Around the Edge of Wales (21)...Aberystwyth to Penrhyndeudraeth

Around the edge of Wales (21) … Aberystwyth to  Penrhyndeudraeth

Another ‘mixed- mode’ section that combined good walking and superb cycling. The journey took in some amazing sights, and perhaps provided my overall favourite view of the whole holiday.

This leg started with an easy walk from Aberystwyth, over the cliffs to caravan city at Clarach and then on to Borth, where I swapped for a bike to round the estuary to Machynlleth and on through Meirionnydd.  I’d left my full size bike in Pembrokeshire so this was an ideal opportunity to test the folding Airnimal ‘Joey explore’ bike that I’d purchased some time ago but hadn’t had a chance to use. The weather was fine, but  there wasn’t a single walker to be seen until I got to the monument at Borth cliffs.

I hadn’t wandered the cliffs beyond Clarach before, despite living in Aberystwyth for three years. The cliffs are dark grey, shaly and very friable along this section. There was a scary moment or two when Macsen the dog hopped over the edge of the cliff to land on a slumped shelf of loose material below  - and then found the rocks too friable to clamber back up.  I had to coax her along the cliff face, just hoping she’d keep her footing on the narrow, semi-level sections, until I could reach over the edge and help haul her upwards by the scruff of her neck. We just about managed it, whilst clumps of trefoil topped shale fell  away  underneath my arm as I leant over and as the dog scrambled madly over cascading shale. She was back on the lead for a long time after this near-miss episode.

Yet another red kite, accompanied by another couple of chough were again seen on the first headland  out of Clarach as I headed north, past a lovely and quite stately looking house perched above a well preserved lime kiln. Was the location, close to an eroding coastline, the reason for its rather sad and abandoned feel?  The sea defence in front of it was rapidly decaying – its days clearly numbered

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Not the most interesting section, in terms of wildlife, between Clarach and Borth. But the view of  Cors Fochno (Borth Bog), behind the vast beach, and with the view of the mountains behind, is staggeringly beautiful. At the edge of the bog a solitary church stood out on a small hummock of land between the village and the rusty expanse behind – as if to underline its importance in this coastal, way-below-sea-level settlement.  As I approached the village I fell alongside a quartet of local tourism provider who were bemoaning the fact that Borth was short of sand. Why couldn’t they import sand as they do in Tenerife? And what was to be done about the prehistoric forest that was exposed at low tide? The stumps were covered with slippery slime and there was going to be a string of accidents this summer – they really should be removed in order to avert a tragedy for the local tourist industry. 

I scanned the beach, seeing miles of golden brown sand stretching out towards the mouth of the Dyfi estuary, and was looking forward to catching a glimpse of the sunken forest at low tide. I moved quickly onwards and opted to walk through Borth village, which I found to be far more attractive than I ever thought or remembered. The northern part of Borth beach was largely empty and I spent ages taking photos of various features and fiddling with camera settings.  I turned inland at Ynyslas, following the coast path signs, though I would have stayed longer on the beach and turned east much further on had I known the path was only skirting the edge of the dune and the adjacent golf course. From here, the Borth boatyard looked bizzare, as if hulls and masts were rising out of the bog!

I had to get to the edge of the estuary to catch a glimpse of the whole length of the estuary at low tide. Aberdyfi looked beautiful across the sliver of water. Windscreens glinted along the edge of the dunes and the odd car arrived to perform a few wheelies on the compacted sand – cheap entertainment at the £1-a-go parking charge (surely far too low a fee for the ability to spend a whole day in an amazing landscape and a special National Nature Reserve?).

The ride to Machynlleth was quiet and relaxing, along flat terrain with virtually no traffic until I got to the main road, through Llancynfelyn. The traffic lights on the main Aberystwyth-Machynlleth road provided an opportunity to admire the walling work being undertaken as part of the road straightening and widening works on the Dyfi bends. The ride also took me past the Montgomeryshire Wildlife Trust reserve at Cors Dyfi – where removal of a conifer plantation some years ago has resulted in the restoration of estuarine marsh habitat and where the appearance of nesting osprey in recent years has created an interesting roadside visitor attraction and a focus for some great wildlife volunteering work.

I stopped for some refreshment as soon as I got into Aberdyfi and took a walk along the row of harbour terrace houses, each with its tiny but enviable sea-edge garden and explored the coast around the corner, where a stepped path has been hewn into the grey rock that is layered finely like filo pastry.

The main road along the Meirionnydd coast is probably the best route to follow if you want to keep close to the sea. The official coast path detoured madly all over the place but on a quiet Sunday afternoon the road felt like a cycle route and I decided to stick to it, for a while at least.  I rode through Tywyn, then on to Rhoslefain and Ardudwy.  I hadn’t been along this road for at least 10 years. The Halo honey ice cream factory was still to be seen, along the main road to Bryncrug, with plenty of people sitting outside sampling the stuff, and  Craig y Deryn from the Dysynni  Bridge looked captivating – but just a bit more hidden by trees than when I was last travelling along this road.  

Broadwater, from the Rhoslefain road, seemed to be a huge expanse of silver water, locked behind the  seafront. Tonfannau was quiet, and strangely enough someone appeared to be living in the old military camp, with sheets and pillowcases billowing n a line outside one of the brick cabins.

The view, when you travel northwards from Rhoslefain to meet the sea again is superb. It catches my breath every time, and especially in the afternoon light. It’s the combination of small fields and the snaking stone walls curving downwards from the mountains, and the  long curve of this north Cardigan bay sweeping round to the Llŷn peninsula. It’s usually over in a split second, if you’re driving, so it was a real treat to be able to enjoy it for longer on the bike.  A microlight pilot was taking in the sights at even a more leisurely pace. It whirred past slowly along the edge of the low cliffs, gently descending until it landed somewhere around Llanaber.

I stopped at Llwyngwril to search for the Quakers graveyard and eventually found it – a sweet place perched above the sea, with a tiny gated entrance. I was surprised how few graves  were visible in the western part of the graveyard that had been allocated for Quaker burials when the site was taken over by Wesleyan Methodists and wondered why this was the case. 

On to Fairbourne , over the lovely flatlands of Mawddach marsh,  to cross the estuary  to Barmouth . There were plenty of people walking over the old railway bridge at this end-of-afternoon hour, along with a few fishermen, but no other cyclists. Mawddach estuary, along with the Dyfi and the Dwyryd estuaries must be some of the lovelies coastal views in the world – and the train ride between Machynlleth and Pwllheli has to be one of the best ways to see them all in one lazy, fell swoop.

Barmouth  isn’t the loveliest of towns. Many of the local stone houses look dark, dour and rather forbidding. But I enjoyed the ride along the promenade and came across the local ‘rheinws’ or lock up  - divided to house both males and females  as the town had a reputation for rough women back in the 18^th-19^th centuries. The cycling was easy along this north Meirionnydd section with the road quiet and the pavement providing an alternative cycle track. I stopped in Dyffryn  Ardudwy to have a look at the amazing chambered tomb behind the primary school. The evening was warm and the sun was beginning to sink in a haze of orange and pink above the low coastal fields and old airforce site below the coast road. I stopped in the pub at Llanbedr for a swift half pint and chatted for a while to a lovely couple from Kent who were visiting the area for the first time. I was glad of the gift of an extra packet of crisps – I reckoned I’d need it before the evening was out. At Llanfair I decided to turn inland to follow the Ardudwy way to Llandecwyn  (Sustrans’ route 8). A decision I’ll never regret. I think this was the best cycle ride I’ve ever experienced in my life. The sun blazed ever more strongly as it sank behind the darkening Llŷn hills, but  to the south, the slopes of the Rhinog mountains were still warm and glowing in the dying rays . Such a  magical place. It was a temptation to stay but I needed to press on especially as I had no lights on this bike either.  I careered down the hills towards Bryn Bwbach, and out to the main road that leads to the toll bridge across the Dwyryd estuary. The end of a perfect  day.