Day 3: Ffynnongroyw to Rhyl
A change of plans
Kate had a rough night. It could have been something he ate. She was also awake with severe leg cramps and pain in her feet. Hopefully, there won’t be another shingles outbreak.
When the alarm rang, she got up and started getting ready as usual, but I could tell she was struggling. Today’s itinerary was a taxi ride back to Ffynnongroyw, then a 12.5 mile walk to our motel in Rhyl. The first mile and the last five miles would again be on asphalt. If the tide was high, we would also get a few extra paved miles on an alternate high tide route.
We’ve always had an agreement on our walks from inn to inn that if any of us ever wanted to skip a day to rest, we could take a taxi or bus to the next lodging. No pressure, no guilt. Today, skipping the walk meant staying in bed since we had this room for another night.
Plus, since we still have over 300 miles to walk, we don’t want to overdo it in the first few days and suffer a stress injury that will plague us for the rest of the trip. It’s always good to pace yourself and not be a slave to your itinerary or others’ expectations of what your hike should be like.
Do your own hike. Always.
Solo Hiking
So after breakfast I returned to the trail alone. I prefer to hike with Kate, but I don’t mind doing it alone. At least I cover the kilometers faster on my own.
Kate stops to chat with every furry dog we meet (there have been many) and likes to read each of the interpretive signs. She also takes a lot of photographs. I like to set a rhythm and stick to it.
Sidewalks
The taxi dropped me off shortly before 10:00 am. I knocked down the first mile of sidewalks in 15 minutes. There wasn’t much to stop and look at in Ffynnongroyw, an old mining town that hasn’t had any sort of revival. And yesterday we walked most of it (twice) looking for a cold drink.
Saline
After running (well, jogging) down the road at the other end of town, I slipped through a metal sheep gate and headed down a dirt track toward the Talacre marsh and bird refuge. The trail was back at the seawall/levees, which provided a nice view of the marsh.
All the birds had taken refuge. I could hear them chirping and calling, but they remained hidden until I saw a pheasant poking its neck out of the grass. And then a Canada goose, if that’s what they call them here. But the songbirds remained hidden.
Walk on the beach
“Talacre” turned out to be the name of a popular beach next to some of the many caravan parks found along this stretch of coast. It also marks the end of the River Dee estuary and the beginning of Liverpool Bay. This week must be spring break for some schools in the UK, because the parking lot was full and many families were sharing the boardwalk that took us to the beach.
I had read in the trail guide that if the tide was high, I would have to walk on the loose beach sand at the top of the beach. Or, you could take an alternate high-water route along a paved bike path. But when I reached the top of the sea dunes, I saw that the tide was very low, leaving at least a quarter mile of hard sand between the dune barrier and the waterline.
Most beachgoers gathered a few hundred meters from the end of the boardwalk. Some explored to a small lighthouse built into the sand in the surf zone, but I had the rest of my 4.5 mile walk along the beach to Prestayn almost to myself.
I passed half a dozen walkers and a handful of very happy off-leash dogs chasing tennis balls, with a few more hikers off in the distance. I walked on hard sand the entire time, except when I had to cross some small tidal channels that drained the wet sand.
Sidewalks, Part II
Civilization, in a way, returned when I arrived at a seaside resort in Prestatyn. There was a cluster of families near another parking lot, a few ice cream parlors and coffee shops, and a concrete bike path that locals call «the Paseo.» By then the hard sand had disappeared so I switched to the Boardwalk.
It was also quite warm by then, so when I found a small patch of shade next to a billboard and discovered that it was already noon, I stopped for lunch. I grabbed an apple and a muffin from the breakfast buffet and grabbed the cookies (nasty cookies) from the tea tray in our room. That was lunch.
In the distance I thought I could see the Rhyl skyline, so I checked the distance. Four miles to go. I had covered just over eight miles in two hours. To me, that’s a pretty good beat. When I was younger, I could maintain a 4.5 mph pace on flat ground for several hours. Now I’m pretty happy with 3.5mph on flat ground.
I attributed my speed today to (1) walking alone – I get in my head and lose track of everything else, (2) not stopping – no breaks, no dog encounters, very few photographs, and (3) using my trekking poles.
I love my trekking poles
While training for the AT, I timed my speed with and without poles and found that I walked about ½ mph faster using the poles correctly on flat ground. Another reason to carry hiking poles.
However, the use of hiking poles in the UK comes with some ridicule. We caught many satisfied smiles from other walkers and even some outright jeers. As I turned into Rhyl, a chubby pre-teen on an electric bike turned me around so he could point at me and laugh. Then he asked, with all the charm of the preteen bully, «Hey, man. Are you looking for a mountain to climb on the beach?»
So many possible answers. None of them polite. One of them spoke with a smile and a laugh.
But many other Brits laughed at us and asked us similar questions on our other walks. That’s fine with me, my knees and my insurance company thank me every time I use them. My canes have saved me from countless falls.
I’m getting old
I arrived in Rhyl around 1:30, still at my 4mph pace, not counting my half hour lunch break. My feet hurt from the pavement, but I was happy to have the afternoon to rest them. I’m also recovering from the cold I brought from the United States. Finally.
But my hip started to hurt in the last kilometer. Lately it has been running poorly after long walks. I feel a sudden, sharp pain right in the socket of my hip that almost knocks me to the ground. It will stab me for a while and then disappear. If that persists, it will be a problem, so I took out the vitamin I (Advil) as soon as I got back to the room.
Rhyl
We are not big fans of Rhyl town. It was nice to stay in one place two nights in a row because we didn’t have to pack this morning and Kate got a zero. But it’s not a place we would likely ever visit.
Rhyl calls itself a beach resort town, but ‘resort’ may not be the right word. Think of it like Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Except it’s on the beach. And it is more deteriorated. And not so fun. Or clean. And instead of rednecks, their main clientele seem to be soccer hooligans.
Every time we hung out, I was reminded of high school, where I spent my days trying to avoid bullies, jocks, and mean girls who were looking for fights. As I walked through the lobby to my cab this morning, a huge guy (6-foot-8 and at least 400 pounds) was yelling at the desk clerk about his bill. His enormous wife was behind him, chirping her share of sass in Liverpool English. The employee was handing it back to him as if this was his normal morning routine.
Restaurants tend to be fast food, sugar palaces and bars with sports betting houses. The outdoor store I had seen on Google Maps was boarded up, but all the souvenir shops selling the same thing seemed to be thriving. Kate said she felt like we’d walked onto the set of a Guy Ritchie movie and been miscast.
It’s not our kind of place. We’ll be happy to move on tomorrow.
On the AT, I wanted the trail to go through more towns so I could see the local culture. In Wales Coast Past, it does, and so far I wish it didn’t. Until now the towns have been a little sad.
But tomorrow’s route looks more promising, so there is hope.
