Barmouth to Llwyngwril, over the Hills and How Far Away?

Sitting in the flat, at the end of the second full day of walking, we had covered 28 miles and I was knackered. Not only was I knackered, my feet were aching and I was sleeping in a Carmelite cell. Looking at the BBC weather forecast we could see that the next day was going to be very hot and we knew that it involved a fair bit of uppy downy. In my insane optimism, planning the walk from the comfort of my sofa in the winter, I had pencilled in a stupidly long walk for the next day, 16 miles to Tywyn. If we tried that, I was going to die horribly. Either I would fall apart or Rhian was going to push me off something high and lethal and to be fair I couldn't really blame her.

'I don't think I can manage 16 miles tomorrow'.

'Seen sense at last?'

'I looked at my feet and realised that I just couldn't manage it, not in brilliant sunshine'

'So what do you want to do? Take the day off?'

This sounded tempting, very tempting. We could have a day pottering around Barmouth, lingering over a coffee, having a paddle or indulging in a little light window shopping. In short, we could enjoy the sort of perfectly normal day that perfectly normal people enjoyed on holiday. Normal people didn't spend their summer holiday flogging up and down hills every day and getting massive blisters. Normal people didn't get overtaken by 70 year old women as they climbed up hillsides, stopping every few minutes to draw breath. We could pretend to be normal. And with this in mind we went to bed, luxuriating in the thought of a day off.

The next morning I was woken by a knock on the door and the provision of a mug of coffee. As I sipped the coffee, marvelling at the kindness of my oldest friend, I began to wonder if she was softening me up for something. I wandered through to the kitchen and the breakfast table was laid, with some poached eggs on the hob. The distribution of tasks on the holiday is always fair but this seemed more organised than usual. What was she up to? I sat at the table and sipped my coffee. The guidebook was open and resting beside her plate. It was open to section three, Barmouth to Llwyngwril. A plate of eggs on toast was placed in front of me and I could feel my resistance fading.

'I've been having a think.'

My heart sank a little. I should say at this point that I'm usually the stupid one who uses this phrase and it seldom ends with a relaxing day. I looked up and made eye contact. Rhian was looking determined.

'Its not THAT sunny', she said, waving at the window. Damn, she was right, it was bright but cloudy, excellent walking weather.

'And the book says its only 8 miles for the next section'.

'But the book always lies!' I whined, images of coffee and welsh cakes at a nice café drifting away from me.

'Yes, but you had planned 16 miles, so this will be easy.'

'I planned 16 miles because I was stupid. 16 miles would kill us.'

'But we can manage 8 miles. 8 miles will be easy' and then she played her two winning cards.

'We can come back on the train, and when we get back I will buy you an ice-cream.

Sold for a mess of knickerbocker glory.

Booted and suited we walked out of the flat and headed off into town. We had the luxury of the Coast Path running right outside the garden and for once the day didn't start with the two of us driving. We walked down the hill and past an ever increasing number of places selling take away food, the closer we got to Barmouth the more hotels and B and Bs we saw until we got to the town centre where we saw the wonderfully named (C)arousal fish and chip shop. Apparently it was called the Carousal but people kept nicking the C, in the end the owners gave up and made the slipped C part of the design.

I love and old fashioned seaside town. And buckets and spades always sell it for me. As a child I always wanted the spades that had a metal blades and wooden handles as they looked more like the real thing. But my parents, sensibly realising that I was quite likely to remove a toe with a sharp edge would only get me the plastic ones.

This was the take away food on offer at the cafe we had noticed on the previous day's walk. Is it any wonder that we never lose any weight on these holidays? We quite fancied the onion bhaji scotch egg (and what a ringing endorsement of multiculturalism this is, bloody outstanding) but they were sold out. We bought a smoked haddock version and a black pudding and apple one. We also bought the perfectly named 'Flabjacks', which looked wonderful.

Barmouth is a very popular holiday destination and like many places on this part of the coast it was originally a working port. It has all the cafes and shops that you could want and an excellent ice cream parlour but more of that later. We wandered down through the town and headed towards the bridge across the Mawddach Estuary. This is a stunning bridge, Grade 2 listed, and was completed in 1867, having taken 3 years to complete. It is wooden and takes the railway and a pedestrian path, cars have to drive inland and cross the river further upstream at Penmaenpool. At one point you had to pay a 90p toll to walk across the bridge but the toll house in no longer occupied and you get to walk across for free.

A stunning bridge in stunning countryside

It really was fantastic walking across the bridge and the area around it, the estuary itself and the mountains surrounding us were just astonishing. What was even more amazing was that somewhere this beautiful was not jam packed full of tourists. We almost had the bridge to ourselves as we walked across, the figure in the distance is Rhian. Just so beautiful, what was worrying me a little was the size of the mountain ahead of us. We were going to have to walk up that at some point

We paused on the bridge to take this photo, then, when we reached the end of the bridge realised that it was almost lunchtime and we had our delicious looking scotch eggs to tempt us into sitting on the nearest bench. And, in our defence, it was suddenly bloody boiling. A rest was called for.

As we sat there with our tea cups ready on their little table cloth, a family of 3 on bikes approached and asked us, in the politest terms, why we are drinking out of fine china when we were clearly on some sort of walk. We explained, wowed them with our mileage so far and then were overwhelmed with their kindness when they pressed some sponsor money into our hands before setting off again, ringing their bicycle bells as they went. We are always amazed by the generosity of those who sponsor us, and this occasion was no exception. (This really was a wonderful moment. It quite made my day, which given we were walking in an area of stunning beauty is saying something!)

The walk to Fairbourne is flat and easy all the way, though the day was beginning to heat up by the time we got there and we were very glad to avail ourselves of an ice cream and a sit down. Fairbourne has an old-fashioned air and it has a narrow gauge railway line that runs for several miles along the coast. The beach, which was busy, is being eroded away by the sea, as Fairbourne is built on reclaimed salt marsh, and a managed retreat is planned for, which is particularly sad for the residents.

We set off again, not suspecting the strenuous nature of the path ahead of us. Crossing a busy road we looked up at a mountain that seemed to tower over us, and began our ascent, sweating and cursing a little. The valley was pretty and shady with trees, and with quarry workers' cottages along it. Up ahead was the disused quarry, with a pool (or an azure blue lagoon, I read somewhere) which, after much faffing, we almost found but didn't quite. We could hear the echoing of voices up there, but decided to cut our losses and head on up the mountain instead. Now, the guide book value for this walk, from Barmouth to Llwyngwril, is 8 miles, but I am afraid I dispute this. It felt like we had already done 8 miles and we hadn't even reached the top of the mountain! We headed steeply upwards, sometimes scrambling up the path, until we passed a farmhouse and joined the forestry road that led us to the highest point. (It was so hot and the climb was very steep. It reminded me of the mountains I used to play on as a child but that was well over 4 decades in the past and I was finding it hard work. Climbing up the slope took many stops to catch my breath and drinks of water to rehydrate. And to think, this was going to be a 'light day'!)

Boiling hot, we stopped at the standing stones at Bryn Seward, and looked to our right, back towards Barmouth and the Mawddach, and there we saw the most beautiful of all the beautiful views we have seen on any day of any of our walks so far. Breathtaking, awesome, glorious - whatever adjective you want to apply does not really cover it. We forgot our hot feet, and our sunburned necks and just revelled in the thing. Just look at it. I will never forget it. (She's not wrong.)

These are just a few of the standing stones that we saw along this section of the walk, they were too obvious for us to miss. Local legend has it that these rocks are the result of a fight between a lowland giant and his cousin. Gwril was the local giant and he and Idris (who ruled the mountains of Cader Idris) would throw rocks at each other.

Once we reached the highest point of the path the walk got a whole lot easier and I started to enjoy myself. We walked past a field full of sheep and spent some time opening a gate to try to and get a lamb back to his mother. They had ended up on separate sides of the fence, I have no idea why, and were bleating at each other. It took a while for the lamb to realise that it could stop bleating and get back to its mother and the rest of the sheep but eventually it got the idea and they were reunited. We left, making sure that the gate was properly closed so that the same thing didn't happen again.

'Good job they weren't cows, Rhi.'

'Yes indeed. I'm beginning to enjoy this now'

'Me too. And its doesn't really matter if we miss the train as there is a nice pub in the village. I've looked it up on the internet. We can treat ourselves to a pint and wait for the next one.'

'Fantastic! I'm so glad we walked today, this is working out perfectly'.

'Yes it really is!'

'That hill was hard though, and it was so hot!'

The path was excellent, impossible to lose and was slowly dropping downwards. We could see the village of Llwyngwril in the distance and after a little while, the train pulling out of the station and heading to Barmouth. From a distance they looked like a toy town and train set.

'Never mind, we can rest up and have a pint and get the next one, it leaves in two hours time'

'Perfect!'

Imagining a cold drink we walked on and came to the outskirts of the village. I could just see the beads of condensation on the outside of the glass, ice cold beer inside. Ice cold beer shortly to be inside me. This was like Ice Cold in Alex but with more sheep and less sand. It had been roasting hot and a long walk. I was sure that John Mills and Antony Quail would be impressed by us. We were much more dedicated than Sylvia Syms (though perhaps slightly less glamorous) (True, she glowed. we were sweating buckets.) It was going to be bloody lush! We could see the pub, the end was in sight!

'Fuck!'

'What?'

'Arsebiscuits!'

'WHAT?'

'Its shut!'

It was roasting hot, we were both tired and wanted some shade and something cold to drink. We had an hour and a half to wait for the next train. We walked past what looked like a café but it was closed and so we headed to the local shop, at least we could get something cold to drink.

The woman running the shop looked up as we entered looking very hot and very sweaty.

'Goodness, you look hot, what have you being doing?'

'We have just walked from Barmouth.' In spite of being bathed in sweat, with faces like baboons backsides, this was said with pride.

'Goodness, in this heat? All that way? You must be mad!'

'Quite probably', said Rhian. ''Yes, we were hoping to get a cold drink in the pub but it seems to be closed.'

'Oh yes, it closed in November!' She sounded happy to give us this useful bit of information. I just wished that the internet had been as helpful when I was looking it up that morning.

'Is there anywhere where we could shelter from the sun? Only we have missed the train and we have a bit of a wait.'

The shopkeeper though for a little while.

'If you turn down the river, just after the train station, there is a seat and the trees will give you some shelter and I can sell you some cold beer, if you like?'

Sold!

We walked through the village and past the wonderful crocheted Giant Gwril on the bridge. It is all part of some wonderful yarn bombing that the locals do. One year the giant was stolen and it made the press. I think the one we saw was a wonderful replacement. It was considerably larger than human sized and was peaking over the side of the bridge.

Thieves steal knitted giant from Gwynedd village - North Wales Live (dailypost.co.uk)

It was bliss to sit down and rest our feet and we toasted our successful day's walk like a pair of old reprobates. The sunlight was filtered by the leaves of the trees and the river babbled away next to us. It was lovely. (It really was but I did feel a little awkward as several locals passed us, smiling and friendly but eyeing our cans of lager slightly nervously).

After resting up we reluctantly stood and walked back to the station in time to wave it down, as it was a request stop. I was terrified that it wouldn't stop and we would be stuck for another two hours but it slowed and stopped and we got on, getting two seats together. The inside of the train was roasting hot and we had the dispiriting feeling that comes when the trip back takes in minutes what it has taken all day to achieve on foot. But we had the pleasure of crossing the bridge of a second time, soaking up the astonishing views of the estuary in comfort this time even if we were a little hot and bothered.

Sitting down had given us a bit of a second wind and we explored the lower part of Barmouth. The harbour area was lovely and Rhian, true to her word, bought us some ice creams at a fantastic ice cream parlour and sweetie shop. It was very popular, rightly so as the ice-creams were delicious, and we were lucky to get a seat.

Knickerbockers Ice Cream Parlour (fudgeridoo.co.uk)

Exploring Barmouth was fun. We might be tired out and footsore but it felt good to be a tourist for a little while and not a walker. The town originally grew out of ship building and its name is a corruption of the Welsh Abermawdd, from the mouth of the Mawddach. It has had some notable residents including the wonderful Fanny Talbot who donated land and effectively started the Nation Trust and also Tommy Nutter who re-popularised the suit in the 1960s. Fanny and Nutter, great names. It is also home to a wonderful old town lock up. It was built in 1833 and the local magistrates insisted that it should be circular so that the devil couldn't hide in the corners. Inside it is divided into two, so that women and men drunks could be kept separately. While it was a little basic each had had a privy on one side and a fire place. We didn't fancy spending the night so we walked on, back to the flat.

I swear our fitbits were telling us we had walked 14 miles, rather than the 8 we had been led to believe. It made for an extremely good night's sleep in my luxurious boudoir, while Helen snored gently, the sound echoing around the narrow walls of her cell next door.