Shaking Tripod

Washed by so much rain, west Gower fields are gleaming. The countryside feels fresh, it’s as though the weather has cleaned away autumn, preparing the land for winter.  In bright sunshine, and with a stiff, cold, north-westerly wind blowing, I head for Rhosilli.  Most leaves are off the trees now, but a few beeches in sheltered spots retain some on their lower branches, glowing yellow and gold. The landscape gradually becomes treeless west of Scurlage, and familiar fields are dotted with pools of water. 

Rhosilli is wild and beautiful out of season. It’s far too windy for real trees here, but a few survive valiantly against the elements along old field boundaries, all bent by years of gales.  Wind-blown moisture from the raging sea creates a mist over the top of The Worm, which even though the tide is out, looks inaccessible on a day like this. The bay is full of white horses and flat, racing surf, just the wrong kind for the hardy surfers at Llangenith. There’s also far too much wind for hang gliding from the top of Rhosilli Down, and apart from just two souls walking the beach below, the entire span of the beautiful bay is deserted. 

A few walkers brave the wind along the path down to the causeway, but most turn back within minutes, seeking the sanctuary of their cars, others take refuge in the National Trust Shop, and some head for a warming drink in the Worm’s Head Hotel.  A brave photographer, hoping to capture the spectacle of wind and waves, battles valiantly with his shaking tripod. He takes a few quick shots, gives up, and like most of the walkers, escapes the wind in the comfort of his car.