Girl sat near me then we walked a lot
Look at that stupid illustration in the header. I did that and it’s supposed to represent 15 miles but it makes it look like a mile.
We’ve covered a lot of ground today, my god we are tired and we are so very wet. You should see dads feet! Don’t worry I won’t upload a photo. Though before I tell you about todays mammoth walk let’s finish last nights little tale off first.
What can I say! Such a great way to start our adventure. Standing on a remote beach with a reggae party behind us. Most of the girls at the party had dyed their hair ginger red. Which was really well thought out, because it works well in contrast with the dark green Heath on the hills. Which they had as a backdrop. One red haired siren came and sat near us alone to spark up a ciggy. She stared across the sea towards the distant mountains letting smoke drift out of her mouth. Dad and I discussed why she was alone and concluded that she was probably whimsically thinking up some pretty darn good poetry or eloquent Welsh play. As a result we concluded she was ‘well fit’. In a vein attempt to get her attention (and for dad to demonstrate his wingman skills) we danced like naked flames caught in a strong Jamaican breeze until the sun was completely gone. When we looked back so was she.
At that we headed back along a dark empty beach towards the cliff path home. I’m sure it wasn’t the smartest of ideas to clamber up onto the cliffs, drunk in the blackness of night. But hey, it was worth it. Occasionally we’d see the twinkle of a fishing boat out at sea. The gentle waves caressed our beer soaked minds and the beaches below. So great to be out of the city and doing stupid things on cliffs with my dad.
After a romantic night in the B&B attic with rain pattering against the roof. We were the first up and Ann our host, greeted us in a full little chef outfit. We scoffed up a delicious breakfast, waved goodby and set off for the cliffs again. Dragon breath mist wreathed the tips of surrounding mountains but down on the coast we had it pretty good.
Sooner or later we had to head up through the village, into the hills and across the Llyn. Everything was so peaceful. We saw frogs, rabbits, pheasants, horses and the odd stupid bull.
Rather predictably these city slickers got a little confused when trying to navigate through a farm. Staring confused at our maps and phones frantically stroking our manly beards and eyebrows with confusion. A farmers wife pulled up and said “you ok looking at those maps? Or you want help?”. We opted for help.
A short while after she sent us on our way we found ourselves on another farm. Walking through a field watched only by crows and probably some stupid ugly dumb bull. We were about to exit said field when out of nowhere a farmer came bounding across on a quad bike with his trusty sheep dog perched at his side. It’s always nerve racking when you see/meet a farmer. Usually in my experience they could come close to grazing shoulders with you in the middle of an empty field and yet their gaze would never waver from the task in hand.
With this farmer however. We accidentally and awkwardly stepped in front of his quad bike. He slowed down and opened up conversation with a Welsh word. He quickly realised this was a mistake and I’m pretty sure all of us felt disappointed. I’d have loved to converse with him in Welsh! It was clear that flipping to English for him was a little difficult and I felt annoyed at myself. He got off his bike and exchanged pleasantries then pointed at a ditch we were all stood near. “I dug that yesterday and now it’s full of water!” He exclaimed. Three grown men looking at a water filled ditch. Two of them unsure whether the water was a positive or a negative. Dad and I made a synchronised noise that could have indicated sympathy towards either. After the water ditch faux par we all laughed and chatted for quite some time. We covered all manor of things such as how much each of us drank last night, how long we slept and how far our sisters had walked this year. Once friendship was confirmed he advised us on the best walking route and zoomed off with his faithful dog chasing. There was a definite language barrier but also something else. I wondered if this guy was just so used to working his land without a soul to disturb him. I have to say this farmer was the nicest happiest person I’ve met this year. And his farmer jump suit was so cool! I love Wales.
One thing worth noting is that this part of Wales is definitely Welsh. Everyone speaks to you in Welsh. You sit in a pub and all you will hear is Welsh speakers and Welsh folk music through the pub speakers. This is not a complaint, it’s brilliant. I mean I feel utterly inadequate when someone attempts to converse with me in Welsh. But ya know that’s no different to the feeling you get when you see a French persons eyes roll after you’ve attempted a basic phrase like ‘je t’aime Le fromage’.
Anyway I’ll cut to the chase. At some point between lovely farmer jump suit guy and Pwllheli the rain hit us. We’ve walked for 10 hours straight today and at least 6 of them has been full of waterfall rain. All the hours have been rain filled but 6 of them full of real ,heavy, wet rain. The type of rain that makes you think ‘there are parts of me that rain has never touched and it’s all up in there now’. We trudged into a pub in Pwllheli leaving a wet trail like two slugs with a penchant for mushroom risotto. The waitresses understandably in tears of laughter at our state.
Cutting even closer to the chase. From there we walked another 7 miles (at least 16 in total) along deserted rain blasted beaches. The last 5 miles were cruel. So very cruel. Dad being the hard weathered man that he is didn’t let on that blisters the size of my ears had burst on both his feet soldiered on till the end. (Even though he had the option to catch a train at one point).
Sadly this manly rock of a manly man is unlikely to continue with me tomorrow. Don’t worry he’s still alive. Just after we crawled into our hotel beds shivering (it’s August) switched ‘the sword in the stone’ cartoon on (classic but weird), I glanced at his feet, his shuddering body and we both agreed. You get the train tomorrow lad.
I’m writing from our hotel in Cricceith. This will be my last bed for 6 days now. I’ve made plenty of mistakes today. Everything I own is now wet. We’ve done a tiny bit of hobbling about the town. Something which has caught my eye is the impact local hairdressers have on an area. Here I’d say short ‘Mohawks for the lads’ are back in but I’m not sure they ever left.