Any Old Burry Port in a Storm: Kidwelly to Burry Port

Sated by good food and exhausted by the day's walking, we both slept really well. Our night was undisturbed by rain, howling winds that threatened to flatten the tent and helicopters and we woke to a very pleasant morning. We had our breakfast outside the tent and we avoided the trip up to the local Morrisons. Fresh air, fresh coffee and some sun shine and we were looking forward to the last day of walking.

Bagels. Mmmm. We don't stint ourselves on these holidays which is probably the reason that neither of us ever lose any weight.

You can just see the towel, drying in the breeze on a nearby fence. A fair, breezy day was promised.

Parking one car in Burry Port we drove back to the camp site and set off, back down into Kidwelly town and looked for the start of the path. One of the nicer things about the Wales Coastal Path is that it frequently dips into small towns and villages along the way. I know that some walkers prefer their days unaffected by human habitation but Rhian and I quite like towns. Towns often mean a sit down and a cuppa or a loo. Neither of us is that fond of an al fresco pee. Kidwelly is a nice place and seems to be a 'real' town; its not just there for the tourists. The Norman Castle is impressive and was once besieged by Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd. She failed in her attempt to take the castle and was beheaded for her troubles. Fair play, Gwenllian, that was a fate worse than blisters. The town is a pleasant little place and not difficult to navigate, you would think, though we did manage to walk in completely the wrong direction for a little while - the start is often the most confusing...

We went past the end of the Kymer canal which had been built to service local coal mines now long gone. We went down to the old Quay and then headed out of town, along side a busy road on a joint foot path and cycle route. We saw a sign warning motorists to look out for otters. Otters! Even more endearing than puffins! Just imagine the excitement if we saw one! We gabbled excitedly about this for some time. Sadly, reader, not an otter in sight. Nor a puffin.

After a time, we were glad to turn away from the road and headed down across marsh lands.

The path was raised up and we could see the last part of the Afon Tywi with Llansteffan on the other side. The marsh land was divided and subdivided by narrow water courses and the map informed us that it was a danger zone. I find these sorts of salt marshes disconcerting as I have a totally irrational fear that I will start to walk into them and become bogged down in the mud. This is crazy as I know that I'm not going to do it but it always leaves me on edge. I have similar feeling on the London Underground. I sensibly decided not to share my irrational worries with Rhian. She already thought I was more than a little crazy. Every now and then we passed grazing sheep who obviously didn't share my irrational fears. Salt marsh lamb is prized by chefs and the animals enjoy a range of salt tolerant food. And then we came to some cows.

We were raised up in the path and the cows were very contented where they were. For once they didn't bother us. Rhian was very brave.

I looked at them warily, they looked at me. I didn't flinch or look away but quickened my pace. You never know when they might decide to give chase.

We walked on for a few miles through this very strange (to us) landscape. It was flat, the path was wide and so obvious that even we couldn't lose it and the sun was shining. You can see Pembrey Forest in the distance.

This really was a wonderful place to walk and the weather was perfect. Warm enough to be comfortable, a fresh breeze and sunshine. Every now and then someone would run past us or we would cross paths with people walking their dogs, it really was a fantastic end to the walking holiday. Eventually the path went into the forest , which sand underfoot with pines along the path and Rhian refused to let me discuss sand dune formation. She never lets me have any fun! She always offers to tell me, again, about sand dune formation. So generous. One last, strenuous climb up over some sand dunes and then we could see the sweep of Cefn Sidan Sands. Sand dunes are horrid to walk along. The sand is often soft so you slip and slide along and you risk catching your foot in the root network of the plants that grow along the dunes. We sensibly headed down towards the wet sand.

The sands stretched ahead of us for miles of breath taking miles. It was an incredible, epic sight that disarmed me and left me open-mouthed. Wonderful. As we walked on the hard sand we chatted over the highs and the lows of the week, the places we had seen and the people we had met along the way. This was an astonishing end to the week. The sands run for eight miles and we had the joy of walking down two and a half of them. They have built up over thousands of years and the silting up of the estuary has changed the area from being a busy commercial port to the quiet and beautiful place it is today.

This was just as we dropped on to the beach. The sign is a marker for the Coastal Path we had followed all week and in the distance you can see the coast line we had walked...every footsore mile of it.

When we had got about half way down the beach we could see torrential rain rushing towards us. We were still walking in bright sunshine but the rain was moving swiftly down the sand, a grey curtain. We had just enough time to get our coats on when it hit us.

We plodded on, hoods up, the wind blowing the rain into the right side of our heads and the sand whipping up the beach in a passable imitation of the surface of Tatooiine ( Star Wars reference, there for anyone who is wondering). In spite of the conditions we were awestruck with the hugeness of the sky, the wide and lowering clouds and the power of the sea.

As quickly as it hit us, it moved on and we were in sunlight again. We cut in land and walked thought the Country Park, stopping for a cup of tea in a café among the dunes and walking along cycle paths. There were people everywhere, enjoying the forest.

During another little pause for a "comfort break" at the Visitors' Centre, I sat on a grassy bank and surveyed the scene. Suddenly, from the front of a group of young people, a familiar face (accompanied by his body, of course) appeared in front of me. "Hello Miss!" he said, grinning. Before me stood a burly young man with striking auburn curls.

"Ben!" I said, "This is a nice surprise!"

This young man had left school several years before, but I had taught him for most of his 5 years and it was lovely to see him and catch up - he was supervising a group of kids out for the day to have a go at the activities at Pembrey. It's always wonderful to see what pupils are doing and the difference they are making in the world. It always amuses me that students are shocked when they see you outside of school. It's as if they cant imagine that you have a life outside of the building and they are sure that the Head puts us back in boxes at the end of the working day. I remember a colleague who used to love winding kids up when they told her that saw her in town on Saturday. She would assure them that she had been in London all over the weekend and that they must have seen her identical sister. She did this this with utter conviction and they swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I remember one student telling me about it when I taught the lesson on cell division and identical twins.

'Miss Baily has an identical twin!'

'How interesting! What's her name?'

'Hayley Baily, Miss!'

Bless them, they never twigged that she was teasing them.

We continued along the Millennium Coastal Path and eventually we reached the outskirts of Burry Port. Suddenly, ahead of us I saw a figure I recognised from the day before - the woman in the unsuitable sandals and leggings encasing her chubby figure. But where was her companion of the day before? Her husband? She walked with a spring in her step. She looked cheerful. We speculated, and could only conclude that she had had enough of being dragged along cliff-tops and up and down testing inclines on the coastal path, had eaten her husband and was now on the look out for someone who would not expect her to take up hiking long distances. Sensible woman.

Coats on against the rain and squinting into the sunlight, we were getting close to the end of our walk. That anchor sticking out of Helen's head didn't appear to do her any lasting damage. Its why I'm squinting, I'm trying to be stoical.

As we got closer to the marina in Burry Port we began to slow our pace, not because we were tired, because it had been an easy 8 miles along dead flat paths, but because on some level we didn't want the walk to end. We could see the distance we had walked behind us and also see the Gower peninsula ahead of us, still left to walk.

There is something very special about finishing a section. We got a huge sense of satisfaction when we finished the Ceredigion section and this was just as wonderful. We aren't in the first flush of youth and neither of us is very fit but we have learned that all you need to do is put one foot in front of the other and keep going. And avoid the sheep shit, obviously. This time we were walking more in miles than we had in kilometres the first year, I don't know about Rhian but I felt a bit overwhelmed by it all (yes, I did too!) and was quite pensive until we dashed into the local Co-op for wine and food for the evening as we were expecting a visitor.

When we walk, its usually just the two of us but tonight we were going to have a visitor to help us celebrate the end of the 66 miles. Jeremy Williams had been in school with us (and university with me) and he lived near by, working as a consultant in A and E at the local hospital. I would always point him out proudly to my kids when he jogged onto the pitch at the Millennium/Principality Stadium to minister to some injured rugby player or other during the Six Nations. Me too.

We spent a wonderful evening, chatting about old times and catching up on news. We sat outside the tent and he was impressed by the fairy lights and the Rug of Contemplation. Jay was a good natured soul and laughed while I reminisced at the time that he arrived at a college disco with an entire netball team and rolled his eyes when I reminded him about the many, many times he failed to notice women throwing themselves at his (admittedly) handsome feet. He asked us about the walk and only once pointed out that he could arrange to have us locked up if he got a friend to co-sign the papers. We shared food and good times and he took this last picture of us. It was a lovely end to a great week, and he was, as always, wonderful company.

The next day we packed up the tent, just before it started to rain and, as if arranged by some cosmic director, we saw the most beautiful rainbow, framing the castle in the distance.

Since this walk, our wonderful friend Jay has died. He was a remarkable man, a truly gifted doctor who wore his expertise lightly. He was kind and generous and funny. He coped with chronic illness with such dignity that none of us realised he was ill until he was hospitalised. Jay was making a recovery, frustrated that he couldn't help with the Covid crisis, when he passed away. This was typical of a man who had touched the lives of thousands of people in his work and who was generous with his time, training doctors and nurses over many decades. Walking the coastal path gives you some insight into the vastness of geological time and this makes you realise how short a span we are granted on Earth. Jay was taken before his time and his family and friends were robbed. But if a man is measured by the effect he has on others during his life Jay was a giant. It was a joy and privilege to have known him and we would like to dedicate this section of the walk to him and those who loved him best, his daughters Hannah and Claire and his fiancée Sonia. They have set up a Just Giving page in his memory.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Jeremy-Williams135

And we are going to walk the Llyn Peninsula in his memory, Crones for Crohn's.

https://www.justgiving.com/team/Crones?invite=true

Jeremy Williams 1961-2020