We began our journey at Park Mill, a small village where the waterwheel still turns, a traditional cider press churns out cloudy apple nectar and the air hums with the stories of old. The sprogs ran ahead, their laughter echoing through the courtyard, whilst I lingered by the water, watching ducklings dart between the reeds.
Just beyond the mill, the path led us through a meadow dotted with buttercups and wild yellow Iris, where cows grazed lazily under the wide blue sky. They watched us with their big, gentle eyes, tails swishing away the flies and their soft lowing.
The walk itself is an adventure, with the landscape unfurling like a storybook with each step. The added bonus is that the less intrepid traveller won’t make the pilgrimage, and thus, the beach is only ever lightly scattered with people. My kinda’ beach. The path wound through woods where the trees whispered ancient secrets, past the ruins of Pennard Castle, perched high on the cliffs, its silhouette dark against the sky.
As we rounded the final curve of the estuary, Three Cliffs Bay stretched out before us, a panorama so breathtaking it must be out of a storybook. One of the most delightful features of this trek is the series of stepping stones that cross the stream before it spills into the bay. Balancing on these stones, with little hands gripping yours tightly, adds a sense of playful challenge. Each step brings it’s own little buzz of excitement.
Once you arrive, the bay opens up into a playground of possibilities. The beach, a wide expanse of soft sand, is perfect for building castles - both of sand and in the imagination. Children can run freely, the bracing sea breeze in their hair, while parents take a moment to soak in the natural beauty that stretches as far as the eye can see. The ebb and flow of the tide reveals hidden caves and tidal pools, each one a new adventure waiting to be discovered.
The sprogs clambered over the rocks, finding secret nooks and crannies, while we set up a picnic on the dunes, watching the tide slowly creep in. We built sandcastles with turrets and moats, which the sea gently reclaimed as the day wore on, leaving only smooth, damp sand in its wake. We ran kites from one end of the beach to the other, their bright colours zipping across the bay. No beach outing was complete without a session of bat-and-ball, beach cricket or frisbee and hours spent scouring the rock pools for crabs and the flotsam and jetsam for the best shells.
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On the way back, we stopped at Pennard Castle, its ancient stone walls standing proud against the skyline. The castle had seen better days, with its crumbling towers and ivy-clad stones, but to the children, it was a place of magic and mystery and a corker of a place to play hide and seek.
There’s a wildness to Three Cliffs Bay that feels untamed and free, yet it’s also a place that holds you close, like an old friend. We picnicked on the sand, the sky a deep blue canvas above us, dotted with cotton wool clouds. It was one of those moments where time seems to stand still, where the world feels infinite and the simple joys of being together, by the sea, are enough.
