Day 32: Abersoch to Pwllheli
Walking together again
Kate walked today. It was resolution, not healing. She wants to walk. But I think he’s catching a cold and I’m finally getting over it. I thought it could be saved since it didn’t take the one I brought from home in April.
Yesterday I missed my hiking partner. Kate’s friends often ask her, intoning with great sympathy: «Do you spend all day with your husband? What do you talk about? Jon is very quiet.» It is not surprising that I am not asked the same question.
All. That’s the answer. We have time to talk about everything. And anything. Have you ever felt like your best conversations are always interrupted? For work, by phone, for an appointment or for lack of time?
Not when you’re walking all day. In fact, we sometimes return to the same topics a day or two later, after we’ve had time to think a little. It’s a luxury.
Besides, I only stay silent when I have nothing to say.
Another walk along the headland and the beach
Today’s walk consisted of two walks along the beach separated by another climb to the promontory, but with more beach and less elevation than yesterday.
We said goodbye to Abersoch and our golf buddies in the breakfast room, who were disappointed that we couldn’t get to any of their recommended pubs. Then we cross the Afon Soch on an old stone bridge over the port and through a flowery forest until we reach a long sandy beach.
The tide was coming in, but we had enough hard sand to walk easily. We had walked about a mile, deep in conversation, when I noticed a trail leading inland and realized I hadn’t seen any trail markers recently. The trail app indicated that we should be further inland, not on the beach, so we turned left and headed towards what turned out to be a huge caravan park.
Lost in caravan land
The sand on the beach had become increasingly loose and deeper, so we were happy to swap it for asphalt. After following what appeared to be the main road for a while, we came to a three-way fork with no trail signs.
I checked the app again. We were now too inland but too stubborn to turn around. So, we found a circuitous route to the other side of the park, more or less where we needed to be. As we walked through the maze, we were able to see everything that caravan parks have to offer.
Do we like caravan parks?
I wasn’t too happy with the confusing road layout of this particular caravan park, but the houses were well maintained and landscaped. But the contrast between the modern caravan parks, almost identical and close together, and the 400-year-old farms and pastoral meadows that surround them is stark. For me, caravan parks don’t mix, like an accountant in a ballet. They may be practical, but from my perspective of the trail, they stand out and detract.
I would have guessed that the locals and Welsh protectionists hated caravans. But we didn’t meet anyone who thought that. In fact, they seemed to appreciate them and the income they bring to rural Wales. They told us that people love them and that it is the only way some people can afford access to the area.
What they don’t like are mobile caravans (RVs). Especially those who park and camp illegally on beaches and drive on single lane roads. Imagine, RVs seem less intrusive to me.
The quintessential view of Wales
After making the steep but short climb from the beachside caravan park to the headland plateau, Kate grabbed my arm, asked for her phone (her trousers don’t have pockets so I usually carry it) and said: “It’s the quintessential view of the Welsh coast!”
A long coastline with cliffs and beaches, green hills dotted with sheep, scattered old stone farms, wildflowers, blue skies and puffy white clouds. If you’ve been following our blog, you’ll have seen that photo more than once. Us too, but let’s never get tired of it.
But there is always something new too. Today, we added a lone diver in a thick black wetsuit who, despite early reports to the contrary, was not a seal, shark, otter or turtle.
Also, the Tin Man, a large metal sculpture that dominates the descent of the trail back to the beach.
An artistic lunch
We didn’t get anything from the Tin Man that we didn’t already have, but he did point us down the hill towards the village of Llanbedrog. Walking past the Plas Glyn Y Weddw gallery, I noticed a sign for a cafe. Art gallery cafes usually have delicious food and it was still early enough for tea so we stopped.
The art was displayed in an old stone mansion. The café was in an attached ovoid, metal extension that reminded me of George Jetson’s space house. My first impression was: «That’s great!» So I thought: «Does the contrast between old and new work? Is the design the equivalent of caravan parks on the bucolic Welsh coast? Either way, the food was delicious and our neighbors at the picnic table in the garden were friendly.»
Chasing the tide
Our next beach was just a short walk downhill from lunch. Llanbedrog’s multi-coloured beach huts are as much a local attraction as its Tin Man and art gallery. Elegant, bright cottages stand sentinel at one end of a six-mile beach that stretches to Pwllheli, where faded multi-coloured beachfront terraced houses guard the other end. Yet another contrast between old and new.
The tide went out as we walked along the beach, giving way enough to allow us to run on the wet sand between the waves on a rocky protuberance that separated two long sections of beach. The freshly washed surf zone had more than enough shiny pebbles, shells, and empty crab shells to keep Kate’s phone in her hand most of the way. So many little treasures were left behind that would have been collected if it weren’t for the restrictions on backpacks, suitcases, and carry-on luggage on airplanes.
Pwllheli and Criccieth
Pwllheli was our destination, but not our home for the night. But it did have a beach cafe with cold drinks, shade, and some rowdy American tourists at a nearby table.
I’m turning Welsh. Or maybe Welsh style. The Americans seemed strange and at the same time familiar. Furthermore, our taxi driver looked at me with respect when I almost got the pronunciation of Pwllheli right.
Our B&B in Criccieth will be the last before finishing our walk. It’s charming, just above a beach and below the ruins of the town’s pre-Edwardian castle. With a caravan park on a distant hill behind us.
The contrasts mimic my feelings about being so close to the end. Luckily, I have two more days to walk and talk to Kate to figure it all out.
