Introduction

Since becoming SEP Chair in April 2024, I realised I’d completed a dozen walks, but hadn’t yet explored the shores of several local authorities around the Estuary. With this in mind, I decided to focus my next few walks on filling those gaps.  So, this month, having heard about various management projects along the South Gloucestershire coast in recent SEP meetings, I decided to explore the shore between Aust and Severn Beach. 

On one of those fine sunny days in early May, I ventured out with Geoff, my husband, to explore the shore between the bridges on the English side of the estuary.  Once again to inform my article, I’m grateful to the members of the community for sharing their rich local knowledge and history. Val George has been involved with the Pilning & Severn Beach History Group since its inception in 1999 and Alderman Peter Tyzack, vice-chair of Pilning and Severn Beach Parish Council, is no stranger to SEP, having been Chair of our Steering Group.

Photo: Cattle grazing on the marshes in front of the iconic Aust Cliffs

Photo: The impressive Aust cliffs showing evidence of active erosion

Photo: Mud cracks on the current foreshore

Aust cliffs –  a glimpse into deep time

We started at Aust Cliffs, the sister site to the Penarth-Lavernock shoreline which I’d visited on my first e-news walk.  I was especially excited to visit these cliffs, renowned for their geological significance. Designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), they offer one of the most remarkable records of environmental change from around 210 million years ago, when rising seas flooded a once-arid desert landscape. These days they’re a mecca for fossil hunters, containing the famous ‘Rhaetic Bone Bed’ with its incredible wealth of remains of fish and marine reptiles/ dinosaurs. What might we find? 

As we neared the shore, the towering cliffs rose above us, showcasing a striking sequence of coloured strata—from red and green marls to cream and white limestones—that was truly impressive. From a distance, it might have looked like a giant slice of sponge cake, but up close, there was fascinating geological detail.  White veins jutted out from the ancient red desert rocks, resembling the worn, jagged teeth of some long-lost giant beast. These were made of gypsum, formed when highly salty water evaporated in shallow, temporary lakes (playas), similar to what occurs in the Dead Sea today. Glittering chunks of gypsum lay scattered across the shore like discarded chess pieces, having tumbled from the cliff face above. As we continued along the beach, carefully skirting recently fallen trees, I questioned the official claims of ‘slow’ erosion—prompting me to take a cautious step back. Later, I also wasn’t surprised to learn that for reasons of safety the first classic sketch of this cliff in the 1820s, had been made from a rowing boat offshore!

The beach here quickly morphs into soft mud – and, determined not to have another Severn Estuary mud immersion experience after my Severn Bore visit, I focused on studying treasures within the mid-shore.  To my surprise, the muds were a spectacle in themselves. Mud cracks, formed from the drying out of mud as the tide had waned, had created a fascinating display of intricate and complex polygonal patterns.  From every angle there was a cubist masterpiece – a shame our visual artist friend, Heather Green, who studies and draws inspiration from our intertidal areas, wasn’t with us.

Having exchanged a few words with a couple of fossil hunters, who were leaving with a plastic bag of goodies, we scoured the beach.  No sharks’ teeth or bones from dolphin-like ichthyosaurs and long-necked plesiosaurs today.  We had to make do with observing a motley collection of marine shells—mostly fragments of oysters and scallops—from boulders that had fallen from the cliff.  With little time or expertise, we couldn’t examine the site’s renowned fossil insect deposits—the richest Triassic insect locality in Britain. As a small consolation, though, a pair of peacock butterflies performed a brief pas de deux as we left.

Old estuary connections: The Severn Bridge and the Old Passage

We carefully negotiated our way over a sea of boulders to get a rare view of the undercarriage of the bridge, now definitely a senior, at sixty years old.  Here, it was at its most impressive, rising elegantly above the still, brown waters of the Severn.  However, whilst the photo might suggest a peaceful, tranquil view, we struggled to appreciate the scene against the constant roar of traffic.  More disturbing, however, is the news today, that new weight restrictions have come into force on the bridge.  Hopefully, a technical solution will be developed soon to keep this vital bridge safe and functioning.

Moving along the shore toward Old Passage, there were more mud cracks, mysterious wooden structures jutting out into the water, and countless views of the bridge—keeping my camera busy the entire time!  Before too long, the boom of motorway traffic gave way to the enchanting calls of reedbed birds and the graceful reeds, wafting gently in the light breeze, provided ever more photo opportunities.

We emerged out of the reed beds to spot the decaying wooden skeleton of the old slipway, which stretched across the marshes and mudflats before disappearing into the calm, brown waters of the Severn. This was the site of an ancient estuary crossing, dating back at least to Roman times—or possibly earlier—serving as a vital, though sometimes treacherous, link between Aust and the Beachley Peninsula. Given the calm still waters on our visit, it was difficult to imagine how perilous this crossing had been.   Despite fatal accidents, a small car ferry had operated here until the Severn Bridge opened in the 1960s.

Memories of the ferry terminal live on, immortalised by Bob Dylan’s visit and featured on one of his album covers, as well as in the 2005 documentary No Direction Home. In my husband’s family album, there’s also a photo of the MV Severn Queen—one of the last ferries to serve here along with her sister ship, the MV Severn Princess, which carried Dylan across the estuary.  No longer here, but now lying at rest on the other side of the estuary at Chepstow, we had to make do with exploring what remains of the slipway structure and its rusting artefacts.

Photo: A rare view of the undercarriage of the Severn Bridge at near low tide

Photo: Looking through the reed beds back at the Severn Bridge

Photo: The wooden remains of Old Passage, marking the former ferry route across the Severn

Between the bridges – agriculture and ecology dominate

Along Passage Road and further on along the Severn Way atop the flood embankment, we enjoyed some ‘typical’ estuary landscapes – great wide-open vistas across broad, low-lying verdant marshes with distant views of the bridges.   There were also wonderful hedgerows, adorned with frothy white cow parsley and extensive patches of white scurvy grass brightening up the marsh edges.   Agricultural pastureland gave way to conservation areas, including the Pilning Wetlands, created and relandscaped from sections of the old military firing range and sheep grazing fields at Northwick Warth.  Here, as the website suggests, a telescope would have been useful.  I just made out a flock of Canada Geese, but frustratingly, the distant waders and dabbling ducks eluded me. In season and with proper equipment, I’m told you can spot a wide variety of birds here, including curlews, dunlin, and snipe.  Indeed, over two hundred different species have been recorded including rare Glossy Ibis and Red Necked Phalarope. No wonder so many birders were out and about!

As we approached New Passage, I was delighted to be able to recognise a couple of shelduck resting on the muddy banks of Chestle Pill, a deep tidal creek which meanders across the marsh. The scale of the extensive engineering around the creek pointed to serious flood risk concerns though. As I later discovered the recent multi-million-pound Avonmouth and Severnside Enterprise Area (ASEA) Ecology Mitigation and Flood Defence Project has provided for lots of new defences including innovative design features such as the see-through glass barriers you can see along this stretch.

Photo: Floral interest along the way – wonderful hedgerows of wild cow parsley

Photo: Chestle Pill at the southern edge of Northwick Warth

Photo: The remaining stump of New Passage with the Prince of Wales Bridge in the distance

Photo: Severn Lodge Farm, one of the remaining old buildings at New Passage

More recent estuary connections: New Passage & the Prince of Wales Bridge

We continued along the path that runs atop a stark stone-and-concrete sea wall, tracing the line of the old Binn Wall—built in 1815 to replace earlier 17th-century defences. Although its appearance on 19th-century maps might suggest it was indestructible, the Binn Wall has been upgraded and raised several times in response to flooding. Today, the newly improved wall serves as a promenade, offering locals and visitors sweeping views of the Prince of Wales Bridge. As we ambled along, we noticed a small kink in the seawall.  Goodness – was this New Passage?   It’s certainly nowhere near as eye-catching as the relic structures at Old Passage.  However, as we were to learn from the informative plaques and the New Passage Heritage Trail, its history is every bit as fascinating.

New Passage offered a more direct crossing and, although there’d been on-and-off operations here since the early 17th century, it was the arrival of the Bristol and South Wales Union Railway in 1863 that truly transformed its fortunes.  Locomotives pulled carriages onto a wooden jetty stretching well out into the estuary, allowing rail passengers to easily board the ferries to Portskewett.  Despite this, the crossing was notorious for its harsh conditions. Indeed, Thomas Telford famously described it as “one of the most forbidding places at which an important ferry was ever established.”  Delays were frequent – so much so that a large hotel was built for waiting passengers.  However, it was the opening of the Severn Tunnel in 1886 which brought ferry services here to an end.  The pier was dismantled shortly afterwards.  Today few original buildings from New Passage’s heyday remain although, Severn Lodge Farm—once a lodging place for visitors and notable for its impressive twenty-four chimneys— is still a local landmark.

Beyond New Passage, we eventually reached the Prince of Wales Bridge, which was even more imposing at close quarters than at a distance.  Amid the roar of traffic overhead, we followed the track beneath the bridge, taking in its immense scale from this dramatic new perspective. Wow!   The supporting pillars are indeed huge and the whole structure is so much sturdier than its younger upstream cousin.  It’s almost as if the Severn Bridge is the graceful ballerina, and this, the tough, almost invincible rugby player.  There were plenty of photo opportunities too as we tried to capture the bridge’s graceful, almost serpentine curves and its striking presence. Then, just beyond the bridge, we spotted the famous iron pipe, which, as Peter Tyzack later explained, is the outfall for fresh water pumped from the Severn Tunnel.

Photo: A new perspective of the Prince of Wales Bridge – from below!

Photo: The outfall pipe from the Severn Tunnel with the PoW Bridge behind

Photo: The green shore fronting the sea wall at Severn Beach

Photo: Shirley’s café – almost the sole reminder of Severn Beach’s heyday as a seaside resort

Severn Beach – Seaside tourism, suburbia and industrial change

Following the promenade, we were joined by a growing number of fellow walkers as we approached Severn Beach. I was slightly disappointed, though not at all surprised, to find it wasn’t a traditional, touristy beach. After all, this is the Severn Estuary!  Instead, mud, shingle, saltmarsh and even more mud.  A great haven for wildlife and birdlife though, not that we had time to study these now, having spent more than a few minutes en route gathering elderflowers to make my annual cordial.  We couldn’t miss the hulks of driftwood—entire tree trunks—strewn along the shore, stark reminders of why such substantial sea defences are needed here. Nestled, perhaps even cowering, beneath the towering defences, rows of neatly laid-out modern housing estates stretched as far as the eye could see.

Severn Beach once truly lived up to its name, drawing thousands of visitors each summer—as we learned from the display inside Shirley’s Café, one of the few remaining buildings from the village’s heyday as a seaside resort.  It even aspired to be the Blackpool of the Southwest!    Thanks to the vision of local entrepreneurs and the opening of the station in May 1922, Severn Beach became the go-to place for day trips for people from Bristol and beyond.  Development opportunities, akin to those along the Costa Blanca in the 60s, were suddenly unleashed.  A grand hotel, cafés, pubs, shops and wooden bungalows sprung up.  Attractions, including a fun fair, boating lake and the much-loved Blue Lagoon swimming pool, alongside donkey rides, beauty contests and dance competitions drew in the masses. There were a few issues, however—local hearsay claims that the sand brought in to improve the shingle beach was washed away by the first high tide. Then, after a highly successful second season in 194, the highest tide in over a decade caused widespread damage, turning wooden bungalows into floating houseboats.  It was, however, the development of the motor car and the rise of foreign holidays in the 1960s which caused the resort’s final demise.  The boating lake and Blue Lagoon were demolished in the 1970s, ironically making way for improved sea defences to protect the growing number of houses in the area.   

Val and Peter, like much of the local community are certainly proud of the area’s history. We followed Val’s local history group’s heritage trail, discovering a series of informative plaques and locating key sites from the resort’s past, including the boating lake and Blue Lagoon—now peaceful, grassy seafront areas. With the current popularity of open-air swimming, some residents might hope to see the lido restored. For now, the resort’s revival includes the recently refurbished (2018) Tea Cottage and the anticipated opening of the Severn Beach Miniature Railway, later this year. 

Standing at the end of the promenade, looking toward Avonmouth as our walk concluded, we took in a starkly different, more industrial landscape—where wind turbines, chimney stacks, and large factories dominate the skyline. Peter notes this area has changed quite considerably over the last few decades. Thanks to major investment in improved transport infrastructure, this area has been transformed into a key energy hub. It now hosts the 1,140 MW Seabank gas-fired power station and the Severnside Energy Recovery Centre, which converts waste into electricity enough to power roughly half the homes in South Gloucestershire. According to Peter, there’s an old outfall pipe from the 1960s Imperial Chemical Industries (ICI) Severnside Chemical Plant and fertilizer factory, which operated until the early 1990s. Apparently some of the foreground isn’t natural: Peter explains that much of it is made up of demolition waste, likely dumped there cheaply and conveniently to serve as a basic sea defence. He also notes significant accretion along the coast here, especially since the construction of the Prince of Wales Bridge. I wonder: was this an intended effect, or a lesson we should consider for future large infrastructure projects in the estuary?

Photo: looking across the foreshore at Severn Beach towards Avonmouth

Photo:  My Severn Beach/Pilning 2025 Vintage Elderflower Cordial

Further reflections and conclusions

Once again, it had been a fun and fascinating day out. What’s truly interesting is not only how much this stretch of coast has changed over the past century, but how quickly and dramatically the economic fortunes of individual communities have shifted—especially with the arrival of major transport infrastructure. While New Passage and Old Passage were made obsolete almost overnight by the Severn Tunnel and Severn Bridge, the opening of a station at Severn Beach transformed a quiet rural area into a bustling seaside resort nearly as rapidly. The impact of the longer-term economic development of the Avonmouth Severnside Development Area  on this stretch of coast is perhaps a little less tangible, although demand for housing is obvious, and concerns about the possible impact of ‘huge warehouse construction on the water table’ trouble Val.

Wherever you go along the estuary, there are countless stories to be told. From my experience, you’ll always find proud locals eager to share their knowledge, concerns, and passion for their stretch of coast. The journey from Aust to Severn Beach has been no exception—both Val and Peter shared far more information than I can do justice to here. Val’s deep enthusiasm for local history and Peter’s genuine love for living on this wild coastline were truly inspiring.

Despite Val’s worries about flood risk, I’m confident that the major investments behind the ASEA Ecology Mitigation and Flood Defence Project and the new South Gloucestershire nature-recovery initiative, Linking the Levels, will help secure a bright future for this coast and its communities. Meanwhile, I have a few bottles of homemade 2025 vintage Severn Beach/Pilning elderflower cordial to enjoy—a perfect reminder of another special day spent exploring the Severn.

The Reserve

As we planned the details of our walk in the coffee shop in the Visitor Centre at the start, the first avian challenge momentarily appeared – a distant dark speck flitted amongst the reeds at the far end of the pond. The elusive creature darted between the reeds, testing the limits of my DSLR camera’s zoom lens and a rather basic pair of binoculars we’d bought. The bird appeared quite small and possibly fluffy. Perhaps it was a baby bird? It was on its own, though, and it certainly didn’t resemble any of the species I’d seen on my bird ID course. Eventually, it swam closer. It continued to scurry nervously from one clump of reeds to another, teasing its small audience of onlookers inside the cafe. Eventually, it posed for a short while in front of us, giving me just enough time to capture a quick photo. Then as quickly as it had emerged, it disappeared into the reeds at the far end of the pond, having completed its morning performance. It was a little grebe. Well, I think it was. Certainly, so much smaller and fluffier than the great crested grebe which I’d recently seen gracing the waters of the Lisvane Reservoir in NE Cardiff. Wow! If that was the overture, what was the main performance going to be like?

We eagerly ventured along the waymarked paths into the reserve to do a hybrid walk, encompassing part of the ‘Wetlands Experience’ and the ‘Estuary Trail’ so we’d also be able to see Goldcliff as well on our short visit.

As we walked towards the shore in the reserve, we were surrounded by a sea of golden reeds, wafting gently in the breeze. Ribbons of vibrant green new growth edged the long unnaturally straight water areas which gleamed bright blue in the sun. Apart from a squishing sound as we walked across a floating pontoon amidst the reeds, it was relatively calm and peaceful. Perhaps a little too calm and peaceful? We stopped at various lookout posts where information boards tantalisingly displayed a range of possible birds we could encounter. No birds in sight today though. Hmmm. Overhead the towering pylons and power cables dominated the skyline and were reminders of the adjacent industrial site and the area’s continuing importance for power generation. Still no birds. The forbidding industrial backdrop, the scene for several episodes of Doctor Who loomed large behind the haven of the reserve. Still, no birds….

Then, just as we were about to move on, a few large birds swooped down and landed on the water in front of us. Certainly not a flock, but at least a handful of birds. And … they were easily recognisable! Canada geese! May be a grade one entry though, given their prevalence across our shores. However, as I found out later, they’re not a native bird, having been introduced from North America some 300 years ago. After some rather amorous advances between a couple of these geese, all too brief for my camera skills, I was able to capture some shots of these elegant birds, including the one here.

A little grebe entertains the café clientele

Canada goose on the reserve

East Usk Lighthouse

Blacknore lighthouse at Portishead

Walking further towards the shore, the lighthouse beckoned. However many times I’ve been to the reserve, I always seem to find myself clicking away, trying to capture a new camera angle and avoid that iconic, some might say, rather hackneyed, image of the lighthouse. Oh dear… yes, that’s my cover photo! On today’s visit, however, the ‘white cone on the water’s edge’ as Peter Finch describes it, was looking particularly fine in the golden light and seemed as popular as ever with the visitors. Glistening white, protected by its very own picket fence, this somewhat diminutive lighthouse looked more as if it belonged in a model village rather than being a working lighthouse. This is the East Usk Lighthouse though, and its light provides a vital navigation aid to ships approaching Newport. Indeed, its importance goes beyond that. It was the first Trinity House lighthouse to use a special valve, enabling the light to turn off and on remotely just using daylight. The most striking aspect to me though on our visit today, was the lighthouse’s resemblance to the Blacknore Lighthouse on the other side of the estuary at Portishead, where I’d visited only a couple of months ago. Back when the East Usk lighthouse was built in the late nineteenth century the structures would have been near-identical twins. Now, following tonnes of disposal of fly ash from the Usk Power Station which buried the legs of the East Usk lighthouse, they’re merely distant cousins!

Shelducks feeding on the rich intertidal muds

The white specks of coastal birds (gulls, shelducks and a curlew) on the silvery muds

Before we turned back to go on to Goldcliff, we strolled a little further along the coastal path, enjoying the ever-changing shoreline. The West Usk Lighthouse, which once marked the western entrance to the Usk river channel for ships heading to Newport docks, was just visible. Much more noticeable was the massive strandline. This coronet of gnarled driftwood encircled the entire coast, following the base of the embankment. The sheer scale of the mighty tree trunks engulfed in the debris were a stark reminder of the power of the winter storms which have plagued those inhabiting these shores over the millennia. Expecting to see today’s plague, plastic and other litter, I was very pleasantly surprised: there wasn’t any! I found out later that there’d been a litter pick by staff from Natural Resources Wales (NRW) and RSPB only a week or so before as part of Spring Clean Cymru when bags and of bags had been collected.

The Goldcliff shoreline

We then wove our way along narrow lanes towards Goldcliff between a patch work of fields lined with deep and dark drainage ditches, a legacy of the Romans and the medieval monks who’d captured and tried to tame this watery landscape from the sea. No environmental impact studies in those days, just the need to provide valuable agricultural land to survive.

Then a small incline gradually came into view. This was the famous Goldcliff, a ‘rocky eminence’ which had caught the attention of the celebrated medieval cleric and celebrated travel writer, Gerald of Wales/Giraldus Cambrensis back in the twelfth century. In Gerald’s account, he’d noted that ‘when the sun’s rays strike it, the stone shines very bright and takes on a golden sheen’ and he’d even suggested that the ‘skilled’ might ‘dig down into the mineral deposits to extract sweet honey from the stone and oil from the rock.’ Centuries later, on our visit, there was no honey, oil nor indeed any gold. Only the rusting plinth of the old Goldcliff lighthouse provided a dash of colour, but even that looked in a sorry state, having lost its lantern in recent years. Not quite the magical place I’d hoped for. A substantive seawall skirts around the cliff and obscures seaviews. Any remains of the old Goldcliff Priory lie were also well hidden within ‘Hill Farm’, behind the sign reading ‘private property, keep out.’

Still, there was a great view from the cliff top and indeed also from the seawall which doubles up as the track of the Wales Coastal Path. Sites of previous walks, wind turbines, docks, piers and even the Prince of Wales Bridge were just discernible across the hazy estuary. Today, however, our attention centred around birds. There were a lot to see – gulls, mallards, shelduck and the odd curlew wading across the foreshore. Perhaps my bird ID was improving after all. Then in flew a flock of seabirds. They swirled and swooped in unison high above our heads before plummeting down to momentarily settle on the distant mudflats. They took to the air again. As the flock twisted and turned, shafts of sunlight caught their plumage. Constellations of seabirds lit up the sky. What a performance and all so amazingly choreographed. I’m just sorry I couldn’t capture any of it on camera or indeed identify the birds themselves.

The only ‘gold’ at Goldcliff – the rusting lighthouse plinth perched on the top of the cliff

The seawall at Goldcliff

Mireland Pill Reen, one of many large drainage ditches across the Levels

View from Hide 1 into the Monks Lagoon, Goldcliff

The Goldcliff Saline Lagoons

On to the famous Goldcliff Lagoons, a birder’s dream and one of Mike’s favourite birding locations. Mike particularly savours his ‘memories of watching the courtship displays of the waders here’ as well as ‘witnessing the birds on migration in autumn’. A birders’ website had previously informed me that its ‘almost always packed with waterfowl and waders throughout the year’ and provides a list of ‘nice birds that can be seen’ including the Little Grebe, Avocet, Dunlin and Little Egret. However, by now, with the rapidly fading light and our limited previous successes earlier in the day, my expectations were modest at best. We scuttled along the path by the Mireland Pill Reen, an impressive reminder of the ‘hand-crafted’ landscape of the Gwent Levels to reach the saline lagoons. Today, sadly, we’d no time to contemplate the wonders of this historic landscape and the feats of generations of engineers who’d claimed and reclaimed these precious agricultural pastures from marine inundation.

Our last stop merely consisted of a short foray into the very spacious and well-constructed hide. Hide 1, The Curlew Hide, overlooks the Monks Lagoon. Given the low light and the considerable distance between us and the birds, it really was bird spotting – the birds, mere spots, were hardly distinguishable against the darkening background. A frustrating wire fence also impaired our view and taking photographs. However, as we were just about able to pick out some waders with long curved bills …may be curlews? Lots and lots of them … but far too far away to photograph. There were also a few other types of waders tucking into the lagoon’s all-you-can-eat buffet, and so I clicked away and hoped at least one photo would be useable! Hopefully, now we’ve found this place, we’ll go back there with more time to spare and better equipment.

In anticipation

Having carefully negotiated the ‘path’ across the waterlogged meadows to the south of Alney Island, we finally arrived at Lower Parting. An empty wooden bench, perfectly positioned on the crest of the riverbank where the river divides into two channels, invited us to the 10:42 performance. Was this really going to be a private viewing? No need to battle through any crowds with over excited children and barking dogs this time. No cattle either (phew). But, goodness, had I got the right time, or even the right day? It was getting ever closer to the predicted time. Bores can even come earlier than predicted – but had we missed it even though we’d arrived 20 minutes early?

As if with no care in the world, the two arms of the river flowed gracefully past us, then merged without even a ripple before continuing downstream to caress the muddy shores of the tree-lined riverbanks beyond. Such a peaceful, rural idyll, with only the occasional long-tailed tit fluttering past and the gentle, distant warbling call of birds, may be skylarks.

Then, an almost eerie stillness and silence before…

The muddy shores as the tip of Lower Parting

The Severn gently flowing downstream before the Bore

Mallard ducks unperturbed by the approaching bore

Mallard ducks taking flight at pace at the fast approaching tidal wave

The bore progressing along the left bank

The show continued. We were suddenly aware of yet another wave meandering its way a little more nonchalantly along the other, inner left bank. This was just like Nennius had described all those centuries ago, although the rams seemed more at peace today than in his description. 

The aftermath

The show was over, or was it?

The riverbanks and reeds were submerged but still the tide remained in control, flowing steadily upstream and carrying flotillas of debris with it. Pleasingly, given the amount of litter I’ve seen on previous walks, there was relatively little plastic amongst these floating forests. However, driftwood in many shapes and sizes, from crocodile and alligator to otter lookalikes, surged past. Later, I found the following extract from a poem by Duncan Forbes which describes the scene so well:

Shipping the driftwood back upstream
With smells of estuary and reeds,
It fills the channel like a reen
And still the water levels rise

(Source)

By now, the river was nearly at ‘bank full stage’ – and the muddy reed beds of the riverbanks were practically submerged. The water had even started to encroach into the woodland along the banks.  In the slightly hazy spring sunshine, it was as if I’d entered the world evoked by Debussy’s impressionistic piano piece Reflets dans l’eau (Reflections in the Water). In and amongst the picturesque reflections, the waters were almost dancing – amazing ripples were forming around bubbling ‘cauldrons’ of water: steady streams of air bubbles were being released, presumably remnants from the bore’s previous disturbance?  

And still the waters kept rising. 

After all, these are flood meadows, flat pastureland that owes its existence to natural fluvial processes. The West Channel which we were walking along was, I understand, formed by a major flood event centuries ago. As we watched the ancient drainage ditches filling up, I remembered the warnings on the information boards nearby – the river continues to rise for well over an hour after the Bore. Time to beat a hasty retreat. Not so easy though. It was getting increasingly difficult to tread across the heavily trampled, pock-marked sea of sticky mud. Then the inevitable – my walking boot became firmly stuck…I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say, I’ve still got a broken fingernail from prizing my boot out, but, at least after a 50° wash cycle, my sock has recovered from its mud bath. What could have been a therapeutic, tactile experience of mud walking, became a logistical nightmare, avoiding the many mighty ziggurats of cow dung strewn across the meadow. At least we didn’t encounter the cattle themselves, although I would quite like to have seen (from a distance) some of the traditional Old Gloucester breed whose milk is used to make the famous Single and Double Gloucester cheeses.

Lower Parting immediately after the Bore

A driftwood ‘crocodile’ floating upstream in the now swollen river

Submerged woodland along the river

Bubbling waters on the edges of the submerged woodland

Over Bridge – the elegant stone arches of Telford’s bridge

Haw Bridge

A pair of geese gliding across one of the many pools of the Ashleworth Ham Reserve

Beyond the Bore

I was so relieved to get to the dry, tarmac path that leads you under Over Bridge, from the top of which I later discovered you get a splendid bird’s eye view of the river without having to negotiate either cattle or mud! The bridge, sometimes known as Telford’s Bridge, is quite special. This elegant bridge was the lowest river crossing on the Severn for over a century until the opening of the Severn Bridge in 1966. It’s main claim to fame though is its design – by Thomas Telford of course. It employs a French ‘cornes de vache’ technique; the horn shaped cut outs on the bridge designed to reduce turbulence and increase water flow at times of flood.  

After a quick change of socks and shoes, we warmed up with a hearty lunch at a nearby farm shop café. I was, however, still keen to briefly explore the river up to Haw Bridge, the inland limit of our Severn Estuary Shoreline Management Plan and SEP itself. So, we took a rapid detour by car to sample a few sites upstream before heading home. Haw Bridge itself is somewhat unremarkable, a modern 1960s bridge which replaces a former structure demolished by an empty tanker barge heading downstream. No major disasters on our visit today. By now the river had reverted to flowing downstream and seemed well behaved, even demure, certainly not the ‘naughty adolescent’ as described by Chris Witts. However, despite the somewhat idyllic river scene before us, there was plenty of evidence of previous flooding and high tides – sandbanks piled high along the road in front of the pub, and floating pontoons for the canoeists needing to avoid the steep muddy riverbanks.

Returning towards Maisemore, the normal tidal limit of the Severn, we happened to pass by Ashleworth Ham Reserve, a wonderful wetland which serves as an active floodplain during winter. Although only a remnant of a more extensive wetland landscape, it’s an important bird habitat, with Bewick’s swans and white-fronted geese as regular visitors. On even our brief encounter, we caught a glimpse of various geese, coots, mallards and common pochards.

Upper Parting with the east and west channels of the Severn

Maisemore weir – the normal tidal limit and upstream limit for the bore

Stuart surfing a cold winter Severn Bore near Arlingham –  ‘it’s unusual to have the wave to one’s self!’23/1/2007. Credit Neil Law.

What an atmosphere as surfers flock to the big tides to ’tick off’ their bucket list (21/3/2007) Credit Mark Humpage

Final thoughts

Reflecting on my experiences and on Stuart’s stories which reveal both a passion and an intimate understanding of our tidal river, the Bore is truly one of Britain’s natural treasures. I’m not at all surprised that it was a much celebrated ‘ancient wonder of the British Isles’ in medieval times. Even today, and perhaps especially today, there are few places and times when you can feel so much ‘at one’ with nature and the wider solar system. The bore delivers this and more. With large-scale development proposals and shoreline modifications further downstream does it deserve further protection? Indeed, a recent academic study underscores the need for careful planning in tidal energy development within the Estuary (Source), suggesting that a 1.5 m drop in mean water level could result in a 15 km retreat of the bore.

Whilst the Bore is clearly still culturally significant to the river communities of the Lower Severn, beyond that, perhaps it’s considered a mere quirk. It’s the largest bore in the British Isles but how many people from the cities and towns around our estuary are aware of its existence, never mind have come to see it? Perhaps we need another Magnificent Severn Festival like the one Stuart helped organise back in 2009/10 to help raise its profile. Or even perhaps a new name? After all many of the bores Stuart has surfed elsewhere have names, the ‘Mascaret’, on the Dordogne and Garonne, and the fearsome ‘Pororocca’ on the Amazon. There’s even the infamous ‘Silver Dragon’ on the Qiantang River in China, the world’s largest bore which reaches a staggering 9 metre height.

Beyond considerations of just the bore itself, I’m aware of the need to continue to manage the increasing pressures on the river and its associated flood plains both here and further upstream. It’s great to see the work of the Severn Rivers Trust (which Stuart helped establish), which adopts a catchment-based approach, in line with SEP’s vision, as well as the efforts of more local groups, such as the Friends of Alney Island. With future climate change predictions, we certainly will need a resilient river system and such endeavours need our support. 

Finally, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this article as much as Stuart and I have reflecting on our various experiences. I hope it’s also encouraged you to get out there and watch a bore for real.

The barrage and links to the estuary

Under a steel grey sky with only the slightest hint of a watery sun, I embarked on my walk, starting at the Barrage. The sheer scale of this engineering masterpiece never ceases to impress. It certainly needs to be a mighty structure though, impounding both the Ely and Taff, as well as keeping out the estuary’s waters from the 200 ha freshwater lake behind. At just over a kilometre long and with multiple locks, five sluice gates and a fish pass, there’s lots to see. On today’s visit I had the good fortune, or rather I’d planned, to see the barrage operating at both high and low water, so I could appreciate the strength of this structure against the scale of our estuary tides. As you’ll see from my photos it was quite a different seascape at these extremes, even though these weren’t particularly large tides within our tidal cycle. 

The barrage was built to create an ‘aesthetically attractive’ waterfront to drive urban regeneration and revive Cardiff’s old dockland areas. It does however, play another key function now, providing some protection from upstream flooding. Each sluice gate can release staggering amounts of water, so if there’s a storm forecast, water can be released into the estuary to make room for further river flows. Even on my visit today, the most westerly sluice gate was open, and water was flowing swiftly out to sea.

Water was also swirling around in the fish pass at the end of barrage. This Denil Pass, which was the largest fish pass in Europe when it was constructed, includes a series of pools and weirs for the migratory fish to negotiate. Looking down at the swirling waters of the fish pass at low water, I’ve always hoped one day I might see some leaping salmon or sea trout, but February is out of season unfortunately. Anyway, I hope the many fishermen who’d set up camp at the end of the outer breakwater of the Barrage would be more fortunate in their catch, particularly given they were sitting out for hours in bitingly cold temperatures

The harbour offshore Cardiff Bay at high water

The harbour offshore Cardiff Bay at low water

The swirling waters of the fish pass at low water

The enormous crocodile bench/ Croc in the Dock, homage to Roald Dahl

Mock white sails brighten up views across the bay

Exotic planting along the landscaped barrage

The barrage promenade

After a most welcome hot drink at the café by the barrage and a quick look at our very own SEP display board, I took the ‘most popular’ stretch of the Wales Coastal Path, along the barrage towards Mermaid Quay. Unlike most previous visits, it was eerily quiet: there was only the occasional dog walker, tourist and cyclist and, apart from a few dishevelled skateboarders, all the play areas were deserted. Against the dark grey forbidding sky the white sails on the barrage really stood out. Although these are supposedly a reminder of Cardiff’s historic sailing tradition, as I looked out across an empty Bay towards a relatively new skyline of apartment blocks and other high-rise buildings, I struggled to imagine the scores of vessels which must have waited outside Cardiff Docks here to load up with South Wales’ ‘gold’: high quality coal. It was also difficult to imagine the scene here immediately prior to the barrage’s construction when you’d have been standing in (rather sinking into!) a sea of undulating mudflats on the edge of the estuary. I do remember well, however, the tortuous debate relating to the demise of these muddy areas before the Cardiff Bay Barrage Act was finally passed: to some these areas were deemed ‘aesthetically unattractive’ but to others they were a haven for wildlife, having been declared a Site of Special Scientific Interest due to their important population of over-wintering birds. No doubt I’ll come back to discuss this further when I visit the Newport Wetlands site, part of the mitigation for the barrage’s impact, in a future walk.   

On such a cold day it was difficult contemplating climate change. However, an information board drew my attention to Cardiff County’s first ‘Tiny Forest’ which has been planted to mitigate the effects of climate change. Currently, a somewhat unremarkable patch of saplings on the edge of the barrage, it is hoped this will become a dense native woodland of 1000 trees and will ‘support urban wildlife and reconnect people with nature’. Other attempts to attract wildlife include the landscaping along the barrage which incorporates plant species which can tolerate the demands of this highly exposed coastal environment and also attract key pollinators. Most noticeable was the tall ‘Flagship’ swift tower‘ which plays out quite loud (!) pre-recorded swift calls in an effort to attract swifts, now a red-listed species, to the artificial nest boxes. Penetrating the stillness of the Bay on my visit, I did wonder why the audio was still playing in early February given swifts are summer visitors. On reflection, however, I think the recording is powered by solar energy, which seemingly, even on a drab day in February, still works! 

Quay walls of the old dry docks

Litter challenges – can you see the heron?

The classic urban waterfront

Continuing along the trail I crossed the ‘Origami-inspired’ bridge, pleasingly colourful on such a dull day. This unusual structure spans the Roath Basin. Looking like a gliding giant red kite, it is quite a contrast in shape and design to the rusting lock gates of the adjacent Roath Basin. Beyond this, the Norwegian Church Arts Centre with its brilliant white wooden cladding, seemed to welcome me to the next section of the  waterfront – the spruced up ‘heart’ of Cardiff Bay with its many attractions, including Wales’ national art centre, the Millennium Centre, and The Roald Dahl Plass, a large plaza which hosts public outdoor events. With time no longer on my side, I had to forgo the delicious cakes on offer at the Norwegian Church. However, having many fond memories of family occasions and work events here, I should tell you a little more about this iconic building where Roald Dahl was baptised. Built in 1868, it provided a meeting place for Norwegian seafarers coming ashore from Norwegian ships, berthed in the docks. Interestingly, many of these ships were trading cheap timber from Scandinavian pine forests to service the south Wales coal fields. Having been moved from its original site, it’s now an important arts venue hosting an interesting variety of events and arts exhibitions. I’m certainly looking forward to hearing the Welsh folk string trio, Vri, perform here in a few weeks’ time.

Fortunately, the weather by now was improving so I could indulge myself in a few ‘classic’ photos of the waterfront. As you may appreciate from my photos, there’s an interesting interplay between the old and new here. In the muted afternoon sunshine the old wooden dolphins provided an interesting foreground to the contemporary skyline on the other side of the Bay, and the twenty first century Senedd Building, with its striking wide open glass and slate frontage, even complemented its neighbour, the late nineteenth century Pierhead Building, with its ornate red tiles and clock tower, our Welsh ‘Big Ben!’ 

As I wanted to get to the wetlands and back to the barrage before dusk, I’d only time for a quick diversion into Roald Dahl Plass to admire the imposing arched bronze roof of the Millennium Centre (or The Armadillo as locals call it), and to appreciate the scale of this plaza. Once the ‘Oval Basin’ and entrance to the old port of Cardiff, it is now completely remodelled with imposing concrete columns. Indeed, it’s attractive modern aesthetic/architecture might be considered the epitome of the ‘superlative maritime city’ envisioned by the Cardiff Bay Development Corporation back in the 1980s. However, I do find it somewhat disappointing that, compared with many other dockland redevelopments, only fragments of the maritime heritage remain here and you do have to look hard to find them. As David notes ‘our maritime history has faded from memory and the city turned its back on the docks and the estuary.’ However, in a discrete corner at the entrance to the Oval Basin I did notice an old water level gauge scored into the stone quayside. These must have been so useful to many a ship’s captain entering the old port. However, standing on the almost deserted concrete pathway, I struggled to contemplate the hustle and bustle of the docks in their heyday. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, Cardiff had been the largest coal port in the world – indeed the world’s first ever million-pound deal was struck nearby, in the Coal Exchange. No time to visit that today though, so I continued along the waterfront past a somewhat quieter than usual Mermaid Quay to the old graving docks, now home to Techniquest and some stylish and expensive-looking apartment blocks.

The old lock gates of Roath Basin with the Norwegian Church behind

The iconic wooden dolphins in Cardiff Bay

The Pierhead Building and the Senedd (the seat of Welsh Parliament, Senedd Cymru)

Water level gauge on quayside of the Oval Basin

A walk on the wilder side – Cardiff Bay Wetlands

Even on a relatively quiet day it was quite a contrast entering the Cardiff Bay Wetlands Reserve after seemingly miles of concrete waterfront. Apart from the distant hum of traffic, I really appreciated the relative tranquillity of this 8 hectare site as I wandered along the gravel walkways through the towering reed beds gently swaying in the light breeze. I was particularly enchanted by the elegant swans gracing the wetlands in front of the Windsor Esplanade and was thrilled to catch a few glimpses of other birdlife, including coots, grebes and Canada geese. I wasn’t lucky enough to see the Great Crested Grebes ‘exchanging courtship gifts of aquatic weed’ and ‘the stripe-headed offspring following their parents or even riding on their backs’ as described joyfully by Nerys, but today even the pigeons were keen to put on a display and pose for a photo! What a transformation has taken place over the years since I brought my first group of students to study this site. I must admit to having been rather sceptical about whether it would be possible to create a flourishing freshwater habitat here, particularly when it was replacing a saltmarsh prior to the barrage’s construction. However, thanks to the considerable efforts of the Cardiff Harbour Authority and others who’ve designed, maintained and enhanced this site, this new habitat really does support a rich diversity plant and animal species.

Wetlands in front of the Windsor Esplanade

Pigeons posing on the fence by the walkway 

Reed beds in front of the voco St Davids Hotel

Final thoughts

On my return to the barrage, I admired the estuary as the early evening sun and the ebbing tide made for a few last photo opportunities. I agree with David ‘being able to stroll along the Barrage embankment with a large freshwater lake to one side and a huge, ecologically important estuary to the other is a unique experience.’ Tonight, for me the evening sky across the Bay was attractive, but what a beautiful and peaceful vista across the mud flats as the light began to fade. Today these were certainly not ‘unsightly’ mudflats, but, then again, I was only able to appreciate them from the viewing platform afforded by the barrage itself. How ironic. Perhaps the construction of the barrage really ‘was the beginning of when Cardiff learned to love its waterfront again’ as David suggests.

An offshore dolphin emerging from the estuary’s mudflats

Introduction

On one of the coldest but clearest of days early in January, I ventured out with Geoff, my husband, to the explore the coast from Redcliffe Bay (Somerset) to Portishead Marina, taking in sections of the North Somerset Tidal Trail and the Gordano Round. Ever since sailing around the Upper Estuary on the Waverley last summer, I’d been intrigued to explore this stretch of coast further – I’d not only been surprised by the grandeur of the former National Nautical School from offshore but also the unexpected swathes of natural shoreline so close to the docks downstream of the Avon. Given the extreme temperatures and the limited hours of daylight, it was more of a Saga tour than an exhilarating walk, hopping in and out of our car to sample the highlights and then try to get warm. We even took the advice from the online Bristol Barkers’ walk and tested the delights of the Windmill Inn for lunch – to be recommended! 

Supplementing my impressions from our brief visit, I’m delighted to share with you more informed views from a couple of Portishead town councillors. Councillor Jenie Eastman (councillor for West Ward including Redcliffe Bay) has lived in Portishead for nearly 30 years, and like me, is a proud geographer with a passion for exploring the balance between the physical and human worlds. Councillor David Gunnell (councillor for North Ward including the Lake Grounds area) is an even longer-term resident of Portishead, who, as a retired clinician and academic, is passionate about mental wellbeing as well as being a volunteer on a local nature reserve.

Safety first: Lighthouses along the Portishead shore

One of the main attractions of the Portishead shore is the view across the estuary towards Denny Island/Ynys Denny, just three miles offshore. On such a calm day this tiny uninhabited island appeared little more than a dark hump emerging out of the still estuary waters at high tide, but as the tides receded further the full extent of the offshore sandbanks and muddy shores were revealed – this reminded us of more serious, safety matters and the need for navigational aids along this potentially treacherous stretch of coast.  Brunel’s great transatlantic passenger ship, the SS Great Western ran aground off Nore Point in 1838 and this was the impetus for the construction of Black Nore Lighthouse in 1894. Inspired by this, we made our way along the muddy but still slightly frosty path to the lighthouse. Gleaming in the winter sunshine and casting long dark shadows across the beach below, it was easy to see why this slightly quirky Grade II listed ‘pepper pot’ lighthouse is such an inspiration for local artists. Its white cast iron tower sits atop a skirt of six metallic legs, looking more like a Wallace and Gromit model spaceship ora ‘stilted steam-punk iron torch,’ as Matt Gilbert describes it in his poem ‘At Black Nore Lighthouse,’ than a serious piece of engineering. On such a calm day, however, this solitary sentinel exuded a calm authority and sense of comfort – after all, it had watched over this stretch of waters for well over a hundred years, until its decommissioning in 2010.

Geoff walking along the coastal path at Black Nore Lighthouse

Not surprisingly given the coast’s proximity to the entrance of Royal Portbury Dock, there’s another lighthouse just upstream on the tip of Portishead Point, as mariners refer to it, or Battery Point, if you’re a local. Continuing our lighthouse crawl, we approached this 9-metre-high structure from the coast path and were immediately aware of its somewhat more unusual design than its cousin down the coast – with its black metal pyramid tower resting on a rather grey and weathered square concrete base, it looked more like a miner’s lamp than a navigational aid. Lying silent and still, it was also difficult to imagine this relatively small structure providing sufficient warning for shipping. This automatic navigational light, however, is still fully functional, being maintained by the Bristol Port Company and remains critical to navigation. Just as well, given that large ships pass closer to land here than anywhere else along the entire UK coastline! A local campaign has also ensured that the lighthouse’s original two-tonne fog bell, which was removed due to structural issues, is not forgotten. It’s now been re-erected near the town’s centre as a reminder of Portishead’s maritime past.

A distant view of Denny Island, Wales – an inspiration for Melania Trumps’ milliner?!

A close-up of Black Nore Lighthouse

Battery Point Lighthouse

Looking along the rocky shore towards Redcliffe Bay

Impressive geological strata near Portishead/Battery Point, glowing in the low winter sun

Supersized ripples along the muddy shores

Natural shore delights

Whilst the lighthouses are interesting, it is the natural beauty of the coast which is the main attraction to many locals, particularly given its proximity to people’s homes. Councillor Gunnell was keen to point out that ‘In Portishead, we are extremely fortunate to live close to such a lovely stretch of coastline, rich in wildlife, geology and fantastic views.’ Councillor Eastman also expressed her love of the ‘the wide variety of landscapes, beaches and rock formations’ here. 

Our trundle along the coast path south of the Battery Lighthouse towards Redcliffe Bay enabled us to sample some of these delights, although in such cold, slippery conditions we couldn’t clamber across the shore to really appreciate the varied geology, hidden coves and rock pools teeming with life for which this coast is so prized. Occasional glimpses of the geology revealed amazing rock structures, dating back to a major mountain-building period in geological history, the Variscan period, some 350 million years ago, when the supercontinent of Pangea was formed. However, the red rocks of Redcliffe Bay eluded us as we peered through the wooded cliff line into the sun. We’ll have to come another day to explore these ancient rocks and to search for fossil fish scales in Woodhill Bay.

We were, however, treated to some spectacular coastal vistas. Not only were there extensive panoramas across to south Wales, but, in the low winter sunshine on a falling tide, I was mesmerized by the intricate patterns formed as deep dark, gullies and giant ripples emerged along the muddy shores. Etched into the shimmering mud these ephemeral features were a reminder of the immense power of the tidal and fluvial currents along this coast. More accessible but equally attractive were our driftwood finds close to Black Nore Lighthouse. These mighty chunks of wood, strewn haphazardly across the backshore, looked particularly beautiful with a light sprinkling of frost.  Councillor Eastman clearly spends much of her spare time hunting for such natural treasures along the beach here and at Sugar Loaf Bay ‘The Glass Beach’ where locals scour the shore for polished glass. Indeed, she was proud to inform me that her bathroom boasts ‘a huge fabric banner painted with shells, pebbles, bird’s eggs etc, hanging from a huge piece of driftwood scavenged from the beach in front of the house’ in her bathroom. I guess I’m not the only person who goes home with pockets full of beach treasures! Perhaps you’ve some artwork from the Severn shores you’d like to share with us? – we’d love to hear from you if you have! 

Woodland framing a view along the shore towards the Prince of Wales Bridge

Trees sculptured by the offshore westerlies

Dog walkers along Woodhill Bay

Our lunch in the Windmill Inn enabled us to appreciate coastal views up towards the Prince of Wales Bridge in the warmth. We were reminded though, that wherever you are along this stretch of coast, you’re never far away from suburbia. The rapid urbanisation which beset our estuary’s towns and cities in the 60s and 70s is very much in evidence here – indeed the statistics for Portishead show a near three- times population expansion since the early 1960s. Councillor Eastman points out though that ‘not that much has really changed that much in the last 50 years.’ However, what would have been 60s/70s suburban uniformity, with ever-changing fashions and home-owner aspirations, now is a living museum demonstrating exterior household renovation and a triumph of individualisation. With the insatiable appetite for sea views, the pressure for further residential infilling continues. Nestling behind an old sea wall close to Black Nore lighthouse, we glimpsed the elegant façade of the National Nautical School modelled on the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth. This impressive building has now been repurposed and transformed into Fedden Village, offering desirable apartments with enviable Channel views and secluded coastal grounds.

Portishead is certainly much more than the ‘Bristol outrider and a suburb by the sea with a muddy beach’ as Peter Finch describes it. After lunch we ventured down to Councillor Gunnell’s ‘much loved Portishead Lake Grounds Park,’ the English sister of Cold Knap Lake at Barry on the estuary’s Welsh shore. As we circuited the sports fields and the marine lake admiring the ducks and swans, it was hard to imagine how this area had been transformed from the ‘thorny brushwood and stagnant rhines’ of Rodmoor into this very popular recreational area for residents and visitors. Even more challenging was the thought of the efforts of those employed in its construction – seemingly, it had been a job creation scheme back in 1910 for the Bristol unemployed and was to provide some sort of compensation for Portishead’s lack of a sandy beach. As we had walked around and tried to avoid the slightly flooded, squishy grassy areas, it was no surprise later to find that both Councillors Gunnell and Eastman expressed considerable concern about potential flood risk from sea level rise here. Councillor Gunnell suggested ‘another flood is overdue’ as ‘our old sea wall …has been breached in the past,’ whilst noting that the area last flooded in the 1990s ‘causing extensive damage to sports facilities and the café.’ More immediate concerns relating to the costs of maintaining the area alongside fears over introducing parking charges were also on the minds of Councillors Eastman and Gunnell. Certainly, even on our brief visit we’d appreciated the current efforts to keep this area so tidy and pleasant and had benefited from free parking. So indeed had the scores of other visitors who were enjoying the winter sunshine along the seafront and walking off their Christmas excesses (and some feeding post-Christmas scraps to the local avian population).    

Residential area west of Sugar Loaf beach

The impressive clock tower at Fedden Village, the former National Nautical School

Feeding birds with the remains of a festive gammon at Woodhill Bay

As my husband commented as we passed the nearby Portishead Lido, ‘there’s a building that wants to be seen.’ Painted in bright yellow ochre and orange, this lido is quite a landmark but clearly a local treasure and inspiration for typographic prints and other artwork. Given it was the Christmas vacation only the lido’s café was bustling with activity on our visit and the pool itself was closed. However, a sneak peek at the Portishead Open Air Pool website afterwards indicates you can go for a cold water swim here at the weekend even in winter! It also informs you that the 33 m pool currently attracts over 50,000 visitors each year – quite impressive, but nowhere near the 250,000 visitors which were counted during its first two years of operation. Then, its unusually pleasantly warm waters were a key attraction – these, it seems had been heated by hot water, a by-product from a local phosphorus plant which was transported to the site by four to five tankers each day! Councillor Gunnell informs me that solar heating has recently been installed. A summer visit now seems likely …

Looking towards Battery Point the lido is clearly visible from a distance!

The early evening charm of Portishead Marina

Portishead Marina: now and then

As the sun was dipping below Battery Point and the temperatures began to plummet, we scurried back to the car and headed over to Portishead Marina for the last mini excursion of the day. A delightful recent dockland development awaited us – a great place for us to both to warm up and chill out, but only after quite a lengthy walk along the quayside to one of the few cafes still serving teas and coffees. In the now evening light, the design of the classy and coherently designed apartment blocks surrounding the dock could have fooled us to think we were somewhere abroad, not quite Amsterdam, but certainly continental. With some expensive-looking boats and yachts tastefully festooned with twinkling Christmas lights, the whole area exuded both a sense of calm and affluence. Such a stark contrast to the dock’s industrial years when not one but two power stations had belched filthy smoke into the air for a while until the early 90s when they were demolished.