Day 82
Moelfre to Amlwch: 12 miles
Ode of the Day: To my shoes
Reason: They really have been putting up a good fight
Despite my decision yesterday that I should really do something about my shoes, unsurprisingly to anyone who knows me, I still have not actually done anything about my shoes. Why is this unsurprising? Well, because I know myself, and I know that to my mind, figuring out where a store was, getting to said store, purchasing said shoes and then breaking in said shoes would require far more effort than simply just hoping they didn't entirely fall apart and walking around with wet feet. Because really, who cares if you have kind of damp feet. Sure it's annoying, but so is getting to a store when you despise shopping.
So, when my shoes first started cracking when I was on Offa's Dyke Path, I'd gotten all kinds of suggestions from people as to what to do, including the rather obvious 'get a new pair of shoes.' I smiled and nodded and said 'good idea' like the thought had never occurred to me, because there's really no way to tell someone who's really just trying to be nice that over the course of a lifetime, you've come to understand yourself to be an extremely stubborn person who will do exceedingly impractical things using glue and duct tape in order to avoid going to a store to buy something that you really don't want to have to buy. And like I said - it's just wet feet.
Anyway, rather early in my walk today - soon after leaving Moelfre, the former fishing village that Charles Dickens spent the Christmas of 1856 in - I realized that the cracks in the shoes I so very much hoped would just be fine had been joined by part of the material that connects the sole to the cloth of the shoe (basically just to the side of my big toe) had disappeared. This left a rather gaping hole in the side of the shoe, through which even more water could seep.
But like I said, just wet feet. I'd checked the weather before leaving and while it was eventually supposed to rain, it seemed like it should hold off until I just about got to Amlwch and the end of my hike (and I was right - but 'just about' means I eventually still got very wet).
One of the Remoter Bits
So anyway, with my shoes relatively well attached. . . or rather somewhat well attached. . . or attached, sort of. . . to my feet, I walked on from Moelfre along an increasingly rocky shoreline. The weather was grey but perfectly pleasant, and I found out all about how this stretch of coast used to suffer many, many, many shipwrecks. So many, in fact, that the Ynys Moelfre, an island just offshore that was known for shipwrecks, was kept supplied with a refuge stocked with food and water for stranded sailors.
One of the most famous was the 19th century foundering of the 2700 ton Royal Charter which had been carrying 7 million pounds (currency, not weight) of gold. Although it was only 30 yards from shore, the weather and the dangerous seas resulted in the loss of 450 lives. The bodies, pieces of the ship and its cargo had largely been cleared away by the time of Charles Dickens' Christmas visit - but he visited the site and eventually recorded what he saw and heard from the local clergy.
I'd say it's hard to imagine that happening now with modern technology - but really even now this area felt fairly remote as I kept walking on. While just yesterday I'd passed a fairly crowded beach, today I saw very few people, and as I kept going, more rocks and higher hills and cliffs. Although I think there might be small villages further inland, really the main signs of life visible from the Wales Coast Path on the northeast corner of Anglesey are the Pilot Boat Inn, with it's food, drink, and rather interesting double decker bus turned children's ball pit bouncy castle and jungle gym; the picturesquely-set Point Lynas lighthouse on the extreme northeastern point; an estate the path skirts; a squirrel forest; and a church. There are a few houses here and there, in particular along one stretch of road, but there's more remote spots than inhabited spots.
Approaching the lighthouse was really lovely. The path had earlier cut inland to pass through the yard of the Pilot Boat Inn (where I'd stopped for a cider) then back out towards the water, then inland to miss the estate, and then had skirted the edges of fields that dropped right off into the waves. After a short while, it started to climb hills, and eventually the lighthouse popped into view. Wonderfully, the sun decided during this 20 minute span to peek through the clouds, giving really lovely views of the lighthouse on it's promontory standing over the bright blue sea.
The path doesn't go all the way out to the lighthouse, but quickly cuts across the promontory towards a really lovely bay, with each corner I passed giving a different beautiful view toward the lighthouse. After I'd past around a corner, the path dropped down into a valley where I discovered a sign on a small rock outcrop with water flowing down it. The sign said, of course, that this was a Holy Well. After I'd finished the walk, I looked this up and found some reference to Ffynnon Eilian. . . But rather than a holy well it's described as a cursing well - one that used to be full of corks that were full of pins. Because apparently so long as the cork stayed in the water, the person cursed would suffer. Holy/evil/magical all sides of the same coin I guess.
Anyhow, after the well, two things happened - first, the path began to undulate a lot more, and second, it started to rain. Not much, but enough to, you know, get me wet. But one of the grand benefits of this was that there was a rainbow. A tiny little rainbow in a tiny little cove with views toward the lighthouse. And I'm fairly certain I'm the only person that saw it - great kind of rainbow really.
But the hillier bits started to get a bit more arduous (probably explains why a bit south of here is where the late 14th century prince named Caswallon had his court - it certainly seems like a good place for a court as it's not exactly easy to get to), and the rain also started to fall a bit harder, so I tried to speed up. By the time I got to Amlwch it had really started to pour.
The good thing about having holes in your shoes is that when your feet end up getting soaked because of the rain, normally the rest of you is just as wet so really, what's there to complain about?
