The Wykehamist
The return journey brought its own complications. Ryan Becker( D, 25-) was obliged to go cave-fishing with Chris Wood’ s( B, 25-) hiking stick to retrieve a head torch that had fallen into the water, and a separate but equally memorable wardrobe malfunction befell one member of the party, the details of which shall remain unrecorded. Back on solid ground, Oliver and Seb discovered an apparently sudden passion for what they termed‘ getting technical’— which is to say, selecting the most unnecessarily demanding route up every available rockface.
The four-hour return was sustained by the sight of sheep and lambs, some enthusiastic a cappella, the occasional exchange of geographical wisdom with passing tourists, careful analysis of the landward-dipping strata, and a considerable quantity of sugar. Some 24,187 steps later, we were glad of a rest— though quiet in the minibus was short-lived, interrupted by the discovery of a corner shop. Seb, Oliver and I restocked with what some might call an immoderate quantity of Greek yoghurt, rice crispy squares and chocolate before, in a rare moment of altruism, collecting ingredients to make everyone crêpes the following morning.
At nine o’ clock we set out for Llanrhidian Salt Marsh, where we met two ecologists from the Welsh Conservancy Council. They were exceptionally informative as they guided us around the site, explaining the divide between what was once a freshwater marsh and the saltwater marsh that now surrounds it. The wall separating them had been breached in 2014 following a particularly stormy winter, allowing saltwater to flood through. The Council’ s decision not to repair it, we were told, had been a contentious one: local farmers and those with an interest in tourism had argued that the freshwater marsh was economically vital. The Council ultimately concluded, however, that the cost of ongoing maintenance was prohibitive, and that the saltwater intrusion had, against expectation, generated a remarkably distinctive ecosystem. The petrified trees, looming through the fog with a certain quiet drama, had become habitat for a wealth of new insect species, which in turn had drawn a variety of non-native birds.
Our principal fieldwork task was to measure levels of carbon sequestration within the marsh. Armed with small test-tube vials, we fanned out to collect soil samples from various locations— a process that involved a good deal of pleasurable squelching through spongy ground. Certain spots proved less firm than anticipated, and James Avery-Gee( D, 25-), Ryan, Oliver, Seb and I found ourselves often stuck. Our collective attempts to extract one another resulted only in embedding us further.
Once liberated, we were introduced to a Microbiometer Soil Carbon Testing Kit, with which we analysed our samples. The results showed that the salt marsh held greater concentrations of carbon than the forest behind us— a striking demonstration of the importance of protecting such environments as carbon stores.
Along the same stretch of coastline lay an expanse of sand dunes that required exploration. We discussed the vegetation and the adaptations required to survive in such exposed conditions before reaching the beach— a view that stopped us in our tracks. It was low tide, and the wet sand stretched to the horizon, reflecting a grey sky with quiet beauty. We walked the seemingly infinite beach before turning back through the dunes to the minibus.
We returned to the bunkhouse for the last time, packed our bags, divided the remaining food, and bade a solemn farewell to the bunkhouse, the sheep, and Wales.
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