Ogmore and Ewenny

30 July 2015

I'm at Ogmore castle, Bridgend, Morganwg (sounds better than Glamorgan). Ogmore is another of those miss-remembered Welsh names. Orginally Eog Mor - salmon water - when it was a famous salmon fishing river.
It's a fine looking heap of stones; probably the work of some Norman baron consolidating his ill-gotten gains at the expense of the natives. We live with a surfeit of castles so I'm not going to walk round it reading about the keep and the portcullis etc. I'm more interested in the sturdy looking stepping stones across the Ewenny river. (Confusingly the Ewenny joins the Ogmore river just past the castle.)

Astonishingly there is a woman leading two horses across. If she can do that then I shouldn't have a problem. The stones are medieval; worn smooth by centuries of shoes, boots, pattens, clogs, even feet, and reduced from 52 to 38 by natural attrition. They are all more or less the same height so they must vary in size according to the height of the river flow. Surely that would have changed with time? Perhaps originally they were all perfectly level with the flow - unlikely; their present heights are probably quite random.

It turns out that Ogmore Farm above the castle specialises in riding trips on the beach and they use this short cut (and the one detailed below) to get through the dunes.

I get together what I need for a 5 mile walk and set off. When I get to the middle of the river on the stones, I realise that there is some 2 feet of fast flowing water just below my feet. How many thousands have hesitated here and had the same thought?

Pause for thought. Place my feet carefully. Take it steadily and it's easy. I'm over and on over the Ogmore river on a picturesque footbridge to the impossibly cute village of Merthyr Mawr. Translated that would be "Big Merthyr" but it's a hamlet. Evidently the name has been miss-remembered from a Welsh word I can't now find. It's a blend of gorgeous thatched cottages in earthy colours and magnificent mature trees.


My plan is to walk towards the dunes to the south west of the hamlet, follow a path to the west which leads back to the Ogmore river, cross it on a bridge half a mile south of the stepping stones and so arrive back at the castle and the van. A little road leads to the access point for Merthyr Mawr burrows - a huge dune system. Here you walk (or ride a horse - a better option in view of what follows) through sand: soft, well churned sand. It's hard going so I take alternative tracks higher up which are carpeted with an amazing variety of miniature plants. There are blackberry bushes six inches high with 4 fruits on them; tiny wild roses, a miniature form of valerian and dozens more I can't identify. It's a good walk and it brings me naturally down to the river again where I can see the ugly concrete bridge I intend to cross to get back to the castle.

I have a moment of unease when I realise that the bridge is unreachable. It's the access road to a concentration camp pretending to be a sewage works. There is another interesting access to a similarly defended shit-stirring facility at Solva near St. Davids. There the access is via a tunnel, also locked. Hm. Is there something going on they don't want us to know about?


There's a sign on the bridge saying "No Footpath", but horses have obviously gone past recently, so there must be a path under the bridge and on to the castle which I can now see. If I see a path in front of me leading to where I want to go, it's going to take more than a "no footpath" sign to put me off. The sign was right though. The feet it refers to are human feet, not the feet of a four footed beast with long legs such as a horse. This is because the path takes a neat short cut - straight through the river. This is it - the end of the human's path.

You can see the castle, and the van in front of it. I could be there in 5 minutes. One of the women riding across tells me that the only way to get to the castle, is to go all the way back the way I came. Now, being human, being male and being an obstinate old fart I HATE retracing my steps. Normally I will take all sorts of risks to avoid doing so, and am contemplating taking off shoes and socks, rolling up trousers and having a go. However, I have binoculars and camera with me. If I miss my footing they will be ruined and that would be much more painful than going back. I check the bridge again, but its defences are impregnable. I can't actually see the watchtowers, but I'm pretty sure that if I try to climb the fence I will be shot.

In the end I enjoyed the walk back, setting myself a cracking pace, enjoying the feel of my new and wonderful walking boots, and feeling the soothing rhythm of the tramp of my feet. The return trip only took half an hour: I can do this walking thing: give myself a high four and a half!

Just as I was leaving I spotted this sign. I really hope it's a clever pun.