Day 81
Glan yr Afon to Moelfre: 10 miles
Thankful Event of the Day: That I didn't lose my iPod
Reason: I'd just misplaced it. And the reason I'm thankful is that I do listen to music all the time, and this iPod is from about 2007, contains all kinds of tracks that I literally have no idea where they came from (I haven't used it in about 8 years) and I'm fairly certain they don't even sell these anymore because why would they when everyone has a phone? Sigh.
A local infestation of witches
So the first part of my walk was relatively uneventful (although to be fair, so was the second half but there's a tiny bit more history I'm aware of in the second half). Starting off from Glan-yr-Afon began with a short climb, some inland-ish meanderings through fields with sea views, and eventually a hike down a hillside to the eastern end of Red Wharf Bay.
From above the size of the bay looks deceptively normal - but once I got down to it and started walking I realized exactly how immense it was. The tide was out, and the first portion looks like a fairly even sized beach - I thought for a moment about just walking along it all the way across to Red Wharf Bay the town on the western edge, rather than following the path along a sea wall that's just past the high tide mark of the bay. But after a moment I thought better of it - mostly because I wasn't entirely sure if there were still small bits of water I wouldn't be able to cross even at low tide - the Bay was so immense it was impossible to see that far.
So I did what I was supposed to and followed the path first along a street, then along a sea wall through sea grass, and finally along the edge of an even deeper cut out of the bay that was filled with mud flats. Eventually (and it seemed like a lot longer than it should have taken) I got to Red Wharf Bay the village, and immediately stopped at the Ship Inn, because it seemed like what everyone else was doing.
Apparently Red Wharf Bay used to be famous for being the landing place for the rudderless, oarless boats of the witches who used to plague Anglesey. They cursed the place with what seems like a very walker-specific curse: 'May he wander for ages many/And at every step a stile/And at every stile a fall/And at every fall a broken bone/Not the largest or the least bone/But the chief neck-bone every time'. Despite this, Red Wharf Bay does not appear to be the neck injury capital of the world any longer, given the number of people at the very pleasantly placed ancient Ship Inn, and how few of them (i..e none) looked like they'd recently broken their collar bone.
The ancient Inn itself had not just one, but several areas for garden seating out front, and still nearly all the tables were full. Inside it was a bit of a scrum to order my chips and a pint from the bar, but mostly because many of the other patrons seemed to be the slightest bit hard of hearing and there were so many people inside there was a lot of 'Sorry what?!?' being yelled back and forth across the bar.
Even with the peak-of-summer crowd it still seemed cozy enough, and outside the weather had cleared up and so I sat and waited for my meal with my shoes off. Because, unfortunately now not only were my shoes no longer waterproof, they actively seemed to be sucking up water. Because there were splits along the bottom of each shoe, it seemed like every step I might take along a semi wet mudflat was in fact soaking water up into my socks. And not just water, apparently, as my socks were a surprising brownish color for never having left my shoes.
And then, it got noisy
So eventually, slightly less hungry and with only slightly drier feet, I headed up and off again, north from Red Wharf Bay toward Benllech. Now, I'd seen there were more people around than I'd been seeing recently at Red Wharf Bay, and I'd certainly been passing more people on the trail. But after the trail passed a bit inland through some trees covering the headland between Red Wharf Bay and Benllech, I suddenly realized the extent of how many people there actually were here.
That's because very suddenly, I noticed it was very, very noisy. Besides being around highways, most of the trails that I've been on haven't been hugely noisy - in fact it's been a pretty peaceful walk all around. So suddenly and unexpectedly hearing a few hundred people talking all at once is pretty surprising.
When I finally got closer to the beach, I could see why it seemed so noisy. Not only was this beach crammed with people and their various seaside wind-blocking devices, this was an eastward facing beach and thus there were almost no waves. So there was no constant sound of the sea to overpower the sounds of the people. To be fair, this still wasn't nearly the scope of an Ocean City Maryland, or a Cape Cod, or an Outer Banks beach - I really don't think that amount of sardine like sunseeking is possible in a place that doesn't always have the best weather, has relatively minimal accommodation, and roads small enough to deter people from spending all day trying to get there - but it certainly seemed like enough people at the time.
And to be fair, I could see why - the weather was perfectly pleasant, as I mentioned there were only minimal waves, the water was blue, the scenery was picturesque, and at the right angle your seaside views would include the mountains of North Wales. Not much here not to like. And even more than that, there still wasn't the type of funfair flashing lights attractions here that you find in other beachside resorts here. This was still a fairly remote feeling area, even with this amount of people.
Even so, it was all a little overwhelming for me and I scuttled past as fast as I could, now flanked with people before and after me on the trail of course. As soon as the trail turned a corner high up on some cliffs beyond the beach, however, the noise completely stopped, like it had never happened, and again (besides the people in front and behind) it felt entirely secluded again.
The small remaining part of my walk felt the same - small coves like Traeth Bychan with only a few families, caravan parks and campsites, but not packed to the gills, and eventually the small and rather adorable village of Moelfre, again with wonderful south-eastern facing views. And to top it all off, by this time the sun had fully come out - making everything truly sparkle in greens and blues.
So really, the only downside to the day were my perpetually squishy feet, which I made a mental note to try to do something about in the near future.
