Category: surfing

North Pembrokeshire, June 2021 (2/2)

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Thursday 1st July

Newgale Beach

The fog was still thick around our wild camping spot on the Preseli Hills when we woke up. We were due travel to South Pembrokeshire for the second half of the holiday and had arranged to meet mum, dad and Angus at Pembroke Castle at 1pm.  We spent the morning driving down via Newgale Beach on the west coast, with a view to seeing as much of the national park as possible.

We dropped down into Newgale after an hour’s drive through pretty farmland and parked at the large beachfront car park. Newgale is a small village in a basin that opens onto St Brides Bay, with a large, lively-looking campsite set just across the road from the beach. The beach is long, sandy and scattered with smooth pebbles. The weather was strange – still, warm and bright, but grey sea mist stopped sunlight penetrating and gave the sea and sky a serene, dream-like quality. We walked along the shore until we reached some cliffs and caves at the southern end, explored for a little bit and headed back to the van.

Pembroke Castle & Town

We stopped at Morrisons in Haverfordwest for shopping and fuel, then met the others in Pembroke early afternoon. Pembroke is a small, bustling town that still seems to revolve around the castle, which has high, well-preserved walls that tower over a long pond on one side and the high street on the other. Inside, the large, grassy courtyard is contained by walkable walls and several towers which house a lot of interesting information about the castle’s history, including some realistic mannequin scenes and the room where Henry VII was born. It has a “proper” castle feel, with its huge keep (sadly closed), dungeon room, herb garden, scattered flowerpots, battlements, towers and high walls. Definitely worth a visit.

After a thorough poke around the castle we  wandered up the high street, where we looked round an old fashioned convenience store and a tiny shop that sells handmade, surfwear type clothes. I bought a pair of yoga shorts with a honeycomb pattern and a couple of headbands, all made in the shop with organic cotton – would recommend, see the website here – https://www.iseasurfwear.co.uk/. Ryan and I then went on to the Watermans Arms pub and enjoyed a cold cider on the deck, which is raised on stilts over the edge of the pond and has a lovely view over the water, the castle and the town. We watched in amusement as a single, angry-looking swan chased a group of at least 30 much more passive swans around.

Camping, Kiting & Broad Haven South Beach

We drove a little way south along tiny roads to the new campsite, Trefalen Farm, late afternoon. This is another lovely site with sea views, basic facilities and a really remote feel. The first thing we did was find an open field near the cliffs and fly Ryan’s powerkite, as so far the weather had been record-breakingly non-windy (for Wales) and having felt a slight breeze, we were very keen to get it in the air. There wasn’t lots of wind but there was enough to have some fun for half an hour or so before going back to the van and cooking fajitas for tea.

After eating we all tramped down the hill to Broad Haven South, a deep, attractive sandy beach with dunes set way back from the sea and impressive rocks and caves on either side. We walked and footballed our way to the far side, where we explored narrow caves and clambered around on the rocks. Angus was introduced to the slimy delights of large, light-hating cave lice and we found some random sea junk wedged high in damp cave systems, including ropes, buoys, jerry cans and a tyre. Satisfied with a day spent poking around castles and caves, we went back to the campsite and played some stupid card game Angus bought at the castle gift shop, which became hilariously long-winded.

Friday 2nd July

Climbing at St Govan’s Head

Ryan, Angus and I set off from the campsite to climb at the nearby coastal crag of St Govan’s Head. We walked west along a wild section of the Pembrokeshire coast path which had lovely views of dramatic cliffs towering over little rocky beaches and coves filled with clear blue water. We’d definitely chosen the right day for it as it was dry, still and kind of sunny, kind of cloudy, so not too hot or cold. We arrived at some abseil stakes by the edge of a cliff near a military training zone and after a little bit of faff, worked out the right stake to abseil off.

We set up the rope, took what gear we needed and one by one, abseiled over the edge of the cliff. As always the most awkward bit was going over the lip, where your legs go from vertical to horizontal against the wall. The abseil was really fun – about 30m high and against a pleasantly sheer wall, with some free space to hang into in the middle, and with dramatic views of the wild, intimidating cliffs and calm sea below.

The climbs were graded quite high and described as high in the grade, so we went for easy stuff. Angus hadn’t trad climbed for ages and Ryan and I hadn’t done much at all during a year of lockdown. First Ryan led “Exit Corner”, a straightforward VDiff up a blocky corner, I seconded and Angus toproped. We abseiled down again and I led “Lemming Way”, a Severe route up another corner with a fairly exposed, awkward section which had a disconcertingly damp crack where I faffed around with some tricky gear placements.

I belayed the other two up and we abseiled down again. This time Ryan picked “Centurion”, a Severe line up a nice-looking crack with one difficult looking move under an overhanging block. He got to that move without much difficulty but got stuck there, so he came down and I had a go without any real expectation of getting any further. It was an awkward and fairly bold move involving a high right leg and some dubious holds, but I committed to it and to my surprise pulled up over the block. The finish was quite loose but otherwise fine, and I belayed Ryan and Angus up (using a munter hitch as I’d given Ryan my belay plate) feeling quite pleased with myself. As I was doing so I watched a little nervously as a cow approached and sniffed another belayer’s rope anchor at the edge of the cliff –  I didn’t want anyone to have to contend with curious cows while belaying, and I definitely didn’t want a cow to fall off a cliff. Luckily the cow lost interest and wandered back to safety.

Trad climbing always takes longer than you expect, especially when you’re a little out of practice and there are three of you. By this time we’d only done three climbs and three abseils, but it was mid-afternoon and we were getting hungry (having overlooked the value of packing lunch). We were satisfied with our taster of Pembrokeshire climbing (although Ryan and Angus slightly more so than me) so we packed up and headed for the nearest pub.

We walked west and took a detour via St Govan’s Head chapel, a tiny, ancient limestone chapel down steep steps built into the side of a cliff and perched above a small cove. It’s a striking building which merges into the cliff quite naturally, as if it’s always been there, and some of the etchings on the stone altar suggest that it’s drawn interest for a very long time.

We climbed back up the steep steps and walked north for half an hour into the village of Bosherston and found the pub, the St Govan’s Head Inn. Dad had left me a voicemail saying that he’d booked the five of us in for dinner at (unhelpfully) “the local pub” and nobody had any phone signal to find out which pub it was, so we had a couple of drinks there and after a bit of phone-waving, I received a text suggesting that we were in the right one so we stayed.

Mum and dad turned up about 6 and true to form, I was decidedly wavy after two or three ciders while Angus and Ryan were fine. The pub was lovely inside, with wooden beams and low ceilings, and the food was very good – I had dressed crab and some chocolate thing for pudding, and my only complaint was that Ryan promised me one of his prawns but ate them all before I could get there. We split the bill between Ryan, Angus and I and walked back to the campsite along a narrow, hedge-lined road, happy with a good day’s climbing and pubbing.

Saturday 3rd July

Stackpole Gardens

It was mum’s turn to pick something to do, so we ended up at Stackpole Walled Gardens. Entry is free and a lot of the gardening is done by adults with learning difficulties as part of a charity thing. It’s a nice place to go, with long greenhouses, strange plants and sculptures, and it had lots of little corners to explore. Our favourite part was the rows of fruit available to pick for free, including strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries, blackberries and tayberries. We were there for an hour or so, until we ended up getting drizzled on while waiting for mum to finish bumbling around.

Surfing at Freshwater West

Taxi of dad then took us to Freshwater West beach, where we just about found a parking spot. Ryan and I changed into wetsuits and took the surfboard and bodyboard down to the long, sandy beach just down from the car park, and waded into the rough sea. We didn’t get far at all before being batted back by the waves. The surf was beyond our skill level in that we couldn’t even get the surfboard out far enough to catch the longer waves – the ones close to shore were short and ferocious, crashing high above our heads and pulled quickly back from under our feet.

We were washing machined around for a while, which involved getting hit multiple times with the boards and noting that a hard surfboard is considerably more painful than a foamie. One such collision (with my thigh) resulted in one of the three fins snapping off the surfboard and from then our attempts at proper surfing ceased. I’d managed to stand twice, both times in the shallows, and both times for a record-breakingly short duration. Body boarding was good fun though, and less calamitous.

After about an hour of being battered by the sea, we tramped back along the beach. Dobby’s grave, consisting of a lot of stones all piled up, was up on the sand dunes to the left – apparently it’s where the scene was filmed (spoiler – Dobby dies). The sea, and our attempt to find some surfable waves, had dragged us quite a long way to the right, and annoyingly we noticed on our way back that the surf to the left had calmed down a lot to the point where surf schools had started eyeing it up.

Feeling half-starved, we grabbed lunch from the famous Café Mor burger van in the car park. I had the vegetarian burger and Ryan had the classic Mor burger with chips. The people were really friendly and the burgers were amazing, served with some kind of seaweedy pickles and relish.

Powerkiting at Broad Haven South

We went back to the campsite via Pembroke so that mum could grab some bits from (ie. spend an inordinate length of time in) the shop. We helped pack up the awning and for tea mum cooked a strange but very nice mix of bits that needed using up, which included buckwheat, mackerel and salad.

That evening we wandered back down to Broad Haven South beach to show the others Ryan’s powerkite. There was practically no wind but we just about managed to get it up and give dad and Angus a go. It was nice to fly it on the beach regardless and the only downside was that in my enthusiasm to take the mountain board despite the lack of wind, I graunched my heel on the axle while scooting along and it bled quite a lot.

On the walk back up the hill the heavens opened. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was like a tropical storm – we were dry one minute and drenched to the bone the next, so much so that it stopped being annoying and became funny. Once back at the vans and changed into dry clothes, we all huddled in dad’s van and spent the last evening chatting away.

Sunday 4th July

National Museum & Cardiff

We parted and left, a little sad, quite early on Sunday morning. It was grey and wet and we counted ourselves lucky that the Welsh weather had arrived just as we were leaving. Ryan and I came back via the National Museum at Cardiff as I was keen to see the city, having never been before, and thought the museum would be a good rainy day activity.

We parked in the city centre quite cheaply – £5.50 for 4 hours – and walked the short distance to the museum, through an attractive, leafy park and past the grand university and court buildings. Entry was free and it was very interesting. The ground floor was all about the natural history of Wales and housed an incredible collection of rocks and meteorites, dinosaur and prehistoric animal skeletons and information about plants, fungi and habitats. After a lot of reading I sensed Ryan’s growing impatience and we moved upstairs to the art floor.

This had lots of cabinets filled with pottery which was, in our untrained opinion, of uncertain aesthetic value. It was a bit of a labyrinth, with different rooms housing works of photography, paintings and sculptures. The work ranged from very old-looking portraits of heavy-eyelidded, curly-wigged posh people to modern paintings in blocky colours with dubious justifications as to what makes them worthy of gallery status. One exhibition featured huge paintings by a couple of artists which I thought were excellent and very poignant, having read about their cultural backgrounds, but I can’t remember their names.

After a couple of hours we left the impressive building through the large marbled, columned foyer and went for a wander around Cardiff city centre, pleased that the weather had cleared up. I thought it was a very attractive and clean city, with a young, lively atmosphere and lots going on. There were all sorts of shops, cafes and bars in a very small area and the castle was impressive, set near the centre with high, well-preserved walls. After a quick excursion to a phone shop so Ryan could sort out a new phone contract, we grabbed a subway and headed back to the van.

And so concludes our holiday in Wales. We had a lovely, busy week and it was really nice spending some time with my family, especially after lockdown(s). The two van, one tent setup worked well and we got to see a lot of Pembrokeshire, although there’s definitely more to see. I have a feeling we’ll be back…

Adventuring West: A Weekend of Climbing, Surfing and Pub-hopping

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Last weekend I learnt about cold water, wet rock and hard drink.

Bude

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Sunrise at Seatown

We left for Cornwall on Thursday evening and stopped overnight in Dorset, where we were spoiled by a stunning seaside sunrise at Seatown. We arrived in Bude late morning, by which time the mist had lifted to reveal clear blue skies and the air had a deliciously spring-like warmth. Keen to make the most of the weather, we decided to jump straight into the water.

I was so excited to be back in the sea that I quickly forgot two things: the cold and how to surf. Within minutes I had 1) snapped the leash, 2) realised that I’d seriously under-waxed the board (so amateur), and 3) got annoyed that I wasn’t instantly the most competent surfer in North Cornwall.

Also, the feeling of rough sand between semi-numb toes was unpleasant enough for me to regret leaving the surf boots in the van (idiot). The strong cross-current at Summerleaze beach meant that I took five painfully slow steps sideways for every metre gained paddling out, and I only stood up a [small] handful of times after several poorly judged attempts. Despite a terrible performance, I had a great time in the sea.

After a couple of hours of grinning at caught waves and swearing at missed ones, I lumbered (there’s nothing graceful about carrying a surfboard in a cross-wind) inland to my water bottle to dilute the gallons of saltwater I’d swallowed. Frustrated by the current and battered by the unrelenting sea, we heard the clock strike beer o’clock and thought it unholy to be late for mid-afternoon mass.

Refuelled and rehydrated, our little group went exploring the pretty, bustling streets of Bude. It reminded me of Perranporth – something to do with the layout and the mix of touristy shops and quirky little pubs and cafes.

The first place I fell in love with was the North Coast wine shop/bar. As I sipped craft cider, people-watched out the big windows and basked in the hazy late afternoon sun, I thought I’d died and snuck into heaven. The second place was the Barrel at Bude, a tiny, dark, timeless pub which implements fines for mobile phone use and serves “proper cider”. I’m not a great drinker but I do put a lot of effort in, and this cider set me on a downward trajectory that was intensified by a couple of cocktails back at the North Coast place. Needless to say that falling in love that night proved just short of fatal.

Hartland Heritage Coast

I woke up the next morning fully aware that I’d once again proved to be “that friend” that can’t be taken anywhere, disappointed with myself but hugely grateful to have been returned to my van. A pint of tea later and we drove to the Hartland Heritage Coast to blow out the cobwebs with a coastal climb.

That didn’t exactly go as planned; first we ended up in a farmyard down a dead-end road, then halfway down a steep, scree-covered cliff, then we realised that the climb we wanted to do (Wrecker’s Slab) was a few miles along the coast. Unfazed, we hiked along the South West Coast Path and stopped overlooking Vicarage Cliff. Although the rock looked lovely, it was totally inaccessible for a few hours around high tide and – consistent with our luck – high tide was about 1pm.

Despite being a little hungover and gutted about our failed climbing plans, the beauty of the rugged cliffs, moody sky and vast, boatless sea wasn’t wasted on us. We dumped our kit and went exploring, breathing in the salty, tangy air, dipping toes in the crystal clear stream and watching the sea crash relentlessly over jagged rocks and deserted, grey beach as we recovered on the soft, tufty grass. Heads cleared, we hiked back to Morwenstow via Hawker’s Hut, a lovely little driftwood folly, and went for one in The Bush. Lovely pub, great sandwiches, 10/10.

Sheepstor

Determined to climb, we drove to Dartmoor mid-afternoon and hiked up to Sheepstor. It was damp, foggy and exposed, but despite wet rock and dwindling light we managed a humble route (“Sheltered Crack”) up the tor. On a dry day the granite would have been lovely and grippy, with loads of gear placement, but being a) February and b) England it was slippery and algae-covered. One to return to…

It turns out that circumnavigating a foggy, rock-strewn tor in search of the biggest rock face is pretty disorienting. Fortunately the group had enough skill and (in my case) experience of being lost to get back to the car park before dark. Pleased to have a climb under our belts, we drove across the vast, open moorland to the Warren House Inn, where we spent a lovely evening enjoying a few gentle drinks and some great company.

Dewerstone

Sunday morning’s weather looked grey and mizzley, so we didn’t have high hopes for a decent climb. We optimistically headed south to climb the Dewerstone, one of the area’s best-known climbing spots. It’s a 50ish metre slab of rock in a fairytale-like wood, penetrated by a clear, rocky river and full of moss-covered trees. The rock was very damp at the base of the climb and the weekend’s alco-toll meant that we weren’t in peak physical condition, so we chose a very do-able route – “Mucky Gully”.

It was a really enjoyable climb because of the variety it offered – good holds, bridging and jamming – and its sheltered position. The rock was slippery at the bottom, but dry and really grippy from about halfway up. I had it easy as I seconded the climb so I can’t say how it was to lead, but we did it in three pitches to avoid running out of gear, particularly big stuff. By the time we reached the second pitch the sun had come out, and the view over the mossy woodland was lovely.

Having taken our time to enjoy the climb, we wandered back through the woods and headed homeward across the moor. I stopped briefly at Widecombe (pretty town, the Old Inn is okay but unremarkable), admired Haytor on the way past and exited Dartmoor reluctantly, drawn home only by the lure of a roast dinner and the unshakable burden of responsibilities. A near-perfect weekend.

Surf Perranporth: Like Newquay but Better

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For many people (“townies”, as my mum would say), Newquay is the only place that exists west of Plymouth and THE place to go surfing. While the surf on the North Cornwall coast is arguably the best in England, Newquay beaches included, due to the town’s reputation it can be logistical nightmare.

Go down on a sunny day, peak season, and parking is impossible and/or bank-breaking. The roads are full of kids, wannabe surfers and other things you shouldn’t run over. Drinks are too expensive, there’s litter everywhere, the sea is full of idiots and the evenings are full of late-teens throwing up alcopops.

That said, it depends what you’re after – I sound like an ancient woman but I’m guilty of throwing up alcopops on occasion, and Newquay is Cornwall’s [slightly trashy] tourist party central. With regards to surfing, arrive early enough and you should be okay to park and grab a small slice of beach space, although be aware that the masses will descend.

When I took a few friends on a spontaneous trip in August we went for the primary purpose of surfing  (drinking just kind of happened). Having surfed in Newquay before, I wanted to avoid the carnage and try somewhere new so we went to Perranporth, about 8 miles southwest of Newquay.

Perranporth beach is long, wide, sandy and edged by highly explorable rockpools, caves, dunes and grassy areas.  The surf is good and there are surf-only, lifeguarded areas, as well as swim/bodyboard areas. When we went the surf was decent, with 4-5ft waves spaced fairly nicely and breaking a fair way out.

The colourful little town has a lively (if touristy) buzz to it and there are plenty of shops, surf hire places, cafes and pubs/bars, although understandably not as many as Newquay (and they aren’t as trashy). We hired decent foam surf boards from Piran Surf for just £6/day, which is way cheaper than anywhere I’d been in Newquay, and food and drinks were priced fairly – use Tripadvisor to find the sort of thing you’re after. There are public loos at the Watering Hole bar/restaurant at the back of the beach and in the town. We arrived early and parked for just £5.50/day (free overnight) in Droskyn car park, which overlooks the beach and is a pleasant 10min walk from the town centre.

Overall, Perranporth is a buzzing little town with equal surf, more reasonable prices and fewer people than Newquay. It does get busy on a sunny day so get there early to ensure you get a parking spot and a bit of space on the beach (although people tend to stick to the town end – there’ll be loads of space if you’re willing to walk a little way). The flagged surfing areas are popular, although much less so than Newquay, and not so much so that you can’t surf. You can get away from surfing outside of the flags if you go to the left of the big  “Chapel Rock Pool” Island-type rock at the South end of the beach.

So my overall advice – if surfing is your priority, pick Perranporth over Newquay. If you’re out to get messy-drunk, regret getting laid or be a general public nuisance, go partay in Newquay. And please be nice to the locals, they dislike us enough as it is.

Read about my trip here – Spontaneous Surf Trip, Perranporth, August ’18

Our debut album cover

Endnote: I write this following on from my recent trip – don’t rule out other beaches!

Spontaneous Surf Trip, Perranporth, August ’18

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Bored of being home for five days straight, I roped some friends into a spontaneous surfing trip. We left Winchester on Friday evening and stopped for dinner on the way, not arriving in Perranporth on the North Cornwall coast until the early hours of Saturday. We were fortunate enough to discover Droskyn car park, which had plenty of space and grassy areas where my friends could (naughtily) pitch their tents.

 

First light on Saturday morning revealed how lucky we were to have found that car park. I looked out of the van window over the long, wide expanse of sand, backed by picturesque cliffs and flanked by the open sea on one side and the colourful little town on the other. There were public loos by the car park (which were unlocked shortly after we got up) and it only cost £5.50 to park all day – much cheaper than elsewhere. A quick tip if you go – get there early as although there were just a handful of cars/vans there overnight (no charge), it got busy during the day.

 

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The view from Droskyn car park

 

We walked down the hill into the town (about 10mins), had breakfast at a little café and found surf boards to hire for £6/day at Piran Surf – much cheaper than anywhere I’d been in Newquay. A 10-min walk to the water and we were splashing around in no time, attempting to surf like the bunch of idiots we always have been and always will be.

 

Bertie brought his own board, although it had been neglected for a long time – I liked its small size but it needed a clean and a sex-wax-up as it was frustratingly slippery. The 8ft foam boards we’d hired were really good (for beginners!) as they were buoyant, grippy and stable, if cumbersome. I reluctantly followed everyone’s advice and wore a wetsuit, which with hindsight I definitely don’t regret.

 

The waves were 4-5ft and spaced fairly nicely, although sometimes they all came at once and then not at all. We all improved as the day went on; I just regret not having a board mount for the GoPro (the adhesive takes 24hrs or so to stick), as the footage from my wrist strap isn’t the best. I did plenty of standing up and surfing around (not into) people – promise!

 

After a full day surfing (except a short break for an obligatory pasty) we hit the pub for dinner and ended up playing pool and making friends in The Deck, an “interesting” bar (I later found out we probably should have gone to the Watering Hole, but that can happen next time). A few too many ciders later and I was “assisted” up the hill to bed.

 

We woke on Sunday to heavy heads and a beach shrouded in sea fog. We met our Cornish friend for breakfast and hired boards again, then messed around on the beach waiting for the fog to clear. Just as Simon, Matt and Bruce were about to give up and go home, the veil lifted and the lifeguards opened the sea. We surfed at the North then the South end of the beach, eventually and reluctantly deciding that we should head home.

 

Our debut album cover
Waiting for the fog to clear

 

I’d recommend Perranporth over Newquay any day, so much so that I wrote a blog post on it – read it here. Overall, I had a great weekend in a lovely place with decent company. Note to self for next time : swallow less a) seawater, and b) cider.