Walking the sands of Sker

Back in the summer, we returned to Porthcawl so G could go surfing. He’d enjoyed it on a school trip and wanted to practise some more, so instead of usual destination of Cynffig, we headed for Rest Bay and its surf shop. With no dogs allowed on this beach, I volunteered to walk our Golden Retriever, Lula, along to dog-friendly Sker beach while J and G surfed.

We hadn’t gone far along the coast path before Lula stopped to greet a Border Collie, and the collie’s owner stopped to greet me. We talked about dogs, and walking. He, his friend and the dog had walked from Maesteg along the coast. The collie had probably walked three times as far, they reckoned – darting in and out of the sea as they made their way along the beach. It sounded lovely, and as I wished them well I was looking forward to the rest of my walk.

Lula and I continued along the slither of boardwalk between the beach and the golf course. The path was busy with walkers. It seemed a little unfair that a small group of golfers could monopolise such a huge swathe of the landscape, pushing the rest of us to the margins. It’s a story repeated across the country – enclosing and commercialising open space.

I felt better when the golf course gave way to grazing land dotted with cows, some of which had wandered over to the beach for a lie down. It must be an amazing place to be a cow, at least compared to an indoor shed where you never see the light of day. If I were a cow, this is where I’d want to spend my days, dividing my time between grazing on the low cliffs and lazing on the beach. Do they eat seaweed, I wondered, like the sheep on North Ronaldsay?