Day 77 – Llandudno to Dinas Dinlle – 5th Aug – 28.5 nm
A day off is just enough
to remind you of what aches, and where.
We head back over towards
Llandudno to carry on the adventure. Driving along the coastal road we have the
bonus of seeing the conditions out in Conwy Bay, to the W of the Great Orme.
There’s a S breeze blowing over the top of the hills but there is not much more
than a mild chop out there. The strong winds yesterday have left the water
murky, but there is a distinct lack of whitecaps and I'm not too upset about
that.
However it’s not all goodness
and light. The forecast shows the 3 o'clock wind coming in, with some showers coming
along for the ride too. It makes me think of previous Scottish squalls.
The tidal planning is a
little complicated here; trying to match the ebb of the Great Orme to the flood
of the E end of the Menai Straits is not that easy. So I decide to go a little
early and paddle against the tide for a bit. The offshore S wind is welcome and
means it will be calm and I should be able to sneak in pretty close to the Orme
cliffs, using the eddies to work against the flow. Then around the end of the
Orme it will just become a slog across the bay towards Beaumaris. But as we are
still on big springs I shouldn’t have to worry about threading my way through the
sandbanks, if I'm not too late.
There are plenty of places
to land once the Straits are reached, so the plan is to find somewhere to sit and
wait for the tide to catch-up. If I can make it to somewhere around Beaumaris
or Bangor Pier for the first stint then that should make things a little more
productive for the second one.
It’s not yet 7 am, but the
Taran is off the stony beach and away. There are plans afoot to remove these imported
stones and return the beach to its pre-meddled, sandy glory. I wonder what it
will look like if they do.
But there’s paddling to
be done now; time for one last glance over my shoulder towards Llandudno
and then it's around the corner and into the suddenly-new world of the towering Great
Orme cliffs. The goats are strutting their vertigo oblivious stuff, while there
are ominous signs of new landslides along the way.
The eddy hopping plan
works fine and I get my first view of Puffin Island for a while. Now it’s just
time to slog, with ear flaps down to stop the windy wing-spray from flying down the ear canal.
The Snowdonia hills welcome
me back, making a pleasant back-drop to the paddle. But by the time I get to Fryars
Road the 4kt progress is becoming a little tedious. Eventually Beaumaris Pier
slides past and the first shift ends, not long after, at Gallows
Point.
Team Manager soon arrives
with a welcome opportunity for a sneaky bit of van-based shelter, while we wait
for the tide. But even better, TM has been to stock up on pies! Now show me a
good pie, or even a sausage roll at a pinch, and my Northern roots will glide smoothly
to the surface. There isn't the time here to discuss the nutritional merits or
details of pie-powered paddling, but suffice to say that I've partaken in more
than a few of said crusty-clad items on my way around. I have become more expert,
perhaps even a connoisseur. But out of all that variety it has to be said that
there was nowhere else on the UK coastline that could match the pies from the
butchers in Menai Bridge. All hail to the folks at John Swain Williams, the
king and queens of pies! Deserving of a true accolade.
Anyway, it’s time to set
off once again, now with pie-power levels restored. First it’s over the bubble to the
Bangor Pier and then straight towards the Telford Bridge, hanging in the
distance. I take a quick breather at the Menai Bridge slipway and then head
into the comfortable familiarity of the Swellies. The GPS shows pleasing figures while the
Cardinal, Gored Goch and Brittania Bridge all slip easily by. Nelson gives a
wink and then it’s on towards Felenheli.
Around the corner, down beyond
Plas Newydd, the wind plays a part once again. Ali has a group of new sea paddlers
out for a trip, and stops to say hello. It’s quite big and bouncy in the wind
over tide here but they take it in their stride. Soon we part ways and they
head across towards the village, while I turn towards Caernarfon.
It’s a bit of a splashy
tramp down towards Caernarfon. The wider, lower ground here allows the wind to have
its fun. But eventually I reach the confused water before Abermenai and then shoot
out through the gap, nervous of just what lies out there.
The wind is strong now
and there is plenty of white stuff out on the shallows of Cearnarfon Bar. But I'm
heading south from here and hoping to take advantage of a trouble-avoiding, close-in
route that I used in reverse here 3 years previously. When I poke my head
around the corner the wind hits like an elephant in a pillow fight, a grey wall
of heavy rain is heading up the beach. I sneak back into an eddy behind the
steep shingle and take a breather.
The rain turns to hail, the gusts arrive and the
hills disappear, followed quickly by Newborough beach. After a few minutes things settle and I look
around the corner again. Another wall of grey has smothered Dinas Dinlle and is
swiftly heading this way, I sit this one out too. Finally there is a gap and I
can see down the coast, time to put the head down and paddle.
By the time the groynes of Dinas
Dinlle are reached I’ve been battered a few more times and it’s really hoofing it down now.
While it’s only 6 more miles to Trefor, I’ve had enough. I look for a gap in
the surf and head in.
The car park has a good
collection of steamed-up cars holding summer holiday visitors; it’s not really
a bucket and spade sort of day. A paddler from the Midlands comes over for a
chat, wanting to know more about the Taran. But soon his family tire of the wait and
drag him away, to places warmer and drier.
TM is stuck in a traffic
jam it seems. I busy myself tidying the boat and clearing the deck, ready for
another night back at the house. Waiting once again to be rescued.
