Weather wise, this was not a very good walking day. It was hot and close, and visibility was very low. Just after Nab Head I saw my first Buzzard. It flew away quietly, not calling, as I walked towards the rock face it had been sitting on. A big brown and black bird it was, very graceful in flight. It flew further up the coast, and I didn't see it again.
I reached Martins Haven, where boat trips to the offshore islands go from, but I didn't stop to use the service. This had been one attraction I had been really looking forward to, but the visibility was so poor that it would have been a total waste of money. There was still a small queue of people more optimistic than me though. I explored the deer park and cursed the weather once again, as the views from here must be extensive when it's clear. I re-joined the national trail and headed South East, passing yet more examples of serious erosion, before coming to Deadmans Bay. Nothing really that interesting (no dead men, etc.) so I pushed on.
I reached Marloes Sands, supposedly one of the most beautiful in Pembrokeshire. Today it looked very drab in the mist and fine rain. There were a few hardy souls down there "sunbathing" in their sou'westers and wellies. The rain, which got steadily harder, decided me to don the over trousers. Again, the path was heavily overgrown here, and my leather boots found the combination of the current downpour and the kiss of the wet grass too much, and they too began to leak. By the time I reached Westdale Bay it was bucketing down. I was a bit hungry and wet, so I decided to cut Eastwards and explore Dale. I crossed the stile, after watching three lads surfing for a while, and followed the trail across the fields to Dale. I walked past a long row of what looked like council houses before reaching a stone commemorating Henry Tudors landing and subsequent victory at Bosworth Field. Shortly after, I reached the beach. After noting the shop was closed for lunch, I walked round to the pub with the rain now bouncing off me. A prominent notice on the door said "No wet suits -- wet or dry". I tentatively poked my head around the door and asked if I constituted a "wet suit"? No I didn't, and was bade enter and make myself comfortable by the landlady and bar staff.
I had something to eat and drink and, as it was still "stair rods" outside, sat down in a comfy chair to do some serious postcard writing. I chatted and joked with the staff for a while and when, at 4pm, the rain finally stopped, I took my sack to my B&B (which was next door but one) and set off to explore Dale point and St. Anns Head. "The book" said it would take about three hours to get all the way round, but without my sack, the pace was effortless. "Consummate" and "ease" are the words which spring to mind. Going uphill felt as easy as downhill and I revelled in my own power. Although my legs were again being drenched by the undergrowth, I felt very happy. There's something about the way rain purifies the air that makes it so good to walk in afterwards and fill your lungs with the heady stuff. St Anns is a lovely little peninsula, with some unexpected sandy beaches and beauty spots. Mind you, Mill Bay isn't one of them. A Black, foul smelling "stream" was running into the sea here. The stench was awful, and I wondered what it must smell like when the weathev was warm. I pushed on quickly. I passed St Anns Head and paused at a small sign pointing to "The Vomit (only)". Intrigued, I followed it. I was glad I did because, after all the outstanding rock formations I have seen so far, this is far and away the most impressive. I took the inevitable photo' and set off back towards Dale.
The Western side of St Anns is straight from pre-history. I marvelled at it as I walked along. Again the path is close to the edge in places, so care is needed. Someone had been on this part of the path with a strimmer, and it was nice to follow a wide swathe through the undergrowth. Soon I came to the same stile I had crossed earlier (I did St Anns "backwards"), I re-crossed it and re-entered Dale village. The B&B I'm staying
at tonight is a bit strange. The sitting room downstairs is like something out of Victorian times, and I half expected to hear a large clock giving off a slow TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK. The bedroom itself is a depressing place, old, and the sort of paint job used in penal establishments. No shower in the bathroom, but a HUGE bath, with scratches in so deep they left a pattern on my bum!! Loads of hot water though, so I performed my ablutions and got changed into my "evening gear". It's never a problem, knowing what to wear on these walks. If it's warm tee-shirt and track suit bottoms. If it's a bit cool, then it's the sweatshirt and same track suit bottoms. The only other alternative is anything that doesn't smell too badly yet! Another friendly welcome awaited me at the Griffin Inn, and I spent the night talking to Sarah, the Landlords daughter, and a local chap who sat at the bar. I love talking to the locals as you can find out so much about the place and you feel more at ease. The main thing I've noticed is the overall friendliness all over Pembrokeshire. It really makes you feel welcome when people immediately talk to you. There is limited B&B in Dale, but it might be worth giving the Griffin a ring, as there are several farmhouses that have started doing B&B in the area. I retired to my drab abode for the night, and soon sank into slumber. Breakfast the next morning was quite passable and after eating, I shouldered my sack and set off.