Gower Peninsula: Rhossili

Most of my trips to the Gower Peninsula are a spur of the moment thing. That's the advantage of living right on the peninsula's doorstep. Provided the weather isn't too hideous, I can simply hop on a bus, and find myself on the peninsula's most extreme tip within an hour.

This particular visit took place on a sunny, but incredibly cold January afternoon. The day had started off miserably, but the sun came out after lunch, so I decided to head out to Rhossili, to test out a new camera.

I didn't get there until around 15.15. I stepped off the heated bus, into a vicious chill which seemed more appropriate for Siberia than south-west Wales. I was well-insulated, but the biting wind chewed right through my two fleeces, thick, handknit sweater, thermal leggings, fleece jogging pants, two pairs of thermal socks, thermal hat and thermal gloves. I half-expected to see a herd of yak gracing the nearby hillside, instead of the resident Welsh sheep.

Unlike much of the peninsula, Rhossili faces the open Atlantic. Strong winds are common all year round, making the growing of trees nigh on impossible in and around the village. Although clumps of gorse provide some natural windbreaks along the cliffs, it can get pretty wild there, and this day was no exception. Holding the camera steady proved a difficult task. It's a tiny, flimsy thing, and even when I gripped it tightly with both hands, the wind still tossed it around.

One of the first shots I took was an experiment with the zoom function. Alas, Blogger crunches all images to a low resolution, so most of the pics here look quite blurry. You can see the original version I uploaded, by clicking on the image. This first shot, I've entitled "Rec and Wreck", as it depicts the Old Rectory at Rhossili, with the wreck of the Helvetia in the foreground.

The jackdaws were crazed that day, diving and shrieking overhead. I think they enjoyed riding the powerful air currents caused by the icy gale.


This calm view of the beach is deceptive. The icy, salt wind made my eyes water.

The following shots give a more accurate picture. The sea was rougher that day than I've seen it in a long time. I didn't envy the one hardy soul I saw windsurfing at Llangennith, a couple of miles along the beach from Rhossili.






The mole population of Rhossili seemed pretty well insulated against the biting chill. I made my way along the cliffs, hoping I didn't trip on a molehill, and plunge over a cliff. Despite my caution, I decided the moles were better off there, than in someone's garden, where they'll be a nuisance and end up dead at the hands of an exterminator.


As usual, the cliffs and adjacent fields were heavily populated by sheep. Dog owners must keep dogs on a lead whilst sheep are on the cliffs, especially during lambing season, which it was. Despite their reputation for being stupid, boring creatures, I find sheep highly entertaining. Perhaps that's a peculiar Welsh trait. The woolly ones have a deranged passion for scratching their bottoms on any solid object they can find - as good a reason as any to avoid staying still too long on Rhossili cliffs. Sheep also tend to have really expressive faces and voices, and their body language says a lot. When I said "hello" to this first sheep, she eyed me with utter contempt and then showed me what she thought of me by showing me her bum. Nice.


This next one got really excited when she first saw me, and ran towards me, bleating as if I was her beloved, long-lost friend. As I tucked my hiking stick under my arm to steady the camera, her face fell to this rather woeful expression and she turned away. I think she saw me with a stick, thought it was a shepherd's staff, and mistook me for the farmer, coming to visit with a few tasty treats.


Next, I met this creature, with eyes like something from Stephen King's novel, "The Tommyknockers". Maybe she had cataracts or some other eye condition. That's not a camera flare - her eyes really did glow like that in the late afternoon sun. When she glared at me with those eyes, I felt rather scared, and then rather foolish, for being spooked by a sheep.


Then, I came across a meeting of the sheep equivalent of AA - but in their case, it's A**e-Scratchers Anonymous. Note the looks of relieved delight on their faces as they scratch themselves. Like I said earlier, don't stand still on Rhossili cliffs for too long, in case the AA sheep decide you look like a good scratching-post.






Here's another sheep which greeted me like a long-lost friend. When she realised she didn't know me, she trotted off, scowling, as if to say "me? talk to you? I don't think so".


I tried to get closer to this sheep, to get a better shot of her and the tidal island of Worm's Head, known to locals simply as the Worm. For some bizarre reason, I forgot about the zoom function.


I decided I was far too cold to go any further. The Worm's Head Hotel stays closed for much of January, so there was no chance of a nice, hot coffee. So, I headed for the village's art gallery. I knew it to be a nice little gallery, and far more hospitable than the storm-swept cliffs. When I took what was meant to be my final glance towards the Worm, I spotted the beginnings of a glorious sunset. I've always been a sunset fanatic, and I relished the prospect of testing out my new camera. I forgot about the cold for a while, not even noticing it when I took off my gloves to change the camera's batteries.
















I finally stopped taking pics as the sunset glow dimmed and twilight crept in. I found myself all alone, except for the sheep, and thought it best to head back to wait for my bus. Assuming it was around 16.15, I started towards the bus stop. When I checked my watch, I discovered it was 16.47. I'd missed the bus by about seven minutes, and had almost an hour to wait for the next.

I decided not to spend the next hour at the exposed bus stop at Rhossili, and sped along the main road towards the neighbouring village of Middleton. I knew I'd find a stone bus shelter there, with a nice, long bench in it, where I could retreat into a corner, out of the storm. I took my final shots of the day, looking towards Fall Bay, as I headed along the road.


I was nicely ensconced in the bus shelter, feeling safe from the storm, when I suddenly got a sense of being watched. The Gower Peninsula is famed for its ghost stories and legends, and my imagination began to get the better of me. I cast a fearful eye towards the entrance of the bus stop, and almost had a coronary. A great, shaggy head stared back at me But this was no monster, just a friendly sheep dog. With a brief woof, and a wag of its tail, it scampered off and I was alone again. Shortly afterwards, a Gower Explorer bus arrived to whisk me home. I don't normally feel the cold too much, but that day, I well and truly froze silly at Rhossili.