With green pastures, castles and stunning golden beaches, south Wales’ Gower Peninsula was a shoe-in for the UK’s first AONB. Ben Lerwill walks its wild and gorgeous shores
Photos: Drew Buckley
DISCOVER
The 6pm breeze carries a strong, salty tang. Above the limestone cliffs of Oxwich Point, a rabbit hops from the heather and begins to graze. Way out beyond the headland, a low sun blazes on the sea.
I’ve been walking all day and my bed for the night is under a mile away, but I stop, unshouldering my backpack and resting my limbs on the grass. The waves fall and crash. There’s no one else in sight: it’s just me, the evening and the wilds of the scenery. And the rabbit, of course, but the hungry bunny and I know the same thing: times like this are sent to be savoured.
When you’re walking on the Gower Peninsula, these moments come regularly. I’m nearing the end of day two on a three-day walk following the Wales Coast Path around the edge of the Gower map, from the village of Crofty in the north round to Mumbles in the south. The route covers 41 miles, taking in countless ups and downs as well as a procession of soul-swelling coastal views. Expect to sleep well.
When I eventually move on after drinking in the views from Oxwich Point, I pass an older man striding the other way. He has a proper wooden hiking staff. We stop and chat. “I love this because you can just keep going,” he says, as a red admiral flits through wildflowers at our feet. “Land on one side, sea on the other. You can’t go wrong.” Well, quite.
THE HOPE OF SUNSHINE AHEAD
Rewind to the morning of the day before, however, and my walk begins inauspiciously. As I leave Crofty along the edge of Llanrhidian Marsh, the mid-September weather is all gloom and drizzle. Three wet house martins, shortly bound for the tropics, carve through the grey sky. The saltmarsh itself is a flat, rush-strewn world of mud and gulls; squadrons of Canada geese hunker in the middle distance. Then the rain really starts.
I try to stay upbeat. By walking close to the brambles on my left, I’m semi-sheltered from the downpour and can also pluck fat, finger-staining blackberries from the bushes. The views out towards Loughor Estuary are lost in the murk, with just a few stunted willows standing on the fringe of t
