Penmaen to Mumbles, August 26, 2017

Today's drama began before I left.  All set to head out to catch the bus back to Penmaen whence to begin walking to Mumbles (isn't that the cutest name for a place?), I reached to open the exterior door to the B and B, the one I had been told was never locked, and, to my horror, saw that, not only was it locked, it had no handle.  It could only be opened with a key.  Having dutifully left my key in the room, I found myself in the little vestibule between two locked doors. (You can guess what I said to myself.)  What to do! I banged on the inner glass door.  I did this many times, and not timidly, may I add, not caring if I woke up the entire world.  Finally, the half-asleep owner appeared with a set of keys and let me out.  The nature of our conversation was idiotic, but the important thing here is that always wanting to leave more than enough time to get places and such, I did not miss the bus!

The bus stop is located next to a, yes, telephone booth, inside of which were these warnings:

So, good citizens put out their cigarettes on top of the trash can:

The walk started out beautifully, another day of stunning scenery and no rain.  I mean no rain in that it did not even threaten rain.  What a mechaiah!  Came to this gorgeous dune, estuary, cliff kind of area:

where, fortunately, heading in the opposite direction, the Clemments (sp.?) clan, as they referred to themselves, were crossing the river on submerged stepping stones.  Had they not been so doing, I would have had a) a hard time noticing these stones and b) if I had, would have wondered if it was dangerous to cross at such high tide.  The mom, familiar with the area, said that the water was just going to get higher, so, off came the boots and socks and onward I went.  It was quite refreshing, really, yet the current in the middle of the river had quite some pull, but off the stones I did not fall, and, relieved not to have slipped, reached the other side.  But let us cheer instead for that little girl! She did it without poles! (I have learned to much admire the scamperings of children!!)

When you are right near them, the stepping stones are obvious:

Then the GPS and the OS map clearly indicated that one was to ascend a S T E E P cliff and proceed around a peninsula.  The signage, however, pointed in quite another direction.  So dependent am I on my devices, that I tried the cliff, trudging up a very narrow path through very deep soft sand and then along a much too narrow cliff edge.  Scared, I thought, "I have done this before on the South West Coast Path, I can do it now."  Slowly I inched along the cliff until, just at the turn, there was NO PLACE to put your foot, and it was a sheer drop down.  If one could get around that turn, the rest would probably be OK, but this one could not and would not.  Honestly, I don't know if anyone could.  Back I centimetered my way along the cliff—it seemed to take forever—until, at the steep deep sand, I got on my hands and knees, and crawled backwards to safety, and obediently followed the signage, which pointed to a new, sane route, but not marked as such.  Harrowing is what this was and a waste of time!

I learned something today:  a shower cap is not a good wrapping for your snack of grapes. You can guess what I said to myself when the grapes hit the sand and dirt.

Oh, another thing I learned on this walk: If there is the slightest chance of rain, do not put your suitcase near an open window.

Things went well for a while until, taking a high tide diversion, I heard a thwack and found myself on my rear.  A low tree bough had knocked me to the ground.  Three thoughts about this:  in movies  of the goode olde dayes in Merrie Olde England, in which there is a plot to kill someone, just this sort of arrangement is contrived so that "someone" gets knocked off his horse, is stunned silly, and if things go as planned, dies.  The second was about my annoying HAT, which unlike lost HAT, has a too big floppy brim preventing proper vision at critical moments.  The third was whether I would be catapulted toward dementia or suffer loss of brain function.

Not that I am competitive or anything, but, passing a well-heeled pater familias, local to the area, who was walking with visitors, I asked him how long it would take to get to Mumbles.  "Oh, four or five hours," volunteered Gramps in a somewhat condescending way.  Three hours later I rang the bell to the B and B.

Professional photos of Worm's Head that really belong on a different post but due to Blogger's idiosyncrasies they are here!

Oh, sweet memories!

Definitely worth a trip!