The first time I visited the Gower peninsula I was on a stag do in Neath.
I arrived in South Wales on a slate grey summer’s evening as the dank mist slithered down the hillside and started a fight with the toxic clouds belching out of the Port Talbot steelworks. It looked, and smelled, like the entrance to Hell itself.
After a very messy Saturday evening, I awoke at the crack of noon to be told we were off for ‘‘a lovely walk on the beach’’. Surely some mistake.
Through the narrow lanes we sped – just about holding nausea at bay – and then out of the car, through brambles and thickets, over a dune and, seemingly, out through a portal on to the west coast of France.
A huge unspoilt beach stretched for miles in either direction, bathed in glorious sunshine, populated by a couple of surfers and a dog with a stick.
Just indescribably beautiful. I’ll be back, I hiccuped, and soon…
Which I was, albeit a full 30 years later with my family in tow, keen to ensure that the memory hadn’t all been a Brains-beer-induced hallucination.
The weather gods once again put on a special welcome. We drove out of Swansea just as the wind rolled up its sleeves and the rain started coming at us
sideways. ‘‘It’ll be fine by tomorrow,’’ I lied. ‘‘It’s just blowing through.’’
And it was fine. The sun was shining, bacon was sizzling in the pan and Ava, 13, and Rosa, 10, were saying we should go for ‘‘a lovely walk on the beach’’. Well yes, but first, look at our amazing refuge.
We were at the Pitton Cross campsite and as snug as several bugs in a rug in a Grand Shepherd Hut – a glorious cross between an old wooden gypsy caravan and the poshest garden shed you’ve ever seen.
Sleeping five, it comes equipped with cooker, fridge, fire, TV, wi-fi (essential for the girls) complete with verandah, barbecue and great views across the fields to the sea.
The one concession to the camping experience is that you do have to trek 50 yards to the showers and toilet but this isn’t a problem once you’ve convinced everyone it’s all part of the adventure and they can go and look in the kite shop afterwards.
First stop was surfing. Caswell Bay is a picture-postcard horseshoe bay just west of Swansea. Courtesy of the previous day’s storm, surf was up and our teachers from the Gower Surfing School were proclaiming it as the best conditions of the summer.
Fantastic if you’ve surfed before, maybe not so fantastic if you’re a complete novice.
Unfortunately, I’m with Ava who has surfed before and is putting up with none of this embarrassing dad nonsense.
The teachers are terrific and patient but there’s only so much you can do with a man in his late 50s whose suppleness disappeared round about the time The Smiths broke up.
But it doesn’t matter, while Ava is catching waves, duck diving and high-fiving all the other dudes, I am being tossed upside down, inside out and having an absolute whale of a time. I have never felt quite so exhilarated and thrilled after being so bad at something for such a long time (three hours, actually).
Time to eat and back across the peninsula to the western-most tip, Rhossili. And this is it, this is THE beach. And it’s bigger and more beautiful than I remembered it.
My wife Laura is moved to say it’s the most beautiful place she’s been – and she’s been to a few (for my Bridlington she’s been to Bali , for my Whitby she’s had the Whitsunday Islands in Oz).
You arrive in Rhossili at the top of a ridiculously panoramic cliff before slaloming your way down a long and winding path to the vast beach, being careful to make encouraging noises to those wheezingly making the return journey.
But – shock, horror – when we got to sea level we found the beach completely over-run by about a dozen people! There were other holidaymakers sitting within 100 yards of us!
Never mind, we had a swim (surprisingly warm for September), a poke around the caves and pools, a bit of sandcastle building, a sunbathe and then began the ascent.
It’s best not to look up because it’s always a tad disappointing to see there’s still an awfully long way to go, but thoughtfully someone has seen fit to plonk The Beach Bistro at the top of the hill, with toasties and tea to restore weary mountaineers. We then went back to our hut for a lie-down.
But jeez, that fresh air don’t half make you hungry so we drove over the spine of the peninsula to Llanrhidian with terrific views over the salt marshes on the northern bays.
Welcome to Town may not be the catchiest pub name ever but it’s a brilliant place to eat. Downstairs it’s a cosy, low-beamed pub but the upstairs dining room is opulent with deep purple walls, chandeliers and great artwork.
The room was full when we arrived but Paul the owner and his super-friendly staff were quick, attentive and more than happy to explain everything on the menu.
It’s Wales, so you have to have lamb and it was superb, but then again so was the risotto and the girls claimed the sausage and mash to be almost as good as grandma’s. A wonderful evening made even more eventful by nearly hitting a sheep on the way back over the hills.
Another night of deep and dreamless sleep in the Shepherd Hut, out into the glorious sunshine and off for a spot of horse riding at Clyne Farm high on a hill above Swansea with stunning views down across the bay to Mumbles pier.
The farm is a complete outdoor centre with activities such as archery, abseiling, mountain biking and a survival course.
The stables have around a dozen horses and the girls had a half-hour refresher lesson in the paddock on a couple of beautifully behaved ponies before mum joined them for a gentle hack across the hilltops.
With the sun getting ever warmer we headed back westwards to Oxwich Bay for lunch at the Beach House restaurant. It is what it says, a house on the beach, and we sat on the verandah watching the sailors and surfers trying to avoid two blokes who seemed to be standing on a giant hosepipe that squirted them about 10ft above the sea.
Lunch wasn’t cheap but it was terrific, beautiful fish, and it was worth dining there for the complimentary starters and the sublime bread basket.
And then, as if to tell us it was time to go, a couple of clouds drifted in front of the sun, the temperature dipped and the hosepipe guys called it a day.
We’d had a brilliant time. We vowed to buy a dog and go and live there for ever. The car got very quiet as we drove off the peninsula and on to the motorway. The Port Talbot steelworks glowered at us but we vowed to return. I just hope it doesn’t take another 30 years.
GET THERE
- Scamper Holidays has 7nts s/c in a Super-Grand Shepherd Hut at Pitton Cross in Rhossili from £195. scamperholidays.co.uk 01792 202 325
- Gower Surfing has 2hr surf sessions from £35 adults/£25 child. gowersurfing.com
- Clyne Farm Centre has one-to-one riding lessons from £30. clynefarm.com 01792 403333
- Tourist info: visitswanseabay.com Pitton Cross is on the B4247 1.5m miles east of Rhossili, Swansea railway station is around 17 miles.
BEST TIME TO GO Go for the Gower spring to autumn