Anglesey’s Most Rugged Walk: The Trek

Day 18 Cemaes Bay to Porth Eilian

Remember rule number 8?

Everyone warned us about today’s climb. It would be difficult. Their climbs would be bumpy. The cliff path would be treacherous. The descents would be terrifying. Thousands would arrive slowly. We should prepare for the worst.

Our B&B host said so and told us that her older friend had a horrible day that got the better of her. Kate laughingly wondered if the “older friend” story was meant specifically for her. The guide used the word “robust” at least four times and many other synonyms. Other hikers we met were talking about it. Those who were going in our direction were worried about it. Those of us who found ourselves coming in the opposite direction warned us of what was coming.

All the sadness and pessimism got into Kate’s head a little. Last night before going to bed he started to wonder if he should sit down, especially since his feet were hurting after our long, “easy” walk yesterday afternoon.

But she woke up ready to go. She wanted this one. I had done big climbs and big miles in Pembrokeshire, the South West Coast and the Camino. I was determined to get through this too.

And…we had a great hike.

There were some steep ups and downs, but nothing terrible. And nothing we hadn’t seen before. Much less steep and rocky than hiking South Mountain at home. And here, if we fell, we would land on soft, comfortable grass (or livestock byproducts) instead of cacti, sharp rocks, and rattlesnakes.

Walking through the hills

I actually enjoyed the climbs. It turns out that I like climbing grassy hills, even the ones that don’t have curves. Here, there are small foot-sized holes worn into the grass. You just walk into each one and soon you’ll be at the top looking down. At the top of each descent into a creek valley, we could see the indentations of feet tracing their way down the hill and back to the other side, like a small dashed line tracing our path.

As always, the trail provided us with great views, plenty of kissing opportunities, and plenty of lambs. Honestly, adult sheep look cool from a distance, but they’re a little gross up close. Most have not yet been sheared and have dirt, dreadlocks and huge winter berries hanging beneath their tails. I raised Hampshires (white sheep with black faces and shins) as a child, and mine were much cuter. My lambs were just as cute. And quite tasty.

Today the wind slowed to just 15 mph, which meant we could talk without shouting. And we took many breaks again, each one from a panoramic viewpoint. A pleasant walk, in short. It certainly wasn’t the death march we had been promised. There’s Rule #8 again.

And I saw a lizard. Or skink. Or something else, but for the first time in the UK.

Some interesting stops

Leaving Cemeas Bay we immediately passed St Patrick’s Llanbadrig Church, a church from around 1380 AD open to visitors. The Canterburys were leaving when we arrived, so we had the place to ourselves.

Cozy and narrow, with small wooden pews, stained glass windows and a raised pulpit, it was both simple and elegant. Honorable. They don’t make churches like that anymore.

The acoustics were fantastic. Kate recited a Bible passage from memory from the pulpit, in honor of her father and her father. I sang Doxology for granddaughter number 1 from the choir. As usual, the graveyard outside was full of Davies, Williams and Jones, all common Welsh names that sound a lot less Welsh than any town name we’ve seen.

We passed through Canterbury taking a break at the ruins of Porth Llanlian, a clay mining factory and port. Located at the foot of a narrow valley, only the stone walls of the factory and its outbuildings remained. But with a little imagination, I could easily see the grassy remains of excavations, haul roads, and processing areas.

Neighbors, seen and unseen

We skipped back to the Canterburys for most of the morning, but they stopped for the night at Almwch, 2.5 miles from our destination. We had intended to stop there for a snack, but the Coast Path ran along the main street and we had passed all the shops before I knew it. And I never go back except in the most extreme emergencies. The only thing we saw of Almwch was its port and some peripheral houses.

We’re also seeing more trekking poles, probably due to the steeper terrain. Apparently, we’re not seeing all the other hikers. Yesterday the owner of the sandwich shop told us that they had had couples of hikers walking the entire Anglesey circuit every day that week. They had even had some «Canadians.»

Are you Canadian?

Every time we stop and chat with other hikers, they hear our accent and ask if we’re Canadian. Today, Kate finally asked why they don’t guess that we are Americans.

Apparently, we’re told, Canadians feel insulted if they’re called Americans, but Americans just laugh and correct the mistake. Americans are unpopular with many locals, as well as Canadians. It turns out that we are loud, authoritarian and insensitive.

The fact that Kate and I are always mistaken for our supposedly calmer, tamer, more sensitive neighbors to the north doesn’t make any of the locals question their original assumptions about our people. Cognitive dissonance at its finest. Never let evidence change your firmly held beliefs.

Chat with a hiking guide

After discovering that we are not, in fact, Canadian, which is a headache for many people we know, the next topic of conversation is our president. Which usually means our new sensitive, non-authoritarian friends can lecture us about American politics. Which, admittedly, is a bit messy.

This morning we met a group of hikers. Kate stopped to chat with one of her dogs, which the owner took advantage of to go over the usual tirade between Canada, the United States and Trump.

Imagine our good fortune to stumble upon a part-time twenty-something hiking guide with experience in the nuances of American politics. We had come so far to hear your valuable ideas. And we learned so many things that until now had escaped our news sources.

We just smile and mostly nod, suppressing every sarcastic response that comes to mind, just like all the other rude, insensitive Americans must do.

This time I managed to steer the conversation towards backpacking along the Welsh coast as we hadn’t seen any backpackers for the last 18 days. On this topic, the hiking guide contributed some valuable ideas, as did some members of his team. But I think I’ll save that story for another post.

Almwch Harbor and Porth Eilian

We passed Almwch in mid-afternoon, but all we saw were the ruins of the Copper King shipping centre, a strange tower we had been speculating about for over an hour, and the tidal harbor with all its ships floating on the dock. Our destination was Porth Eilian, a place name without much place.

Porth Eilian must have been some kind of port in the past. But today, it only had a few houses, a rocky beach, and a narrow paved lane that led to a turnoff where our taxi was supposed to pick us up.

And some dedicated local old lady who comes there every day of the year to swim in cold ocean waters. As we waited for our taxi, we watched the women arrive, put on their wetsuits and buoys, enter and disappear from view. From our line of sight. They did not drown at that time.

We also got to see one of the lady Vizslas (dog breed) swim for the first time in the ocean, spot some mallards and swim after them all around the bay until the ducks finally gave up and flew away. The dog came in trembling until his other owner arrived with a towel and a warm car.

Just then our taxi arrived and took us back to spend our last night at our lovely B&B in Cemaes Bay.

Anglesey’s most rugged walk turned out to be a lovely walk.