I park near the bus stop in Trefor. One of Yr Eifl’s peaks looms above the village and from this vantage point it is obvious how quarrying has resculpted the landscape.

I park near the bus stop in Trefor. One of Yr Eifl’s peaks looms above the village and from this vantage point it is obvious how quarrying has resculpted the landscape.

When I reach Nefyn, I realise the tide is high and the beach is covered. I don’t want to risk road-walking again, so I decide to follow the official Llyn Coast Path even though it meanders inland. The path gets off to an unpromising start along the edge of a modern housing estate.

I wake up to the sound of wind and rain, slamming into the window of my B&B bedroom. The BBC weather site says the rain should clear by 11 am. So, I linger over breakfast and take a scenic route up the coast to the village of Nefyn, where I park my car. It’s 10:30 and the rain has stopped. The BBC is always right!
Next comes a 2 mile road walk from Nefyn back to the golf course at Morfa.

My B&B host drops me off at the bottom of a quiet track, and I cut across a muddy yard to reach the coast path. It’s a windy day. Porth Ferin is deserted and, since the tide is high, its little beach is covered with water.

I head north eastwards along a newly created section of the coastal path, where recently erected fences keep me hemmed into a narrow strip of land above the sea. Continue reading
My B&B host provides a drop off and pick up service for walkers. This is excellent news, because I’m fed up with trying – and failing – to catch buses. So it should be an uneventful journey to Aberdaron and the start of my walk.

The third rule of my coastal walk is this: I must start each walk at the point where I stopped the coastal section of my previous walk. This means I have to get back to the car park at Hell’s Mouth. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
Pwllheli is the end of the line. Literally. The train goes no further. From now on I’m reliant on buses, but the usually very helpful Traveline Cymru web site lets me down badly. I only manage to get to Pwllheli because I mistakenly catch the wrong bus which happens to be going the right way.
At Pwllheli, the beach is rutted by the enormous tyres of a procession of monster dumper trucks. They’re shifting loads of sand from the harbour mouth to somewhere further up the beach.

Yesterday, the town of Criccieth shone with golden sunshine. Today the morning light is subdued and the air feels heavy, as though the place has been wrapped in layers of cotton gauze.
I was hoping to get a better photograph of the castle that dominates the sea front, but the light remains obstinately dull.

I leave Portmeirion behind and rejoin the Wales Coast Path. It follows a somewhat tortuous route around the perimeter of the village.

The wonderful thing about this area of Wales is the wealth of footpaths and bridleways to choose from. I climb a hill and come to a crossroads with a signpost, and wish I had time to go off and explore other walks. Continue reading