A strong tail wind took us to Krakow, enabling us to land at least twenty minutes ahead of schedule. We were equally quick passing through the airport to be met by Mike, who had travelled overland, and Marcel, our Slovak guide. We then journeyed across the border and over the mountains from Poland into Slovakia. It was instantly noticeable that Poland looked more affluent than Slovakia, with bigger and smarter houses, smoother roads and smarter cars. In many respects Slovakia was, on first impressions, more appealing, quaint and attractive. Another feature of the journey on the Polish side of the border were the many billboards along the roadside. Most of them seemed to be advertising clinics for cosmetic surgery and were quite explicit in their art work!

After about four hours on the road we arrived at the mountain resort of Novy Smokovec and the Reitmayer Guesthouse. Having settled we relaxed, did a bit of shopping for lunch snacks and tried out the local beer, Saris.

Breakfast!

After an excellent dinner we all felt we had some catching up of sleep to do after such an early start. By 8.30 I was in bed and immediately asleep. After a good ten hours I got up and prepared myself for breakfast at 7.00am. It was the most amazing spread of buffet items. It was not a huge table but it was groaning with food of enormous variety. No wonder we were offered the chance of making up packed lunches for a mere €3. It was all really good, as I hope the picture will testify.

The Green Lake

With darkening skies we left the hotel to drive a short distance to the start point of our walk, at a car park just outside the village of Tatranske Matliare.The climb up was not steep but Marcel set a good pace. Every so often, he would stop to give everybody a chance to catch up and give us juicy bits of information about the geography, geology, flora and fauna. At the first of these stops it started to rain and it gradually became heavier and heavier. Initially we were travelling under trees, which sheltered us slightly until they became drenched, whereupon they dropped heavily on to us. The gradient remained pretty constant throughout the climb and we arrived at the Green Lake and refuge after nearly three hours of climbing. It gave us welcome respite from the weather and the opportunity for a steaming bowl of goulash. My waterproofs have failed me yet again, despite re-proofing them just before we came out. It was impossible to get near the wood burner to dry off for the number of people gathered round it. At least I was warm on the inside, particularly after Marcel had supplied us with little glasses of local fire water.

White Lake surrounded by white mountains

By the time we left the hut the rain had ceased and the clouds began to lift revealing precipitous rock faces leading up to a jagged skyline of freshly snowed upon summits. Wow, it was beautiful.

From the Green Lake we climbed further passing Triangle Lake to the White Lake. Marcel pointed out the Red Valley, behind some crags, where there is Blue Lake. Everything seems to be colour coordinated!

We now had a choice. As we had been walking pretty quickly, partly due to the poor weather before lunch, we could continue and descend by a different route, rather than returning the way we had come. It would be longer but much more preferable than retracing our steps. This would take us down the divide between the limestone White Tatra and the granite High Tatra.

Was it a stag or a bear?

The National Park wardens have closed the paths in the White Tatra in order to help improve and sustain the wildlife. On these slopes Chamois and bears live and are thriving without human interference. As we descended we heard a roaring sound from the slopes opposite. Was it a rutting stag or a bear. We scanned the hillside for any sign of movement but saw none. Another roar confirmed that the sound was coming out of woodland. I would like to think it was a bear.

Reaching another hut, renowned for garlic soup, we had another break before heading down to the road and our waiting minibus. By now we had covered 13.5 miles and climbed 1200m. Not a bad warm up day, but it did give Marcel the opportunity to see us and assess us for some of the harder days to come.

On a much brighter morning a landrover picked us up in Tatranská Poliank and took us up 600m to the Horsky Hotel and the starting point for our climb. Ahead of us was a small lake with a waterfall sliding down the rocks from a hanging valley above. We were heading for Polsky Hreben (Polish Col). It was a steady climb over rocks all the way to the col. As we climbed, non-threatening clouds began to gather about the summits.

Glenys makes it look easy

Just before reaching the col we came across a section where we had to scramble across rocky outcrops. Chains had been secured to the rock because there was an element of exposure. In many respects it was easier to avoid the chains and rely solely on the rock, which had ample hand holds and was extremely grippy under foot. Also, if you were lacking confidence there was a tendency to lean into the rock rather than relying on the chain to support you. It was quite busy up near the col with people, like us, climbing up and others descending.

Gathered on the pass

From the pass we had views to the plains of Poland to the north and Slovakia to the south. It made you realise just what a narrow chain of mountains the Tatras are. Either side of the col the rock climbed steeply to summits. While we rested and took some refreshment, we contemplated climbing the summit of Vychodna Vysoka (2429m) on the eastern side of the col. it looked steep and fairly exposed in places. I wasn’t sure how my knee would cope with the descent and as we had 1250m of descent from the col without the additional 250m from the peak, I regrettably decided not to go to the summit. It proved a wise decision as I was in some pain and discomfort during the descent. As it turned out, just four of the group ventured up to the summit, thoroughly enjoying both the challenge and the achievement.
While the climbers headed up the rest of us began to make our way down. Negotiating the chained section was much more difficult on the descent as there was a greater feeling of exposure. I still, by and large, found it easier to avoid the chains.

View from the summit of Vychodna Vysoka 2429m

As we descended further, tiredness began to creep in and there were a number of stumbles on the uneven, rocky paths. I think part of the problem was that people were walking too close to each other and did not have a clear vision of where they were going and did not give themselves enough time to adjust. Nevertheless, we all made it safely to the cafe behind the Horsky Hotel while we waited for the summiteers to join us. Once they did so we continued with our knee wrenching descent to our hotel.

During the evening, as we listened to Steve rabbit on about concrete, numbing our brains, my knee swelled and stiffened. By the morning it was no better so I was forced to take a rest day.

While I was hobbling into town for a coffee, thirteen members of the group were trudging through ever deeper snow in the mountains. Then, having returned to our guest house, I learned that five had abandoned the walk and were back in the cafe I had recently visited. I hobbled out to join them.

The Met Office website told us that the sun was shining in the High Tatras. There was no mention of snow, yet it did not stop all day. Soon after lunch a message came through that Michelle had taken a tumble and that the rest of the group were returning. She had hurt her arm but she was OK. When they arrived at about 3.00pm, Marcel took her off to the hospital for a checkup. Fortunately, nothing broken but her arm was very sore.

The conditions up in the mountains had been getting progressively worse, with sufficient snow lying to cause doubt as to what was firm ground and what was a hole or crack filled with snow.

Sampling the Tatratea

The early end to the day meant we had more time to kill in the guesthouse so David produced a variety of flavoured Tetra Teas for us to try. These varied from 22 – 72% proof. They were warming from the inside out. Beers in the dining room by the fire, dinner and lots of laughter saw us through the rest of the evening, while the snow continued to fall in the mountains above.

The following morning the promise of wall to wall sunshine on the Met Office weather app, was quickly dashed when I drew back the curtains to a thin blanket of snow and it falling heavily from leaden skies.

After breakfast we drove for about an hour to the village of Cerveny Klastor on the banks of the Dunajec River, the middle of which forms the border between Slovakia and Poland. Here we were to meet up with our rafts for a ninety minute journey down through the Dunajec Gorge. The rafts can best be described as a series of wooden canoes lashed together to create a very stable platform on which to travel. Two raftsmen help guide the raft front and back using long poles. Ours were a characterful pair with massive hands, probably the result of years handling the wooden poles. The one managing the front of ours was a real character, although he looked as if he could have featured in a novel or a film. He had long hair tied in two plaits, a bushy beard, a twinkle in his eye and a wicked sense of humour. As we travelled he would pass snippets of information to Marcel, who would translate into English, stories about the legends of the gorge.

It really was a spectacular limestone feature, with huge vertical cliffs rising straight out of the river for as much as 300m. We meandered through the gorge for 6 miles before coming ashore on the Slovakian bank where the border veered away from the river. Had we stayed on we would have eventually reached Krakow. It might have been great to continue but it was so cold on the river. I had four layers on and I was still cold. Winter is definitely on its way in Slovakia.

It was hoped that we could have cycled back to Cerveny Klastor, along a cycle/walkway by the river. Unfortunately it was too late in the season and the bicycle hire company had shut up shop for the winter.

The two churches of Kezmarok

After a lovely goulash lunch, we drove to the town of Kezmarok where there are two interesting Protestant churches adjacent to each other. They pride of Kežmarok. This Protestant church was built in 1717 next to an older sacral stone building from 1593, which today is a sacristy. This unique wooden building made of yew and red spruce wood was built without using a single metal component. The Baroque interior of the church is also made of wood. Of immense artistic value is also the church organ with wooden pipes.

By way of a contrast, the following morning, I pulled the curtains back to reveal clear blue skies and emerging sunshine. The grass glimmered white with early morning frost and the clouds that had hung around the mountains like a necklace for the last two days had evaporated, revealing significant falls of snow on the higher slopes.

Eleven of us opted to walk up the Sucha Bela Gorge in the Slovak Paradise National Park south of Poprad. As we drove south we began to get views of the full range of the High Tatras and they looked spectacular, a skyline of jagged snowy peaks against the blue sky – stunning.

In the height of the season the Sucha Bela Gorge is very crowded and the walk up can take as much as five hours because of having to wait while people ahead scale the ladders. Today, there was hardly another soul about and we virtually had the whole gorge to ourselves.

It starts off very gently, walking up the river bed with only a trickle of water flowing down. The Cliffs either side rise steeply and the sun could only reach the trees much higher above our heads. Hence, the temperature in the gorge was only a few degrees above freezing. Littered all the way up were the remnants of trees washed down when the gorge had been full of water and closed to tourists. There was no way it would’ve safe if there were significant volume of fast flowing water.

Despite the cold air temperature, the exertion generated enough heat around our bodies and we were soon sweating.

The lower section of the gorge tended to have wooden walkways – tree trunks laid flattish with wooden slats across them. Higher up these became metalled steps held into the rock with reinforcing rods drilled into the rock. And then, where the river plunged over a waterfall, we had metal ladders to climb. The angle of these varied considerably from vertical to 45 degree angles. It was really good and everybody thoroughly enjoyed the journey. There were no histrionics, no hesitation, just a determination to enjoy the experience.

Each village seemed to be totally self-contained

After about two and a half hours we emerged at the top of the gorge. The mixed forest was beautiful and every so often we got glimpses of the full length of the High Tatras. It was such a relief to have such a perfect day. The path gradually descended to the valley below, a valley that could be no where other than Slovakia. Looking out across it from our lofty position each village seemed to be self-contained. There was nothing between them, no random houses or barns, just fields and then the next village. It held a beauty all of its own and was unique to our experiences in the UK.

As we emerged from the forest into the hamlet of Podlesok, we struggled to find a place for lunch. All, bar one, of the restaurants had closed for the end of the season, with signs on their doors saying they were reopening in March. However, we found one, and had an excellent lunch for very little money indeed. We had a traditional Slovak dish of potato pancake filled with chicken and pork, followed by apple strudel, washed down with half a litre of Saris, all for €8! The cheapness of food and drink in Slovakia is amazing. Beer in the hotel is €1.8. Buy it in a supermarket and it is €0.6! I bought an ice cream for €0.5. It is amazing how much further your money goes in this country, so much so that it has to be worth a return visit at some point in the future.

As we finished lunch the minibus brought the remainder of the group to join us and we all headed of to the walled town of Levoca.

Levoca Town hall and St James’s Church

Levoca, a small town of about 14,000 people is almost entirely surrounded by its medieval walls and was once one of the Royal towns of the Hungarian Kingdom. It has a particularly attractive main square with the Gothic church of St James, containing the world’s highest wooden alter, reaching a height of 18.6m. It was designed by the famous artist Master Paul, a resident of the town and after whom the square is now named. Adjacent to the church is the 15thC Town Hall, although it is no longer used as such, and houses a museum today.

The small piece of architecture that interested and amused us most was the Cage of Shame. There were numerous misdemeanours that could lead yo to spending a night a the cage from gossiping, cheating on your wife/husband, bad manners, being drunk in a public place and, if you were a woman, out during the hours of darkness. A spell in the cage, where you were the ridicule of all those who know you, where people were allowed to spit or throw stones at you, would soon bring you into line. It had to be done. We insisted all the females in the group spent some time in the cage, just long enough for a photo or two. In these days of equality, the men then posed in the cage for pictures. I think we were the better actors!

I guess it was too much to expect two consecutive perfect days. While the sun shone in the valleys to the south, cloud hung heavily about the High Tatras. Disappointingly, it was also raining by the time we reached our start point for the day at Popradskom Pleso, a lake under Mount Rysy, Poland’s highest peak. Although some of the snow had melted there was still quite a lot covering the rocky path. Our itinerary hoped we would climb Mt. Rosy but due to the weather our aim now was to walk up to Velke Hincovo Pleso, at about 2200m. It was pretty miserable walking; having layered up for the rain we were sweating profusely, so either way we got wet.

I think this justifies some deciding to return early

Emerging from the forest, the path began to steepen and the quantity of snow increased. Melt water ran freely down the path. Although nobody said anything, there was a feeling that not everybody was enjoying the walk, and were already nervously thinking about the descent in potentially difficult conditions. At one of the rest stops, I offered the opportunity for an early descent, which was gratefully taken up. Whilst I would normally have wanted to continue, I was concerned as to how my knee was going to hold up. The higher I climbed, the more likely I was going to have trouble, so I slowly lead five of the group down to Popradskom Pleso and the cafe.

Picnic view

Having recovered and warmed up a little in the cafe, we took a stroll around the lake, pausing long enough to enjoy a picnic in the emerging sunshine. From there we visited the symbolic cemetery just south of the lake which commemorates those who have worked and perished in the mountains.

Returning to the hotel, we awaited the rest of the group descending from Hincovo Pleso. We did not have to wait long as the conditions up at the lake did not warrant them spending long there. It was wet, windy, cold and had limited visibility. Why would you want to stay longer than necessary in such conditions?

Once they had had time for some refreshment and adjustment to their outer clothing we set off down the hill in glorious sunshine. If only we had had this type of weather earlier in the day. Our destination was Strbske Pleso, a ski resort with ultra modern apartments, ski lifts and two ski jumping ramps. It is also the terminus for the tramway that would take us back to our accommodation.

Marcel spent the evening with us as we celebrated the end of a very mixed but excellent week in the Tatras Mountains.

The following morning we had an early start. The Reitmeyer provided us with a full breakfast service at 5.30! On the journey to Krakow we were joined by Jarka who runs Rajec Travel. Marcel was unable to be with us for this last journey. For the first half of the journey we dozed but during the second half Jarka talked to us about all things Slovakian. It was very informative and is perhaps something that Marcel might have done during our journeys each day. In the end she praised our collaboration, saying that I was “very simple”. This caused great hilarity amongst the group. What she meant was that working with me had been very simple and that the joint organisation had gone very smoothly. The group preferred their own version.

Despite the problems I have had with my dodgy knee, I have thoroughly enjoyed this encounter with a new mountain range, and have seen enough to want to return, next time with a fully functioning knee! No doubt I will be contacting Jarka and Rajec Travel in due course.

The wind blew, the rain fell and we got wet. After five hours we ended up in the Skirrid Inn. Need I say more!?

Having paddled the length of the River Wye last week and written about it, I felt I needed to have a different approach to this week’s two-day trip.

Chris & Angela

We were told the day before our trip that we would not be able to travel through the rapids at Symonds Yat as vital maintenance work was being done to the groynes that channel the water. Although the experience is short-lived, and underwhelming in the present conditions, I thought it necessary to add a little entertainment into the itinerary. I know how certain individuals within this particular group hunger for some excitement that enhances their experience and gives them something to talk about for months.

The whole team

The first incident took place at Kerne Bridge just before lunch. I was well aware of a problem on a sweeping, narrow stretch of fast flowing water that took you very close to the bank. It is where we had a spillage last week when a canoe hit a protruding tree stump just above the surface. I gathered the group by the bridge so that they could see the problem and advised them on how to approach it. That said, the protruding stump could not be seen. Then, one at a time each canoe went through the area of concern. Angela and Chris got their line wrong and hit the bank but managed to stay afloat and somehow bumbled through. Sitting nearby in his canoe was an instructor from another company. As I passed him I said, “Why is it always your wife who embarrasses you and gets it wrong.” With that I entered the fast water, knowing instinctively that I had got my line of entry wrong. There was no way I could bring my canoe round that sharply and I found myself in a web of willow branches and then I hit something more solid. The combination of a sudden stop and branches pushing against me, tipped me out if the canoe and turned it over. It all happened so quickly. I soon found the stump, it was now under the surface and my canoe was stuck on it. As I struggled to release it I discovered that I could only just put my feet on the riverbed and keep my head above water.

In drier times! (Photo Chris Woodcock)

Whilst all this was going on I was also aware that I was wearing a non-waterproof Fitbit on my wrist and my non-waterproof iPhone was tucked into the pocket of my life vest! The instructor who had watched my demise unfold came to my rescue and helped me release the canoe from the stump, empty it of water, turn it over and retrieve most of my kit, which remarkably had remained in the upturned canoe. Those ahead of me could see that I had come out of my canoe but were in no position to turn round and help. I was fine. Yes, I was wet but the water was not cold and I had retrieved everything from the river, except my Sigg bottle.

When I, a few minutes later, went for lunch at the Inn on the Wye, I discovered that both my Fitbit and phone were none the worse for their soaking. It was my first canoe capsize after several years of travelling down the Wye and everybody found it hugely amusing, including me.

Tim’s long body is not suited to hours of sitting in a canoe

Nothing dramatic happened in the afternoon as we paddled through the gorge and around the huge loop into Symonds Yat. I say nothing, but Tim’s back was suffering so Angela and I hitched our canoe to theirs and towed them in for the last mile or so. Tim was very uncomfortable and he came to the sensible decision that he and Beryl would drop out of the second day. A shame, but much the best decision.

We had a lovely evening together in Ye Old Ferrie Inn, eating, drinking and catching up with a beautiful outlook on to the mirror flat river.

The following morning the river was still like a mirror and there was hardly any flow in it at all. A couple of kingfishers sat on the hand pulled ferry staring intently into the dark, still waters in an effort to find breakfast. Finding ours was much easier and much more tasty than raw, live fish. Ye Old Ferrie Inn had looked after us well.

Ross on Wye Canoe Hire picked us up from the inn and took us to Biblins on the down river side of the rapids where we launched for our 10 mile trip to Redbrook.

It was a lovely morning, generally cloudy but still quite warm. As we passed through the deeply forested gorge the trees on either side were reflected perfectly in the river. A two foot salmon leapt out of the water across our bows and very nearly ended up in our canoe.

Picking up the pieces after the “Mayhem of Monmouth!” (Photo – Claire Cox)

All was going really well. We made excellent progress down to Monmouth, arriving at the boat club steps at midday, too early for lunch, particularly after the substantial breakfast we had eaten earlier. We continued, passing under Monmouth Bridge. Here the river is quite wide but much of its width is too shallow to navigate, even in a canoe. Angela and I were in the lead canoe and we headed for a narrow channel of fast flowing water tucked in against the left bank. We aimed for it but got too close into the bank and an overhanging willow tree. It was not my intention that we should explore the tree closely but the flow made it impossible for us to avoid it. In the middle of the foliage was a thick, cut off trunk, which stopped us dead in the water and tipped Angela over the side, quickly followed by me, with the canoe ending up upside down. It was so funny to see Angela with a bemused look on her face, her sunglasses askew, having been fully submerged. Our so-called friends in the canoes behind, as well as coming to our rescue, were highly amused by our spectacular exit from our canoe. While there were no pictures of the actual event, some were taken of the aftermath, I think by Claire. Again the watch and phone survived the dunking, although the phone seems to have developed a white line up one side of the screen. I have also, subsequently discovered, that if anybody rings me up, I can’t hear them. The perfect phone!

I think Angela will receive enormous amounts of sympathy but I am destined for a lifetime of stick! Well, if it makes them happy.

Finished (Photo by Chris Woodcock and it is her thumb!)

By the time we reached Redbrook we had dried off. Mark, from Ross on Wye Canoe Hire picked us up. He quickly learned of my demise and, like most who know me, was amused.

I have had two great trips in the last couple of weeks, made special by the people I have shared them with and by the excellent service provided by Mark and his team at Ross on Wye Canoe Hire. Thanks to all.

With the summer we are having it was never going to be easy, even after the wet spring we had had. Everybody involved in the Wye, from the guys at the canoe hire to the fishermen we encountered along the way, they all said they had never known the river so low. So low, in fact, that it was deemed impossible for us to launch at Hay. We would be much better launching five and a half miles up stream at Glasbury, making our first day, potentially, very long.

Ready for the off

Despite the signs telling people not to launch until 10am we made preparation. Apparently this rule is so that the salmon can rest! Unable to wait until 10 we embarked upon our 84 mile journey down the Wye. We did not come across any complaining salmon, but we did encounter a lot of shallows where all we could do was climb out and drag our canoes through into deeper water.

It took us two hours to reach our previously designated launch spot in Hay, and ironically, a guy from another company directed us down the channel which we understood to be impassible. It was entirely so but by now we were well used to wading through ankle deep water dragging a canoe. It meant that we had not only lengthened our distance by five and a half miles but by late morning we had still only reached our starting point with a full day of paddling still ahead of us.

Nic taking it easy while Natasha does all the work

It was proving to be hard work, not just the dragging, but the river, where it was deep enough, was giving us no assistance whatsoever. There was no discernible flow and we had to work hard all the time. I found it particularly so as I was travelling solo. At least when travelling in pairs you can take a rest while your partner maintains some forward travel. That said, I was enjoying the additional challenge of propelling myself downstream.

The river was very quiet. There were no fishermen, they being dissuaded by the poor conditions of the river. There were plenty of heron but they were so timid by our presence on the water, that they flew off long before we drew level with them. There were very few kingfishers. Either that or our eyes had not yet adjusted to spotting them as they dart from bush to bush at the water’s edge. The good weather had brought people out, and just before Bredwardine we came across some naked sunbathers on the river bank, who plunged into the water as soon as we had passed.

The Black Mountains

More often than not on a journey of this nature your horizon is the river bank. Occasionally, where it rises further you can see splendid houses with sweeping gardens down to the water’s edge. On this stretch of river the Black Mountains rise sufficiently high for them to be visible for much of the journey. Against a clear blue sky the summits of Hay Bluff and Twmpa stood out clear and proud.

Under normal conditions I would have expected to reach camp at Bycross by about 4.00pm but with the difficulties we had faced and the sluggishness of the river, we did not reach camp until 7.00pm. We had been on the water for about ten hours and covered about 23 miles. It was a tough introduction to paddling on the Wye for those who had not done it before.

Leaving Bycross

As the second day was potentially our longest with 29 miles needing to be travelled to Hoarwithy, I was keen to make an early start. Despite getting up at 5.30am it was still two hours before we got on to the water. Nic had warned us that he was not a morning person. I discovered that the best way to get him going was to take him a cup of tea in bed.

Monnington Falls

Immediately we were on the river we were faced with our first challenge, Monnington Falls. This is a section of fast flowing water, squeezed at times when water levels are low, into a narrow channel with a large area of bedrock exposed to one side. This proved to be straight forward but gave us a bit of momentum at the start of our day.

It was twelve miles to Hereford and we made reasonable time, arriving there by late morning. We had had less difficulty with rapids and there was slightly more flow to the river than yesterday.

Idyllic riverside residence

We stopped on the steps to Hereford Rowing Club for a brew and a snack. I took a little time out to consult the guide book. I was already concerned that Hoarwithy was still some seventeen miles down stream and that in the heat of the afternoon it might be too far and too long a day on the river. There was an alternative, we could stop at Lucksall Caravan and Campsite about eight or nine miles beyond Hereford, if they could take us. It would mess up the booking I had made with the pub in Hoarwithy, but that could not be helped. It was important that everybody was enjoying the experience and not overwhelmed by it.

Leaving Hereford, we continued downstream, seeing very little of the city as we passed through it, just glimpses of the top of the cathedral tower, a few industrial sites well camouflaged by trees, and, on the outskirts, a number of large houses, which made the most of their riverside position but failed to enhance it with their rather gauche appearance.

Passing the confluence of the River Lugg, which provided nothing more than a trickle to the dwindling waters of the Wye, we eventually reached Lucksall at 4.00pm, a much more acceptable finish time if they could take us. They could. Lucksall Caravan and Campsite is excellent. We had lovely flat pitches looking out across the river. The facilities are excellent and included a shop, bar and restaurant. Guess where we spent most of the evening.
The following morning we were greeted with yet another cloudless sky. Ducks had gathered around our tents, making enough noise to encourage us to get up, even Nic. Early morning steam rose from the glass-like surface of the river. It seemed a shame to destroy it with our ripples. But destroy it we did.

It took us three hours to reach Hoarwithy, which confirmed that it was the right decision to truncate our journey the day before. We stopped on the stony beach at the foot of the steps up to Tressick Farm campsite for a brew and some energising flapjack.

The journey from Hoarwithy to Ross takes in a stretch of the river where there are few views beyond the banks. There are no villages, only the remnants of old railway bridges and plenty of signs warning us against landing. Occasional herds of cows were standing knee deep in the water, cooling off. There were fishermen and in places, where there was only a narrow channel of navigable water, we had to encroach on their space. On the whole they were understanding and friendly.

We reached Ross at the now acceptable time of 4.00pm, giving us plenty of time to get ourselves organised before going out. We were sharing the field with a group of D of E expeditioners from Kelly College, in Devon. They were a delightful group of young people and seemed to be managing themselves much better than a group we had seen on a similar expedition further up stream.

Nic quietly enjoying his sweet!

That night we treated ourselves to a meal at the Royal Hotel overlooking the river from a high vantage point. England v Croatia was on in the bar next door, allowing us to appreciate England’s demise in the World Cup.

Day four brought about a change. As I surfaced from my sleep, I was aware of spots of rain falling on my tent. Or was it an insect caught up between the layers of fabric? It was rain. After so long without it it was quite refreshing.

All was going well until we reached Kerne Bridge. We were managing to average 3.3mph. I reached the bridge and the rapids on the other side of it first, the other two canoes a little behind me. As I went through the first narrow, sweeping little rapid my canoe made glancing contact with a sawn off branch. The other two canoes came through together and while Peter and Ann-Marie passed the branch safely, Nic and Natasha were too close behind to be able to react quickly enough. They hit the branch full on, catapulting Nic into the water, closely followed by Natasha. I wish I had seen it. They needed to dry off and change delayed us a little.

We were now passing through the most beautiful and dramatic section of the river with steep, forested slopes and exposed crags of limestone, home to Peregrine Falcons. It is stunningly beautiful and it does not matter how many times you paddle this stretch, it’s beauty never diminishes.

We were also entering the busiest stretch of the river with a corporate group whom we saw on several occasions, others paddling towards us from Symonds Yat and, by the time we reached the popular beauty spot motor launches carrying day trippers up and down the river.

Nic and Natasha shooting the rapids

Having lunched at the Olde Ferrie Inn at Symonds Yat West, we approached the rapids. They were hardly any more challenging than some of the others we had encountered up stream, and we were certainly over and through in the blink of an eye.

Once through, we enjoyed the dark water with its overhanging woodland and dead tree trunks lurking like mythical monsters in the shallows on either side.

Quieter waters

The final straight up to Monmouth can be difficult with a prevailing wind coming straight at you, but there was no wind at all. The rain of the morning had been replaced with hot sunshine, and the run up to Monmouth was the easiest I have known. There we disembarked and loaded everything into the waiting minibus and the canoes on to the trailer.

It had been a fabulous four days in perfect conditions, apart from the lack of water, although that was not really an issue after the first day. It is a trip I could repeat again and again. I probably will!

Tired already?!

Having filled ourselves with bacon butties, Rob, Ian, Stephen and I drove down to Llanmadoc on the north western corner of the Gower Peninsula. It was a beautiful morning of cloudless skies criss-crossed with many vapour trails.

It was my intention that we should park in the village car park for three days, but I noticed a rather old and faded sign warning that no overnight parking was permitted. I wanted to find out if this was still the case. Enquiries led me to the village community shop/cafe where I found the owner of the field. She was fairly brusque in he response and told me that under no circumstances could I or anybody else park there overnight. If she allowed it the council would be on her back immediately. Before I could ask my next question, another lady, volunteering in the shop, offered me her drive. What a kind and generous lady. I offered to make a donation to a charity of her choice but she said it was not necessary. She asked for my mobile number just in case she needed to contact me so I gave her my card. Arrangements sorted, we parked in the drive of The Old Rectory before returning to the cafe for a coffee. It was 11.30am by the time we set off for our walk.

Trig point selfie

We immediately climbed out of the village on to the hillside above with a thick layer of fresh, green bracken either side of the path. Horseflies kept making little pin pricks in our arms and legs, which would then swell. Rob was affected most by them and his hands swelled badly, making his wedding ring very tight.

From the trig point at the top of Llanmadoc Hill we looked out over the grassy sand dunes immediately to the west and then nothing but a very placid sea. To the south we looked over the village of Llangennith towards our next hill, Rhossili Down.

We made our way into Llangennith and deliberated briefly as to whether we needed to take some refreshment. Having only been walking for an hour, we decided it was, perhaps a little soon, so we pressed on. It took us a while to pick our way, haphazardly across fields to the foot of Rhossili Down.

The climb up is steep, and it was noticeable that, with about 15kg on my back, it required a little more effort than normal. As we climbed the beauty of Rhossili Beach was gradually revealed. Beautiful, largely deserted, golden sands stretched out all the way up to the headland with Worms Head stretching, monster like, out to sea.

Worm’s Head and Rossili Beach from Rossili Down

At the top of the first climb we sat enjoying the view. For a long time a kestrel sat on a rock a little below us, unperturbed by our presence. Once it had flown Stephen sent his drone up to do some aerial video. All was going well until a Border Collie joined us and took exception to the drone, so much so, that Stephen guided it home and put it away. The collie belonged to a group who joined us at the summit cairn and, after the peace had been restored, sang gently and rhythmically. It was fascinating to listen to but I did not feel brave enough to enquire of them what they were doing.

Another trig point selfie

Shortly afterwards we left them to their summit singing, passing the remnant foundations of a Second World War radar station, before climbing again to the trig point towards the southern end of the Down. Below the beach was a little busier as this end was accessible via a steep path from the car park. We were in no rush and were enjoying the moment when we were joined, once again, by our singers. This time I engaged them in conversation and learned that they were a group from ‘Dreaming the Land’, www.dreamingtheland.com. They were a non secular group on a pilgrimage, visiting ancient and interesting sites on the Gower Peninsula. Despite it being a bit hippie and alternative, I found their idea interesting and it added a new dimension to walking in beautiful countryside on a glorious summer’s day. They removed themselves from the conversation for a group improvised interlude, which, although being quite bizarre, seemed to be natural. I think I might have felt rather self conscious. We eventually parted company and we headed down to Rhossili where Ian decided he needed a pint. He suggested he would catch up but I insisted we were in this together – ‘all for one and one for all’. So we all had a pint.

Worm’s Head from Rossili Down

Had circumstances been right we would have considered wild camping on Worm’s Head, but, as it was, the tide was in and the rocky causeway giving access was submerged. Even if we waited several hours the tide would be against us in the morning, delaying our progress around the coast. As we sat in front of the Coast Watch lookout post admiring the monster-like features of Worm’s Head, Geoff, one of the Coast Watch volunteers came over for a chat. He was one of the pioneering English surfers, originally from Essex but having lived on the Gower since the 1960s. He guessed that we were wanting to wild camp and suggested a quiet little cove, Ram’s Grove, an hour or so along the coast. “Just make sure you have enough water.” He was full of useful information. For example, if we ever do want to spend a night on the Head, visit the Coast Watch first and tell them. They will then let the Coast Guard know that you are night fishing and we won’t be disturbed. Then, when someone on the mainland dials 999 when they see torches, thinking people are stranded, the appropriate authorities will know that not to be the case. Otherwise they have to investigate, wasting a lot of time and money. He was a really friendly chap, but all the time he was talking to us he was watching, watching where people were going and what they were doing.

Ram’s Grove

Leaving friendly Geoff behind, we worked our way around the coast to Ram’s Grove. It is a deep v-shaped valley dropping steeply to a shingle beach. Just before we dropped down, Ian found an animal water trough with a pipe of fresh water feeding it, so we were able to fill all of our bottles etc.

Ian was quickly in the sea, soon followed by Stephen, cooling off. I went in up to the waist band of my trunks but could not bring myself to take that final plunge. The temperature contrast was too great.

Our wild camp

We set up our tents on the four flattest patches of grass we could find, only pegging them down minimally as there was very little soil under the grass. Then we set about supper, a variety of pre-cooked meals that only needed to be heated in their sachets in boiling water for about five minutes. Very tasty and perfectly adequate.

After that there was not much to do. There was no sunset to watch as we were hemmed in by the steep valley sides. Stephen sent his drone up to film it and us in our secret little world.

Rob and Ian enjoying their All Day Breakfast

Sleep was not too bad but I tended to alternate from hot and clammy to cold and clammy. The sheep that had been around us all night ensured that we did not linger in our tents by bleating loudly as soon as it was light. There was no point in lingering, and the more walking we could achieve in the relative cool of the morning, the less we would have to do in the stifling heat of the afternoon.

We climbed out of our valley at 7.00am and headed east to Port Eynon, just in time for the cafe opening, and a welcome coffee.

The walking became much easier from this point. The coast is less indented and the path follows a contour above the rocky coastline. We were able to make much better forward progress. I was walking a little ahead of the others and as I climbed up the path something caught my eye. There, just a couple of feet ahead of me, an adder slithered off the path where it was sunning itself into the undergrowth at the side. It was about a metre long and looked very healthy, with a good set of distinctive markings.

Our lunchtime view

As we rounded the headland towards Oxwich Bay a very large grey seal was luxuriating on a rock at the water’s edge, while another bobbed about in the sea nearby.

Once round the headland we were in lovely woodland, a welcome respite from the sun. There were some steep sections of up and down through the woods but we eventually emerged past the church to the Oxwich Bay Hotel, where we decided to have a long lunch.

After lunch, all we had to do was walk across the expansive bay along the beach to our campsite on the other side. It was a relief to be able to walk barefoot in the warm water lapping gently on the sand. In contrast, the hot, dry sand of the dunes we had to climb in order to reach our site, really burnt our feet.

I now have to make a confession. In my plan for this walk I had intended for us to camp at Three Cliffs Bay, but that campsite is not marked on the map. The only one marked is a little west of Three Cliffs at Nicholaston Farm. We stayed at the wrong site. In all honesty, I don’t think we had enough energy to go much further and the climb up to Three Cliffs Campsite was much steeper and longer. As it was, Nicholaston Farm had excellent facilities but not a great deal of flat land! There wasn’t much for us to choose for supper in the shop. We were restricted to buying the last two chicken curry pasties, a tin of beans and half a dozen eggs. It was a forty minute walk to the nearest pub and none of us fancied that.

Looking towards Three Cliffs from Nicholaston

After we had set up camp, all, with the exception of Rob, went back down to the beach for a swim in the beautiful evening light. The water felt much warmer and I enjoyed swimming around, although there were a number of purple/blue jelly fish that concerned me. There were also some monster ones washed up at the water’s edge that I couldn’t determine whether they were dead or alive.

Back at camp we ate our mixed bag of food and I boiled the eggs for the next day’s lunch.
After a much better night’s sleep than I was expecting on a sloping pitch, we were again up early. This time it was cawing crows that were our morning call.

Looking across Oxwich Bay on our last day

We were again away by 7.00am. Unfortunately the tide was in so we could not go down to the beach to enjoy the full splendour of Three Cliffs Bay. We could only enjoy it from above and from the landward side.

The route took us across the golf course at Pennard Burrows just as a tournament was getting underway. Balls were flying everywhere and we had to stop occasionally and watch the action before continuing. This brought us into Southgate where we stopped at the cafe/shop at West Cliff. There we had a coffee, followed by another coffee, followed by a bacon buttie, or other similar delight. Why we needed it, I don’t know. We had had porridge a couple of hours earlier, before we left the campsite.

An unwelcome beach companion at Caswell Bay

The remainder of the walk alternated between clifftop walking descending to sandy bays and climbing again. We were seeing more people along this stretch of coast as we got nearer to Mumbles. We also saw aspects of coastal tourism that is so disappointing. Caswell Bay is a beautiful sandy beach. Monstrous flats have been built overlooking it and at the hub of the bay there are kiosks selling nothing but junk food and tat. There were queues of people willing to gorge themselves on this rubbish served in polystyrene containers. Yuk!

From Caswell Bay the path is laid to concrete and unforgiving on the feet, but, at least, progress was quick. Stephen and I went on ahead so that we could organise a taxi to take us back to Llanmadoc to pick up the car before returning to collect Ian and Rob from the pub on the pier later. It was getting hotter and hotter, with heat also radiating off the white concrete and parched verges.

Mumbles Pier

We reached our destination, Mumbles Pier at 2.00pm, rang for a taxi, which arrived within five minutes. Sally, on who’s drive we had parked, asked me if I could promote the St Maddox Centre where her son worked. It caters largely for children but during the winter months it is quiet and would benefit from adult groups using it as well. It is worth a thought. More information can be found on www.stmadoc.co.uk. It might be something to consider and we would certainly see another side of the Gower’s nature in the winter.

Precious time with Stephen

We had had three magnificent days, seeing the Gower Peninsula at its very best. The beaches are stunning and some of them are as good as anywhere in the world. I would be tempted to repeat this three day walk, but I know, what we have experienced can probably not be repeated. I am grateful to Ian, Rob and Stephen for their excellent company; we did a lot of laughing. The walk was also enhanced by the friendly and interesting people we met along the way, from Sally who rescued us at the start, to Angharad Wynne and her Dreaming the Land group, and Geoff, who inspired us to fulfil our desire to wild camp. We certainly have some memories to treasure.