Ian Howells circumnavigates Wales on foot following Offa’s Dyke and Wales coastal paths in a quest to better understand his relationship with the country. He explores the landscape, the pubs, the sport, the villages and the food whilst digging into his family history. Over the course of more than 1000 miles completed on foot he gets to the heart of his relationship with the land of his fathers.
Below is an excerpt from the book in which Ian is almost a month, and 500 miles, into his long walk. Details of how to get your hands on a copy can be found at the end.
DAY 29
NEFYN TO PORTH OER
17.82 MILES (TOTAL – 451.32 MILES)
Porth Dinllaen may be one of the most idyllic places I have come across on my walk so far. I am sitting outside the Ty Coch Inn wishing I hadn’t set off so early in the morning so that I could enjoy some of its hospitality! This pub, converted from its original use as a vicarage, was once voted one of the top ten beach bars in the world alongside establishments in Jamaica, Florida and Australia, and whilst the current conditions might not be showing it off in the best light, it sits in a spectacular spot nestled between a row of fishermen’s cottages. I had assumed that the houses on the beach would all be holiday-lets so I am somewhat heartened to see a fisherman emerge from one of the doors wrapped up in yellow oilskins and move towards a small boat which he bails out by hand before loading with pots and puttering out to sea with a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth.
He is doing well to keep his smoke alight, the Weather Gods who have been so kind to me have finally decided that today is the day to wreak their vengeance and it’s been wet ever since I left Nefyn this morning on the narrow clifftop paths. It looks as if today is going to stay that way and it’s quite a remote stretch of walking with little in the way of facilities. In many ways I don’t mind, there is something quite cleansing about rain walking and it means you more often than not have the path to yourself.
I have memories of camping holidays in Shell Island with the rain lashing our bright orange heavy canvas tent and me and my brothers in our shorts and coats being sent off to the island shop with the admonishment “Your skin’s waterproof, isn’t it?”. I also know, that thanks to the kindness of strangers, David John, my dad’s cousin, so not a complete stranger, has lent us his house in Porthmadog for a few days so when I get in tonight, I will be able to run a hot bath and cook a warming dinner.
It stops raining, and I find a spot on a muddy, slippery beach path to sit and admire a colony of grey seals. I hear them long before I see them, a kind of otherworldly, almost tuneful “mooing,” the Siren song of sailing legend. I am now watching a group of around thirty, including some very young pups in their snow-white fur, and a few older adolescents, whose primary role seems to be annoying one of the great bull seals and then awkwardly wobbling off towards the sea in terror when he responds to their antics. They are comically clumsy on land. I watched a lone adult a few days ago spend fifteen minutes trying to roll himself back onto his side so he could right his vast bulk and crawl back to the water, it looked exhausting. In the water, however, they are a different proposition, watching the teenagers as they twist and turn, sleek and agile, chasing their tails and aiming playful bites at one another is mesmeric.
Wildlife encounters have always been an integral part of my Welsh experience. I have memories of days in the mountains searching for peregrines, unsuccessful excursions looking for otters on the Usk and the time we caught a bold hedgehog sneaking into my tent to snaffle foil wrapped Christmas cake on long-past camping trips.
Today, is another perfect moment to add to that list, it is a joy and privilege to have this beach, and its seals to myself .The rain is back and it’s coming down harder than ever but my timing is serendipitous, as I reach the tiny bay of Porth Y Cychod, or Cove of the Boats, and take shelter in one of the rusting tin shacks that are scattered along the contours of the bay. The corrugated roof is leaking and the noise of the deluge on it means lunch isn’t peaceful but it’s an atmospheric spot and I have an affinity for places where you can see nature reclaiming the landscape from humans. It’s another reminder of how relatively new it is that we think of “wild” landscapes as desirable.
The whole of the North Wales coast was a huge hub of industry for many years with quarries, mines and brickworks providing work and supporting a network of ports where heavy industry sat side by side with fishermen. Many of the quaint villages and towns I have passed on my walk are shadows of their former selves, remnants of a time when palls of smoke would have hung over long, snaking Lowry-esque queues of men making their way to work in the morning amidst the calls of gulls and the sea squalls sweeping in towards them. Above where I am eating my sandwiches, sits a weather-lashed gable end on a promontory above Porth Ysgaden, a bay named after the humble herring. It once belonged to a Customs House which was there to regulate how sugar, tea, salt, and tobacco were exchanged for herring at this busy bay.
There are also the remains of one of the many lime kilns that dot the coast as far as Pembrokeshire a little further on. Lime was bought in on boats and burned in the kilns, it was then scattered on farmland to improve the soils. This tiny, near silent bay where I shelter from the rain would only a hundred years ago have been a bustling, thriving industrial port.
It has been a long but deeply satisfying day. I have barely seen another person and I find that kind of solitary walking incredibly good for the soul. I walk the stretch of path above Porth Oer or Whistling Sands, a perfect stretch of golden beach. The anglicised name comes from the sound the sand grains make when you walk across them and even on a day like today it’s a popular spot with fishermen, dog walkers and bird watchers. I am following a charm of goldfinches along this last section of the day, as they continue to flit ahead of me, flashes of yellow wing bar breaking through the grey, low cloud of the day, their mellifluous song drifts to me on the wind. It is another perfect wildlife moment on what has been a wonderful day and although I may be rain wet and wind burned I am happy and content and looking forward to that hot bath!