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Go backward to Sunday 23rd May -- Whitesands to Newgale Beach
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Go forward to Tuesday 25th May -- St. Brides Haven to Dale

Monday 24th May -- Newgale to St. Brides Haven

I was dropped back at Newgale Sands by Ken and, after discussing the impending weather, we shook hands and parted. I set off, ever the optimist, wearing shorts and tee shirt and fleece. Ten minutes later on went the coat. I was wearing the leather boots and my feet were already feeling touchy, so I stopped and applied plasters to all the sore spots. This gave a degree of comfort and I carried on. The sky was becoming more and more cloudy. Cumulus clouds formed heavily in the South, heaped up like huge wool packs in picturesque disorder, (that sounds lovely, but the truth is I stole that bit from a record.) Anyway, the rain started to clatter on my coat, so I donned the full Gore-tex suit. At this point I saw my first "full path" walker. An Australian he was, and as we chatted, the thunder started to roll, accompanied by the odd flash of lightning. This seemed to disconcert him a lot, so he scurried off down towards the safety of Newgale. I pressed on around Rickets head and, just as I passed this point, the heavens opened and I became involved in one of the most spectacular and frightening storms of my life. Spectacular for the ferocity of the rain... it pounded the Gore-tex into complete submission, drenching me in warm rain in the process. Also the light show would have rivalled any rock concert. The headlands around me were being struck at regular intervals and I was frightened that if I was hit, I would be a goner, as I was wet through. The air was so charged with static that my hair felt like it was standing on end. The thunder made the ground quake and I learned later that a record amount of rain had fallen in that short space of time. When it finally abated, I was relieved, but also glad to have been a part of it (now it was over). My arms were smarting where the rain had stung them but I wasn't cold. I skirted Nolton Haven and steadily re-gained height. The rain was slowing up now and the sun was trying to break through. I began to get uncomfortably muggy so, as I re-joined the path near Druidstone, I took off my wet things. I followed the path South, past the best examples so far of erosion. Great big portions of the land were currently slipping, or had slipped, into the ocean. I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't been on this section during the storm. I think the storm was partly caused by my dismissal yesterday of coastal rain as gentle, I mentally took back all I had said to try and appease the Gods of coastal rain.

The path is very overgrown in places, and this next bit is one of those places. I had to decide whether to get wet feet, as the grass caressed my legs with it's wet fingers, or whether to don my waterproof trousers. It was the Devil and the deep blue sea syndrome, both were uncomfortable in different ways. As I was walking along trying to make up my mind, another walker hove into view. "You're gonna get very wet legs" was his opening gambit. When I asked how far the path was overgrown for, he told me and I immediately ferreted in my sack for my over trousers. He carried on talking to me, and talk about one foot in the grave!!! "These cliffs aren't as steep/spectacular as Cornwall, the path was too muddy and the weather was awful". His "companion" (who was just catching up with him) "was too slow, and insisted on packing too much stuff in her sack" He said they'd got enough first aid stuff to perform a lobotomy. It wasn't me who wanted a lobotomy, I thought. As she (the "companion") drew up, I noticed the poor womans expression. He then proceeded to go through the "I try to tell her, but will she listen" routine, whilst all the time she just looked around with that resigned hang-dog expression. I made my excuses and we parted company. When I looked back, he was striding out and she was plodding along, already about thirty yards behind -- some "companion".

At Broad Haven I could see my fish and chips fantasy making a resurgence. I popped into the tourist info' office, had my walk card stamped, and asked if I could get fish and chips anywhere. I was told I had a choice. They were good at the local cafe and at the local pub. Did the cafe serve beer I wondered? I wondered for about two seconds, before setting off for the pub. I noticed that the tide was ebbing, and deduced that by the time I had fulfilled my dream (and my belly), I would be able to walk across the sands to Little Haven. The fish and chips were a dream come true. The batter was crispy, accompanied by nice, crispy chips served with a flourish of "enjoy" by the chef. I gobbled them up with gusto, and set off into the improving weather. The following section of the walk was very welcome. Woodland and lots of bird song. I was now able to identify some of the familiar songs I was hearing. I met up with a couple who were on holiday in the area. More like a normal couple, I slowed the pace to continue the chat with them. It was their first time in Pembrokeshire too, and they were as enthusiastic about it as I was. When we reached Borough Head, we parted company. The coast resumed its wild, rugged appearance, and the path snuggled up close to it. I passed three little inlets -- Brandy Bay, Dutch Gin and Foxes Holes. I took photo's of a rock outcrop just off the coast named Stack Rocks, which incidentally is the name of a locally owned race horse, before I came upon what looked like the impression of a Tudor cross in red stone, cemented to a white rock. Was this part of the sculpture by Alan Ayres, the artist I thought? I looked at it, then looked at the coastal cliffs, and soon decided that, when it comes to sculpture, nature won hands down.

I came upon the peaceful and pretty haven of St. Brides, named after the Irish Saint, Bridget. I had a look around the quaint and well kept churchyard before going in to the church itself. It is very serene and calm in there, and there are some very interesting tombstones ( of which I took photo's). I left the church and walked the short way to the 'phone box. Surprisingly for this part of the world, the `phone box had been vandalised and was full of litter. However, the `phone was working and I rang Merv' Hopkins and, five minutes later, was picked up by Sue, who was driving a "proper" land rover - all muddy!. Merv' was the farm manager here at Lower Broadmoor Farm, and later that evening, after I'd been to Little Haven for a meal, we sat and chatted and he told me the story of how he'd got into farming. You should get him to tell it to you, if you're ever that way anytime. Its enough to make you chase your own dreams. At about 11.30 we went to bed (?). I woke up at about 5am and did a bit of writing. It's now 7.15am and I'm ready for breakfast.


ltaber@pima.edu

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