Storm Otto has arrived in the North and a cold wind blows across the sandy beach at Tywyn, the start of my walk back to Machynlleth.
A seagull tugs at a fish on the sand. Two sneaky crows hop ever closer before the gull rears up, spreading its large wings and they retreat. A cormorant lies motionless — lack of food, exhaustion, the cold? This is a bleak place in the early morning, surrounded by mist.
Thankfully, the wind drops on turning into the River Dovey estuary, arriving at pretty Aberdovey, with a delicious breakfast bagel at the Coast Deli.
Suitably fuelled, it’s a steep climb out of the village. At the top of the hill, there’s a track along a ridge for a few miles. The views must be spectacular in fine weather but visibility is down to a few hundred feet, so I could be anywhere, even back in the North Kent marshes.
Wind and mist — the bleating of sheep — wind and mist.
The Panoramic Walk is aptly named on my OS map, with views to die for … or perhaps not.
Surrounded by cloud, my focus narrows from the wider landscape to the smallest details that I might normally glance over, which is no bad thing.
It’s mid-afternoon before the clouds lift slightly and the first hilltop is revealed on a long climb up a quarry road, with wonderful views across a valley covered in birch and pine trees.
At the peak, the “keey ya keey ya” cries from two buzzards circling the pines. The mist rolls back in on the descent to Machynlleth.
Back at the hostel, there are two new arrivals. Thierry is also hiking the Wales Coast Path, in the opposite direction to me, so we swap notes on places to stay. The second chap has just finished a residential Welsh language course and kindly shares a hip flask of warming brandy. He suggests a pub outing but I’ve already called in at the White Lion for food and drink at the end of my walk. I’m not hiking with a hangover again. The memories of Fishguard are too fresh!
Next day
The weather is unchanged: wet, windy and overcast. I’m back in Tywyn and heading north. First, there is a foam-flecked promenade to navigate.
The morning walk is a little dull, following roads and tracks with no opportunity to take in the views as the mist thickens. The occasional blast of a train horn through the gloom.
The small standing stones at Bryn Seward are more interesting.
The path picks up across Barmouth Bay, with wonderfully moody views of the misty mountains across the marshes. I’m walking with Tim, who is on his way to meet his wife Judith, a keen hiker who has completed the Pennine Way and other long-distance trails.
We meet Judith halfway across the bridge. She raves about the Llyn Peninsula, as does everyone, so I’m looking forward to that on my next trip.
I catch a bus from Barmouth, inland to Dolgellau, where I’m staying for a couple of nights to allow me to climb Cadair Idris. Tom, an ex-marine, who has hiked some great trails round the world, is fine company for the journey.
Time for luxury in my first cute hobbit hut. It’s spacious, warm and dry; all I need.
Tom recommended The Unicorn in town. An excellent pub, with a fine pint of Butty Bach, Liverpool v Newcastle on the TV and chatty locals. The only problem is the arrival of the entire Caernarfon visiting rugby team — big lads to squeeze into a snug bar — but all good banter.
Walk distance: 32 miles.
Total distance: 2,651 miles.
😄😊🤗