Day 100
Aberdaron to Hells Mouth: 10 miles
Favorite part of the day: Porth-y-Swynt
Reason: It's not every day that I'm moved almost to tears by a poem painted on the bottom of a boot.
100 Days?
So. 100 days. Three months and some change ago, I left Aberdyfi, and I haven't been home since. I'm not going to lie - it's kind of hard to wrap my head around right now. Especially since I'm literally just on the edge of places I've been to before in North Wales, it's starting to feel like, well, home.
But then, there are other times when it feels distinctly like I'm not home. A good example would be that I'm currently staying in a Celtic roundhouse run by a sustainable eco-charity. If you're wondering what a Celtic roundhouse is, or what a sustainable eco-charity is - yes, these are good questions. The former at least, I can answer.
A celtic roundhouse is a traditional home that was used in this area by ancient people. It basically has a round base that's covered in plaster, on top of which long beams are leaned to a central point, with smaller wooden branches circling around to form a base for a thick dried grass roof. Inside a long continuous circular bench is used for sleeping and sitting. It actually reminds me a bit of the types of buildings you'd see in Bali or Tahiti. Although my addition of a super warm Cleveland Browns blanket probably made this roundhouse unique in human history.
Anyway, it's an interesting space, with only one window, a little dark, and considering the temperature outside had recently plummeted, a little cold. But it's being at a place called Felin Uchaf, which I understand to be some sort of eco-cultural training program and heritage center, made it particularly interesting. Unfortunately it's been raining so much when I've had a chance to be in the Celtic roundhouse that I haven't actually had a chance to look around - but apparently they do story-telling during the summer nights in another roundhouse, they grow their own gardens, train kids in traditional crafts and carpentry, and generally have all kinds of good for the earth and community type of mission statements.
While the accommodation doesn't boast a shower and has a compost toilet, it does have a very nice kettle, hot water carafe and hot water bottles - so along with the views from the front porch it's a nice place to be. Even if after 100 days I've grown a little weary - I certainly haven't been any place like this before.
But back to Aberdaron
After a foggy walk yesterday, I was happy that it cleared up at least for a while when I started in Aberdaron. This village both looks and feels remote - you come into it down a steep hill, and then the road basically just stops. You can go left over a bridge or right up a hill, but you get the sense that this is the end of the line. As I learned a few days ago on the hiking bus, they even have an 'End of the World' festival here in the summer, as it's effectively the end of Wales.
In addition to being a picturesque sea side dot of a village with a thatch-roofed bakery and a tea room that used to be a medieval resting place for pilgrims while they waited to head to Bardsey, Aberdaron boasts a really wonderful National Trust exhibition called Porth-y-Swynt. I'd read about it in my guidebooks, and one of them had said that while the exhibitions might be spartan, if you listened to the audio guide the whole experience could be described as almost spiritual.
Now, I thought that description was a little ridiculous. Then I found myself 20 minutes later almost in tears as I looked at a boot with a poem written on it. I was thinking to myself 'oh my god, why are you almost in tears, this is freaking ridiculous', and yet there I was. The whole thing was only a few rooms, and was very interactive. The first was dark with wooden sculptures, and as you listened to the audio guide it went through interviews with local artists, fisherman, and others who made up the cultural history of the Llyn peninsula, highlighted by poems. Then the next room had a small hut, several cases of typical farmhouse items marked with poetry, and a few other things. The next room had the actual light from the former nearby lighthouse, and interactive sound, sight and touch games, including one that showed how to manipulate all the Bardsey Island currents. And finally there was a make your own poetry room.
They also give you a booklet with all the poems the exhibition highlights, because it's kind of hard to keep track when you're inside. And like I said, I have absolutely no idea what was so moving about it - but I can't pretend it wasn't moving. It was really a wonderful place. As verification of this fact, I sent P there a few days later without telling him anything and he came out shocked and couldn't stop saying how amazing it was. What a surprising tiny little place.
But there was a hike too
OK, so in addition to celtic roundhouses and National Trust sites there was also a walk. Walking from Aberdaron to Plas-yn-Rhiw (another National Trust site, this time a 16th century estate with spectacular gardens and a tea room) the weather was lovely, and so were the views. Wild horses dotted the hillsides, the sun glinted off the islands off the coast of Aberdaron to the west and the surprisingly long sands of Hell's Mouth to the east.
The walk around headlands, coves, a small waterfall, etc, was exceptionally quiet and lovely. Unfortunately when I arrived at Plas-yn-Rhiw, another low fog started to settle in. Now, the path actually cuts inland around Hell's Mouth, I assume because although it's actually a giant, mostly level beach that's perfectly walkable, it's also backed by cliffs and I assume at high tide it's absolutely impassible. And you could potentially get caught there with no way off on a rising tide.
Well, what with the downpours of the last few days, the inland route was actually largely flooded. P and I had driven on the road yesterday to get dinner, and vast swathes of the roads were covered in nearly half a foot of water. So, since walking the path here would be more like swimming the path, I decided to wait for the right tide and walk along the beach.
At times this actually felt a little terrifying. The cliffs that backed the beach were extremely unstable sand or clay, precariously towering dozens of feet. Because of the rain there were often small rivulets gouging out chunks of earth. In one case there was a giant column of earth that had broken off the main cliff and looked like it was about to come crashing down at any moment. Then of course there were also the rather strongly coursing run-off fueled streams I had to cross - one of these was at least twenty feet wide and when I tried to build a rock causeway for myself the current kept flinging all my stones toward the sea. They weren't small stones either.
And finally, there was the worry that the tide could turn and I could get stuck on this extremely long beach with no place to go. I tried to hurry up and also planned a course for myself where I would just jump onto one of the more evenly sloped clay cliffs and hope I didn't get stuck in it like quicksand, or cause a mudslide.
With all this in mind - I made it around (what I believe to be now appropriately called) Hell's Mouth in possibly record time, considering I was basically running. And at the southern end, despite it now being an overcast and grey day, there were all sorts of surfers and kite surfers in the water. So while the landscape views weren't as spectacular as they should have been (due to my not being able to see them), there was still plenty to look at.
