Around the edge of
Wales (19)… Llangrannog to Llanon
A sweltering start to the day, and a steep climb out of
Llangrannog, accompanied by three
chough. The scar-restoration project at Lochtyn, that I’d been keen to see again
as it had been one of my first National Trust tasks, was looking pretty good –
especially on the lower side of the track. The path north of Llangrannog was
dead shrew territory – although I perhaps wouldn’t have noticed the creatures
had I not had my head down continuously, coping steadily with the steep climbs.
Cwm Tydu had smartened up since I was last there about 15 years ago and the Pen
y graig/Cwm Soden section of the coast was just as lovely as I remembered it,
with its fascinating rock formations, its promontory fort crumbling into the
sea and its beautiful cove backed by a deep wooded valley.
Five glossy chough fed noisily on a bare earth cliff cut just
above the stream at the back of the cove at Cwm Soden, seemingly oblivious to
the people wandering within 3 metres of them. Coybal was another steep and
strenuous climb, before New Quay head came into view, with its nesting seabirds
and mussel processing plant churning brown gunk into a turquoise sea. The path
here is so precipitous, so close to the edge that the local authority has
offered an alternative! I decide to put the dog on a lead and brave the more
dangerous path but have no appetite to hang around and peer over the edge to
catch a glimpse of the auks. From far below , the commentary from one of the
dolphin-spotting boats drifed upwards .
New Quay still retains quite a bit of its old harbour town
character and I love the rows of beautiful Cardiganshire coast houses and
terraces. I stopped to buy a sandwich for an extremely tired dog and catch up
with phone calls. I learnt from an interpretation panel above the beach that
New Quay had been the inspiration for Dylan Thomas’ ‘Under Milk Wood’ and that
he’d started to write the play when he lived here for a year in 1944.
From New Quay the path led on through woods and along a
beach where low cliffs were slumping and
slipping seawards and where beach boulders were solid puddings of clay and
pebbles. Just before Gilfach yr Halen the dog suddenly started and jumped
backwards – I edged closer and came across a fox cub, curled in the long grass
alongside the path. It was alive, but lifeless. Its black eyes were dull and
its ears barely moved as the dog craned towards it. A bluebottle landed on its
head, bright turquoise against the pale rust fur, sensing imminent death. It
looked like a case of poisoning. I searched around for a heavy stone or a piece
of wood, but was relieved in a way that there was no suitable object around,
fearing that I might only cause more suffering if I were to try to put the
creature out of its misery.
Past the ticky-tacky holiday chalets in Gilfach yr Halen the
path led easily on to Aberaeron. Clouds were gathering in black and pink masses
across the southern part of Cardigan Bay as I stopped for a coffee and a chocolate
croissant in the lovely ‘Naturally Scrumptious’ deli at Aberaeron. The dog was
grateful for the gift of meat shavings cleaned off the slicing machine at the
end of the day, and we set off again
along the low pebble shore in front of the vast fields north of the town,
picking our way through teasels and trefoil before following grassy margins and
lanes into the pretty village of Aberarth.
I’ve often wondered how it could be possible to create a
path along the section of cliff that falls away so steeply, so frighteningly,
along the side of the coastal road north of Aberarth. From the seaward side
though the coast is broader than I’d imagined, and the path is beautiful, even
and wide with amazing views down to the flat coastline at Llanon and the series
of headlands beyond. The sea suddenly changed colour and became a slab of slate
with silvery veins running through it. The skies opened in Llanon, heralding
the end of the walk.
No comments:
Post a Comment