by Edward Thomas’ In Pursuit of Spring, published more than a century ago, is a classic in the nature lover’s library, a lyrical account of the poet’s journey from London to Somerset in search of signs of the coming season. Leaving from rainy Wandsworth in March 1913, shivering from a long winter, Thomas looked forward to apple and gorse blossoms, “the perfume of the sunny world”, and the song of the nightingale. “Would the bees be heard instead of the wind?” he questioned anxiously.
This was a relative pursuit – since March we are all leaning towards the sun – but we would rarely think of spring as a “place”. For Thomas, it was the southwest countryside; in my opinion, Pembrokeshire best encapsulates the return spring.
Although raised in suburban London, like Thomas, I have probably visited Pembrokeshire every year of my life. My mother was born in Togh Davids, the most westerly town (or, technically, city) in Wales, where my grandfather was a member of the cathedral clergy. The family later moved east to Carmarthenshire, but the coastal county remained a regular haunt of my childhood: memories of the White Sands and Caerfai beaches, and the headland paths and butterfly hedges to trace, the scent of the heated fern and the hawthorn is in bloom.
And as my love of the natural world solidified in adulthood – as a gardener, and as a landscape and travel writer – Pembrokeshire’s appeal only grew higher. I am always drawn back by the abundance of wildflowers, precious bird life and varied topography, best of all in the spring months when new life bursts forth from every direction. Long weekend opportunities from London, family camping trips, solo stays on the sanctuary islands: if I ever crave the splendor of the native, this coast always comes first.
For those whose affection for Cornwall has prevented them from getting to know the very stretch of great beaches and sweeping beaches of Great Britain, I will make the case briefly. This largely rural agricultural county is still full of Norman castles, Benedictine monasteries, prehistoric ruins, even a Viking shipwreck – and more than a third of it, some 237 square miles, is the stunning and rugged Pembroke Coast national park. It may be one of the smallest national parks in the UK, not intruding on the drama of Monrovia or the granite-rich wilderness of Dartmoor, but it is one of the smallest – if not the largest. the most – environmentally diverse.
If I ever desire the brightness of demons, it always comes to the fore on this coast
Between the villages of Amroth in the south and St Dogmaels near the Ceredigion border, the park traces impressive geology, with the 186-mile National Coast Path taking in narrow headlands, limestone arches, remote stacks and misty islands, stunning bays, beaches, lagoons and coves. For good reason, National Geographic magazine rated it the second best coast in the world in 2012, above Italy’s Cinque Terre and Hawaii’s Nā Pali coast.
Crucially, however, the national park also extends inland, along the Milford Waterway, the lowland Dale peninsula and part of the vastly empty Preseli Hills: beach, cliff, estuary, river, reed, moor, marsh , hill and heather, it’s all there.
This abundance of habitat sets the stage for spring to unfold, from the earliest sulphur-yellow butterfly visiting roadsides and the breaking of beech buds in the Ghaun valley, to the last Atlantic puffin to arrive landed and burrowed down to nest. It is a landscape that is seen positively.
Add to this some of the UK’s prettiest coastal towns and villages – such as Newport, Tenby and Solva, which open their windows back to the call of herons and sandpipers – and the rare luxury of regular bus shuttle services ( with whimsical names like “Poppit Rocket” and “Puffin Shuttle”), and you have a well-served and easily navigable nature playground.
My own quest for spring through Pembrokeshire would start inland, and it would start right now. There’s no doubt that global warming has blurred the edges of the British season: according to the Natural History Museum, plants in the UK are flowering around a month earlier than they used to be. However, there is a flower unique to Pembrokeshire that can be relied upon as the harbinger of spring: the daffodil in Co.
The abundance of habitats sets the stage for spring to unfold, from the earliest sulphur-yellow butterfly to the last Atlantic puffin to land.
At present its lanceolate, glaucous blue-green leaves are pushing above the ground; soon – if not already – they will release trumpet flowers brighter than the primrose. There were once fields of these low daffodils which grew low to the north of Din na b’Páisti; Today, the remains of their decorative tufts can be sought, as I did, in the cemeteries of the Cleddau estuary. I think of these as seasonal starter pistols: soon followed by the starry whites of daffodils and wood anemones, and in the fertile soil of nearby Upton Castle gardens, magnolia petals and softly softened tulips.
Before turning back to the wilder coast I might go south to Bosherston’s limestone lakes, where the narrow path smells sweetly of coconut juniper, but can now be seen across the fresh water a new green of its famous water. lilies. At Bosherston I move quietly, hoping for a flash of an otter or a flash of a cormorant, wandering down towards the lonely sandy bay of South Broadhaven, where the stream meets the sea.
On, then, to Newport, where it is too early to pick samphire from the salt marshes but the scurvy grass is oppressed in a pink-white stream. Up on the headland, as far as the Paróg (the old port area), the rose leaves of the foxgloves and the sea camphor are also swinging.
South again, to the hedgerows in bloom in Togh Daví, yellow with celandine, and the bright sea views that draw your attention to the famous islands of Pembrokeshire. Of the five largest, one is dedicated to a hummingbird colony (Grisach), another to the Wildlife Trust’s bird observatory (Skokholm), but the rest are easier to visit.
To the north and south are Rathsaghdiura, Skomer and Caldey, each with its own wild wonder. On Ramsey, spring is heralded by the arrival of the caravans – the guillemots and the razorbill returning to their precarious nesting places on the island’s steep cliffs and ledges. Up above you might hear the distinct hoot of the resident red-billed cough; below, there is a chance to see the green seals, temporarily beached for their annual spring moult.
I think of the Tenby daffodil as a seasonal starter: starry moons and wood anemone will soon follow.
From April onwards, Skomer, the next one, can be reached through the address at Martin’s Haven near Dale. Considered the best nature island in Pembrokeshire, it is home to the world’s largest colony of Manx weed and extensive burrowing sites for the nation’s favorite seabird, the puffin. Just the time of your visit – somewhere around early May – and these very characteristic birds can be seen waddling against a background of blue-green bells and the solitary pony: few spring spectacles have impressed me so much .
The last stop on my spring quest is the “holy isle” of Caldey, the site of an active Cistercian monastery and probably my favorite quiet corner of Pembrokeshire. On my first crossing from Tenby bay, I would go up towards the island monastery, passing through the sycamore wood beyond, alive with new leaves, and out onto the high, empty coast. Here, at the mouth of a shallow cave, which was once a Neolithic shelter, you can sit among the cowbells as the sun warms from the east, and listen to seabirds calling over the muffled waves below. If the spring has come so far, the “pipe” of the oysters will be flying in and out of a nest under your feet, and a feeling that the winter is long over.
