A Trip to Strumble Head

03 June 2001

On Saturday night, in the pub, I'd been in a contemplative mood. But the atmosphere (or lack of) down there was not conducive. So I decided that on Sunday I'd go north, to one of the nicest places I know, Strumble Head, where I could sit quietly and think

Sunday was warm and dry, the sun shining from a clear blue sky. After an early lunch, I was on the road shortly after 11 am. Wanting to avoid the busy Fishguard road, I chose to go via Hayscastle Cross, my oldest stomping ground. On reaching the crossroads I found to my dismay that the rest of the road had recently been covered with loose chippings. (That's the way they re-surface the country roads around here: coat the road with wet tar, then shovel chippings on top. Done.) A sign indicating a 10mph speed limit had been put aside, leaning against the wall of the Cross Inn. I proceeded carefully, prepared to look away from any cars that overtook me for fear of being hit by a stone kicked up by their tyres.

It's always odd for me to pass my old school - it looks so small and run-down, even though its buildings are in better condition than they were when I was a pupil there. Then I left that road, and took an even more minor one. The "main" road swings increasingly towards the West as it goes from Hayscastle to Croes-coch. It had already taken me far enough West; now I needed to go due North, and this country lane was perfect. And there were no more loose chippings.

Garn Fawr was on the skyline ahead of me before the road started to dip downhill. Cruising past one farm, I couldn't help but recall my last cycle-trip to Strumble Head: I suffered a puncture which I'd attempted to repair at the entrance to this farm. I had only had two patches, and neither of them had taken. My one and only spare tube appeared to withstand inflation, but it later punctured, leaving me stranded. I would pump up the tyre, ride for a mile, and have to stop to pump again. The distance between stops was ever decreasing, and eventually I was forced to make a 'phone call for a lift home.

But not this time. On the final descent into Castlemorris there were two men walking up the hill towards me. Although the road was not particularly narrow at this point, they still managed to occupy at lest half of it. I had to swing over to the wrong side of the road in order to pass them, putting me in the path of a child cycling up the hill. I avoided her with no problem, but I did have to make a decision which side of her I'd pass on. I remembered (in time) that I was supposed to ride on the left-hand side of the road....

At Castlemorris the minor road crosses the "B" road from Letterston to Mathry. I went straight ahead, continuing downhill onto and across a small moor. I stopped to take a photograph of the picturesque little stone bridge over the Western Cleddau. Looking to my left, I could see the village of Mathry in its commanding hilltop position. It's supposed to be an ancient and mystical place, and from the map, or looking at the hilltop from afar, I could believe it. But having been into the village, there's nothing much there, beyond a couple of farms. Most of the housing is modern, and is spread around the edge of the village, as far as the Fishguard-St. David's road.

I continued on my minor road, up a moderately steep hill through Llangloffan. Then there were two crossroads in succession, the second being the normally busy main road from Fishguard to the diminutive city of St David's. The road almost seems to form a barrier beyond which the geography switches from the rounded undulating hills and valleys typical of most of the county to a relatively flat plain punctuated by rocky islands. Little - and not so little - outcrops of rock are almost everywhere. Elsewhere, it is unusual to see exposed rock except in quarries, road or railway cuttings, or around the coast. This northern fringe of Pembrokeshire is a special place, with a beauty that sets it apart from anywhere else I know.

The road took me through the little village of St Nicholas. A couple of miles further on it turns towards the East at a junction where the side road winds up to Pwll-Deri, another place I am often drawn to. On this occasion though I went east a bit, and found another side road, unmarked, which I knew would take me to Strumble Head, via the imposing Garn Fawr. This great massif is visible from much of the county, and while I've cycled along this road many times before, I'd never taken the footpath up to the top. According to books there's an imposing hillfort up there. Looking from below, it appears to be bare rock at the summit. However, after a pleasant walk I found this not to be the case: the top of the hill is almost flat, with three or four distinct outcrops of granite around its perimeter. A modern Ordnance Survey triangulation pillar adorns the highest of these, marking the highest point in the county, outside of the Preseli Mountains. The view was amazing; from 700 feet up, I could see the island of Skomer to the South-West, and the oil refineries of Milford Haven. Closer, a wooded valley was clearly visible, in contrast to the open fields elsewhere. Unusually, I could look down on the Roch-Treffgarne ridge, which with Roch Castle and several rock outcrops is itself a distinctive Pembrokeshire landmark. To the South-East, the Preseli mountains were dark but subdued, as if in deference to their proud and ancient neighbour. To the North-East, the coast swept around Cardigan Bay. The valley in which the coastal towns of Fishguard and Goodwick nestle was obscured by the Pen-Gaer peninsula on which I stood. Beyond, Dinas Head could be seen, with its distinctive slope rising up to its summit before plunging down, 460 feet into the sea. Further still, I could also see Cardigan Island. In that kind of weather, clouds tend to form only over land. So even when the land itself was obscured by haze, the clouds above traced out the rest of Cardigan Bay, possibly as far North as Aberystwyth. I looked further North still, hoping for a glimpse of the mountains of North Wales, but the haze was too dense, forming a distinct band above and parallel to the horizon. Closer, it was odd to see the Strumble Head light-house looking so small, down beneath me. The fields and roads surrounding Garn Fawr were laid out like a living, verdant map. To the West, the descent was continuous and steep down to Pwll-Deri. I took a few photographs because the cliffs there are rarely sunlit, and I've never seen them looking so green. There was a suggestion of white cloud through the band of haze above the Western horizon - Ireland was apparently enjoying the same weather as Wales.

There was an odd and derelict structure near the triangulation pillar. It consisted of four walls, with an entrance. No roof, nor any sign that there had ever been one. There were inscriptions in the concrete at the tops of two of the walls. One was simply the name of the builder, but the other provided a clue: not only two names but military ranks, and the dates 1914-15. Apparently something to do with World War One. Nearby was a smooth concrete surface, with an inscribed compass rose.

The peace and tranquillity of the hilltop was unexpected; I only went there as a detour. There were no other people there at all, and I saw only one car go by on the road in all the time I spent on the summit.

After spending maybe an hour exploring the summit of Garn Fawr, admiring the view and taking photographs, the chilly breeze made its presence felt, and I headed back down to the road. Next stop, Strumble Head. The road doesn't take the direct route, but veers off to the right to join another road. Then it winds North and West, through a farm, and down to Strumble Head. The final approach includes a sharp left-hand corner. The road dips downwards, so you accelerate, and suddenly the road isn't there any more, it's disappearing off to your left (unfenced) and you're bumping over grass, ever more steeply downhill and all you can see in front of you is ocean, and suddenly you wonder how cold the sea is at this time of year - it looks pretty chilly - and you know you're about to find out....

I've never misjudged it quite that badly, but I've come close to leaving the road once or twice. After negotiating the corner, I found a brand new cattle grid. I like to take these things at speed; it causes less damage to the bike. But after that corner there wasn't much space to accelerate, and all I could do was bump carefully and slowly over it. Then it was an easy freewheel down to the end of the road.

I parked the bike against a rock, took out a banana and settled myself to watch the sea to the west of Strumble. The lighthouse was on my right, the sea in front of me, and Garn Fawr off to the left, looking rather distant. Last time I was here (I never made it that time I'd had that puncture problem) was some 18 months ago, in October. Then I had needed solitude, and Strumble Head was where I found it. That's why I had thought to come here this time. Again, there were seals in the sea, only their heads breaking the surface. Last time there was only the one, now I could see at least four. The water here was calm, though on the windward side of the headland it looked quite choppy. There were a few other visitors, but they never seem to stray far from their cars. I was close to the car park, but the only people to come anywhere near me were a couple who I think had walked around the coast. The lady saw my bike and said she would have walked up the hill. I didn't remember climbing any hills since Garn Fawr, and these people couldn't have known which route I'd taken. I was left wondering which hill she had been referring to.

After spending some time sitting quietly, watching the seals, I decided it was time to make a move. Last time I'd been here, I'd foolishly tried to start cycling up the steep incline. It's the kind of slope that can only be climbed with both feet in the pedals; one to push, the other to pull. So starting, with one foot on the ground, is all but impossible. After falling off the bike twice, I'd walked. This time, I wasn't going to make a fool of myself, and walked to the top of the steep section before mounting the bicycle. Then I had a little time to build some speed for the cattle grid. There is only one road to Strumble Head, so I had to back-track for a couple of miles to the junction I'd encountered on my way down from Garn Fawr. Here I turned left, heading around the Eastern side of Pen-Gaer. All the road signs said this way would take me to Fishguard, which I didn't want. I expected that I'd come upon the main road sooner or later, but when I found myself at the top of a hill with Fishguard apparently on the other side of the valley, I took a convenient right turn, to take me South. Or I thought it would take me South, to the Fishguard-St. David's road. I was disappointed to find myself back at St Nicholas. Was I going to go home by the same route I'd used to get out here? That is not my habit; I try to put together something resembling a circular route whenever I can. So when I did find the main road, I didn't simply cross it but instead turned right, towards St David's.

Several years ago I used to cycle a regular route of some 37 miles. It was a kind of training run; the same route three times a week throughout the Summer. The exact route took a few months to develop, and in the early days it had included part of this main road. There's something about it; it's almost too easy to ride. The surface is of good quality, but it's more than that. I find myself cruising at about 5mph faster than on any other road, regardless of gradient, weather or fatigue. The only challenge is the climb around the flank of the hill as the road skirts Mathry. Unfortunately, at no point does it come closer than 12 miles from home, so it eventually got removed from my training route.

I'm not as fast now, but my cycle rides are more varied. By going more slowly, the hills are easier to climb - I wondered why Mathry had been so daunting that I used to try to avoid it. Then it was a nice coast downhill for most of the rest of the way to Croes-Coch. I had hoped that the shop there would be open, so I could supplement my drink and maybe get some food. Unfortunately, it was shut. Never mind, it's not so far to go home. On to the "B" road, so-called. It's pretty poor as far as Hayscastle, and most of that distance I discovered was covered with fresh grit. The rear end of my bike was feeling a little odd, and I stopped to check the tyre pressure. It was low, lower than it had been when I set out in the morning. Time to get out the pump. Just for good measure, I put some air in the front too. After that, the types were so hard they felt like riding on bare wheel rims, I was continually checking that they weren't deflated.

After Hayscastle, there was no more grit on the road and the riding was easier. At the top of Plumstone Hill I'd been intending to go up to Plumstone Rock to take a photograph or two. But the path was closed, allegedly due to the Foot & Mouth outbreak. There hasn't been a case within 60 miles, and there is no livestock on that hill.

I continued for home.