Beautiful quiet British beaches

[BBMmk2]

Great photos TS!

[Richard Tarleton]

....looks more like Mwnt to me....

Mwnt.....Aberporth I think has a fence along the top of the low cliff at the N end.....

[Lat-Literal]

I'm not sure I have been to Mwnt, and I think this is the northern part of Aberporth, but I shall investigate. Might need to book a few days there to help check.

I think Mwnt is probably just to the west of Aberporth.

The beach at Aberporth is highly rated but I have never been there.

The only time I travelled from North Wales to South Wales, it was on a "find a bed and breakfast" holiday and by the time we reached Mwnt it was getting quite late. Many will have experienced this sort of thing. "Shall we carry on?" - to Pembrokeshire in this case - "or find any old place for an overnight stay?". Normally we would not have chosen to stay on a busy main road even for a night but on the left there was a less than promising looking place called "Hazel's Cafe" and it did have a B and B sign. A lorry stop I guess, not that any lorry was there. I was sent to the toilets so that I could report back on their state of cleanliness. I found them to pristine. An A rating. So we decided to risk it. I don't recall the bedrooms. They couldn't have been bad and presumably the breakfast was ok. This was 1975 so I just have glimpses. We ate breakfast in the cafe. Was the cafe on a slight bend?

But the key point is as soon as we had got our bags in, we diplomatically explained the situation, ie we were actually on holiday and wouldn't be stopping long as we were heading for the Pembrokeshire beaches. The woman who may or may not have been Hazel - actually I think she was Hazel - advised that we would be amazed at what was just across the main road. So then it was an evening walk to see whether the hype was justified and amazing it turned out to be. That was the coast at Mwnt. It was a shame the stay was brief.

(I have a feeling I may have "done" this story before but if so it was a long time ago)

[DracoM]

Beach below Grande-Greve on Sark.

[Lat-Literal]

Benacre - and all points (mainly on the beach but some inland) between Lowestoft and Aldeburgh:

http://www.benacre.com/index.html

(25-30 walking miles)

This represents a personal achievement for me which just wouldn't have happened without a variety of support.

Loved it all - the coastal scenery, the character of the people, the heather on the heaths etc.

Especial thanks to Richard T for providing such helpful information - we were so lucky with the tides and, among many other things, walked Minsmere with the forum in mind!

[Richard Tarleton]

Delighted it worked out Lat! I'm looking forward to my next visit.

[Lat-Literal]

Delighted it worked out Lat! I'm looking forward to my next visit.

Thanks Richard.

1 of 3

I thought the area was full of diverse terrain which is the opposite to that expected. Lowestoft has suffered terribly from erosion in recent years but they are building up the beach at its centre. Initially, as I am sure you know, one leaves the railway station and walks to the sea where the immediate thought is that it isn't pretty. There is lost port infrastructure - semi-industrial - beside what could be regarded as faded fairground attractions. Presumably an only slightly more elegant Felixstowe, not that I have been. My mate was not at first at all impressed while admitting that he gives places a good few days before ultimately judging them. I was well disposed towards the area because I was painting it with cherished family members from the past who had spent time there. We were staggered by the absence of people on Sunday afternoon/evening especially as what one does get early on is a sense of its expanse. Very broad sweeps along with big skies. It clearly has the scope for accommodating a large number of holiday makers and in truth there were more of them later in the week.

One thing we had done was perform minor miracles with costs. A highly rated B and B via Trip Advisor for £30 each in the height of summer and two single tickets to and from London Liverpool Street for £10 and £14. This enabled me to get the taxi I needed to get me out of the house to the London terminal when every bone in my body suggested I couldn't see it through. Bear in mind I have refused with no room for manoeuvre a return to the city of just 15 miles away from my home for the past seven plus years. I have been totally serious.

It was touch and go. LBC on the taxi radio did a full one hour phone in on terrorism in London - again - and I was struck by the sheer amount of Islamic centres on the ride through South London. The poor couple of West Indians who were elaborately dressed for church in Brixton seemed in need of words of affection and a helping hand. In London itself - all police and tourists - I felt so remote it could all have been on a screen. I got there early so one keeps out of the station until necessary, ruing the fact that there is a need for a lavatory there at a certain point where bombs could go off at any moment. Plus - being a single man with a rucksack there is the thought that one might be regarded by others with suspicion. It's all grotesque. It's the media version of London and if they are allowed to have their way they will destroy it and all of Britain too. But then people come into it. I couldn't let a friend down.

The first day took us from South Beach to Kessingland and it was then obvious that there was considerable sand and a slight feeling of wilderness which was never less than attractive. From there we walked to and across Benacre. Very few people. Almost no one. We could have been several hundred miles further north. Cormorants and small trees eerily appearing in the beach itself. Two groups around fires and that was about it. The light on the sea was fabulous. Then Southwold, in appearance almost designed to be the key picturesque town while somehow incorporating a major brewery. It was packed full of liberal middle class families, well-to-do, perhaps partially because of the recent connections with the trendy literature-and-music- Latitude festival and also the presentation of it which could almost suggest down to the road names that it had a university. It seemed in its much smaller way to have assumed Lowerstoft's mantle. This country seems so culturally divided now in class terms for in contrast, Lowestoft is old working class/ lower middle class England - UKIP I feel must have done well there - but of course those of us of a certain age and background have a tentative foot in each camp while not wholly aligning with either. That keeps matters very interesting.

[Lat-Literal]

Part 2 of 3

Day two was easier on the feet. A boat trip up to Oulton Broad. Mainly industrial. A single woman Asian tourist looked bemused but not disappointed while the first one of the day is mainly for the kids. They have their own pirate ship supported well by a good crew. The Broad was very busy - lots of sailing types and canoes within big landscapes from the planners. We ambled beyond to Carlton Marshes which is in some ways reminiscent of Fenland. More often than not, people were a delight. Helpful, friendly, very British. I found that "emotional".

It's a funny thing when you meet up with a friend who you haven't seen for five years and end up in the reeds beyond a regatta. As it happens, my mate's surname is Wilding. In the blank canvas that was Carlton Marshes, he was minded to think of MR James and a strange dark figure in the distance. I thought of Monbiot for some reason and introduced him to the concept of re-wilding. On the third day we took the bus to Southwold. The discussion was B and B owners. Lovely people who do great breakfasts but why didn't they gen up on the basic essentials like information on local transport? A couple who had spent twenty years in York overheard and gave us better info than any Tourist Information service could have done. Lots of connections - then in came a jolly man who was doing via CAMRA a midweek meander. 70 but could have been 50 apart from the wrinkles and in a spectacular tartan hat with horns which really suited him. The conversation meandered among the six of us between the countryside and railways and beer. The couple at one point realised that they were on the late attender's e-mail list. Honestly, it seemed like everyone knew everyone and why can't London be like this? We were invited to the midweek fling but we stuck to our guns.

Went to find the ferry from Southwold to Walberswick - you'll know it is rowing boat - and after a long wait made the short crossing. Then many miles of shingle to Dunwich and that is jolly hard work. By the time we had reached there, he was all for going back but the Lat-Literal had got his objective bee in his bonnet. If London was done, that return would be lame.

[Lat-Literal]

Part 3 of 3

There are a lot of things about Sizewell B that the naive might need to know.

Where were we? Oh yes. First, if you are going to get there at all, let alone Aldeburgh, don't ask in the Dunwich cafe. It's semi-helpfully well-meaning but, hey, 23 year old surfers? No chance. Find the woman on the lane beyond who will confirm that there is an inland route and, no, not necessarily on roads with immense detail. This belies her facial expression which suggests she doesn't want to speak to anyone when she can forever knit jumpers. Trust her. It will take you past the pads of millionaires in dense forests and ultimately lead to spectacular August purple. You can also question younger professional women there if their dog is really up to the challenge and be assured that when he finds it difficult he has a ride in their haversack (not that this is a rucksack however much rugby has changed over the years). And then in the distance you will see a sci-fi bubble that is either Quatermass or the Day of the Triffids through the greyest-mauvy fifties style lens while blocking out blue sky and yellow sun. Following which you can march on for a few miles towards the police vehicles and the decoy hobbyist. The fact that the boundary is the most pathetic one ever created by world-conquering man and that you could theoretically touch the sides of it is a smokescreen.

And it's all rather wonderful.

Which specifically is to say that initially there is no one of note at the end of Minsmere. It is simply spectacular nature and a few anonymous joggers. But the man who "appears" at Sizewell beach and claims to photograph "nuke trains" for personal enjoyment is almost certainly there to assess the reactions of two strangers. While content with them he will always on balance send the jeeps across the sands past them. The personnel, heavily armed, are all low key nonchalance but happily one knows that the entire enterprise is Fort Knox in a velvet glove. This enables soft leaning British people to remain convinced that there is still a recognizably consistent Britain. But in line with our history we are also provided at this point with an "are you up to it?" national character forming challenge. "Is this close to Aldeburgh"?". "No", you will be told, "not even close to it....the next one is Thorpeness and it is 3-4 miles with Aldeburgh a good two miles beyond it". The additional advice - gritty at best - is that you will miss a cup of tea at the former as "the tea place" closes at 5pm. Furthermore, there is no bus. While he has his car you will not be requiring a lift as you would prefer to complete all that you set out to do by walking it. He might see you there but not if you dawdle.

We didn't have the time to dawdle or to have a cup of anything. It was possibly the fastest five miles plus at the end of a day of walking I have ever completed. There were just two very brief stops. One in which finally one individual's splendid all singing and all dancing mobile device actually had the decency to receive a voice activated signal. Stupid technology in my humble opinion. I oppose it on religious grounds, especially when it tells you that it is 1652 and the last bus leaves Aldeburgh at 1805. The second involved a frantic five minutes of negotiation around the bus stop at the Mere. Can we return from here and would we feel we had let ourselves down by not seeing Aldeburgh at all? The first point was answered by a glimpse at the bus times from there. Almost non-existent. The most helpful teenager I have encountered in the past five years provided us with a taxi number from the top of his head while collecting a few glasses, detailed information about the uncomplicated coastal route onward and encouragement that we could probably still get there in time. But the taxi service was fully booked and the approach to Aldeburgh from that direction can seem very long. We saw a car park from a distance and knew that it would have to be Fort Green for if it was differently named the buses wouldn't go from there. Alas it wasn't and Fort Green was on the far side. Can I now say I have I seen Aldeburgh? Just about - while sprinting through it.

Frankly, the public transport system is shockingly bad. Our new friends on the earlier bus had joked that while he had worked on the railway system they had retired to Beeching Drive. Beeching has made his mark on this part of the country as with every other but he was a very long time ago. The local authority does not appear to comprehend it and should perhaps enquire of the Isle of Wight or Northumberland on how to operate a decent bus service. But it got worse. Not only did we miss the last bus by seven minutes - how we did it even by 1812 I will never know - but Aldeburgh is, to use a word that we all used in the old days, posh. The many strollers we weaved between were not quite dressed up in evening wear but several looked set for a night at the theatre or opera. I hope that they are staying there because if they are not I regret to inform them that this is a town with no taxis as well as no buses or trains. Taxis will only come from Leiston if you are lucky. After much effort talking into a ridiculous box, (!), we were lucky but there were moments when I genuinely believed we were trapped and could never get out. We kept remarkably calm but to be in yet another Hotel California seemed an inappropriate reward for doing so well and all thoughts of returning via Woodbridge or Saxmundham were quickly abandoned. "To Lowestoft please" - a nice guy actually, not a fleecer, softly spoken, originally from Northern Ireland. £16 each.

Lovely jubbly : especially as throughout the five days, we had been entirely oblivious to the 24/7 news racket getting its knickers in a twist about sword wielding travellers in Cromer.

Pubs :

Lowestoft - The Triangle - twice (8) - real ale local, The Oddfellows, Pakeham, (8) - real ale local, The Oak (7) - local, Plough and Sail - twice (7) - local, Joseph Conrad - a better sort of Wetherspoons - twice (7), The Volunteer (6/7) - faded glory but lovely interior, Jolly Sailors, Pakeham (4) - crass modern, Blue Anchor (2) - chavs, Southwold - one - Adnams obviously.

But we walked a lot between all of these places.

Meals - McDonalds (1), Wetherspoons burger (1), KFC on the beach (2)

Walking mileage - Near 40 - all told

[teamsaint]

Right, this one is definitely Aberporth. Today. The shiny bit is the sunny spell the Met Office promised.

What a lovely part of the world.

[ferneyhoughgeliebte]

What a lovely part of the world.

The last time I was in Wales (over seven years ago ), it was for a fortnight's holiday in Aberarth, a few miles North of Aberporth, and with a similar - but much smaller - patch of beach. It was there that I last flew a kite. A (rare) passer-by asked "Second childhood?", to which I replied "No: making up for the first."

A lovely photo, ts - causing not a little taste of hiraeth in this tiny part of the Pennines. Many thanks

[kernelbogey]

I have just come across this thread for the first time (and, hence, have not read previous posts).

A couple of weeks ago a friend and I walked about 20 miles of one of the wildest parts of the Cornwall Coast Path, the north coast of Penwith, from Cape Cornwall to St Ives, taking three days. For much of this section, the path is remote from any habitation, although at times the road is not far away. I was reminded that the Cornwall coast has many tiny beaches, revealed only at low tide, which look almost or completely inaccessible from above, due to the steepness of the cliffs. Ocasionally one comes across a beach remote enough to be known by, presumably, mainly locals. I'm away from my maps as I write, but we came across one such, where a lone couple were enjoying walking over the beach, newly washed by the tide.

Owning a 1:25,000 OS map, and having the necessary skills to decode the visual signals into walkable/inaccessible mental images is the key to finding such litoral treasures. Few tourists (aka visitors, grockles, emmets) in the county have the motivation to move beyond the obvious beaches. (I grew up there, but now enjoy honorary emmet status .)

Nearer my home, Hengistbury Head, just east of Bournemouth, provides a wonderfully wild bit of beach (mostly shingle, little sand even at low tide) which even at the height of the summer season remains lightly populated, as most people prefer to stay close to the western end, and to the very efficient cafe, the Hungry Hiker. You can park your car at this western end, walk the mile or so along the shingle beach to a stretch of well-known and popular sandy beach and another beach cafe. Whence, sated, one can either walk back to the car over the cliff-top or take the 'land train', which services the many semi-residential beach huts at the eastern end. An extraordinary bit of Britain, resting slightly, I feel, in a time-warp.

[teamsaint]

Only ever been to Hengistbury once and that was business, , so I ought to revisit. Some interesting info there KB.

Today Mwnt.



Missed the sunny spell.....

[teamsaint]

Surfers out in force shortly after I took this.


Would have been fun for Ferney with his kite up at the top.

[Lat-Literal]

Right, this one is definitely Aberporth. Today. The shiny bit is the sunny spell the Met Office promised.

What a lovely part of the world.

That looks like my kind of place - and just a little reminiscent of Lee Bay in North Devon.

While wide beaches are wonderful when they come into view from the road (Newgale, Pembs, as it used to be) and for walking in their entirety (Woolacombe, again North Devon), I do prefer a bit of enclosure when it comes to sitting. The rocks either side in that picture are like walls, comfortably indoorsy in the outdoors sense, so the perfect base for looking at an endless sea with a feeling of mystery unaccompanied by isolation. This is also why I like to be in gardens that adjoin the countryside. They take away the remoteness that can be felt with "big land", acting like a conservatory or summer house in reinforcing personal security before the longer view.

(I had a night's B and B at Hazel's Cafe and Post Office on the bend in the road at Mwnt in 1975 - bet it isn't there now???????)