Saturday 27th - Sunday 28th June: waiting

I hoped that the next leg of the trip would be to the Isle of Man, and from there to the N.Ireland coast and back across the North Channel to pick up the Scottish coast north of the tip of the Mull of Kintyre. For that, several things needed to come together: low wind, good vis, low lightning risk and, crucially, a paddling partner for the IoM leg as I had made a promise not to do that 40 mile crossing solo.
There are several good paddlers on Anglesey who expressed interest in the trip but, in the event, no-one was available.
On Saturday I paid a visit to Nigel Dennis' place to meet Petr Major, who started his trip round Britain from Poole a couple of weeks after I passed there, and who has now caught up and arrived in Anglesey. Petr is camping rough the whole way round, and is managing without a trolley by the simple expedient of splitting his 3-piece Explorer and man-handling each piece up the beach separately. We sat in the sun chatting, but in the end Petr made the perfectly reasonable decision that the IoM trip wasn't for him.
So, on Monday, I head east along the N.Wales coast and then up the west coast of England, tackling the shoals of Liverpool and Morecambe Bay, and dealing with the security issues that come with major urban centres.

Friday 26th June: waiting on weather

I could have set my watch by the arrival of the sultry conditions (high lightning risk) predicted yesterday by the RAF Valley meteorologists. In truth, I'm glad not to be paddling, as yesterday's trip was pretty tiring, and the open crossing to the Isle of Man is not to be undertaken lightly. Tomorrow, there will be patches of poor visibility, but the wind forecast is looking good for the next few days.

Thursday 26th June: Porthdafarch - Cemaes (16 n.mi.)

Sophy gave me a lift down to the Outdoor Centre, and the boat was re-packed and on the water by 0840. I had been a bit concerned that the skeg box might take up so much space in the aft tank that some kit or supplies would need to be jettisoned, but in the event everything fitted, including Justine's marvellous trolley.

We are on springs, and the flood tidal stream is at its strongest at this time of day, so I stood out to sea, paddling hard south-west to ferry-glide beyond the worst of the race at Penrhyn Mawr. The three tide races to the west of Holy Island (Penrhyn Mawr, South Stack, and North Stack) have a considerable reputation in the sport, but today they were very well behaved in the offshore wind.

This photo of South Stack probably looks like any other seaside shot on a sunny day to most of you, but if you have a whitewater background, read the water carefully...

By the time I was round North Stack and starting to cross Holyhead Bay, I was exposed to a much greater fetch and the sea state was quite a bit higher. Handling the boat felt less like paddling than weightlifting, and there was a lot of water coming over the bow. In addition, there are 18-or-so ferry movements into and out of Holyhead each day, many of which are fast cats, so the danger of collision is always there to stop one from getting bored. By the time I reached Carmel Head, the seas were breaking in wind-against-tide conditions and I had to make a choice between standing off (more favourable tidal stream but worse sea state) or standing close in (less sea state, but fighting an eddy).

Gradually the Wylfa nuclear power station drew abeam, and the most exciting sea state of the day arrived, generated by the wind-over-tide conditions on the open coast meeting the eddy issuing from the west side of Cemaes Bay. I was glad to arrive at the shelter of the inner bay, pull the boat ashore, and break out some lunch.

Chatting with passers-by over a mug of tea, I learned of the recent renovation of the Charles Henry Ashley, a rowing lifeboat built in 1907 and now lying on a mooring in the inner harbour. This 5.5 ton non-self-righting vessel was crewed by a coxswain, second coxswain, bowman, and twelve oarsmen, who must have supplied brawn and heroism in equal measure. Cemaes no longer has its own operational lifeboat, but the numbers of people involved in the dedication ceremony, in May this year, speak volumes of the pride still felt in this part of the village's history. For many of our small coastal communities, the volunteer lifeboat is a central and defining institution.

The met department at RAF Valley kindly briefed me on tomorrow's weather, and it was clear that paddling to the Isle of Man would not be feasible until these easterlies have blown over.

Dave Williams, formerly the harbourmaster here, readily and kindly agreed to let me park the boat at his cottage, and offered much-needed changing facilities, thus protecting the public from a hitch-hiker in skin-tight black rubber - surely, in these times, the greatest risk of the day.

Returning to a welcome berth chez Sophy, I was immersed once again in the life of RAF Valley: fast jet training, helicopter search & rescue, and all the familiar management complexities of any large organisation running a safety-critical operation.

Tuesday 24th - Wednesday 25th June: still in dock

Mike and his staff are nothing if not thorough, and when I took delivery of the boat, it sported a new keelstrip, new decklines, a new backband, numerous gelcoat patches, new hatch-cover lanyards, and a skeg. I was even given a lift down to the Outdoor Centre where the boat is spending the night before it goes to sea again. Mike is indeed a "top bloke!"

Monday 22nd June: in dock

Took the boat up to Mike Webb's workshop, where he has kindly squeezed it into a demanding schedule for repairs and the fitting of a much-needed skeg. Discovered that Justine and Barry have delivered their very robust trolley to Mike's, for my use on the rest of the trip. All this help, so generously given, is part of what makes sea kayaking such a pleasant sport.
Moved from the Outdoor Centre to stay at RAF Valley as a guest of Wing Cdr Sophy Gardner for a couple of days while I get the kit straightened out and the next leg of the trip planned. Sophy is great company, and another humbling example of a life lived to the full!

Sunday 21st June: Porth Dinllaen - Porthdafarch (23 n.mi.)

Woke to a grey, but still, morning, and breakfasted with Peter - builder of environmentally-friendly buildings (timber frames, turf roofs, etc.) He, Gus and Charles walked down to the harbour to see me off at 0800, and I paddled north towards Anglesey.

The visibility was intermittently poor, so for much of the time I was surrounded by grey sky and grey sea, occasionally filled with a multitude of seabirds: gannets, shearwaters, shags, gulls, and others. Holyhead mountain, and the Anglesey coast emerged occasionally from the murk, only to recede again into vague forms indistinguishable from the general greyness.

Eventually, the unmistakable form of Rhoscolyn hove into view, and the paddle was completed using the start of the flood stream along a familiar and favourite stretch of coast. The photo does no justice to the intriguingly three-dimensional nature of the topography here. Landed at Porthdafarch and trollied the boat up the road to the Anglesey Outdoor Centre for the night.

Saturday 20th June: Machroes - Porth Dinllaen (Morfa Nefyn) (27 n.mi.)

Much better weather today, so I made it past "Hell's Mouth" - scene of numerous shipwrecks and even today a site of confused water - and round the end of the Lleyn peninsular, onto the north coast of Wales. Met Mike Marshall, paddling with a small group from Oxford, and stopped for a chat.

Gradually, the coastline became gentler, with grassy slopes descending almost to the water.

At Porth Dinllaen, there is the first guaranteed shelter from westerlies, and I put in there, ready for a long tow in search of somewhere to pitch camp. To my great good fortune, I was welcomed by a family gathered to pursue a major DIY project on their house, fed and watered royally, and offered the back garden as a campsite. Thanks Fran, Trish, Gus, Charles & Peter! Once again, extraordinary lives emerged in the conversation: trekking with disabled children in the Annapurna; years spent volunteering in southern Africa...

Friday 19th June: waiting on weather

Thursday 18th June: Abersoch - Machroes (2 miles forward; 1 mile back)

The wind had moderated a notch, so I launched and pushed into the conditions past the point at Trwyn yr Wylfa, taking maximum advantage of the lee of the high ground to the north. The conditions were within limits, but I knew that by the time I reached the end of the Lleyn peninsular I would be tired and facing a long paddle on the lee shore to the north-east, with few opportunities to get ashore safely. Judging that the safety margins would be too fine, I called off the trip, turned back, and pulled ashore by the old lifeboat station at Machroes.
There I met Ken Dodd. No, not him, but a friendly local builder converting the old boathouse into a home. It turns out that Ken knows some of the paddling community in Anglesey. Small world.
Camped at a much more reasonably priced site just up the hill, and waited...

Wednesday 17th June: Waiting on weather

Today was clearly going to be far too windy for paddling, so I took a leisurely breakfast, in the course of which it became clear that John Gosling is another example of the rule that people who have really achieved things often don't feel the need to brag about it. With a bit of gentle probing, "I've done a bit of paddling" turned out to stand for first descents of Everest and K2, whitewater paddling on the Orinoco (5 miles wide; 10 metre stoppers), quite a lot of slalom paddling, and a subsequent career in the industry. What a guy.

Tuesday 16th June: Barmouth - Abersoch (18 n.mi.)

Well, the lightning never materialised, so yesterday was really a wasted day. Most of today's trip was an open crossing of Tremadog Bay in sunshine and light airs. The peaks of Snowdonia towered to starboard and astern, but what is appealing to the eye turns out to be diminutive and misty to the camera lens, so you'll just have to take my word for it.
My drysuit has given up the ghost (torn neck seal, holes in the fabric from salt abrasion, perished feet) so the warm weather is an excuse to change into Chillcheater kit.
A couple of miles off Abersoch, a fresh breeze blew up right on the nose, so I got my quota of physical exercise for the day. Landed at the slipway in the harbour to find a friendly group of bird-watchers gathered there with their high-powered telescopes. As I stumbled for the correct collective noun for such an assembly, one of them volunteered "a sadness of twitchers." They had, after all, travelled goodness-knows-how-far to see a rare tern that had arrived the previous day and was now, well, elsewhere... Apparently they had amused themselves by watching the idiot in the kayak out in the bay. How disturbing.
Trolleying the loaded boat 1 km inland to the campsites marked on the OS map, I found that the first did not welcome tents, and the second was demanding £18/night for a minimum of two nights. Suspecting that this might be a special rate for lone blokes wearing Chillcheater, I turned my back on the site and resolved to seek B&B in town. Having had difficulties on a previous occasion when I tried to hitch-hike in this garb, I should not have been surprised when the first B&B proprietress turned the "no vacancies" sign round in my face. Better luck ensued at John and Jane Gosling's establishment, where John was quite unperturbed by my appearance, greeting me with a cheerful, "it's OK; I've done a bit of paddling myself."

Monday 15th June: waiting on weather

The next leg is an open crossing of Tremadog Bay, and the forecast is for thundery showers, so paddling out into the middle of the bay and sitting there waving a carbon fibre paddle in the air doesn't seem like the brightest idea...

The further north one travels in Wales, the more English becomes a second language, and the more one feels like a foreigner. Most signs are bi-lingual, but I understand that there is no need for a Welsh version of this one outside an animal care centre in Barmouth, as it would read: "the toothless pooch likes having her tummy tickled."

Sunday 14th June: Aberystwyth - Barmouth (27 n.mi.)

Bade Neil and Sarah farewell, and launched from the lifeboat ramp onto a scorching, still, sea. Pleasure craft a-plenty were afloat, including signs of the Birmingham navy. The Aberystwyth inshore rescue boats were out exercising, and jellyfish the size of basketballs cruised just below the surface.
Early in the afternoon there was broken water to seaward, where no surf had any right to be. Puzzled, I scanned the sea, and two dolphins leapt clear of the water in perfect synchrony. They continued surfacing for a while, presumably fishing.
Passing Aberdovey, another IRB was on exercise, and seemed to be tailing me unobtrusively. Eventually, the lifeboat came alongside, and the crew questioned me in a friendly and surprisingly well-informed way. How did they know so much about my trip? One of them removed their helmet and shook out a mane of auburn hair. "I'm Fiona Whitehead," she announced. Fiona has just returned from an expedition around the Falklands, and has already paddled round Britain and Ireland. We chatted for a few minutes, and then I pressed on to Barmouth, achieving a rapid landing in modest surf, followed by a very slow recovery up the beach and along the prom to the campsite at the north end of town. For future reference, there is a much easier recovery 100m north of the campsite where a slipway breaches the seawall.

Saturday 13th June: Cwmtydu - Aberystwyth (15 n.mi.)

Over breakfast we watched choughs in the garden.

I'm now thoroughly into Ceredigion (Cardigan) and the coastline has mellowed. The cliffs are less austere and there are numerous gentle shingle surf beaches. Rolling farmland stretches almost down to the water in places, and the peaks of Snowdonia are visible in the distance.

Tour boats passed by, laden with Saturday trippers. Gannets dived ahead, and oystercatchers, guillemots, gulls and (petrels?) made busy over the sea. The entrance to Aberystwyth harbour was surprisingly turbulent, but gave way onto a small marina where I whiled away a few minutes before stowing the boat at the local rowing club and meeting Neil and Sarah - friends of my brother's and my hosts for the evening.

Friday 12th June: St.Dogmaels - Cwmtydu (15 n.mi.)

Took ages to re-pack the boat, and left St.Dogmaels on the tide. At Cwmtydu, Dave's sister, Sue, met me, fed me royally, and introduced me to the iron age fort behind her house. As the evening stillness settled over the sea and the distant peaks of Snowdonia, a pair of magic lanterns drifted past to seaward on the breeze.

Wednesday 10th - Thursday 11th June: boat repairs

Dave spotted water dripping from the stern tank of the boat. Repeated battering and abrasion have worn through the glass fibre, so he very generously volunteered to undertake the necessary dockyard job. This is a temporary repair to get the boat as far as Anglesey.

Tuesday 9th June: Whitesands - St.Dogmaels (35 n.mi.)

The north-easterlies of the last few days have abated a little, but this was still an uphill paddle. The North Pembrokeshire coast is more rugged and exposed than the south, and looks rather bleak until the afternoon sun shines on it. Put into the historic industrial haven of Porthgain for rest and refreshment, and then pressed on round the (rather boring) pillow lavas of Strumble Head, arriving in Newquay Old Harbour feeling very tired. Refreshed by a late lunch, I filed a revised trip plan with Milford Haven Coastguard and pressed on to St.Dogmaels, admiring the beauty of Dinas Head in the afternoon sun, and arriving at 2030, 13 hours after setting out from Whitesands.

Today's paddle was unremitting hard work, so I was very grateful for an overnight berth chez Dave Owen.

Saturday 6th - Monday 8th June: waiting on weather

I thought that Flanders & Swann were responsible for the weary saying, "Flaming June again!", but it turns out that they are not. The weather forecast being full of weather, mostly from the north, I decided to wait before tackling the next leg of the trip, which involves some significant headlands. In search of electricity for recharging electronics (and - OK, I admit it - a bit of luxury) I moved up to the St.Davids youth hostel for a couple of nights. For those of you who haven't used a youth hostel for a while, let me dispel some myths:
1) You don't have to be young to use a youth hostel (nor do you have to bring someone who is);
2) These days you get a clean, comfortable duvet, not a sheet sleeping bag;
3) There are no chores to do in the morning.
The hostel in St.Davids is modern, warm and welcoming. And it is making a loss (about 500 pounds a year - yes, that's all) sufficient to threaten it with closure. Use it or lose it.
At the hostel were some of the visiting choir at St.Davids cathedral, so we had a pleasant chat, and I listened to evensong on Sunday, taking in Guerrero's triple-choir motet Duo Seraphim.
Back to the tent for Monday night, as a visiting school group have booked out the hostel.

Friday 5th June: Manorbier - Whitesands Bay (35 n.mi.)

Rose and struck camp in the dark again, then trollied the boat down to the harbour, launching in the dawn light. Off Manorbier there was an immense shoal of moon jellyfish - at a conservative estimate, over a million individuals - that had not yet descended beyond the reach of daylight.

Unfortunately, I had to hasten past the caves and stacks of the Castlemartin firing range, in order to be elsewhere before it opened fire at 0900, but this stretch of coast is earmarked for a return visit when the range is not active.

Guillemots and kittiwakes (?) flew past, and gannets dived ahead, as I neared the mouth of the great natural harbour of Milford Haven. Described by Nelson as the greatest natural harbour in the world, second only to Trincomalee, Milford Haven is now famous for its deepwater berths for oil tankers and liquefied natural gas (LNG) carriers. This part of the coast also marks the boundary between two tidal regimes, the Bristol Channel and the Irish Sea, making it possible to plan a long day with favourable tidal streams throughout. Accordingly, I beached the boat at Marloes Sands, brewed up, cooked curry and porridge, lunched in style, and then pottered over to the famous nature reserve of Skomer Island to watch the puffins, razorbills, gannets and guillemots.

Crossing St.Brides Bay on a bearing, I was aware of deteriorating visibility ahead, so it was not much of a surprise when the squall hit and a gentle paddle in the sun turned, in minutes, into an energetic slog into a northerly force 5. The wind kicked up a small, but short wavelength, chop that soon had the bow burying and shovelling facefuls of cold water at me.

Choosing not to cut the trip short at Porth Clais, I pointed the boat into Ramsey Sound, site of The Bitches, a famous tide race and paddling playspot. The tide was flooding fast, and the opposing wind whipped the surface of the water into frenzied wavelets. I planned to cross to the Ramsey Island side of the Sound sufficiently far downstream to avoid the eddy that forms behind The Bitches, but not so far north as to risk getting involved with Horse Rock, and, with the exception of a minor waltz along the eddy line, this plan worked fine.

At Whitesands Bay, I was pulling the boat up the slip when a couple of familiar-looking sea kayaks landed close by. Justine and Barry had been out to the Bishops & Clerks, and kindly helped with a very welcome brew and then invited me into St.Davids for food, good company and beer.

Thursday 4th June: rest day

Only three days back into the trip, but I decided to listen to my body and have what is laughingly called a "rest day". This means: doing the laundry, checking the weather and surf forecasts, doing the tides and nav for the next day or so, trying to find power sources for charging phones, Navtex receiver and so on, travelling into the nearest town in search of internet access for updating the blog, getting phone numbers for various admin chores (chasing the opticians for my new specs, keeping up with preparations for the new career that follows this trip), checking firing times for the next range that I have to cross, sending emails - the list fills a page of my log book.

Wednesday 3rd June: Fall Bay - Manorbier (20 n.mi.)

Another early start to be on the water for 0500. Launched from the beach onto a flat calm sea, and paddled past a small flotilla of fishing boats off Worms Head. Dawn rose and the temperture started to climb as I crossed Camarthen Bay on a bearing. Shoals of moon jellyfish drifted by, gannets were diving ahead, and the monastery island of Caldney grew gradually larger.
Weariness started to grip me as it drew near, and the last few miles were a slog, despite the beautiful, seal-infested, cliffs under the Manorbier firing range.
It took an hour to get the boat up the beach at Manorbier, and I knew that I was getting seriously dehydrated despite having eschewed my drysuit in favour of Chillcheater gear, and drinking as I paddled. The (brand new) trolley is playing up already - wheels splaying and bearings squealing - time for a re-design I think. Tried to clean out the bearings at the top of the beach, but the quick release nut is cross-threaded :-(
Dragged the boat up to the village, in the hope of getting a shower at a campsite, and drank 3 litres of fluid, still feeling thirsty at the end. The thermometer reads 36 Celsius...

Tuesday 2nd June: Briton Ferry - Fall Bay (SW corner of Gower) (20 n.mi.)

Rose at 0330 to catch the ebb out of the Neath River, starting with a comical reverse seal launch down a very muddy slipway. Almost flat calm conditions. Rounded Mumbles and paused just off the Coastguard station for a radio check: "weak and barely readable". I wonder whether this set has a fault...
Passed the smugglers' cave at Brandy Cove, the ruined salt-extraction pond at Port Eynon, and the Red Chamber south of Pitton where the "Red Lady" (actually the remains of a neolithic man) was discovered. The Gower coast is understated, but gets prettier the further west you go. Landed at Mewslade and brewed up, but decided that the beach would cover at HW, so moved west to Fall Bay, where I passed a pleasant afternoon in the sun, chatting and waiting for sunset.

Sunday 31st May: Arisaig

Dave was in no hurry to get back to Wales, so we camped on Arisaig and spent the day rock-hopping in calm, sunny conditions.
Drove back to Briton Ferry overnight, and Dave then spent much of Monday ferrying me around to collect provisions, etc. Top bloke.

Time to share a couple of vignettes from last week, before I forget them:

As a dozen or so kayakers were preparing in the sunshine to cross the sound to the foot of Loch Coruisk, we were watched by a pair of young children sitting on the quay, waiting for the ferry. You'll have to imagine the slow, contemplative, drawn-out delivery in a Scottish accent, as one turned to the other and asked, "Why are those people smiling ... a lot?"

And then, at risk of being accused of pandering to stereotypes, this conversation in the fish-&-chip shop in Broadford, between myself and a polite and helpful young man behind the till:
G: One cod & chips, one haddock & chips, and two mushy peas please.
P&HYM: Oh sorry; we're right out of mushy peas. They were very popular this evening.
G: OK, then ... two portions of baked beans, please.
P&HYM: Oh, I don't know why they're still on the menu. We haven't served them for years. Sorry.
G: Ummm. Do you have anything vaguely resembling a vegetable?
P&HYM: Uh... ... curry sauce?