that he has seaweed in his hand.  These days this natural product is much in demand by chefs.  I wonder whether it will be sent to one of the prestigious London restaurants - or stay here in Somerset.


The elderly lady at the next table strikes up a conversation with me. She lives in Wincanton with her husband and they have been on a short break with their daughter.  Unfortunately the past few days have been far too windy for them to enjoy the coastal views so they are making the most of this morning before travelling back home.  I ask whether she knows Horsington where my father's family originate - of course she does.  In fact one of her daughters had her reception in The Half Moon Inn which is almost opposite Lower Lodge where my Gran spent so many years of her life.

Lower Lodge, Horsington - October 1969

Rested and watered it is now time to set off for the very steep climb up the side of Brean Down.  But the sun is shining brilliantly and I realise that, stupidly, I have left my sunhat at home.  A quick visit to the National Trust Shop sorts me out with suitable headgear. 


That leaves just one more mission before setting off on the climb - a trip to the loo.   The cafe complex, of course, comes provided with a purpose built toilet block.  Thank goodness.  It is also FREE to use!


No putting it off any longer - those 150+ steps just have to be tackled.




Thankfully resting places are provided at several points on the way up so it does not have to be negotiated in one go.  Perfect places to catch my breath and take some photos of the view down to the beach.

Here is the sight as I approach the top of the world.  I hope the world IS round otherwise I could topple off when I reach the last step.


From a previous walk two years ago I know that the most picturesque route to The Fort is along the grassy footpath which climbs and falls over the ridges of various hills. 


With a dodgy ankle I decide that I had better be sensible and make for the old military cinder track instead.
 
Glorious views back over the bay towards Weston certainly make the climb well worth the effort.


Wow, I really do feel as if I am on top of a mountain.  Look - up on the ridge are a herd of goats enjoying a siesta.

At the end of The Down lies the old military fort.


The remains that we see here are of buildings built in the 1860s.  It was one of a chain of fortifications known as Palmerston's Forts designed to protect us from the French - but its history actually dates way back to the Iron Age.  On top of the furthest point can be seen the old Searchlight Tower.


Sitting atop one of the outer walls of The Fort proves the perfect place for my picnic lunch - a homemade eggy sarnie washed down with a bottle of water.  Then its time to set off back along the cinder track - taking the route all the way down to the bottom as I know my ankle will not cope with descending those steep steps.  On the final stage of the track I pass this very pretty gate with very ugly padlock.  I wonder what those steps lead up to?


The cafe beckons once again and I stop for another pot of tea before heading back up the beach to Brean Village Hall.  The tide has taken the sea way way out and suddenly I notice something very strange.  There on the beach is a HUGE lump of jelly.  I try to work out whether it is some sort of transparent Frisby but come to the conclusion that it must be a dead jelly fish.  Cripes, how pleased am I that I am not a swimmer!


Finding the footpath exit off the beach proves far more difficult than I had imagined as one sand dune looks just like the next.  In the end I take a narrow path that proves to be a few metres along from that where I had entered.  I arrive at the bus stop in good time for the next bus and am delighted to find some Public Conveniences in a little building behind the bus shelter.   Perhaps not so well appointed as those in the National Trust complex but still FREE and when you have to go you have to go.


When I return home and look at my FitBit pedometer it tells me that I have walked over 9 miles during the course of the day.  Surely that will have taken a couple of pounds off my weight!










Sunday, 30 November 2014

South Island Idyll - Wellington to St. Arnaud





The sky was grey and the wind was blowing up a gale as Kaitaki, the Interislander ferry, glided out of Wellington bound for Picton on the South Island.  Most passengers huddled up cosily in the café for the 3 hour journey but there was no way I could stay inside.  For the majority of the crossing I could be found out in the fresh air on the Observation Deck right at the top of the ship.  You could say I looked a bit like the Michelin Man of days gone by!



As we entered the Marlborough Sounds the weather improved dramatically and by the time we docked at Picton the sun was shining brightly.  There was enough time for a quick look around the pretty harbour and craft market before heading off up into the mountains.   

Picton Harbour

The loos were easy to spot with their bold yellow symbols on black wooden fencing.  If you glance to the lower edge of the photo you will notice that there are a couple of ladies already in the queue!  Being a collector of dolls I would dearly loved to have purchased one of these but, alas, my tightly packed suitcase would not accommodate anything so delicate.


These loos were of the electronic variety but came with the added feature of automatic flushing once the hand basin was used i.e. wave your hands about in the sink to generate a flow of water and that in turn triggered the loo to flush. If a patron did not wash their hands then the loo would flush automatically once the door opened. Great except automatic gadgets such as this never, ever seem to recognise me as a human being.  I waved my hands under the water spout – nothing.  I clapped my hands under the water spout – nothing.  For 3 or 4 minutes I stood there trying to get water to spray onto my hands – nothing.  I knew there was going to be a queue outside – was I going to have to open the door to get the loo to flush and let them all know that I was a person who did not wash my hands?  Oh the disgrace of that!  Suddenly, for no reason whatsoever the water spouted into the hand basin, the loo flushed and I was saved from disgrace.  The only looks I got from those in the queue were ones of “Why had I taken so long”!!

The 80 mile drive from Picton to St. Arnaud was on Route 63 which runs alongside the Wairau River and through the Marlborough vineyards.   A long straight road with views of mountain peaks in the distance. 

Marlborough Vineyards

Several settlements are marked on the map as being on this road but for most of them not even one house could be seen from the highway. Imagine my surprise when, in the middle of nowhere, I spotted the familiar Public Convenience sign – STOP screeched the navigator (me).  Fortunately, there had not been a sign of another car on the road for the last half hour so this somewhat unexpected pit stop caused no danger to anyone.


The sign pointed across the road to a little church – The Wairau Valley Anglican Church.  This came complete with large carpark to the front and small rural cemetery to the rear.  The toilet was situated in a small room to the back of the building and to the utter disbelief of my companion came equipped with large clean fluffy towel with which to dry ones hands. Well done to the Wairau Valley residents for keeping this loo in such an immaculate condition. 

Wairau Valley Anglican Church
  
Readers of this blog will know how much I enjoy walking around old cemeteries so I spent a pleasant half hour browsing the headstones before making use of “the facilities”. The only sound which could be heard was the birds singing in the tree tops – we could have been a hundred miles from the nearest civilisation.  There was no need to hurry so I took my time.  Imagine my surprise when I unlocked the door to find a queue of Japanese tourists waiting to get in!!!! 


And so onward to St. Arnaud – an alpine village situated on the edge of Lake Rotoiti.  The village boasts a café/shop/petrol station all rolled into one together with several chalets and motels offering accommodation.  



By this time the clouds had descended and it was raining quite heavily.  A short stop was made for a hot cup of tea in the café before heading off in search of our accommodation at St. Arnaud House.




The alpine chalet which is St. Arnaud House is set in the midst of the forest with the Tui Room having views out over the treetops to the mountain peaks. It is just a short walk down to Lake Rotoiti.  


The hosts, Russell and Margery Chilton, ensure the comfort of their guests by providing a roaring fire and interesting conversation.  Anyone staying here would be well advised to pay a little extra and take Margery up on her offer of dinner – an absolutely delicious meal will be provided.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of the Tui singing in the trees – and the sight of snow on the peaks.  

  
On learning that the theme of one of my Blogs is “Toilets” Russell directed me to an unoccupied batch (holiday home) opposite the end of their driveway.  Before we left I crept over to take a look.

Now this really is a typical rural Long Drop
(and I assure you it is NOT the toilet you will be expected to use when staying at St. Arnaud House!)