I park in the deserted beach car park at Porth Neigwl, otherwise known as Hell’s Mouth. On this sunny morning the name seems incongruous.
Buses are scarce in this part of the Llyn Peninsula, and I walk 1/2 mile inland to the tiny village of Llanengan, in order to catch the first of only two buses a day into Abersoch, where I plan to re-start my coastal walk.
But a sign at the bus stop tells me the bus route has been temporarily re-routed and the bus won’t be calling at Llanengan after all. ‘Sorry for the inconvenience,’ says the sign. Inconvenient? It’s a disaster!
I have no choice except to walk along the road into Abersoch. It’s a 2 mile journey, added onto the 1/2 mile I’ve already walked. Luckily the roads are quiet. The re-routed bus overtakes me just as I reach the outskirts of the town.
Abersoch is pretty and my spirits lift. I take a photograph of the little harbour.
The first section of the walk takes me round a headland, through residential areas and past boatyards. Every patch of spare land seems to have been turned into overpriced public car parks by opportunistic landowners.
The views looking north over the bay are lovely. There is the headland of Mynydd Tir-y-Cwmwd and the long sands of Warren Beach, where I walked on the previous day of my coastal trek.
I meet a couple of women carrying hefty backpacks. They are trying to reach Warren Beach, but I explain they must walk along the road first. (Giving other walkers directions is a rare event and makes me feel like a professional coastal trekker!)
Rounding the headland, I reach the beach south of Abersoch, called Borth Fawr. It’s popular with families. The official coast path runs inland, behind the dunes, but the tide is low and I hope I can walk all the way along the beach, despite some impressive-looking wooden groynes at the far end.
Luckily, I make it without meeting an insurmountable obstruction. And take a photograph looking back.
Ahead is the point of Penrhyn Du, with a building (a private house?) perched on the end. Now the beach comes to an end and I must leave the sands and walk along a track over the low cliffs.
I never do get to the point, which appears to be private property. Instead, my track turns inland. Its surface is rutted and churned, presumably due to all the heavy rain that’s fallen this winter. I’m not surprised to see a sign saying the road is closed.
The path cuts inland, bypassing Penryhn Du, to reach the shore again just past the point. Here I follow a particularly lovely stretch of coast, climbing high above the sea. Apart from walking into a brutal wind, I really enjoy this section. Gorse is flowering. The sea is blue. And the mountains of Snowdonia form a rim in the background.
I’m not surprised to meet several groups of walkers. It’s only surprising that I have met so few before. The Lyn Peninsula is a glorious place and yet it seems virtually unknown.
Out to sea are two islands – St Tudwal’s Island East and St Tudwal’s Island West. One has the remains of a ruined priory (according to my map). The other has a lighthouse. In the distance I watch a storm as it races across the sea.
When I reach the next headland I meet the full force of the gale. The waves are whipped up by the wind and crash against the rocks.
Turning the corner of the headland, and blown sideways by the wind, I come across another beach. Porth Ceiriad. It’s much more remote than the one I’ve just left, and surrounded by impressive cliffs.
I would like to go down to look at the beach, but the wind is sapping my energy and I know it’s only a matter of time before some of the many rain clouds come scurrying my way. So I stick to the higher ground.
After walking through a field full of sheep, I’m surprised to find a warning notice that applies to the field I’ve just crossed.
‘CAUTION. BREEDING BULL.’
I look back. No evidence of a bull. Farmers often put up these notices, perhaps to deter walkers. In this case somebody has added their own thoughts to the sign.
I become aware of a couple of walkers behind me. I’m a slow walker, but I’m not keen on being overtaken, so I pick up speed.
The Wales Coast Path used to come inland at this point, but has been rerouted to stick more closely to the coast. I’m so pleased. This is a great walk, marred only a little by the blowing gale that makes every step hard work.
A couple of elderly walkers (in the photo above) remark it’s harder coming up than down. I remind them it’s harder walking into the wind.
Further along and I reach a place where there is a burial chamber marked on my map. A man and a boy are coming down the hill. I wonder if they’ve been to visit it? But I feel too tired to go exploring off the path.
I round another headland – Trwyn Cilan – and the wind is blowing behind me now, pushing me along. I should be pleased, but I see ominous rain clouds filling the sky with their dark bulks.
A white horse looks startled to see me. Its fringe is neatly parted by the wind.
Ahead is Porth Neigwl beach, Hell’s Mouth. It’s not far to my car now. But the sky is getting darker and darker.
I stop for a snack lunch, perching on a rock on the inside of a shallow quarry, to escape the wind. But no sooner have I opened my snack box… when the rain comes down. I take a few bites and pack up my lunch again, stow my camera away, fix the waterproof cover over my rucksack and pull up my jacket hood.
Just in time. The rain pelts down, driven sideways by the wind.
The next part of the walk is dramatic, with the path narrowing and sloping down the side of a steep cliff. The waves of Hell’s Mouth thunder below. The wind tugs me first one way and then the other. The path becomes rocky and treacherous, and I have to wade through a couple of small streams that splash over my feet.
During a brief lull in the rainstorm, and on one of the easier sections of the path, I can’t resist pulling out my camera and taking a photograph. But a static shot doesn’t capture the drama of the weather.
At the bottom of the slope, the path follows the top of a low cliff. By now the rain has whipped up again, driving horizontally in from the sea. My trousers are soaked and I feel the familiar and unpleasant sensation of rainwater seeping down my legs and into the tops of my boots, while my waterproof jacket seems to have turned into wet sponge.
I’ve walked further than I planned this morning, and my lunch was only a nibble. The cold wind has exhausted me and now I’m soaking wet. I begin to shiver.
Even worse, the path suddenly disappears. There has been a landslip. I look for another way round but there are barbed wire fences to my landward side, and water filled ditches. I realise I have no choice and must go down onto the beach.
The cliffs are only low and you would think it would be an easy climb down, but the soil was soft and crumbling – now it’s turned into clay, sticky and slippery with rain.
I make my way down the cliff with difficulty, using my hands and forced to do the occasional bum shuffle. Now I’m not only soaking wet, but covered in mud.
Ahead the beach of Hell’s Mouth looks bleak. Ruined farm buildings add to the dismal atmosphere. Spray from the waves is tossed up by the wind and drifts inland as mist.
The sea foams and boils. A lone life-ring looks far from adequate. No wonder this place is called Hell’s Mouth.
I find the sandy track that leads to the car park. A couple shuffle past me and stand, clothes billowing, facing the stormy sea.
A few seconds later a surfer passes me, dressed in a wet suit, heading for the shore. I wonder how long he will manage to stay out there? But I don’t hang around to find out. My teeth are chattering, my hands are stiff with the cold, and I feel chilled to the core.
It takes me some time to find the car keys buried in my rucksack. My brain seems to have gone as numb as my hands.
I’ve never been so relieved to get back into my car. And also relieved to remember I’ve brought a towel. But it takes me 20 minutes to stop shivering, despite the towel and my car being blessed with heated seats. It’s a lesson to me on the dangers of hypothermia. I’m so used to walking in the winter, I’ve grown complacent.
Miles walked today = 12 miles
Wales Coast Path so far = 722 miles
Total distance around the coast: 2,329 miles
Route:
What a glorious walk..and write up
Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone on the EE network.
Thanks Paul. Are you back on the coast soon?
I don’t comment often but want you to know how much I enjoy following your adventure and how much I appreciate living it through you. Thank you, Ruth
Cheryl, Seattle, WA USA
Oh, thank you Cheryl. I get such a boost from knowing that people like you read my blog and I hope I’ve managed to get across an impression of the walk. Maybe one day you’ll come over here and experience some of our coast for yourself 🙂
I’ve done this walk too, we were lucky with the weather though. Beautiful whatever the weather. I enjoyed reading your blog, had just the same reaction as you to the breeding bull sign.
It’s a lovely area. Funny how we notice the same things! That sign did make me smile 🙂
The ruined farm buildings used to be a part of a farm known as Tyn Don Bach where my great grandparents resided. I am in my early forties and can remember the farmhouse. My grandmother could remember two fields between the farmhouse and the sea. Although it can be bleak and desolate it can also be sunny and stunning. Please return on a sunny summer’s day.🏄🏻
Sion
How amazing to think your family used to live there!
And sorry if I’ve given a bleak picture of Hells Mouth. It was just an incredibly windy, wet and cold day, and the nearest I’ve come to hypothermia! When I returned the next day it was lovely 😀
I’m another who doesn’t comment very often but I do enjoy reading about your walks, thank you for taking the time to share. I enjoy walking myself but don’t have much time to go too far.There are so many places in the UK I’d like to visit and walk, and hearing about how you make it happen is very inspiring. I think you’re brave to walk some of the more remote areas alone, you’ve had quite a few diversions along the way and dealt with them. I should push myself to explore more on my own instead of waiting for someone to be free to walk with me!
Hi Gill. Thank you for your kind comments. Yes, you should definitely try some solo walks.. You can go at your own pace, think your own thoughts, and you notice much more than if distracted by chatter!
I can sympathise with you about the wind & rain after experiencing it myself on the North Pembrokeshire coast but agree that the coastline is dramatic to see in these conditions. I wouldn’t like to experience it too often though!!
It was the coldest I’d ever been, and really frightening to discover how suddenly I switched from a competent walker to a shivering wreck. Big lesson.
I always enjoy reading your blog Rut, and I am always really struck on your walks by how well you handle the route changes that suddenly spring up, or like this one the bus being diverted. Stunning scenery on this walk too. Lovely to see the comments from the family member who had relatives who farmed the area too.
Thank you Jean. And, yes, lovely to have comments from people who have a local connection with a place. Don’t worry about the typo. My nickname at school was Rut 😆
Sorry I realise I have a typo Ruth
The end of your walk sounds as dramatic weather wise as the last one of ours I wrote up! I saw on your tweet that it’s your six year anniversary of the start of your walk today. I can’t believe how far you’ve got – it’s incredibly impressive. I wish we could go more often but fitting it in around kids schedules and full time jobs is a logistical challenge before even planning the walk itself. It’s great to read where you are up to but also really interesting to read your posts for the stretches that we’re now experiencing ourselves. Thank you
The weather has certainly been ‘interesting’ recently 😀
It’s difficult to fit long walking treks into a busy life, isn’t it. Luckily I am now fully retired and the only thing that keeps me at home is a bad weather forecast!
An impressive walk, great report and photographs Ruth. I applaud your determination to keep going through the worst the weather threw at you. I would probably have burst into tears of relief once I got back to the car!
Forgot to say, got the location of Bear Gryll’s holiday home wrong – he owns one of the islands off Abersoch; Carla Lane owns another!
Ah yes. I discovered he owns the one with the lighthouse and was in trouble recently for installing a long metal slide down to the water, without planning permission. I didn’t realise Carla Lane owned the other island.
I’ve had a few wet and windy walks like that. It’s surprising how cold you can get so quickly. I’m glad you made it back safely,
I found it quite terrifying how quickly I could change from a competent walker into a shivering wreck. It was an important lesson. Thank goodness I had nearly reached my car.
Thanks Ruth for a super illustrated walk, we are going to the Llyn tomorrow to spend a week walking the costal paths, have never been before even though we live in Mid Wales and have included your walk in our itinerary. Just hope the weather in late September is better/warmer than yours was in April. Will let you know.
Thank up for your kind words and I’m sure you’ll love Llyn. I think it must be Wales best-kept secret! Fingers crossed that the weather is kind to you. I usually find October is a great month for walking. 😄
Great read, thanks for taking the time to write this piece and share. My Family and I will try this later today…
Jason
Hi Jason, hope you and the family enjoyed this walk, and also hope you had better weather! It’s a beautiful place, and must be even better in the sunshine 🌞
Great review. Know the area well and have camped near Porth Ceiriad for years (Heading back at Easter) Thank you, love the pictures and write up
Thank you Simon 😊 and hope you have a wonderful trip this Easter.
I think the combination of cold and wet is what does it. I remember being out for several hours in such weather and I felt chilled for several days.
Great descriptive writing, you almost make me feel I’m there walking with you.