Day 88
South Stack to Rhoscolyn: 10 miles
Favorite Thing of the Day: Seeing my legs in the mirror in shorts
Reason: Just wow.
After yesterday's fog debacle I was happy to find that when I arrived at South Stack, I could actually see, well, South Stack. In fact what struck me the most was how close the lighthouse actually was to where I'd gotten completely lost - proving that really it wasn't my fault, that was some incredible fog. Although a compass probably wouldn't have hurt.
Even better than seeing South Stack and it's attendant wildlife (this is an RSPB Nature Reserve as well so there are always a lot of circling birds and birdwatchers), is the fact that today was supposed to be warm. Not sunny, but warm. Like, warm that I'd consider reasonably pleasant at home, which, after having spent part of my time on Anglesey sleeping in a tent at an Eisteddfod that was uniquely cold for August I was really looking forward to. And so I actually (hold your breath in expectation here) wore shorts.
Although I've seen people wearing shorts in every outfit imaginable throughout my walk (shorts and wellingtons in the rain, shorts and a sweater and knit hat in the cold, etc), I've only worn them a few times, and that was so long ago (possibly Pembrokeshire?) that I'm not even sure it ever happened or whether I was halleucinating. And the best part about wearing shorts was that absolutely everybody else also became very aware of exactly how often I wore shorts - as my go to bottoms for at least two months (yes, every day) have been a pair of mid-calf spandex, well, I have some tan lines. And as someone who goes from very, very white to very, very dark, they're quite striking.
And people stared. Quite a bit actually - I was pretty impressed with myself and my Frankenlegs. I even at one point heard a small child behind me ask his father why that lady is two different colors, and his father tried to shoosh him and told him in whispers that those were tan lines from wearing different clothes. I felt like a walking teachable moment.
Vacationland
My sexy legs aside, anyone from New England will immediately recognize the today's blog title 'Vacationland' - from being the slogan/welcome sign/license plate motto of one of my favorite vacation spots in the world - the State of Maine. Well, on today's walk I couldn't shake the sensation that that's where I was.
Although I didn't have any lobster, the cars were still driving on the left hand side of the road, and Maine doesn't have a whole ton of ancient standing stones, today's walk was full of things I associate with the Maine of my youth. There was a lighthouse, coves full of tiny rowboats, rocky headlands, and families of sunbathers ignoring the fact that there isn't a ton of sun and using their time at the seaside clambering over rocks, trying to catch shellfish in the chilly water and in rockpools, and building sandcastles (when the tide allows).
But in addition, there were also a number of coasteerers (not sure if that's a word), which Maine probably also has at this point but certainly didn't when I was a child. After I'd left South Stack behind me, I was walking along mid-size cliffs and through fields until I reach an area of smaller cliffs and coves, starting at Penrhyn Mawr. And most of the cliffs had people rock climbing, most of the coves had kayakers, and most of the combined cliffs and coves had people coasteering. Ff you don't remember what this is from when I was in the Blue Lagoon in Abereiddi (was that really only 15 days in? Oh my goodness) it's basically free climbing the coastline from below and diving back in from a height. All in all, there was a lot of activities for me to watch while my black and white cookie legs propelled me back and forth along the various promontories.
When I got to Treaddur Bay itself, I felt the Maine vibe more than anyplace else. First, there were lots of people - not as many as a southern Maine beach in the summer, simply as a function of the size of the beach, but lots of people. Second, there were bits of low, water-smoothed rock in the water that kids were collecting barnacles off of. Third, everyone had ice cream (although here people will come to the beach and eat ice cream in the rain, it seems so ingrained in the beach-going culture) and little beach picnics. I wandered slowly past, somehow feeling nostalgia for a place I'd never been.
I moved past the larger beach, and was met by a series of very small coves that were clearly where everyone moored their boats. With views back to Holyhead mountain in the distance and swathes of candy-colored boats bobbing up and down, it was quite the picturesque scene.
But shortly after the path left the village and beaches behind, and climbed toward the southern coast of Holyhead island. The views here, with the hills of north Wales in the background, were really lovely, as were the small coves with the natural rock arches, spires, and crumbling edges.
The walk down to Borthwen beach from Treaddur Bay took far less time than I'd thought it would, and so when I met P in front of an old manor-house looking building with an unexplained cromlech in front of it, we decided to go for a late lunch at a nearby pub (as I realized I hadn't actually stopped for lunch). The pub itself was nice - but reminded me more of a Nantucket yacht scene than anything else. Everyone was very blond, and my multihued legs seemed particularly out of place.
Although I admittedly spent most of our time there worry about a tiny little bird that couldn't figure out how to get out of the low glass-railinged porch we were on. Because birds can't see glass, he kept smashing into it trying to fly away from various tables, and I thought he was probably giving himself a concussion and was likely going to kill himself. After a bit of a stare down, I decided to get up and try to shoo him in the right direction regardless of the other people around probably wondering what I was doing. As soon as I stood up he hopped toward the middle of the porch - now all he had to do was fly up over people and he'd be fine, I didn't even have to do anything! And so of course he proceeded to fly through the door into the restaurant itself. P started laughing and I dropped my forehead onto the table in defeat.
Though afterwards P went in to the restaurant itself and no one seemed to be making a fuss about a bird flying around, thereby trying to convince me it had flown straight out the back door, I'm convinced that there's a terrified little bird building a nest somewhere under one of the many nautical themed knick knacks in there. Sigh.
