Day 97
Nefyn to Towyn: 9 miles
Lucky Non-Happening of the Day: That I wasn't killed by any golf balls
Reason: As the path went straight across the right hand edge of a golf course overlooking a cliff, there was a serious chance of me getting beaned.
It feels like a million years ago when I was last in Nefyn - it's hard to believe that it was only January. Then, I'd been here to visit the Cwrw Llŷn Brewery so had been less focused on the scenery that I was on the beer. That said, from what I remembered of the town, there had been lots of grey - and because P was driving, I can't say I totally recognized where it even was in relation to the coastline.
Walking in, however, is a different story. While still a little on the grey side (and the town itself is largely only grey), when the clouds parted the sea cliffs I was walking on would look truly stupendous - with mountain views to the north, and curved beaches backed by green to the south.
That said, having been on this coast just a few days, I've already noticed something of a weather pattern here (at least this week anyway) - it seems to start of grey, clear through early to mid-afternoon, and then cloud up again around sunset or overnight. Unfortunately, since I try to be out by 9, this means I seem to have a tendency to be finishing up just when the sun starts coming out.
An Entire National Trust Village
That's what had me worried today, as I made may way toward Porth Dinllaen. This tiny fishing village is something I've been looking forward to seeing ever since I first got my National Trust membership and saw it in their guidebook. Basically it's a tiny fishing village on a small peninsular cove; the peninsula jutting out northwest so the town has northern views back up the coast. Not only is there no vehicle access to the tiny village for non-residents, it's beachfront Inn (the Ty Coch Inn) likes to boast about often being named among the 'World's Best Beach Bars' in various surveys. And you thought those were only in the Caribbean.
Anyway, my worry was that the clouds wouldn't have dispersed by the time I got there, since I wasn't starting all that far away, in Nefyn. And as I quickly learned, the walk from Nefyn, through Morfa Nefyn, to Porth Dinllaen, wasn't particularly arduous, as it was largely a flat cliff top hike. But luckily for me, as I started to be able to make out the village on the horizon, the sun started poking in and out of the clouds. Not the perfect day, but I did get a sense of how beautiful the area is, in particular what can be sparkling blue green water all along the lengthy beach.
Unfortunately, of course, my camera was reverting back to being difficult, so while I managed some good pictures - really my memory has far more examples than I was able to actually take, as occasionally I'd try to pull the camera out and it just wouldn't function at all.
But eventually I made it to the beachfront, where tourists were enjoying the sand and a few were playing bocci (it was probably lawn bowling, but to me it's bocci)). The views north to the coast and the mountains around Nant Gwytheyrn from yesterday were lovely, the sea was blue green, the mountains were blue purple, and the coastline yellow-brown. I grabbed a pint of Cwrw Llŷn Houdini, happy - but not surprised since it's just around the corner - that it was on tap, and pulled up a seat at the picnic tables out front.
Even for not the best day, the beach started to fill up. Considering the fact people had to walk a not-insignificant distance to get here, it says something about the scenery that this many people were there. As more and more people started to order lunch and the staff started to look more harried, I inwardly thanked whoever chose Holyhead over Porth Dinllaen as the main ferry crossing to Ireland. The village had been in contention, and some of the buildings were actually built to house travellers to Ireland. It's hard to imagine how different the village - nevermind the entire Llŷn Peninsula - would have been with a main highway running through it, or with a giant ferry terminal perched off the coast.
The Golf Course is Bad Enough
Thinking about isolation and full of Houdini Ale I wandered out of Porth Dinllaen, around the RNLI station that sits at one point, and then past a coast watch station built on the edge of a golf course. I was struck by how not-terribly-isolated I suddenly felt. This was due largely to the fact that this golf course takes up most of the promontory behind Porth Dinllaen, and it was packed to the gills with golfers. And even more wonderful, the path actually wandered up the coast sides of not just one hole, but like, 7 different holes. Or links. Or whatever.
Whatever you call them, this part of the walk, while stil beautiful, was a bit more harrowing. Though I did have a very pleasant conversation with four golfers who were just about to tee off who asked me whether the steep cliff I was trying to skirt across wasn't a dangerous place to walk (answer 'the cliff seems safer than the golf course'). It was pleasant enough that when I went on and ended up at a curve in the hole they were playing on, I trusted that they weren't activelyaiming for me. While the balls they were hitting landed very close to me, I don't think it was intentional. . .
After stopping, standing, watching several parties tee off, then running along the edge of several different holes, I finally got to a part of the golf course that seemed relatively empty. This quickly let to further coves, small inlets, cliffs and beaches that returned me back to the isolated feeling of Porth Dinllaen - I get the feeling that golf course is the busiest thing happening on this coast.
Seals, and a lovely camping pod
As I kept getting what felt like farther and farther away from civilization, the coast path returned to small ups and downs and right and left turns - almost like back in Pembrokeshire where it felt like you had to walk 15 miles to get 3. But it wasn't that dramatic, really - I still felt like I was getting somewhere, and was willing to stop for 15 minutes to try to take close up photos of the seals I saw lounging not very far away on the rocks below me. (I failed, as my camera no longer wanted to zoom).
The inland views were of charming farmland, and as the clouds broke up completely (a bit late, but close enough), it started to get almost warm. Which was particularly welcome because it has really been unseasonably cold. And I don't mean chilly - but cold. For the tail end of the summer, everyone I've spoken to here has told me that this is very, very abnormal - that yes, it can be terribly weather and rainy - but it isn't normally frigid.
I welcomed the heat while I had it, as when I eventually arrived at the lovely long multi-coved beach of Porth Towyn, I felt like I should be trying to conserve body heat for another evening in my camping pod. After I'd figured out where the bus left from (Tudweiliog), I was quickly escorted back to my car by a bus driver who was spending an awful lot of time chatting with a woman standing basically in the doorway to his left. They seemed to be having a good time though, so I tried my best not to pay attention to whether he was actually watching the road - assuming that people usually make room for busses, so. . .
Shortly thereafter, I as back in my garden camping pod near Anelog. For those of you who may be unaware of what a camping pod actually is, it's basically a tiny little cabin, I think they were modeled after quonset huts. Basically, it's a platform with what is almost a one room A-frame house on it - except the sides of the 'A' are rounded at the top so it's easy to stand up throughout. The one I was staying in was built by a former English furniture builder, who'd retired to what had been a ramshackle farmhouse to run a campsite on the Llŷn, and also rented out the pod in his garden. It's what I think you'd call glamping - which to my understanding is effectively sleeping in someplace with walls and a bed but where you might be able to light a fire and your toilet and sink are in a different place.
To be honest, there actually hadn't been a whole lot available when I'd finally got around to looking for accommodation - there's not a whole lot here in the first place, and it being the end of the summer meant nearly everything was booked. But lucky for me, this turned out wonderfully. The front porch of the pod had views north over basically the whole Llŷn peninsula, the garden it was in was isolated from the main house, the bathroom shed had a beautiful shower mosaic, and everything felt very cozy.
And possibly more importantly, the pod actually had a small heater. Which, as soon as the sun went down tonight, I desperately needed. Although I really hope it warms up soon - the forecasts I've seen indicate I won't be spending many of my evenings in the future outside. . . Fingers crossed.
