Almost the Anglesey Processional

The king kisses the knight, as does the Queen,
Then many true knights who came up to greet him
And ask how he’d fared; and he tells of the marvels
Confesses the hardships that he had endured

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

I was treated to a campsite cup of coffee (no sugar! All the virtues today), and Sarah and Andy and I sat in their miraculous camp chairs, and contemplated the fluffy campsite cat, plans for the day, and the improved weather forecast.

Indeed, there has been almost no condensation overnight, and the tent took hardly any time to dry. Although the cat did see fit to investigate inside the tent and trampled her wet paws all over the groundsheet.

Cheerful breakfast conversation meant that I didn’t get away until gone 9:30. I felt both a sense of urgency and excitement about reaching my destination, a need to get on, and a contrasting sense of lassitude and relaxation brought on by the perfect weather.

There was nothing special about the first part of the walk. There were ‘just’ the ordinary joys of being outside and going at walking pace.

Twenty kinds of meadow grasses waving in the breeze, the hedgerow birds (oh! I forgot to say that I heard a grasshopper warbler yesterday. An extraordinary sound! Just like a grasshopper, and not like a bird at all). Three mares standing guard over their sleeping foals,

The beautiful river Seiont.

The first fields that I came to were full of long grass. I took my pack off and changed to an old pair of socks, so as not to get my beautiful new pair wet. The field had very fresh cow poo in it. It also had a ridgeline, below which I kept my head, so I have no idea whether there were any cows there or not.

There was plenty of road walking, but it felt easy today. Muscles stretched, feet confident and toughened up a bit. No blisters to speak of! And a painless knee.

Kissing gates were a feature of today’s walk, but were not easy. Many of them were too narrow for me to get my pack around, and I had to take it off to squeeze through, heave it over the top and then haul it back onto my shoulders. A couple of them were made from great iron plates, and extraordinary heavy weights — repurposed from some quarry? A railway? The final one had a rather disquieting sign: ‘Beware of the Bull’.

It proved to be only a sheep field and I forged straight across it quite cheerfully — until I saw the black bullocks with budding horns at the other end.

Right. Enough with the cows. Today I was going to be a cow whisperer. I did not try and skirt particularly around them, although I gave them a respectful berth. The key cow whispering skill I drew deep from within my brain was a disarming clicking noise, which I hoped would signal to them that not only was I not afraid of them and knew them in fact to be friendly, but that I was also a woman of some power and authority.

I strode past them mentally projecting this character, and a couple of the bullocks edged out of the pack; I couldn’t work out which was the leader. Another jostled against one of his peers as I passed in a kind of fighty way. I didn’t stop.

I could hear their hooves coming up behind me.

Turning, I made threatening gesture or two with the poles. It was enough to make them keep their distance while I made the gate, and by the time I had it securely fastened, they had drawn up in some kind of spearhead formation.

It was hardly any distance now to Felinheli and the Straits. The land had been flat and the air hazy, so I had not had any forward views of Anglesey at all. But suddenly there the water finally was!

The shorefront was as spectacular as it had been on my last day on the Anglesey coastal path, with little breeze, and sun and clouds reflected on the water around moored boats. The seaweed was drawn forward and back like breathing by the lapping of the gentlest of waves.

The wooded slopes of the island shore rose away ahead, beyond the slipway. This alone was worth walking all this way for.

I turned right, back onto the Wales Coastal Path, and walked through a high-end modern housing development, wondering how much these houses went for. A good deal, if the boatyard was anything to go by.

I didn’t have time to stop at the Marina café; I had a date with my brother if I could make it to his house in time to coincide with his lunch break.

I moved as fast as I could along the made up estate track, enjoying the last of the uninterrupted views of the Straits before coming to the beautiful wooded sections of the Vaynor Estate and Treborth, familiar to me from dogwalks. The huge National Trust property of Plas Newydd was just coming into view ahead, on the shores of the island.

Suddenly my ankle turned on the loose scalpings. My knee followed it. I stumbled forwards, trying to keep my balance, clumsily trying to run through the stumble, but I was too far off kilter. In the split seconds of the moment I could feel the 11 kilos of the pack weight forcing me forwards and downwards to the side. My body hit the scalpings with a huge thump, seemingly in slow motion but at the same time faster than my brain could follow, and finishing, to my great shock, with my right cheek hitting the road, hard.

I lay there for a moment or two to let time catch up.

Unclipped my rucksack, turned over to rest on it. I was filthy with the dust from the track. I didn’t know what hurt.

My glasses hadn’t broken; I think I had landed on my cheekbone sightly underneath the frame. Had I cut my face? It didn’t sting. My knee was very slightly grazed. But the kneecap itself? My ankle?

I felt very gingerly through everything, rotating my ankle and bending my knee to check the joint. Nothing broken or dislocated, no serious tissue trauma.

But I had clearly taken a terrific fall. I wondered what to do for the best; everything seemed in disarray. Should I call for someone to pick me up? Could I — should I — walk on?

I stood up and walked a few paces. No agonising pain. Put my pack back on my pack and picked up my very trusty poles.

Ok. Walk on, then. Think what to do. I texted my brother, dictating as I walked. My voice sounded odd — my ears were ringing. He was horrified and offered to send his son Cian to pick me up as he’d finished the AS exam he’d taken that morning.

Here was a bench at the start of the woods. Sit on it and take stock:

I had come 9km this morning and had about the same to go again — just over four to the Menai Bridge and five on the other side. I decided — I decided to walk over the bridge onto the Island, and get Cian to pick me up from the Waitrose car park on the other side. I was damned if I was going to come this far on foot and not make it to Anglesey under my own steam. It was arranged.

So come with me on a pretty woodland walk while I recover a little and distract myself from whatever is going on with my ankle, shin, knee, hip, spine, neck and cheek, by showing you some of my favourite bits of this lovely shore.

Perhaps you could shoulder the weight of my pack for me? It would make it easier.

Look — here is one of the platforms built so we can climb up to see over the high estate walls. Shall we see if we can? Perhaps not such a good idea to climb with the pack weight but I don’t want to walk this last bit and not see the beautiful, beautiful water. Maybe I’m not quite thinking straight.

There’s Plas Newydd. I can’t tell you anything about it, but forgive me if I don’t look it up right now. It’s a huge house, very grand. Lawns extending down to the water. It’s National Trust — we could visit some day. Someone has carved waterbirds on this wooden parapet, and their names in Welsh and English.

Hwyaden. That means ‘duck’. I remember that from the BBC pre-school Welsh course Cornel Sam that we had when the children were tiny.

There are viewing hides dotted all along this wall. There’s a wattle one buried in the grasses. Maybe we won’t climb that one? No, I don’t think so either.

The woods are so pretty, don’t you think? These young birches. I love the waymarks — I’ve been following that seashell since Aberdovey.

Oh, here’s the section they cleared of conifers! There was such an uproar. At first, of course, it looked like wasteland, but didn’t they know it would regenerate quickly?

It’s so beautiful now. Look at all the different species that are crowding in after the first pioneer plants. All those seeds that were just waiting for the light: honeysuckle, meadowsweet, buttercup, polypody, wood avens, campion… gosh, so many! I can hardly count them all.

Oh look! Here’s the gate. So we are really on dog-walk territory now.

Nel will join us in a minute, leaping back and forth, snapping up water from the little woodland streams, nosing this favourite dead log of mine. The memory of her is here.

The Britannia Bridge at last! Such a massive bulk. There’s no pedestrian access, though, otherwise we could cross here.

These woods are part of the University of Bangor botanical gardens, you know. Yes! It’s an uplifting walk. And we don’t have to go too fast. Best not. Just fast enough to get there, but slow enough to enjoy the way the shaded boardwalk path winds along the shoreline and takes us safely over the tiny trickling streams.

I love the way you get glimpses out to the water. The house on the rocky island. Oh! And that’s my nephew and niece’s school on the hill behind it. Best view of any school in the country, surely: over the Straits to the mountains of the Eryri National Park

Oh these ferns are my favourite thing. I just think they’re the most perfect plants — make me think of prehistoric landscapes. And New Zealand.

Speaking of which, yes, you’re right, it’s a treefern! I told you these were the botanic Gardens. Looks weird though, doesn’t it, against the bamboo? They have a national collection. I wouldn’t have planted the tree fern there.

Just this last uphill pull to go! And the dappled shade — joyous. A jay flew over my head here, once.

And here we are out in the gardens! What on earth is that extraordinary flower spike? Echium Wildpretii? What a name! ‘Tower of Jewels’, this one is.

You can see why.

Well. Here we are. We’ve made it to the bridge! Thank you for your company — talking to you really helped.

There’s nothing like a bridge for a processional. This one, our old friend Thos. Telford of course, felt particularly iconic today. There are major engineering works ongoing: the bridge was found to be in danger of an ‘unzipping event’ — if any of the steel suspension hawsers failed, they’d all fail one after the other and ‘unzip’ themselves.

I felt needed some witnesses to the event of my grand crossing. I hailed the two workmen and told them how excited I was — they were gratifyingly amazed at how far I have walked.

The views of the Straits from high up had enormous impact — blue stretching into the distance, some kind of motorboat creating a graceful wide, white curve as it turned to head for the marina. There was the green lawn at the foot of the island-side pier where I had stood in September 2022 and looked up at the massive structure in awe — it seemed tiny from up here. And everything blue and sparkling and festive.

I felt honoured to meet Geraint the bridge repair project manager, coming back over to the mainland from Waitrose with his lunch. He held out his hand for me to shake — ‘Respect!’ he said. He was like a spokesperson for a welcoming committee.

Oh, friends! I had made it.

I felt a powerful mixture of emotions: gratitude that I had not broken anything and that I had been able to walk on. A huge sense of accomplishment that this long walk was over — 293km or 182 miles from faraway Bromyard, following the river Lugg back in the September heatwave through the Welsh Marches, crossing the border into Wales. Having to take a pause to recover from heat exhaustion and thereafter reroute over a different part of the Cambrian mountains to reach the sea. Picking up again last week and making my way up this glorious coastline, over the golden sands, following detours over the coastal hills, gazing up at imposing Harlech castle. Traversing the saltmarshes and estuaries — climbing up over the mountain pass.

All the people I have met.

From the high perspective of the Menai Bridge, I was moved by the beauty of it all.

I also felt disappointment that I had fallen, literally, at the final hurdle. I could say that I have walked to Waitrose. Can honestly say that I have walked to Anglesey! But I cannot say with total truth that I have walked to my brother’s house from my own.

Dear Cian was waiting for me in the carpark and I gratefully unloaded my rucksack into the back of his car.

It was a matter of minutes to drive the last 5km to their home. And there were Elain and Zand and Nel the collie waiting for me at the gate.

Diwedd. Adra. Teulu. Ending. Home. Family.

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 Finis 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿