Manorbier to Freshwater East

Walk no. 4 - approx 3.5 miles. Bob joined me for this one again and I was in better spirits than a week ago. We left Manorbier and its vast castle behind and walked resolutely past the enigmatically named Dak - which is actually a dreary holiday home split into two - and its wonderful enormous phormiums (a bit like yukkas without the tree trunk) which are in full flower. A steep climb got us to the top of East Moor Cliff and a panoramic view over towards Stackpole and beyond to St Govan's Head, where I will be turning away from the south of the county for the first time.

I decided that today was the day I should take pictures of the many wild flowers and so I dallied along the way, taking pics in the vain hope I might be able to identify them at my leisure. I have memories of a former boss, Leslie Kenton, taking spectacular photos of flowers, so close-up that I felt embarrassed at her intrusion into their private lives. All those bits of plants I learnt in O Level Bilge, sepals, anthers, ovules, stigmas and whatnot, on display for all and sundry to gawp at. However, the flowers I recorded have no need to cover their faces - my camera doesn't do them justice. And identification is going to be a long process.

Before long Bob and I were peering down on Swanlake Bay and some rather disgusting looking patches of seaweed being buffeted about on the waves. At shore level the sea was much more attractive and we wandered on to the beach to look longingly at the mounds of driftwood which we knew we couldn't to collect. I got quite excited by the mammoth leg bone - see pic

- but on closer inspection it was just an ordinary bit of wood. Next, I tried to record the crashing surf on my phone but it sounds like the bath swooshing. I will have to get closer another time.

All the way along the path we met other walkers, from what seemed to be the length and breadth of the UK and beyond. One lady we chatted to for a long while lived in Cumbria. She was moonlighting from a stint of house-sitting for her sister in the Midlands, and had been bribed to go away for the weekend by a party-loving nephew. We all have our different reasons for being out on the path.

The hillside above the dunes at Freshwater East - called the Burrows - is dotted with small shack-like buildings which were put up in the 1930 as holiday homes. When I first arrived in Pembrokeshire some 30 years ago, they really were (mostly very dilapidated) shacks but many have been considerably renovated, or rebuilt in the recent past and are greatly sought after.

So now I have done 10 percent of the walk. Looking forward to the next 90 - or around 168 miles.