Boners on the Gower.
Posted: Mon Jul 26, 2021 12:29 pm
My weekend on the Gower was one of two parts and began on Friday morning when I set off with a selection of toys and vague plan.
I arrived at the Worms Head NT carpark and duly deposited six quid into the parking machine, slung my new Lomo rucksack on my back and headed off along the coast path. After a mile or so I got bored of continually saying 'morning' so bumbled down the cliffs to carry on along the rocks at the bottom. A few hundred yards later, I'd now become bored of climbing up and down rocks, so when a small sandy area presented itself I decided to take the opportunity to get in the sea. Ten minutes later, I pushed the raft into the water and started paddling.
First port of call was a sea cave. The tide was rising but there was still a small patch of sand available in front to beach. After the obligatory photograph, I pushed the raft back into the sea, threw a leg over it and promptly got tipped upside down by the waves that were hitting the shore ... after another unsuccessful attempt, I eventually made it on board and back out to sea, albeit somewhat wetter and sandier than I'd intended.
I turned tale and headed back along the coast in the direction I'd come. I could see Worms Head in the distance and as it was still quite early, I thought I'd go and have a closer look. I'd discovered that a skeg makes a world of difference on a raft, so while the pace wasn't blistering, the thing at least tracked reasonably well. I paddled along quite happily with a handful of seabirds for company.
Approaching Worms Head
I knew the tide was rising and as I approached the 'island' things began to get a bit choppier. However, I hadn't quite anticipated just how choppy they'd become as I drew in-line with the headland. Now, packrafts are quite stable but the swell had become quite severe, I knew I had to keep the stern (pointy bit at the back I believe) facing the waves, yet I also needed to point the raft at forty five degrees to them in order to go round the headland and not be pushed directly into the big rocky lump I was trying to go round. What followed was some quite frantic paddling / maneuvering and somewhere between thirty seconds and a minute where I had genuine doubts about whether I was coming back out. I don't really find the thought of death scary but I was concerned that I'd be that dickhead on the news who's body was found washed up on the beach tomorrow morning. However, my fears of that happening were somewhat reduced when I remembered that the raft still had John Climbers name and phone number written on the front ... at least the news reporter would now say, "The body of Merseyside man John Moore was this morning found washed up on the shore below Worms Head, following an attempt to paddle a blow up raft around the island" ... I honestly felt much better after that.
The other side of Worms Head - I was trying to get a picture of the arch. You can just make it out.I also had a visit from a nosey seal shortly afterwards
Things started to calm down a bit after clearing the headland and I decided that as it was now probably getting on for tea time and I'd had enough excitement for one day, I'd make for the nearest stretch of beach. Obviously, near makes it sound like you'll be there in a few minutes but it was more like fifty before I fell on to the sand and stood looking back out from whence I'd come.
The evening proved less eventful and included visiting the Coop (no Spar on the Gower) and a long walk across a lovely ridge track before settling down for the evening to read a chapter in the packraft handbook that talks about crossing open water and how the rip tides around headlands can be especially tricky.
I was awake bright and breezy, so made a brew and stood outside the van in the gathering light and talked to the sheep for a bit ... I should probably have put my shorts on given that I'd parked next to the road but it was fairly quiet and only a handful of cars went passed. We'd agreed to meet around 11 at a predetermined location, so I set off to look for it. As I drove into the village I spotted Burty and Mart outside the local bakery so pulled up for a brew and a chat. It transpired that various souls were present and scattered to the four winds. Declining a second brew, I drove to the start, found a parking spot and set about sorting the collection of stuff in the back of the van into something that looked like a bike. During this process Burty and Mart reappeared and we talked bollox while I ate my breakfast from a plastic bucket of the bucket and spade variety that I'd brought along.
As if by magic, just before 11, everyone else arrived and within mere minutes we actually set off. Mere minutes later, we stopped and argued amongst ourselves as to which way round we were going. Apathy won and as most people didn't really seem to give a toss, we simply started following David's gps. Mike had told me that the route contained a real mix and he was right. An early highlight was riding across the green while people tried to play golf around us ... we did question whether we were in the right place and were assured we were. A second highlight came shortly after leaving the greens when Mart took a tumble descending a steep sandy track and got his leg trapped in his bike. Unable to move, Sean had to retrace his steps and carefully untangle him - obviously, in itself that isn't funny but stood at the bottom watching a family close by p1ss themselves at the unfolding comedy was.
Fish and chips followed more riding and more riding followed that until we found ourselves looking out at Worms Head. I wasn't in any great rush to go back, so while some went for a closer look, others sat around the carpark discussing just how you're able to get the ring-pull from a coke can onto your penis. Puddings and pints in the pub followed and it appeared that we'd single handedly managed to empty the beer garden with talk of Goth discos, pissy floorboards, dead bodies and of course, hedge-porn.
Our gpx file indicated that we were to follow a BW that ran downhill from the pub but we decided that it would be much better to push our bikes up the really steep hill above it and spend the night there instead ... so steep, someone had cut steps into it. Once aloft, we coasted across the rocky track that presented itself until we reached the old radar station and our home for the night. At this point, the usual happened and people erected whatever they deemed fit to sleep beneath, brews were made and much merriment was had.
Just look at all that merriment.
After a very brief bit of shoving, the first descent of Sunday came early and given how steep it was going up, it was no real surprise how steep it was going down. V had mentioned there was a cafe at the bottom and there was but it didn't open until nine and it was half eight .... we decided to press on. It was starting to warm up now and I seemed to have left my good legs on top of the big hill, so what followed was a ride broken up into a series of shorter sections as we regrouped, carried on, regrouped and carried on - thanks all
Breakfast came a little later than expected and seemed to mainly consist of pies and ice-cream eaten outside a petrol station ... you really don't get more bikepacky than that do you? Morning morphed into afternoon, a point I'll duly admit to being f*cked by. We reached a road junction - by my reckoning the finish lay two miles to the right, the gpx said ten miles to the left. I bid my farewells and turned right, everyone else turned left.
Thanks everyone, cracking weekend and genuinely, thank you for helping remember where I'd left my mojo
I arrived at the Worms Head NT carpark and duly deposited six quid into the parking machine, slung my new Lomo rucksack on my back and headed off along the coast path. After a mile or so I got bored of continually saying 'morning' so bumbled down the cliffs to carry on along the rocks at the bottom. A few hundred yards later, I'd now become bored of climbing up and down rocks, so when a small sandy area presented itself I decided to take the opportunity to get in the sea. Ten minutes later, I pushed the raft into the water and started paddling.
First port of call was a sea cave. The tide was rising but there was still a small patch of sand available in front to beach. After the obligatory photograph, I pushed the raft back into the sea, threw a leg over it and promptly got tipped upside down by the waves that were hitting the shore ... after another unsuccessful attempt, I eventually made it on board and back out to sea, albeit somewhat wetter and sandier than I'd intended.
I turned tale and headed back along the coast in the direction I'd come. I could see Worms Head in the distance and as it was still quite early, I thought I'd go and have a closer look. I'd discovered that a skeg makes a world of difference on a raft, so while the pace wasn't blistering, the thing at least tracked reasonably well. I paddled along quite happily with a handful of seabirds for company.
Approaching Worms Head
I knew the tide was rising and as I approached the 'island' things began to get a bit choppier. However, I hadn't quite anticipated just how choppy they'd become as I drew in-line with the headland. Now, packrafts are quite stable but the swell had become quite severe, I knew I had to keep the stern (pointy bit at the back I believe) facing the waves, yet I also needed to point the raft at forty five degrees to them in order to go round the headland and not be pushed directly into the big rocky lump I was trying to go round. What followed was some quite frantic paddling / maneuvering and somewhere between thirty seconds and a minute where I had genuine doubts about whether I was coming back out. I don't really find the thought of death scary but I was concerned that I'd be that dickhead on the news who's body was found washed up on the beach tomorrow morning. However, my fears of that happening were somewhat reduced when I remembered that the raft still had John Climbers name and phone number written on the front ... at least the news reporter would now say, "The body of Merseyside man John Moore was this morning found washed up on the shore below Worms Head, following an attempt to paddle a blow up raft around the island" ... I honestly felt much better after that.
The other side of Worms Head - I was trying to get a picture of the arch. You can just make it out.I also had a visit from a nosey seal shortly afterwards
Things started to calm down a bit after clearing the headland and I decided that as it was now probably getting on for tea time and I'd had enough excitement for one day, I'd make for the nearest stretch of beach. Obviously, near makes it sound like you'll be there in a few minutes but it was more like fifty before I fell on to the sand and stood looking back out from whence I'd come.
The evening proved less eventful and included visiting the Coop (no Spar on the Gower) and a long walk across a lovely ridge track before settling down for the evening to read a chapter in the packraft handbook that talks about crossing open water and how the rip tides around headlands can be especially tricky.
I was awake bright and breezy, so made a brew and stood outside the van in the gathering light and talked to the sheep for a bit ... I should probably have put my shorts on given that I'd parked next to the road but it was fairly quiet and only a handful of cars went passed. We'd agreed to meet around 11 at a predetermined location, so I set off to look for it. As I drove into the village I spotted Burty and Mart outside the local bakery so pulled up for a brew and a chat. It transpired that various souls were present and scattered to the four winds. Declining a second brew, I drove to the start, found a parking spot and set about sorting the collection of stuff in the back of the van into something that looked like a bike. During this process Burty and Mart reappeared and we talked bollox while I ate my breakfast from a plastic bucket of the bucket and spade variety that I'd brought along.
As if by magic, just before 11, everyone else arrived and within mere minutes we actually set off. Mere minutes later, we stopped and argued amongst ourselves as to which way round we were going. Apathy won and as most people didn't really seem to give a toss, we simply started following David's gps. Mike had told me that the route contained a real mix and he was right. An early highlight was riding across the green while people tried to play golf around us ... we did question whether we were in the right place and were assured we were. A second highlight came shortly after leaving the greens when Mart took a tumble descending a steep sandy track and got his leg trapped in his bike. Unable to move, Sean had to retrace his steps and carefully untangle him - obviously, in itself that isn't funny but stood at the bottom watching a family close by p1ss themselves at the unfolding comedy was.
Fish and chips followed more riding and more riding followed that until we found ourselves looking out at Worms Head. I wasn't in any great rush to go back, so while some went for a closer look, others sat around the carpark discussing just how you're able to get the ring-pull from a coke can onto your penis. Puddings and pints in the pub followed and it appeared that we'd single handedly managed to empty the beer garden with talk of Goth discos, pissy floorboards, dead bodies and of course, hedge-porn.
Our gpx file indicated that we were to follow a BW that ran downhill from the pub but we decided that it would be much better to push our bikes up the really steep hill above it and spend the night there instead ... so steep, someone had cut steps into it. Once aloft, we coasted across the rocky track that presented itself until we reached the old radar station and our home for the night. At this point, the usual happened and people erected whatever they deemed fit to sleep beneath, brews were made and much merriment was had.
Just look at all that merriment.
After a very brief bit of shoving, the first descent of Sunday came early and given how steep it was going up, it was no real surprise how steep it was going down. V had mentioned there was a cafe at the bottom and there was but it didn't open until nine and it was half eight .... we decided to press on. It was starting to warm up now and I seemed to have left my good legs on top of the big hill, so what followed was a ride broken up into a series of shorter sections as we regrouped, carried on, regrouped and carried on - thanks all
Breakfast came a little later than expected and seemed to mainly consist of pies and ice-cream eaten outside a petrol station ... you really don't get more bikepacky than that do you? Morning morphed into afternoon, a point I'll duly admit to being f*cked by. We reached a road junction - by my reckoning the finish lay two miles to the right, the gpx said ten miles to the left. I bid my farewells and turned right, everyone else turned left.
Thanks everyone, cracking weekend and genuinely, thank you for helping remember where I'd left my mojo
Seriously fast tides and currents sometimes, not to mention the effect of the wind but at least you were probably being watched all the time from the Coastguard Station on the headland 
I had a 'slow-motion-life-passing-through-your-head' moment just to the north of there many years ago in an overturned kayak. Great fun though all the same 
My recollection of the trip is more refined, smashed avocado, feta and chili on sourdough for breakfast on Saturday and a vanilla late at lunch on Sunday 
, which meant I spent much of it fighting gravity rather than sleeping. But at least that meant I was up early enough to go sit by the edge of the cliff to quietly contemplate, just as a herd of ponies decided to stroll by and nibble their way right through the middle of our camp (we had been discussing the perils of wildlife munching through guy lines the night before...). Luckily, Andy was also awake, so we captured the moment by taking pictures of each other through pony legs 
