Neither so difficult nor so easy

Day 17: Church Bay to Cemaes Bay

B&B Castellón

When yesterday’s taxi dropped Kate off at our B&B, she texted me a photo of the view from our window and wrote: «I live here now.» And it wasn’t just the location. The host thought of everything.

We’ve had one or two stays where trying to stay positive only led me to say, «Well, it’s better than my tent on a windy night.» Without a doubt, this has been our best stay and host.

Our host had also walked all the nearby sections of the coastal path. He told us that today’s hike started with some difficult climbs and descents, but then leveled off during the second half. Tomorrow’s walk, he warned us, will be very difficult. He thought it was the most rugged walk on Anglesey.

But yesterday I had (re)learned not to trust other people’s opinions too much, right? We’ll see.

Back to Church Bay

Our host was right about leaving Church Bay. It was steep, but the views from the headlands were spectacular. Totally worth the effort. And the rest of the climbs and descents were no worse (better?) than what we had done on the Pembrokeshire and South West Coast Paths.

We spent a beautiful morning enjoying the green grass, blue sky, sunshine and cool sea breeze. Sea wind. Sea gale. 25 mph with gusts over 35, according to my weather report.

Also, here’s a photo of Church Bay’s namesake, not the one from yesterday’s island that wasn’t even a church.

Now let’s look at some photos. Every time I post my coastal photos, I think of something my hiking buddy Brian, aka «Buff,» said after joining me on our AT hike through the Great Smokies.

I called him to a lookout to enjoy the view of the mountainside from a small gap in the trees. But he just looked at me and said, «Why? I think I’ve seen the same sight a dozen times in the last two days.»

I knew exactly what he meant. And after six months on the AT, views of tree-covered mountains glimpsed from the gaps between more trees began to become somewhat routine for me, too. But I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the sea views from the rocky cliffs. Many of the elements are the same: ocean, sky, grass, cliffs and beaches. But the colors and combinations are new every day: tone, shape, movement, composition.

But for me, the ocean is enough, its shades of blue and green, its nearshore waves, its tidal currents and the different patterns of it all. And we can watch it change and reinvent itself all day long.

Amazing.

The Canterburys

On one of the sections of the promontory we saw a couple with backpacks and trekking poles in front of them. I think they were only the second people we saw with trekking poles. And, based on its pace and ride, probably in our demographic. By the way, the OLF seems to have disappeared. Either he beat us to it or he was passing by on the weekends and I didn’t understand what he meant by «touring the entire island.» He probably meant that he was doing it in sections.

Finally, we caught up with the trekking pole pair at a kissing gate, where we noticed they celebrated the passage in the same way we did. Maybe that’s one thing. I thought we made it up. Maybe we just perfected it.

Kate did her friendly act (I can only watch in confusion at how it works) and soon we were sharing stories. On this trip they go from Holyhead to Beaumaris, generally following the same itinerary as ours on that section, although I never saw them yesterday. She is English. He is Dutch. They like long walks and recently walked the Via Fracigena, a traditional 2,000km pilgrimage route from Canterbury to Rome. I’ve never heard of that one, but it sounds interesting. Hmm…

When they said they lived in Canterbury, just outside London, Kate joked: «Then you must know the Canterbury Tales and its Middle English prologue.» Kate has an extraordinary memory for poems, hymns, and literary trivia, and she likes to recite such things to me whenever they come up in conversation. To our surprise, the woman said, “Yes, I do.” And the two recited in unison:

When that April with its sooty shoures
The dryness of the march has reached the root,
And I bathed each veyne in swich liquor

There was more, but you get the point. Kindred spirits.

We said goodbye and did the tortoise and the hare thing for the rest of the day. We’ll probably see Victoria and Eduard from time to time for the rest of the week. But we’ll call them «the Canterburys» after the couples «the Oxfords» and «the Idahos» we met on our walk along the South West Coast Path. Easier to remember.

Same old same old, same old same old

After that, it was back to the same stunning scenery as always, beautiful weather and a headwind.

We’ve been trying to take more breaks to keep our pace. We took the first one on a rocky beach in a niche where the trail descended before climbing back up. I took pictures of a cool arch, wishing I had more than an iPhone. Kate collected shells, all within reach of her resting place, and decorated her legs with the best ones.

One thing my iPhone camera can’t adequately capture are the tidal currents around the island. In several places we saw kayakers trying to surf the tidal rapids. The movement is incredible. Even without the restrictions of islands and reefs, the current is fast enough to form rapids and breaking waves in open water. Amazing.

Lunch at Tsunami Bay

Our next break was for lunch, which we started on a corner of the stony beach that was out of the relentless wind. About halfway through my sandwich, I remarked that it looked like the sea was piled up around a small island about a quarter mile offshore. It looked like it was at least several meters higher than our position at the top of the beach. Then, as we watched, it seemed to increase even more.

Was it a big wave? Also? The incoming tide? An optical illusion? Everything we were sitting on was well below the niche’s high tide marks. I had just blogged about the “little red man” tsunami warnings we had seen in Newborough Forest, which got me thinking about tsunamis. Which made the apparent rising sea levels around the island start to look ominous.

We moved to high ground. Hastily. And then we watched our bedroom from above as the tide slowly rose and the tsunami remained in the sea. And yes, I know it wasn’t actually a tsunami and what the real signs of one are.

Chasing the tide

However, the tide was definitely rising. Which matters little from the headlands, but we had two alternative high and low tide routes ahead of us. Low tide routes are generally shorter and easier (unless submerged by the tide, in which case the Coast Guard helicopter is needed). High tide alternatives tend to be longer, more winding and less traveled. We wanted the low tide routes, so we picked up the pace and got the first one.

We reached the second low-water crossing with about an hour to spare, although a large group of birders coming off the route warned us that we needed to hurry. The tide was still rising over the rocky “pebbles” as we began the half-mile walk across the natural breakwater of loose pebbles. Those loose cobblestones made walking laborious. The rocks were flat, but they shifted and slid underfoot, which was hard on ankles, especially Kate’s recently sprained one. We both needed a break when we crossed.

Civilization

After passing through Rhyl two weeks ago, the Coast Path has been quite remote and pristine. Today, a decommissioned nuclear plant dominated the view for much of the afternoon, forcing me to look for closer views. Kate is always looking at the snails, lambs and flowers, so I tried to follow her example.

It also meant that we would have a long walk inland around the perimeter of the facility. The bypass track had its nice moments as it passed through some thick forests, but the spectrum of radiation and the three-eyed fish from The Simpsons dampened our enjoyment. At one point we passed under the huge pylons, which fortunately did not creak or crackle due to the shutdown of the power plant.

I took a selfie of the tower and noticed my hair was messy. The relentless wind has been giving me the Doc Brown look since back to the future.

The “easy” miles

The ominous presence of the nuclear plant made the last kilometers move slowly. At that point, we were already on the “easy” part of the hike. Our legs begged to differ. They were barking more than the hard part this morning.

We took another bench break where I checked the remaining mileage. We still had three miles to go. I did the math using the guidebook mileage and it indicated that we had been walking at less than 2 mph. That didn’t seem possible. Nobody had overtaken us. We had passed other walkers and hadn’t seen the Canterburys for at least an hour.

We had done many other 11 mile days and none of them had lasted this long. When we finished, Kate checked her step counter. He reported that he had walked 13.5 miles. Ms Canterbury’s Facebook post listed 14 miles. Our B&B host also thought 14 was the right distance. I’m reporting the guide mileage on my blog’s mileage counter, but I’m skeptical. I generally trust my feet.

Concluding

Our lunch on the trail was a bit light, by hiker standards, so we stopped for lupper at a sandwich shop in Cemaes Bay. We also bought extra sandwiches for tomorrow’s “hard” hike so we would be better fed. We knew we wouldn’t want to go back to town for dinner, so we went to a grocery store and bought granola for dinner, paying 60p for a plastic bag to carry it.

We then spent a quiet afternoon watching the clouds roll in and fight the sunset over the bay.