Llanbedrog to Llanystumdwy- the rain gods strike (again)

The video shows you the weather that we woke up to and it wasn’t promising. Well, it was promising, but a promise of getting extremely wet and trudging along, hoods up, wet-weather gear, damp tissues and glasses through which the world was even blurrier and more indistinct than the impressionist world of no glasses at all. There was the promise of Helen sniffing, of wet socks and underwear and rain running off our hoods and down our necks. I looked balefully out of the window and sighed. Helen did the same.

'This is just awful. I don't think I can stand a day of walking in torrential rain,' I whined, pitifully.

Rhian was looking resolute but I could tell that she wasn't really feeling it any more than I was.

'Trouble is, if we don't walk today we will be left with even more of a gap to fill, and its a long drive to the Llyn.' There was a long pause.

'You are right, but it is tipping down! We will get soaked'

'Tell you what, rather than walk from Bangor to Caernarfon, why don't we walk the south side and fill in the gap the other side of Llanystwmdwy? It might not be raining so much on the south side.'

She said this like she was offering me a treat and I could tell that we were going to have to walk somewhere, she had that look in her eyes.

'Go on then'. But my heart really wasn't in it. And I wasn't convinced that it was going to be much drier on the south side of the peninsula.

However, we were worried that we wouldn’t be able to get enough of the walk done in the time we had, so we womanned up, made our sandwiches and cracked on with it. At least we didn’t have to do that hairy drive to Nefyn again, we consoled ourselves. (and that long, long, terribly dull road to Trefor)

The car park at Llanbedrog is surrounded by trees so the car would stay relatively dry. We took shelter in the porch of one of the many beach huts to get ourselves organised for the walk, commenting on how pretty these were and how much better it would be if they were on the beach itself in sunshine.

Llanbedrog is an attractive little village and the beach is lovely. As we began the walk there were a few people walking dogs. The rain was light and the path led us above the beach onto a sandy bank. It was all going so well.

‘Well this isn’t so bad, Rhi! If it stays like this we will be fine!’ We try to be optimistic. But as the easy, flat path carried us on towards Pwllheli the rain came in from the sea like the gods were throwing buckets of water at us in some sort of mythological game of Total Wipeout. Somewhere out there Richard Hammond was gasping with hysterical laughter at our misfortune. Walking on the path below the banking didn’t help in the quest for some sort of shelter and the rain insinuated itself into every item of clothing despite waterproof jackets and over-trousers. I felt rain trickling down my back.

We tried very hard to be chipper and positive as you can see in the picture below. We were sheltering in a beach hut at the time. You know that you are going to have a bad day weather-wise when the Powers That Be take the beach huts off the beach to protect them. This was that day.

The walk was easy enough, the path wound its way along the top of some fairly low cliffs but with every step the rain grew harder. We were working our way through the gamut of Welsh rain varieties. First the soft mizzle that gets everywhere, then the more forceful pattering on the top of your rain hood and finally the stair rods of water that see to manage to hit you in all directions at once. It was grey and miserable and even the tumble down cottages looked sad rather than romantic. It was quite unpleasant. We were wearing proper waterproof kit. My walking boots and coat are the most expensive items of clothing I own but as the walk progressed I could feel the cold chill of damp on my back and it swiftly became obvious that I was getting soaked.

We dragged our sodden arses into Pwllelli and its fair to say that neither of us was feeling like carrying on the walk to Llanystumdwy. I was utterly drenched. Just before we came into the town I tried to blow my nose (Rhian is quite firm about Not Sniffing) and the paper handkerchief in my walking trousers was so wet I had to wring the water out of it before I could even try to use it. To put this in perspective this was a hankie that was inside a trouser pocket, and the trousers were inside a pair of waterproofs and covered by a really good waterproof jacket. We were drenched.

'This isn't fun Rhi, can we stop please?'

She didn't miss a beat.

'I thought you were never going to ask.'

It was with a little more of a spring in our step that we walked round the fleshpots of Pwllhelli. The trouble was that we were still in the middle of Covid regulations. All of the cafes were socially distanced so space was limited and there was one way in and one way out. We found a little cafe that looked warm and welcoming, but the door was marked ' Exit only '.

'The entrance must be on the other side of the building', I suggested. 'Easy to find I'm sure'.

We trotted off round the block, passing lots of sodden holiday makers who were all looking for some shelter from the rain. Eventually we came to the other door. 'Exit only'. This was mad. Through to fogged up windows we could see happy people, drinking tea and coffee. They had found a way in. There had to be a door somewhere.

'Maybe it was on the other side'. So back we went. We were both tired, wet and hungry. In fact we were both hangry and getting tetchy with each other. Still nothing. I think we did 3 circuits of the building and never found an entrance. God knows how the people got inside, born there I expect.

Eventually we gave up in disgust and got a table in the only place that would have us and had some lunch. The state of my guidebook lets you see how wet we both were. it is still like papier mache to this day.

Thank goodness for the burger and chips that saved us from chills and possible hypothermia (I may be exaggerating a little there but what is good old hyperbole for?) and allowed our clothes to begin to dry off a little. I suspect we were steaming lightly as we attracted a few curious stares from the other diners and from the waiting staff, who were unfailingly polite and helpful.

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Looking out at the now lightly falling rain, and clocking that the taxi rank outside the station was just a few yards away, we decided that enough was enough, jumped into a waiting cab and asked the driver to take us back to Llanbedrog. While someone once said "Quitting because you don't want to be uncomfortable will prevent you from growing," I am with Kareem Abdul-Jabaar who said"You can't win unless you learn how to lose." We might be quitters but we knew that tomorrow was another day, thanks to Scarlett O'Hara, and determined to get to Llanystumdwy when the weather improved.

The next day broke grey but dry. My left achilles tendon was playing up but I thought I could manage a pretty flat 9 miles from Pwllheli to Llanystumdwy. We began our walk at the marina which was very agreeable, and looking ahead the views across to Snowdonia were much clearer than they had been the day before. This spurred us on, as did looking back at where we had walked previously: "We've walked all that way, " said Helen, as she does every day when we are walking onwards.

The drive to Pwllheli was uneventful and at least we didn't have to drive down that long and boring road. Pwllheli is a market town of around 5000 residents so it makes it quite a large place by the standards of the Llyn. Over 805 of the locals speak Welsh and an astonishing 945 of children ages between 10 and 14 can speak the language, not surprising rally as all the local schools are Welsh medium. The town was founded in 1355 by Edward the Black Prince but it wasn't until much later that it took its present form, built around the fishing and granite quarry industries. By the Victorian era it was developed as a holiday destination and in later years it had a Butlins holiday camp.

My brother spent the summer holiday after he took his O levels working in the restaurant at Butlins. He and his friends bought a very old van and drove up to Pwllheli. At the time I thought this was the pinnacle of excitement. I'm not sure how sanguine I would have been at my kids going off, unsupervised by an adult, in a ramshackle van at the age of 16. But these were the halcyon days of the 70s when kids were largely Free Range. (And feral). We were never told the worst of his stories but he did tell us that they were all so shocked at the price of sausage and chips they would cover the sausage with a mound of chips and tell the customers to only pay for them. In doing so he could have been partially responsible for the fall of Butlins, I guess. Well that, and a falling interest in glamourous granny and knock knee competitions. The 70s were an odd time.

Talking of feral, the 60s and 70s in the Rhondda were great times to be a kid. We spent our holidays up the mountain (conveniently situated outside my garden door) rampaging around in gangs, getting filthy dirty, falling in streams, terrorising the frogs and collecting tadpoles, building dens and climbing trees and rocks. We would be summoned by one of our mothers yelling "Tea's ready!" and once we'd eaten we'd be back outside for more of the same. I remember once falling into the culvert at the top of the street three times (we were attempting do dam it with stones and bits of tree) in the same afternoon and my mother losing her temper somewhat. ( I once fell into a similarly dammed stream on cup final day. It was bloody freezing and quite a long walk home where my waterlogged state was not well recieved.)

I also remember getting hold of unwanted cardboard boxes, opening them out into makeshift sledges and hurtling down the steep grassy bank into someone in the next street's back wall. Dirt was ingrained in our knees, elbows and hair and we stank of tadpoles, mud and grass. Great days!

The high spot of my mis-spent youth was going to the Treorchy Youth Club Friday night disco (mine too!). The youth club ran all sorts of wholesome activities through the week and I know that some people did wonderful things like Duke of Edinburgh qualifications. For most of us though it was the Crazy Ace Disco that was the big pull on a Friday night. Because, dear reader, 'Pulling' was what it was all about. The room was large and filled with the signature smell of the mid 70s, Brut aftershave and Charlie perfume. I bucked the trend a little and used to wear Aqua Manda perfume and cherry flavoured lip gloss. With lips like oil slicks, oxford bag jeans with turn ups and a white and blue cheese cloth blouse (bought at Ponty market) I thought I looked quite the thing. And in retrospect I probably did, just not the thing I thought I did. It was a 70s disco at its finest, girls dancing round in large circles with the boys hovering round the walls, waiting for a chance to tap someone on the shoulder and ask them to dance.

The music was fantastic, all the classics were there with some eclectic numbers to keep you on your toes. 'High Ho, Silver Lining' was one and there was some sort of electric reel that usually ended up with people being hurled around in a huge line. Two numbers stand out in particular as they were regulars. One was as 'Albatross' by Fleetwood Mac. This was a classic of its time and was an instrumental 'Smooch' track. It could have been quite romantic, I guess, but it would be regularly interrupted by various boys making seagull like noises (you know who you are, boys!). One would start and the others would return the call and the room would echo to ornithological outpourings. The other odd choice for a slow dance was 'Ben' by Michael Jackson. This is a reasonable enough song but odd in that it was written about a pet rat. This was, incidentally my first ever slow dance and might be the reason that I so seldom tread the boards these days.

My memories of Treorchy Youth are very similar to Helen's. I also recall doing a bit of hanging around by the dartboards watching the boy I "fancied" playing darts with his mates, or attempting to play table tennis with Helen and the other girls because he was in there showing off his backhand with the boys. (Reader, she married him.)I also remember dancing to "Boogie Nights" by Earth, Wind and Fire with the girls, doing some sort of dance routine thing, which I was hopeless at and one reason why I have never got into "Strictly" was my own inability to co-ordinate my feet in any sort of rhythm. Zumba has proved to be similarly impossible.

The view back towards Llanbedrog.

The path took us onto a long, lovely, deserted beach, where Helen took this picture of a bench which somehow seemed to sum up our walking of the Llyn this week: not totally in tact and successful but the framework still sound and eminently fixable. As you can see in the photo the sky was brightening and our spirits brightened too.

I feel as if we are both a little like this chair, battered round the edges but still holding it all together. I also couldn't help but wonder why on earth it was there something that I frequently feel when we are walking on the path, 'Why on earth are we doing this?'

We walked on for a little further, along the beach and past a caravan park and then we had this wonderful view of Snowdonia. And then we had the answer to the question. This is why we do the walk, for views like this. Some days we walk for hours at a time and never see a soul. The question we ask ourselves when we get views like this isn't 'Why are we here?' but rather, 'Why aren't there more people here?' Granted, some sections can be hard to walk and difficult to access but there are some fantastic places that are accessible to all. The Coast Path really is an astonishing thing.

Nearing the end of the seaside part of the walk we could hear up ahead, but not see, because of a low, rocky hill, the sounds of a group of people saying "Ooooooh!" and "Aaaaah!" in an excited sort of way.

We were curious. We skirted the rocks and saw a number of people standing pointing and laughing with delight, and then we saw what they were so excited about: a pod of dolphins (sorry, cetaceans of some sort) close in to the shore, leaping and diving in the most glorious display. It was absolutely wonderful and we all stood and watched and waited to spot the next appearance. You would swear those dolphins/porpoises knew we were watching them and were just having a fine old time entertaining themselves and us for the fun of it.

What was amusing is that this headland was right next to the camp site that had once been the Bultins where my brother has worked over 50 years ago. It is now owned by Havens and the people watching the dolphins with us were staying there on their holiday. I don't think they were expecting a sea life show and more than we were. We tried very hard to get a photograph of the dolphins but they were too quick for our camera phones. In the end we gave up and just enjoyed the show.

We had also stopped for a chat with a young man walking in the opposite direction from us. He was from Cardiff and was walking the WCP as and when he could get away and using public transport where possible. Given that transport links between North and South Wales are limited and can take you very much the long way around this was no mean feat. We reflected that the path offers a different journey for everyone who undertakes it. In fact, you might even say, looking at it philosophically, that the path itself is different for everyone because your experience is different and your view of it is different. But Aristotle I ain't, so I won't say that.

The last part of the walk was fairly unremarkable. It had been a short day and for once my feet weren't aching and Rhian was coping well with her sore ankle. In spite of that by the time we arrived at Llanystwmdwy (the Lloyd George Museum still closed, unfortunately) we were glad to be able to sit down outside the pub and enjoy a lime and soda and talk over the events of the week. It had been an odd week but a rewarding one. The Llyn was such an unfamiliar place to both of us and even though we had spent a week walking its coast line it still had a bit of an 'other worldly' air about it. While it is a proudly Welsh part of Wales it also seems to be a little distant from the rest of the country and none the worst for that. It is a place that seems to know itself well, happy to accept visitors but secure enough not to have to change itself too much to fit in with what other people think is important. It is a place proud of its past and comfortable with its present. We would have to come back and finish off around 45 miles of the path and I was looking forward to it.

But next we would walk the South Wales section. 2Womenwalking would be walking on home turf.