Stephen Reynolds's Blog - Posts Tagged "hiking"
A short extract from the current work in progress...
I come across a large information board showing an artist’s impression of the port in its pomp. Hoppers crush, chimneys smoke and huge ships sit in wait in a scene that displays a ‘hive of industrial activity’. It would have been an awesome spectacle I’m sure – although, in truth, I’m probably more of a ‘leisurely stroll with an ice cream whilst having a read of a few signs’ kind of a fellow than I am a ‘sweat and toil amidst the plumes of smoke’ sort of a chap. A fact that doubtless shocks you to the core but there you are. I stroll along the harbour to reach the steps that take me up behind the pretty – if slightly out of place – pilot house and back to the path proper.
Once atop the cliffside – having paused to catch my breath and indulge in one last gander back at Porthgain – I reach a sign advising me that I’m entering a National Trust maintained area named Ynys Barry. The landscape takes on a dramatic change here as it bears the heavy scars of the mining industry. It’s unnaturally flat and eerily lifeless as well-worn pathways crisscross the landscape amongst the countless ruins of dark stone buildings. It is beautiful in its own way though. A beauty born of manmade devastation as opposed to that of the destruction caused by the sea that is so in evidence along this whole trail. A trail that charts a course through a coastline under attack, a scarred and ravaged landscape abused by man and nature alike.
This other-worldliness reaches a crescendo with the carcass of a building that looks to have at one time been a church sat isolated on the very cliff edge. Much of its original frame is still intact and is atmospherically silhouetted against the sky and sea behind – as is the large crow that sits moodily atop its one remaining peak. The earth around it is savagely torn apart rendering its position precarious and almost unreachable. It sits awaiting its inevitable fate, resigned to its own demise. The patient sea below will soon enough claim its bricks and mortar and with them the last echoes of the souls who once communed within its four walls. The maudlin spell is broken when a couple of overweight sheep emerge from within and stare at me incredulously, as if to say ‘what are you looking at, you weirdo?’
Once atop the cliffside – having paused to catch my breath and indulge in one last gander back at Porthgain – I reach a sign advising me that I’m entering a National Trust maintained area named Ynys Barry. The landscape takes on a dramatic change here as it bears the heavy scars of the mining industry. It’s unnaturally flat and eerily lifeless as well-worn pathways crisscross the landscape amongst the countless ruins of dark stone buildings. It is beautiful in its own way though. A beauty born of manmade devastation as opposed to that of the destruction caused by the sea that is so in evidence along this whole trail. A trail that charts a course through a coastline under attack, a scarred and ravaged landscape abused by man and nature alike.
This other-worldliness reaches a crescendo with the carcass of a building that looks to have at one time been a church sat isolated on the very cliff edge. Much of its original frame is still intact and is atmospherically silhouetted against the sky and sea behind – as is the large crow that sits moodily atop its one remaining peak. The earth around it is savagely torn apart rendering its position precarious and almost unreachable. It sits awaiting its inevitable fate, resigned to its own demise. The patient sea below will soon enough claim its bricks and mortar and with them the last echoes of the souls who once communed within its four walls. The maudlin spell is broken when a couple of overweight sheep emerge from within and stare at me incredulously, as if to say ‘what are you looking at, you weirdo?’
A short ode to the Quantock Hills
It’s 8:44am on a Tuesday morning and I’m standing beside a cairn at the summit of one of the Quantock hills. Having ascended through the dense-rich-green woodland of Hodder’s Combe, adorned with mighty ash and noble oak, a rolling open landscape now lies before me. Gently sloping hilltops of purple and green stretch off into infinity. In the cornflower blue sky above, the sun is exploding light through the spattering of low-hanging-clouds to cast vast shadows across the vibrant terrain. It is a scene of beautiful and impossible contrasts. So still and peaceful and yet so pulse-quickeningly exciting and full of potential. So serene and desolate and yet so alive with the buzz and cry of all manner of life. What is missing is every bit as significant as what is here… There are no cars, no shops, no crowds. Nothing is broken or incomplete. Nothing is unfinished. Everything is as it should be; as it is. From where I stand paths wind off in every direction, carving their way through the heather. Each one beckons me with the promise of a new adventure. Each one will lead to a different day ahead. All I must do is choose.
The path directly to my right will lead me to Somerton Combe as it plunges me back down into the atmospheric cover of woodland. It will cross rocky fords as it falls and climbs with a quickening purpose. The sunlight will dapple the ground ahead as it penetrates the leaves above, creating a kaleidoscope of greens overhead. A buzzard abandons its perch to glide silently and gracefully above the treetops. The slightest sound or movement from any one of the unsuspecting rodents or insects, unfortunate enough to stray into open ground, and the mighty hunter will pause. Hanging motionless in mid-air for the briefest of moments before diving with deadly accuracy and speed to dispatch its prey. After winding through the boggy Slaughterhouse Combe, the path will eventually ascend into the open landscape once more. From the peak of Black Ball Hill, and a return to the covering of radiant heather and far-reaching views, the path will briefly slow to allow for appreciative contemplation. Then - just as my heartrate settles – it will drop and climb fiercely to arrive at the Trendle Ring Settlement. A two-acre prehistoric earthwork that brings home the timeless significance of these ancient hills. The unexcavated site holds secrets and treasures still untainted by the modern world. From there the path will pass Quantock Moor Farm before evaporating as it reaches the boundary of the hills and eventually the village of Bicknoller beyond them.
The path directly in front of me will lead me to Black Hill, as it carves its way through the gorse. It will pass the silent screams of the windswept thorn-tress that stand defiant against the skyline, in eternal isolation. Even as the warmth of the sun beams down on them in the still of summer, they are caught forever in the midst of the storm. Braced in anguish at the coming winds, they find no respite in the calm. The path will continue past a troop of grazing wild ponies, who will pay me as little attention as they do the incessant flies that cluster around their eyes. The secretions they find there will sustain and nourish the buzzing insects through the warmer months and help prepare them for hibernation. As the path meanders onward it will pass Halsway Post in the distance to the right. A lonely sturdy marker on the horizon that has proudly pointed the way home for so many a lost, weary traveller or would-be-explorer throughout the years and decades. Further along it will pass the burial mounds at Hurley Beacon where the corpses of our ancestors lay, as peaceful and undisturbed today as they have been for thousands of years. Past the cairns and trig points, the path will continue on to Crowcombe Park Gate, before falling and rising again to reach Fire Beacon. Beyond that; Great Hill will rise up and offer one more challenge and set of breath-taking views before the landscape begins to change and the boundary is eventually reached.
The path to my left offers the enticing site of a herd of deer running free, strikingly silhouetted against the horizon. The beautiful and timid creatures will be gone long before I reach them however, as the path will first lead me down into the tranquil seclusion of Holford Combe. It will ignore an endless number of splintering paths, each leading to adventures new, as it drives its way through the valley. Over the flowing ford, slipping and sliding its course through the tall imposing trees. Busy squirrels scurry and leap with impossible dexterity as the path climbs back up towards the open air. After the darkness, the bright sunlight will dazzle as the rich and colourful tapestry of purple and green comes back into focus. Then the climb to the cairn overlooking Woodlands Hill and a chance to pause for reflection. In one direction the village of Holford is hidden from view by the treetops, beyond it the village of Kilve and the distant murmur of civilisation. In the other more woodland obscures the site of the ancient fort at Dowsborough.
Eventually though, and in-truth inevitably, it is the sea that calls me to it. I take the path behind me towards the shimmering glow of the Bristol Channel. The gently lapping waves and pearly blanket of ocean wins the battle for my heart, as it invariably does. On my way to the water the path delivers all the splendour of the Quantock Hills, as it undulates through miles of breath-taking scenery. I pass more cairns and trig points en route, all bringing with them a continuation of those glorious vistas. The day yields a grand and life-affirming adventure, which I’m sure I’ll tell you about someday. For now though, as my muscles begin to ache and afternoon gives way to evening, I can hear the sounds of gulls in the distance. Then – just audible if I strain to hear it – the sound of the sea.
The path directly to my right will lead me to Somerton Combe as it plunges me back down into the atmospheric cover of woodland. It will cross rocky fords as it falls and climbs with a quickening purpose. The sunlight will dapple the ground ahead as it penetrates the leaves above, creating a kaleidoscope of greens overhead. A buzzard abandons its perch to glide silently and gracefully above the treetops. The slightest sound or movement from any one of the unsuspecting rodents or insects, unfortunate enough to stray into open ground, and the mighty hunter will pause. Hanging motionless in mid-air for the briefest of moments before diving with deadly accuracy and speed to dispatch its prey. After winding through the boggy Slaughterhouse Combe, the path will eventually ascend into the open landscape once more. From the peak of Black Ball Hill, and a return to the covering of radiant heather and far-reaching views, the path will briefly slow to allow for appreciative contemplation. Then - just as my heartrate settles – it will drop and climb fiercely to arrive at the Trendle Ring Settlement. A two-acre prehistoric earthwork that brings home the timeless significance of these ancient hills. The unexcavated site holds secrets and treasures still untainted by the modern world. From there the path will pass Quantock Moor Farm before evaporating as it reaches the boundary of the hills and eventually the village of Bicknoller beyond them.
The path directly in front of me will lead me to Black Hill, as it carves its way through the gorse. It will pass the silent screams of the windswept thorn-tress that stand defiant against the skyline, in eternal isolation. Even as the warmth of the sun beams down on them in the still of summer, they are caught forever in the midst of the storm. Braced in anguish at the coming winds, they find no respite in the calm. The path will continue past a troop of grazing wild ponies, who will pay me as little attention as they do the incessant flies that cluster around their eyes. The secretions they find there will sustain and nourish the buzzing insects through the warmer months and help prepare them for hibernation. As the path meanders onward it will pass Halsway Post in the distance to the right. A lonely sturdy marker on the horizon that has proudly pointed the way home for so many a lost, weary traveller or would-be-explorer throughout the years and decades. Further along it will pass the burial mounds at Hurley Beacon where the corpses of our ancestors lay, as peaceful and undisturbed today as they have been for thousands of years. Past the cairns and trig points, the path will continue on to Crowcombe Park Gate, before falling and rising again to reach Fire Beacon. Beyond that; Great Hill will rise up and offer one more challenge and set of breath-taking views before the landscape begins to change and the boundary is eventually reached.
The path to my left offers the enticing site of a herd of deer running free, strikingly silhouetted against the horizon. The beautiful and timid creatures will be gone long before I reach them however, as the path will first lead me down into the tranquil seclusion of Holford Combe. It will ignore an endless number of splintering paths, each leading to adventures new, as it drives its way through the valley. Over the flowing ford, slipping and sliding its course through the tall imposing trees. Busy squirrels scurry and leap with impossible dexterity as the path climbs back up towards the open air. After the darkness, the bright sunlight will dazzle as the rich and colourful tapestry of purple and green comes back into focus. Then the climb to the cairn overlooking Woodlands Hill and a chance to pause for reflection. In one direction the village of Holford is hidden from view by the treetops, beyond it the village of Kilve and the distant murmur of civilisation. In the other more woodland obscures the site of the ancient fort at Dowsborough.
Eventually though, and in-truth inevitably, it is the sea that calls me to it. I take the path behind me towards the shimmering glow of the Bristol Channel. The gently lapping waves and pearly blanket of ocean wins the battle for my heart, as it invariably does. On my way to the water the path delivers all the splendour of the Quantock Hills, as it undulates through miles of breath-taking scenery. I pass more cairns and trig points en route, all bringing with them a continuation of those glorious vistas. The day yields a grand and life-affirming adventure, which I’m sure I’ll tell you about someday. For now though, as my muscles begin to ache and afternoon gives way to evening, I can hear the sounds of gulls in the distance. Then – just audible if I strain to hear it – the sound of the sea.
The Nomad En Suite
So there you have it. My third book; The Nomad En Suite is released today and available in the usual places. It tells the story of my adventure hiking the Pembrokeshire Coast Path and - whilst one doesn't like to toot one's own saxophone - I must confess to being really rather proud of this one. I've approached the thing in a slightly different way. Don't get me wrong, your enjoyment (or otherwise) of it is still largely dependent on whether we share a sense of humour, but if we do then I hope there's a bit more to this one as well. The reasoning behind this is that I finished the hike feeling a strong sense of obligation towards the trail itself, in terms of doing it justice in print. Both my previous books have been written about globally popular (and rightly so) trails and as such my offerings were added to a long list of others already in existence. Not so for the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. Although it is of course very popular in it's own right, it doesn't have the same recognition as the WHW or SWCP beyond these shores and, well, in my opinion, it should do.
With that in mind The Nomad En Suite has more history and anecdotes regards the places I'm passing through and as such is a slightly weightier tome. As I say though, still 'idiot goes on hike' when you really get down to it!
My mission for this one is that if you read it having already completed this incredible hike then it brings back some wonderful memories. And if you read it having never walked the trail that my humble text encourages you to add it to the old bucket list. Anyway - if you do me the honour of giving it a read then more than anything I just really hope you enjoy it.
Thanks all.
With that in mind The Nomad En Suite has more history and anecdotes regards the places I'm passing through and as such is a slightly weightier tome. As I say though, still 'idiot goes on hike' when you really get down to it!
My mission for this one is that if you read it having already completed this incredible hike then it brings back some wonderful memories. And if you read it having never walked the trail that my humble text encourages you to add it to the old bucket list. Anyway - if you do me the honour of giving it a read then more than anything I just really hope you enjoy it.
Thanks all.
