Trefor to Nefyn: Nefyn again!

At the end of the previous day we were tired and, while on reasonable terms, still a little tetchy over the whole U2 disagreement. Rhian was beginning to see the error of her ways (no error, thank you!) but was still holding on to her delusion that Bono was a good singer. More worryingly we knew what we had ahead of us.

'A drive to Nefyn then?'

'Yup' said Rhian who was concentrating on her croissant.

'I have no idea of how the road gets round that bloody mountain range.'

'Nor me. More worryingly I have no idea how we are going to get over the bloody thing.'

There was a very long pause. The walk from Caernarfon to Trefor was long but flat. The walk to Nefyn from Trefor was much shorter, only 9.5 miles, but would involve us going up over the mountain range in the picture above. We had to climb up over Yr Eifl, the trident. This was a daunting prospect as it has been a long time since we were running up and down the sides of the valley like little lambs when we were kids. We plugged in the details into our satnavs and off we went.

The drive was a fairly dull one, taking us down the road we had spent all day walking the previous day and skirted Yr Eifl, taking us through the small village of Llithfaen. Sheltered by granite of the hills around us, my radio gave up the effort of trying to lock on to Radio 4 (more of this later) and instead tuned into RTE 2, The Sound of the Nation but not my nation, Wales. It was the sound of Ireland. Listening to some excellent music choices (an Elvis Costello special, it was his birthday, I think) I drove along a very twisty road a little shocked by the slightly otherworldly look of the place. There were some serious hills but they all seemed to stand proud above a lush green, lower landscape. We left one car on the roadside in Nefyn and headed back to Trefor.

We parked up in Trefor, finding a space easily by a high wall, and walked through the village, following the WCP signs towards the sea and turning left across the grass with the mountain quite close. The weather was cool with plenty of cloud which made me feel a little better as we had quite an ascent ahead of us and I didn't want to be drenched in sweat from the moment we began. I felt strangely elated and optimistic in fact, possibly because of the wild beauty of the scenery and the cool breeze. I remember saying "Come on, Hel! We can do this! It will be fantastic!" or words to that effect. She gave me some serious side-eye and said nothing.

It was at the end of this grassy headland that we turned inland, in the shadow of the mountain, with its quarry clearly visible at the top, and no obvious path other than what seemed like a sheep track heading vertically uphill in the distance. We gazed up and Helen said "That can't be it, surely?"

"Nah," I said with confidence. "That's just a sheep track through the ferns"...

She was right: it was a sheep track through the ferns. At the same time, she was wrong: it was the path. It seemed clear that this wasn't going to be a well walked section of the path and looking at the steep climb ahead of us I could see why; this was going to be a bloody hard walk. Eventually the sheep path became a lane which helped us a little but soon we could see that the path was going straight up the steep slope to the disused quarry. We started up. The path was made of old cobbles and paving slabs and must have dated back to the time that the quarry was in use. It was so steep I wasn't sure that I was going to manage it. I fell back on my usual strategy of counting steps, fixating on the fact that this would be 5,10 15 steps done, that would have to be walked again. Which is all well and good as a positive strategy, but it started to fall apart when rests were needed not after 50 steps but 30 and then, horrifyingly, 10. It was at this point that I started to take photographs of the view to cover for my exhaustion and lack of fitness. I was a flabby bath of sweat and none of the photos worked. I must have been pressing the wrong button! I was down to 5 steps then a stop, so while I wanted to wind Helen up about using photography as a cover for her lack of fitness I didn't have the breath or the energy, sadly.

We had read that the workers at the quarry had walked there and back every day, up and down this horribly steep hill. We could only marvel at their physical and mental strength as we gasped upwards, turning every few seconds to gaze at the admittedly stunning view back towards Caernarfon and the mountains of Snowdonia to our right.

These are the ruins of the quarry at Trefor. They are named after the first foreman on the site, Trevor Jones, when the quarry was founded in !850. (F sounds V in Welsh if people are confused by the different spellings.) The site is a quarter of a square kilometre in size and produced blocks of granite, most of which was shipped to Liverpool to be used as paving slabs. In order to get the rocks down to the jetty an industrial tramway was set up. In one place the incline was an astonishing 1:1.75 which must have made it a terrifying trip down but a substantially easier trip back up than the one we just had. It was the steepest incline of any such tramway in the UK. We didn't climb a 1:1.75 incline but there were moments when it felt like it.

Once we reached the side of the quarry, we stopped to catch our breath and Rhian took out the guidebook to check where we needed to go next. We had a choice of a few paths ahead of us and we really didn't want to make a mistake at this point.

'We have some options, Hel.' She paused for a moment in order to give the next question all the stupid majesty it deserved. She looked down, pushed up her glasses and read directly from the book.

' The quarry workings make the summit on the right difficult to reach but the highest of Yr Eifl's triple tops on the left is straightforward to reach. A pathway leaves the path almost at the highest point of the saddle and makes the 200m climb in just under 1km The path is visible the whole way and curves round to the north just below the summit.'

She paused and looked at me. I paused. We both paused together. It was quite a long and dramatic pause. I took a deep breath and met her eye.

'Are you crazy? Have you totally lost your marbles? That last climb nearly bloody killed me! You can't possibly want to do even more!' I was quite serious; I didn't think I would cope with another climb.

She laughed, 'Of course not! I'm not that mad'.

This, ladies and gents, is why you need to choose your walking partner with care. We always tend to know when to quit and are in agreement when a diversion is worth it or not. We declined the offer of a wonderful view and instead crested the saddle of the range. We stopped and treated ourselves to a sit down and a cup of coffee.

There were a few people around when we packed up our tea cups and reached the fork of the road leading to the quarry, some of whom looked like they were considering descending the hill we had just climbed. I couldn't help myself: "Be careful if you are thinking of going down that way - it's steep and rocky and tough on the old knees!"

The couple, a bit younger than us but clearly with more sense, glanced at each other, shook their heads and turned back, thanking us for the heads-up. Meanwhile, a wiry chap with well-worn walking boots, lean calves and a professional looking back pack sailed past us and disappeared down the slope with no hesitation. I could only envy him his fitness, confidence and sheer speed. We decided to conserve our energy more wisely and soon paused for lunch, starving after our exertions, and what a wonderful place it was to stop. The sky had cleared, the breeze was light, the cheese and pickle sandwiches and more coffee very welcome. And we had conquered Yr Eifl! Our mood was buoyant as we took in the wonderful views from this high vantage point.

The road led gently downwards from the quarry and the views south west once again made all the huffing and puffing worth while. We could see along the coast to Nefyn and directly ahead and to the right a steeply wooded valley like somewhere alpine which we found, on consulting the guide book, was Nant Gwrtheryn, or Vortigern's Valley.

Vortigern, a Celtic or Romano-British (similar thing?) leader in post Roman Britain, was apparently involved in inviting the Saxons in, and has had a bad press for doing so. He clearly upset everybody quite significantly as even the Venerable Bede mentions him in the 8th century but the monk Gildas, a contemporary of Vortigern, wrote about him in the 500s and blamed him for the conflict between the Britons and Saxons, though he wasn't the only one involved in this whole debacle. Anyhow, this beautiful, inaccessible valley provided Vortigern with a handy hideaway from all those trying to take their revenge.

Nant Gwrtheryn

I seem to remember that we had quite a long discussion over whether we should go down that path or not. I quite fancied a trip to the centre, which looked interesting, and there was the added draw of a cafe. I could have murdered a cup of tea and a bun at that point (we'd only just had lunch!) but these were the first days after Wales had opened up post Covid lock down and the thought of walking all the way down to find it shut was too awful to contemplate. So, we chose to stay on the path and take the direct route.

Rhian (Sheep Whisperer) Williams

We walked along the path, which was broad and mercifully flat, for a little while. Eventually it went into some farmland, unlikely as that seems on the top of such a hilly area and the fields were full of hardy Welsh sheep. Hardy but stupid. A lamb had got separated from its mother and was bleating pitifully on the other side of a stone wall and gate. We opened the gate, leaving it ajar and waited to see if the lamb would move. It didn't and so we waited a little longer. We couldn't walk away leaving the gate open but at the same time we felt sorry for the lamb and its mother. The lamb was getting in a bit of a state and the mother was bleating in a pitiful way from the other side of the wall.

In hindsight neither of us really knew what was going on since neither of us speak sheep. For all I know the lamb could have been a petulant teenager, whinging to his mother that all his mates were allowed to be on this side of the wall and could stay out as late as they wanted. And the mother could have been asking him if he would jump off the cliff if all his mates did. In the end Rhian said, 'Oh for heaven's sake, move, you daft thing' and it did! I could see why she never had any problems controlling the class. I was only confused as to whether she was talking to me or the lamb.

However it makes me look, I have to say that Helen's pussyfooting around with some sheep was irritating me somewhat. As Rhondda girls we grew up with sheep roaming the streets making a bloody nuisance of themselves raiding bins and pooping all over the place and I have no patience with them. As a kid we had no qualms about chasing them away. Helen has gone soft, I thought. (True)Time to take control! I eyeballed the sheep and spoke sharply and, quite sensibly, it listened. I felt like an ovine Barbara Woodhouse (a reference which ages me, I know). Just don't mess with me when I have a job to be doing, that's all I am saying. (Rhian Williams the Sheep Whisperer)

We crossed the road that led down to Nant Gwrtheryn and at a car park, which was busy with people admiring at the views and putting dogs on leads we saw a signpost for the North Wales Pilgrims' Way. We would join up with the coastal route further down towards Morfa Nefyn. Despite the well-signed path we managed to wander around several fields trying to find gates and failing. There was a gradual incline down the hillside with old stone walls and farmsteads dotting the landscape. Thankfully there were no cows to terrorise me and the walking was pretty easy. We were looking forward to reaching St Beuno's Church at Pistyll and just before this we found a welcome bench where Helen could check her blisters and I could neck back some water - the day was much warmer now and we were feeling quite tired.

The view from the top, before we re-joined the main WCP was just astonishing. We could see all of the Llyn peninsula ahead of us, with the sea on both sides. The whole of the path is made up of incredible views but this had to be one of the best; it was simply astonishing. And if that wasn't enough, to our left we could see the coastline of Meirionedd and the Snowdown range behind it. Breath taking. Well, breath taking and daunting as it showed us just how much walking we still had left to do.

This is a first! I've managed to upload a video. Taking a video was the only way to cover the scale of the view we had around us. And look, no other people! This is the amazing thing about so much of the WCP, you can walk for miles (or in our case get lost for miles) and never see a soul. Click on it and you get the view and my dulcet tones.

Rested, we decided to have a look at the lovely little 15th century church - we can't resist a church or chapel, unlike iron age forts and suchlike, which we pass blithely and carelessly. The church itself was locked, due to Covid restrictions but we spent a little while examining the gravestones. St Beuno's was an important stopover on the medieval pilgrims' route to Bardsey Island (which was to feature large in our later completion of the Llyn coastal path) and it provided us with a little respite before we set off on the last leg of today's walk.

St Beuno's Church

In fact, we sat and rested in what was probably the Cae Eisteddfod or the field of sitting and resting. Nice to know we were using it for its intended purpose. I would have liked to see inside the church. We have had many a much-needed rest inside churches along the way. In fact, church porches are excellent places to stop for lunch, sheltering from the sun or rain. They are marvellous places. Sadly, because of Covid we couldn't look inside. this was the second time we had come across St Beuno in as many days, and he was beginning to feel a bit of a friend.

Before we carried on with the walk we needed to stop for a little while so that I could take a phone call. My pocket vibrated a bit and i started to chat. I'd been expecting this call for a while and wasn't sure that we would have connectivity in this isolated part of the path. Radio 4 Woman's Hour were expecting to interview us the next day and they wanted to give us the details of how we could log into their remote system. Covid might have stopped us seeing the inside of the church, but it has focused the minds of people in how we could get round the problems of distancing and remote working. Suffice to say, Helen had come up with this idea of being on Woman's Hour, shameless self-publicity being more her thing than mine.(True) I wasn't complaining, mind you (Also true). Phone call over, and the details set up we walked on. giggling a little at the thought of chatting on air about the day's walk. We were quite pleased with ourselves and as is the way of such things, instantly got lost.

The path took us through a set of grand gates that belonged to the no-longer extant Plas Pistyll Hotel, and then uphill and across the main road leading into Nefyn. At this point we saw a farmhouse and farmyard ahead and, finding the guide book rather confusing, began walking alongside the farmhouse and into the yard. A dog started barking and there was no obvious path. We dithered. As we did so a figure appeared in the doorway of the house shouting at us to "Get out! Get out! Go on!" and gesticulating wildly. Clearly lost walkers were an irritant. We had never been accosted in this way before and we both reacted in the same way by turning around several times in alarm, bumping into each other, bleating "Oh sorry!" repeatedly and backtracking with a speed I didn't think either of us could muster after an arduous walk over a mountain. Helen's little legs took long strides I have never seen before (certainly not in PE at school, anyway) or since and I hurried past her in my cowardly desire to escape from the scene of our crime.

The actual path, which we found a second later, took us into a lane, which was sometimes just a gully, between the farm wall and the hill, and to our consternation we found ourselves at one point climbing between the thick branches of a tree and a 5 foot high concrete bank. I wasn't best pleased, to be honest, though it was easier for me than it was for Helen because I am taller and was able to scale this bloody thing more easily. My temper was not sanguine and my language was fricative-heavy as we shoved our backpacks ahead of us and scrambled up in a manner unbecoming for two women of a certain age. As usual, dignity deserted us, but we managed, and thankfully the rest of the walk was more accessible and easier.

We crossed a stream, passed by some old quarry workings, crossed fields and eventually joined an access road that led us down into the outskirts of Nefyn, where my car was parked. As always, it was a relief to take the weight off our feet and we headed back up that blessed road towards Caernarfon with all its twists, turns, narrow passing places and hazards of all sorts to negotiate!

Back at the chalet we sat on the veranda and toasted our success in climbing over Yr Eifl. As we rested our aching limbs we were happily ignorant of the storm clouds gathering in the distance and the impact it was going to have on our next day's walk.