Alexandra hartley

A solo expedition

September saw me embark on my first multi-day solo trip, which is bizarre because I heavily identify with the idea of being an intrepid independent traveller. Restricted by the railway networks stretching out from London and the confines of 25 days annual leave, I trundled towards the Gower Peninsula in South Wales.

I spent four days rambling, in all senses of the word, over the verdant peninsular nestled in the south of Wales. The Gower is overshadowed and overwhelmed in cartographic representations by her larger, northern neighbour: Pembrokeshire.

If we were to measure time by seasons, then I sauntered across marsh, beach, moor and clifftops for months on end. In true Welsh fashion, all four seasons presented themselves in as many days. Four short, largely unremarkable in distance by any serious walkers reckoning, days. As I took my first steps, I waited for them to have a profound impact, for the adventurous stories I would relish to tell to unfurl like a moss carpet for my well worn boots to leave their footprints in. 

But of course it didn’t happen like that. It never does after all. When was the last time our expectations met reality?

I was lucky enough that these four days totally surpassed mine. 

The Land of Salt Marsh Lamb

The Gower is conveniently enclosed within OS Explorer Map Number (XXX), framed perfectly by the gridlines and borders so familiar to the outdoorsy type. Tucked alongside the marshy shores of the Loughor, where my little escapade began, is Crofty. It’s an inevitable shame of walking that the beginning is not somewhere we tend to dwell. With miles stretching ahead of us we tend to rush away from the place that forever provides the jump-off point for adventures great and small. 

My walk took me anticlockwise around the peninsular into the west, along the aptly but perhaps not imaginatively named Marsh Road. Walks often have at least one section that is less awe-inspiring than the rest. Before I set off, I was confident that Marsh Road would take this title. But, if you are a budding ornithologist, particularly enraptured by the rewilding of firing ranges or enjoy a nice, flat walk then this may well be a highlight of the route. Llanrhidian Sands, trickling into Llandimore Marsh and gently into Whiteford Point are watched over by the ruins of Weobley Castle, and more actively inspected by the particularly curious cattle who inhabit the stretch of grass that delineates marsh and mud. I sought refuge not far along the coast here near the quiet hamlet of St Madoc in the accommodating caravan park that opened its gates to a solo camper for the night. 

I didn’t pitch my tent after an entirely straightforward day. A totally unexpected 25 degrees took me by surprise, and in a desperate bid to reduce the weight on my soon-to-be weary shoulders, I’d ditched the suncream. Not being used to carrying everything I needed to survive for a few days on my back, I soon began questioning what on earth possessed me to spend my precious days out of the office on what appeared to be a torture mission.

Luckily I’m blessed with a short memory, and the kindness and interest of strangers at the caravan site on that first night soon put that out of my mind. The gentle rumblings of the farmyard were punctuated by the whinny of a particularly animated shetland pony. For the first time since stepping off the train in Swansea, in the quiet of night, I could hear the muted roar of the sea below.