July 1-2, 2014: Holyhead to Trearddu Bay
Saint Cybi’s Church, Holyhead – starting point for the Isle of Anglesey Coastal Path.
Readers of these travel narratives will have grown wearily accustomed to that catalogue of complaints (physical in the main) that must accompany the first moments of any walking trip. This time, however, I had outdone myself and I began a week-long reunion walk with my in-laws, Naomi and Adrian, with such an arsenal of ailments that for many weeks it seemed unlikely that I would be able to walk at all.
The immediate cause for my discomfiture can be traced back to the third (and last) day of my recent Irish walking trip with Gavan. On this day, May 24, I suffered a series of falls on my descent into the Bridia Valley that, with both shoulders injured, a right ankle sprained and a twisted right knee, it was decided to send me home almost as soon as I reached more solid ground. Although the doctor felt that I had merely suffered a series of soft tissue injuries and my physiotherapist had urged me t make a start on today’s venture, I did so with considerable apprehension. I wore both ankle and knee brace as I answered the call of my mini-cab driver, donned my heavy day pack and lugged my canvas case downstairs. If Naomi and Adrian had come all this way to walk with me at least I could meet them in Wales and see if I could walk some of the way with them.
It was 10:00 when I entered my cab and at least this time the escalator was working as I rose to the concourse of Euston Station a few minutes later. I had plenty of time to buy something for lunch and to visit Boots, where they had nothing to offer me when I complained of yet another difficulty, an aching right ear. Fortunately I was able to occupy one of the few seats provided passengers in this busy cavern and, at last, it was time to make my way to a distant platform for the 11:10 Virgin train for Chester. I did a puzzle as I travelled over a route I knew well already, ate my salmon salad sandwich, and tried to find a comfortable place for my right leg.
There was only an eleven-minute gap between trains at Chester and I needed all my concentration to lug my case up a steep stairwell, over a bridge and down to the new platform where the 1:24 for Holyhead soon arrived. The Arriva shuttle had only two cars (I had a seat reservation) and I was soon in a new position, facing backwards (in spite of a request for the opposite) as the little train, with many stops, inched its way westward along the north Wales coast. Conwy Castle was very impressive, I must say, but it was most poignant to pass through Prestatyn station, where the Lees and I had ended our long adventure on Offa’s Dyke Path. Now both of these longtime walking companions were gone, Tosh most recently, last November.
Under sunny skies with magnificent clouds skirting by I climbed from my train shortly after 3:00 and lugged my case from the train to the ferry terminal, where the my in-laws would arrive in some 40 minutes from Dublin. I drank some juice and ate some Oreos and found a good place to sit – so that I could intercept any familiar foot passengers. Laden with three suitcases (they would be travelling for almost three weeks) Naomi and Adrian arrived on time and we had a happy reunion – they had been quite apprehensive about my ability to join them on the current venture and they were most gratified to see me now.
Behind the station there was a taxi rank and we were soon aboard – the difficulty of raising my right knee high enough to occupy the front seat slowing us down only momentarily. The b&b, Yr Hendre, selected for us my the efficient folks at Celtic Trails, seemed to be atop Holyhead’s highest hill and we were soon sweeping up the back streets to its sunny position. Our landlady, Mrs. Lipman, showed us to two very nice rooms, then advised us on how to reach the start of the coastal path and where we might go for an evening meal.
With a long way to go the next day I had suggested to Adrian that we knock off a mile or so today – walking to St. Cybi’s church and then pursuing a section on pavement along the coast, finishing up just beyond our b&b. This we set out to do at abut 5:00, heading downhill into a somewhat shabby town center, where we turned left at a Barclay’s Bank. I tried a second Boots but they too had nothing to offer for my earache – it usually responded to a decongestant and, in fact, it was rarely heard from on this trip anyway. It was intriguing to be in a part of the UK in which Welsh seemed to be the official language (everyone also spoke English) and to see signs in which every effort had been made to translate English words into the local tongue – even when Lift only became Lifft and Taxi Tacsi.
I employed my relatively new Nicon in taking a number of shots of the flowery St. Cybi’s church and then we passed through a parking lot and turned right on Boston Street. Of course I was deploying my walking stick (Naomi and Adrian had their poles) but, curiously, as sore as my knee could be in many positions, walking forward was usually not a problem. The surroundings were far from edifying as we walked along the main coastal highway and down to the Maritime Museum. I was able to take a shot of the harbor, in which the Stena Line ferry that had just delivered my companions was now headed out on its return journey. We continued along the Promenade – crossing purposes with many kids on their way to the ocean – into which they were hurling themselves from a pier.
Just as the traffic could be left behind we found the Boathouse Hotel and, as it was already past 6:00, we decided to have drinks and dinner here before returning to our b&b. I had a double Jack Daniels on the rocks and we enjoyed an excellent meal. I had the cod and chips and made use of the iPad in my pack to take a picture of this repast for my park friend Peter, whose favorite food in all the world this was. Adrian, always seeking local color, had his first Welsh ale. Since he had done all the footwork with Celtic Trails on this venture (and paid for me as well) I now assumed the role of trip paymaster and brought out my credit card for the first time.
There was still plenty of daylight as we climbed our b&b’s hill after our food, though the shadows were lengthening. The start of the walk had gone well and I was well-pleased with my progress and with the company of my Philadelphia relatives. I turned over to Adrian a heavy packet of trip materials, maps and guides, from Celtic Trails but my relief at ridding myself of this burden was short-lived. For I was now presented with the entire contents of Adrian’s childhood stamp collection – a topical sampler still mounted on heavy paper and in a large stockbook – and weighing just as much as the trip materials. No time to examine it in detail for I was very tired and the light had at last faded and, after a shower, it was time to go to bed.
Nights were often difficult for me, that is finding a comfortable position for my head on a wonky shoulder, but I did all right in this department and joined the others for breakfast at 8:00. As usual I was content with juice (pill taking time), cereal and scrambled eggs on toast; Naomi often ordered boiled eggs and the egg-phobic Adrian feasted on bacon and beans. I had done some research into noontime food possibilities, turning up a pub at the halfway mark for every day of our trip – save today. Packed lunches were discussed therefore but Mrs. Lipman said there was a café, unmentioned in the guide, above South Sack and so we left the house at 9:10 or so with only liquids (water and Diet Coke for me) and Naomi’s famous trail mix, chocolate chips and nuts in a plastic Ziploc bag.
I had upgraded the OS map supplied by Celtic Trails, purchasing the larger format Explorer version of Anglesey in east and west editions. It was the western version that I had folded into my map case and here it joined the supplied text, Walking on the Isle of Anglesey Coastal Path by Carl Rogers. I had this text with me but not the book itself – for I found the small print laid over colored illustrations very hard to read indeed and so I had retyped our itinerary in large type and printed this on white paper so that both Adrian and I could have a more useful version.
With out good work the previous afternoon we had only to walk back down the hill (where Naomi paused to see if she had left her sunglasses at the Boathouse Hotel). Then it was down a little lane as we approached the cliff top eminence of the Soldier’s Point Hotel. This castellated edifice had been gutted by fire in 2011; even its exterior was difficult to photograph as the site was walled and padlocked. In addition to my camera I had also slipped the aforementioned iPad into my backpack and we did take a few pictures with it as we followed the curves of the coast in a westerly direction. I had taken the iPad because of assurances that this would be a sunny day but, in fact, it was gray and overcast throughout.
Holyhead Mountain dominates the early stages of the route – which climbs almost to the summit.
Ahead of us we had the daunting vision of Holyhead Mountain and, though I could assure the others that we would not be required to climb all the way to its summit, there was still a lot of altitude to be gained as we climbed the mountains flanks in pursuit of a crossing ridge, one that ended in the seaside white buildings of North Stack on our right. It was, in fact, a lovely scene, with wonderful wildflowers dotting the rocky outcrops – some tiny specimens, some familiar favorites like heather. The route was obvious on the ground and only rarely did the waymarking (which also referred to the Wales Coat Path as well) leave us wondering what to do next.
But it was all very strenuous, with its roller coaster twists and turns, particularly for me and my tender knee. I soon fell far behind the others and even experienced the embarrassment of being overtaken by a dozen geriatric women and their guide. Once I stumbled and fell over, though there was no additional injury and I was able to rise without assistance.
Much of the path was “pitched” – a new word for me but one I soon understood as describing the inlay of hundreds of stones, often in stepped formation, rising steeply up the hillside. In particular the height of some of these projections caused me a great deal of difficulty and Adrian was soon called upon to haul me up at such places and to assist me in jumping down at other times. Very slow progress was being made as we climbed to the face of an old quarry and at last reached the ridge down to the North Stack. Up and down was a little more humane as we turned from a westerly to a southerly direction but our next goal, the lighthouse at South Stack, was hidden by intervening ridges; much climbing was required as we made our way forward. There were, incidentally, lots of other people about, and dogs getting in some good exercise as well.
South Stack Lighthouse.
After we had been walking for over four hours we at last began to obtain views of the lighthouse and, more precious to me, I could see below us the level surface of its tarmac access road. When we at last reached this spot we had to ask for the whereabouts of the famous café and we were gratified to learn that it was just a little way up the hill and around a corner. Some giant goats were grazing in a field opposite the café, where we sat down for a well-deserved rest. I ate a sandwich and drank a Fanta orange.
It was now well past 2:00 and, as we still had some seven miles to go, I had no difficulty in persuading the others that we needed to abandon the coastal path, which seemed to want to take us around a number of headlands, in favor of the road – which would take us much more expeditiously in a southeasterly direction all the way to Trearddur. At last we began to make good time and it was easy for me to follow our progress on my OS map. Our route was mostly downhill, there was not much traffic and we soon got up a corking pace. Shortly before reaching the village (whose center we never penetrated) we joined a promenade that followed the back of the beach to Ravenspoint Road. A right turn brought us soon to Ingledene b&b, where Mr. Murphy was atop his ladder repainting the weather-injured face of his house. Mrs. Murphy showed us to our rooms. It was now well past 5:00.
I handed to our landlady two containers of gel, hoping that she would add these to her freezer so that I could then apply them to knee and ankle after dinner. My great fear was that we would now have a long walk back to the village for our evening meal but it turned out that just up the road was a modern restaurant, the Seacroft, and here we headed after a little rest. We had a very nice meal (the food was uniformly good on this trip) and retuned to our b&b well before dark. For me it was a struggle to stay awake past 9:00, frozen gel melting on my ankle and knee, but at last it was time to turn out the light. I had done surprisingly well on a twelve-mile day but I would need to know how swift a recovery I might expect before knowing if I could repeat this success on the next day.
To continue with this journey you need: