Stage 81, 25th May: Bank Houses nr Cockerham to Silverdale

An overcast but dry day is always my favourite for walking, but my spirit needed a little more to lift me as I plainly admit to having a rather large lump in my throat as I left my girls behind with Terry for their lift back to Lancaster station and onwards for home. I value every day that any of my family get to see me on this trip but when they head off back to normality it’s not easy for either of us and I find self motivation hard to get back on track. It would be very easy to get on the train with them and put this whole thing down to fleeting madness.

A soft farm track took me in a bit of a daze around to Glasson where a cycleway picks me up all the way to Lancaster. I skirt the edge of the city via the railway bridge and disappear west on an unremarkable Lancashire Coastal Way which cuts off the peninsula at Heysham and the nuclear power station completely. Instead I settle for Morecambe and the Eric Morecambe statue is a must that I very nearly walk straight past.

Once out of Morecambe I could feel and almost smell Cumbria approaching. Stone cottages and dry-stone walls grow in number with every turn and I would have been cheered immensely if it wasn’t for the huge dark grey cloud looming over my shoulder waiting to dump a very wet load on me if I dared to hesitate. I didn’t. But I only beat it with minutes to spare, meeting Terry and Alfie soaking up the peace and quiet of Silverdale.

Stage 82, 26th May: Silverdale to Kents Bank

For the first time I felt as if summer was beginning to show its face. The cow parsley was now in full flower and with it the horse chesnut trees hang heavy with blossom as I make my way up the first of three big Cumbrian estuaries to cross the infamous Kent channel. From Arnside the views across to Grange-over-Sands and The Kent Rail Viaduct were spectacular if difficult to really capture through a lens, but I paused to enjoy them and try my best with my little camera.

I was hoping to cross the sands from Arnside with Cedric Robinson, the Queen’s Guide. Unfortunately the tides were completely wrong and instead I had to pound plenty of tarmac and walk alongside a not so lovely dual carriageway for the twenty plus miles around the estuary top as penance.

Once I had turned the corner and escaped the road my day was brightened by a badger sitting quietly in the grass not ten feet in front of me. I was a little concerned whether it should be out in the height of day but my knowledge on badgers is pretty thin and when he finally sussed that I was pointing my camera in his face he seemed to scuttle off into the hedgerow with a healthy waddle and a passing snuffle or two.

At Grange-over-Sands my day improved again as my map providing friend, Martin, seemed to have set me up with some new fans as his sister, Pip, and mum met up with me on the promenade.  Pip was holding a Magnum Special Edition aloft and carrying a Cartmel Sticky Toffee Pudding as offerings. As far as I was concerned they were now my bestest pals, but then again, I am easily bought.

Pip walked with me as far as Cedric’s house at Guide’s Farm as he had asked me to pop in on my way around, rather than across, the sands. He gave us both a tour of his front room which sported so many framed awards that I lost count. All were undeniably well-earned and he was particularly proud of his recent Freedom of the City of Lancaster award, which I think he was off out to celebrate later and was part of the reason he couldn’t escort me that day. I did think it a little odd that he should have a roaring fire going in the hearth on such a warm day but it turned out it was his only method of getting hot water and thus a cosy room was now close to becoming a bread oven. As a parting gift Cedric gave us both signed copies of his latest book and we posed for a quick picture. Yes, it would have been an experience to walk the sands, but to meet Cedric in his own home and to have a few proper words was a real treat.  He had introduced me to his family as if I was the celebrity, whereas in truth I was more in awe of his achievements and recognition than anything I could ever hope to achieve. 

Stage 83, 27th May: Kents Bank to Rampside nr Barrow-in-Furness

Generally today was a great day but with horrible little bits thrown in. The weather was overcast but calm and warm and very deceptive for us pale skinned types who forget to put sun cream on when they should.

A bit of pasture field walking took me to Flookburgh and a walk past the famous Cartmel sticky toffee pudding factory, but then my day dipped a little as I took my first intrepid steps along the B5278 and up my second estuary. The road is quite narrow and has no pathway or easy sideways escape, so you have to keep your wits about you when walking along it. Fortunately I found a track which took me up into the forestry of Ellerside Breast Plantation (it is woodland – honest!) but unfortunately it didn’t last for long and I was back down on the road hoping to make Haverthwaite and the turn around the estuary top alive.

Alive I was and as I sat eating my lunch in woodland near Greenodd, Pip once again joined me with Wilma the labrador for a few miles of very welcome company. A mile further down the path Pip’s friend Sonia and Roger the westie also joined up with us. As me mustered in a car park idly chatting about directions a fisherman emptied his change into my pocket as way of a very generous donation. Together, we successfully avoided more road walking but also almost certainly trespassed our way down to Ulverston where a quick drink in the Bay Horse, apparently located at the seaward end of the shortest, deepest and straightest canal in Britain, reaped a few more pounds into the charity coffers through kind donations at the bar.

I left Pip and Sonia at the pub and ended my day walking down miles of shingle topped beach, eventually turning back onto the main road for the last mile or so down to a rather bleak and stark estuary mouth and a rendezvous at Rampside. I couldn’t help but admire the vast expanse of sand across to Morecambe and Heysham (phot0) and vaguely wondered how on earth a person like Cedric ever learnt how to cross safely.

Stage 78, 21st May: Formby to Walmer Bridge

Today was a day for the sun block and as I have the complexion of a polar bear I was right to slap it on as I headed straight down onto the beach where the clearest day of the year so far allowed me my first distant sighting of Blackpool Tower.

Seven miles of featureless shallow beach backed by dunes was only enlivened by having to repeatedly cross ankle-deep channels running diagonally across the sand. I by-passed Ainsdale-on-Sea and only ducked inland at Royal Birkdale golf course for a nosey through Southport.

I can report that Southport was very clean and tidy thank you. I passed the model engineering club and a model boat pond frequented by enthusiastic grey haired men in cardigans with remote control consoles watching their home-built pride and joy motoring quietly up and down their own miniaturised ocean. I crossed Morrisons car park for a walk inland of the slightly larger Marine Lake and noted that once again it was all very tidy without having anything particularly remarkable to say about it. To me, the word “tidy” summed up Southport.

The highlight of my day was when Gary Dawson – SIA Peer Support Officer for the North West pulled up alongside and got out of his car to walk with me for twenty minutes. He had recently completed a hefty long distance hand-bike ride and had upper body strength far superior to mine. Together, we worked out that with my increasingly firm bottom half and his strong top half we might actually make one fairly decent body. He turned his chair, wished me luck and headed back to his car. I felt I had made a new friend very quickly.

I finally left the road to walk the rectangles of dyke tops around Hesketh Marsh and up the Ribble estuary which seemed endless. My ageing eyesight had wrongly interpreted a path leading up to the river and another leading away from it on the other side as a crossing of a minor tributory at Hesketh Bank….but….errr….no, so I had to trudge all the way up to the main A59 to record a new PB of 28.3 miles and a pair of very sore feet. To make my mood worse the ice cream shop strategically placed at the end of my stage was shut by the time I arrived. I was not a happy bunny.

Stage 79, 22nd May: Walmer Bridge to St Anne’s

I knew I was in for another day of road walking and I got it, twenty plus miles of it. To add to my displeasure light rain was trying to get through my layers on and off all day. But today – my clothing won.

I stopped in on an old work colleague and friend in Preston for a quick cuppa, a raid of her chocolate biscuit stash and a good old-fashioned gossip about what was going on in my former corporate world. It did seem more than a little strange to talk about something I no longer had any part of.

Road and more road took me out of Preston towards Lytham. The Lancashire Coastal Way was making its presence known even if the signposted path seemed a little pointless to me. The map told me that it dipped away from the road only to rejoin it half a mile further on after a quick visit to the mudflats and marshes. Hence I stuck to the road.

On passing through Warton I didn’t take much notice of a chap standing idly waiting on the corner. As I approached he made it clear that he was waiting for me and had followed my progress since Southampton. Neil from BAE Systems introduced himself and very generously pressed some cash into my palm as a motivational aid and charity donation before he dipped back into work for a meeting. It was yet another really kind gesture and one that made me smile all the way into Lytham. These motivational aids really do work.

Lytham gave me some promenade walking around the old lifeboat station with a slightly artificial looking white-painted windmill sitting proudly and prominently next door. I finally got my reward of the day in the form of one last mile of sandy beach before I met up with John waiting at the road end of St Anne’s Pier.

Stage 80, 23rd May: St Anne’s to Bank Houses nr Cockerham

With more hard surfaces expected, a brief beach walk was very welcome. But by the time I reached the south shore of a very grey and rainy Blackpool the beach had too many water filled channels to find my way around, so I elected for a stroll down the promenade and to share the experience of all the arcades, thrills and spills with early holiday weekenders dressed up in their winter finery with hoods pulled down over their faces. The rain tried its hardest to soak my interest but it was the stiff north-easterly wind in my face that was more of a bane.

Brash and colourful Blackpool eventually became the quieter Cleveleys and as I turned the corner towards Fleetwood the wind really got some breath up. In doing so it picked up most of the nearest sand dunes and threw each individual grain of sand hard at me in an attempt to grit blast the skin off my face. I had little option other than to pull my hat down low, look two feet in front of my feet, bend my back and keep walking towards the ferry for Knott End.

Ah – a bit of a problem! The ferry wasn’t running. The tide was too low and the boat was clearly sitting in the mud with a gentle lean to one side as if taking a well-earned rest. Tony – the ferryman – told me it wouldn’t be working again till around 4pm. It was only 1:30pm and the diversion up the estuary would add sixteen miles to my day. I expressed my displeasure in a very adult way and told Tony what I was doing and that I needed to be in Cockerham by 5pm as my daughters were coming out to see me. If I waited for the ferry or took the diversion I would be far too late and I could feel a minor tantrum rising with my blood pressure. But then, and to summarise more than a few conversations, Tony took me next door to the RNLI station and talked to Steve. Steve looked across the water a little forlornly before coming up with an idea. Steve talked to Skip. Skip got to the RIB whilst Steve got me some wellies and a life jacket. Skip and Adam then saw me across to the other side where Adam walked me up the very sticky mud bank before returning to Skip and the RIB with my loaned gear. They might not have saved my life, but they certainly saved my day. So to Tony, Steve, Skip and Adam – thanks muchly!

As it was, 5pm was always optimistic and it was nearer 6pm as I finished some nasty traffic dodging verge hops along the A588 to Cockerham. It is not a practice I would recommend to anyone but I kept to my safety rules like a good boy and walked on the right hand side of the road facing the oncoming traffic and removed my radio earplugs so that I could hear and be very aware of traffic coming from both directions. Even so, it’s not the cleverest thing to do and is almost certainly the most dangerous thing that I have very little option to avoid.

The reward for a hard day at the office? I picked up my daughters, Gem and Rach, at Lancaster station for two nights in the cramped confines of Snickers. In doing so I said a fond farewell with huge thanks to John and his cardboard Karen who departed on the opposite platform back to Manchester to pick up his car and eventually onward for an even longer journey back to Oman. Undoubtedly John’s journey to join me for a week in this little adventure is unlikely to be beaten and I am still astonished and incredibly thankful that he did.

Rest Day, 24th May: Bank Houses nr Cockerham

With John gone, my girls got to enjoy the confines of Snickers on a wet miserable day as I did my laundry and tried to get myself back in order. It was truly great to catch up with them and I think they were grateful for a break from exam revision for a day even if it did involve sitting around doing pretty much nothing. Sometimes just enjoying precious company is worth every minute and I was trying to savour the minutes whilst trying to keep my head on the weekly chores and achieving my next small target of Morecambe Bay. Small targets have played a huge psychological part in this trip so far, as I daren’t think too far ahead just in case it all becomes a little overwhelming. The only down side I have noticed in doing this is that every time I meet a small target I find that the next day tends to be very hard as I start afresh again. Psychology baffles me sometimes but I’m beginning to understand what works for me and that’ll do nicely.

Another former work colleague and friend, Terry, turned up mid afternoon with his son Alfie and I just had to indulge everyone with an ice cream (el cheapo choc-ice on a stick, unbranded) from the camp shop, forgetting that my youngest actually hates ice cream – is that normal? A quick and decent hearty meal in the camp site social club and we retreated to the van rather than endure the crooning of a slightly off-key cabaret act. Trying to squeeze five into a four berth van was an interesting challenge, particularly with two teenage girls – but after an hour of shuffling bedding, clothes and kit the juggling eventually worked out and we all managed at least an hour of sleep – after the background noise of cabaret crooning and shouting kids roaming around the campsite had subsided.

Miles to date: 1,633    Ascent: 250,000ft

Stage 75, 18th May: Greenfield to Burton

Things were looking up with another dry warm day with a lovely cooling breeze on the cards. But unfortunately the scenery wasn’t quite as inspiring as I got to Flint with yet another ruined castle and not much else to see other than the channels etched into the mudflats, a hazy view of the Wirral peninsula and the distant chimneys of the power station at Connah’s Quay.

When I got to Connah’s Quay a car pulled up alongside me with smiles beaming broadly. I had expected Matt to turn up at sometime and he emerged from the car with his family and greeted me as if we were old friends. Matt and I had never met before, but he had followed my progress via my tracking beacon and was now officially my first fan.

He and his cousin walked with me for a couple of miles as we chatted about my walk and his plan to do likewise in a few years time. It was great to have company again as the scenery wasn’t much to write home about and we crossed the River Dee together thinking I was saying goodbye to Wales. We had parted company before I realised I still had another 2 miles of Wales left and I crossed into England down a very anonymous farm track (photo) with the only confirmation of England being a fading Cheshire County Council planning notice hanging limply from a white post.

An Anonymous Border Crossing

Any doubts I might still be in Wales soon evaporated as the first village confirmed that leafy Cheshire wealth was on show in abundance and that a quaintly named Puddington Hall was confirmation that the English middle classes were in residence. As I passed by a few archetypal and undeniably pretty cottage gardens I was viewed by secateur wielding ladies with suspicion and almost certainly as someone checking out their valuables for a future burglary plot.

With the prospect of John parking the motorhome in their village….I cringed at the thought. Even so, we headed over for a night at Pete and Angie’s driveway and a barbecue with their family, good pal Rik along with Chris and Gwyndra who had taken the opportunity to come over from Leicestershire to meet up with me and to chat about what we can collectively do to help raise the profile of my fund-raising efforts for the MS National Therapy Centres and the Spinal Injuries Association.

Stage 76, 19th May: Burton to Hoylake

It was pleasantly warm again as I continued my trek deeper into the Wirral. A well-worn path took me along the marsh edges of Neston and Parkgate where, following a Twitter recommendation, I just had to stop at an apparently famous ice cream shop. I say apparently because I hadn’t heard of it. But I can vouch for the ice cream. My toffee / rum & raisin double cone was mighty fine. At Heswall I joined the Wirral Way and its designated paths for cyclists, pedestrians and horses. The cyclists and the pedestrians are meant to share, whilst the horses get a little track to themselves. A quick recommendation and top tip for pedestrians – share with the horses, they are far less dangerous and also much less offensive to the eye.

The Wirral Way is, for the most part, absolutely bone straight, tucked in among the trees and often within inches of back gardens and houses completely invisible from the path. Therefore I can’t vouch for any spectacular views or even vague excitement other than the occasional wince at the various lumpy bits of human anatomy packed into lycra and cycling past.

At West Kirby the Wirral Way became streets with cars, shops and pavements again and as I turned onto a path edging the municipal golf course I came across an ageing chocolate labrador who greeted me with wagging tail before introducing me to his owner. We walked along together for a few hundred yards chatting about my walk and his involvement in the Spinal Injuries Association and we found a common bond through him knowing my pal Graham. We parted as his dog decided to end the conversation by squatting in the verge. I offered to pick up the dogs deposit but my new friend declined and deftly bagged it from the height of his wheelchair with a nifty little scoop.

This area is definitely golf heaven with a course at every turn, yet at Hoylake I managed to miss walking alongside the Royal Liverpool, home of this year’s Open. But at least the yellow AA signs were out in abundance and preparations were clearly well underway.

I ducked down for a brief beach walk and with the rising tide I went up onto the promenade and along Wallasey Embankment feeling very drained with a bit of a head cold taking its toll. Fortunately it was a short day and I was cheered enormously back at camp when Maggie and Bow turned up at the van with a lovely cake and some homemade jam and marmalade. I had previously met them both for no more than a ten minute chat on the coast path back in March somewhere between Port Isaac and Tintagel and for them to remember me but also follow my progress was very kind and extremely welcome.

Stage 77, 20th May: Hoylake to Formby

I really wasn’t looking forward to today’s walk through Liverpool, but I was delighted to be proven wrong. Out of Hoylake and continuing along Wallasey Embankment this time the tide was out and I was able to drop down onto the beach for a warm and muggy walk all the way around to Wallasey itself before having to mount the pavement again and head down the promenade to Seacombe for the ferry across to Liverpool.

I resisted the urge to hum or whistle Gerry and the Pacemakers’ song as the Mersey was crossed but I needn’t have bothered as they played it on the ferry anyway. With the Liver Building still dominating the skyline Liverpool was looking a very fair city as I disembarked and made my way out of town.

Gradually the grand facade of the city faded as I headed out alongside the many docks lining the river. Some of the older wharfs and warehouses were truly impressive and even in its advance state of decay the Tobacco Warehouse couldn’t fail to impress me just in terms of its sheer size. But as the older dock buildings melted away and were replaced by more recent equivalents, the whole place became decidedly tatty. Eventually I arrived at the more modern entrance to the Port of Liverpool north of Bootle and took the Sefton Coastal Footpath from the boating lake at Crosby and down to the beach.

The beach near Crosby was “another” surprise. I had forgotten all about Anthony Gormley’s ‘Another Place’. The iron life-sized male figures geometrically buried into the sand all look thoughtfully out to sea and, for once, I find the work highly thought provoking. I’m not your greatest art lover or critic but I do love something that makes you think and the number of photographers on the beach also made me consider how Mr Gormley’s figures have evoked a creative instinct in many others to interpret, present and reinvent the figures in a completely new and personal way. All in all a fascinating end to a day of enormous variation and interest and surprisingly the most beach walking in any one day so far.

Stage 72, 14th May: Menai Bridge to Deganwy

Having discovered another blister as I put my socks on, I was just a tad miffed as I left the camp site knowing that I had a few days of unforgiving tarmac ahead of me. A brief section of up steps and down steps through woods edging the straits gave me some encouragement. But without even a half decent view of the Menai Bridge I felt a little robbed and the next few miles of hard black stuff around Bangor, Bryn and Tal-y-bont to cross the Afon Ogwen brought my spirit down inch by inch. An approaching walker with big rucksack made me smile with the expectation of a conversation. But as he approached his eyes moved to his feet and he walked by without even acknowledging me. I turned for a loud and forced “hello” which was also ignored, but he turned his head a little sheepishly with my next rather….errr….stern words reminding him of common courtesy.

I finally got a soft path for a few miles along the sea front to Llanfairfechan with the added bonus of a swan’s nest with new hatchlings to linger at whilst trying not to disturb or upset the parents. After this I had the joys of a tarmac cycleway alongside a busy trunk road and a railway, so I just had to cheer myself up at Penmaenmawr with a Mint Magnum.

The Magnum brought sense to my world and I rebelled against the Wales Coast Path and its hard soulless surface. I scrambled my way down to the usually inaccessible beach to walk across the blissfully soft but very wet sands with a stunning view across to Great Orme (photo) and on towards Conwy where I was forced to rejoin the same cycleway to round the estuary, cross the bridge and finish my day at Deganwy.

Great Orme

Stage 73, 15th March: Deganwy to Pensarn

With more bitumen to tread I was glad of a short day and once away from the West Shore of Llandudno I had a long gradual climb around the road to the headland of Great Orme which was marked at 50 metre intervals along the kerb and neatly counted me back down again to the main Llandudno North Shore with its elegant Victorian frontage and rather quaint traditional pier lending rare and pleasing dignity to a traditional seaside resort.

A brief 15 minutes off tarmac took me around the next headland of Little Orme and then it was tarmac, tarmac and more tarmac all the way. Major refurbishment works to the sea defences and promenade were underway at Penrhyn Bay and there was a huge amount of sand moving going on, including pushing much of it straight into the sea which felt and looked somewhat futile to me.

The walkers equivalent of a desert continued as I followed the cycleway with no soft verges or view of note to offer an escape. Add in  the occasional MAMIL creeping up on me from behind at speed and my mood was darkening to such a degree that I was seriously considering letting my walking pole slip into the spokes of the next budding Bradley Wiggins’ wheels. Time for a Feast….if only because I hadn’t had one for a while.

Stage 74, 16th March: Pensarn to Greenfield

With the hottest day of the year due, another day on the cycleway and the promenades of Rhyl and Prestatyn didn’t seem too appealing. Nor did the amusement arcades thumping out their garish crashes, clangs and beeps nor the burger bars, trinket shops and bowling alleys which all contrasted so starkly to the rather genteel and tasteful townscape of Llandudno yesterday. It all seemed a bit sad to me and though I don’t mind a little bit of naff fun, this was overdoing it. Add in the anonymous row upon row of identical static caravans and I am sorry to say that my return visit is unlikely to be voluntary. I’m sure my brief sojourn missed the good bits, but first impressions count on this walk, so I am sorry if I missed a hidden gem or two.

After Prestatyn I had a lovely few miles of what felt like rare beach and dune walking before a huge holiday park interjected and spoilt my flow down dune lined sands to the Point of Ayr and a walk around the gas terminal. If you had asked me which country the Point of Ayr gas terminal on the banks of the River Dee was, Wales wouldn’t have been my answer. So, if nothing else, at least I got a decent geography lesson today.

From here I began my trek towards England in earnest as I headed up river and inland to Ffynnongroyw and rejoined the road to Mostyn. Alongside the marshland walk to Greenfield I came across the very peculiar sight of the former ferry and cruise liner ‘The Duke of Lancaster’. In 1979 it was beached with the intention of turning it into a floating leisure and retail complex. The project never came to fruition due to long running disputes with the local council and now it sits adorned with graffiti and rust with rumours afoot that plans for a renovation and sale are underway. I suspect it will still be gently rotting away there in another 35 years time.

Rest Day, 17th May: Somewhere in North Wales

I’m not entirely sure where I am as I sit down and write this, catch up on my laundry, thank Mike yet again and see him off on his long journey home whilst I wait for ex work colleague and friend John to arrive. But I am told that Caerwys is near Mold and that finding a campsite near to yesterdays finish is about as easy as finding a nice little bistro in Rhyl. Nevertheless my stopover is another cracking little find and I am happy for a day off.

Miles to date: 1,504       Ascent:  247,500ft

Rest Day, 10th May: Rhiw

Miles to date: 1,373     Total Ascent: 233,835 ft

In truth, I wasn’t stopping that close to Rhiw as Aled’s base camp at Crugan Farm near Llanbedrog was still home for another night. My last night at Stable Cottage was spent trying to catch up with bits and pieces as Aled departed with more well-earned thanks for a very calm and relaxed week of his company. That afternoon cousin Mike rejoined me from his week of holiday nearby and a third week in the close confines of Snickers. His first thought of my cottage stopover was that I was selling out by living in such luxury, but I think even he enjoyed an evening on the sofa, supping a beer and watching the overtly camp farce that is Eurovision.  Indeed, maybe I have identified my next project if this one doesn’t work out. Maybe I should consider buying a sparkly dress, take some singing lessons and have a sex change to see if I can bring back the title for Britain.

Stage 69, 11th May: Rhiw to Towyn (nr Tudweiliog)

After a couple of generous donations from Crugan Farm and with rain and a staunch wind in my face I made my way westwards to the end of the Lleyn Peninsula, getting my route wrong as three farm dogs enthusiastically welcomed me to their patch and in doing so distracted me from the right turn I should have taken as I blindly followed the path down to a dead-end.

By the time I had made my way back up the hill through long wet grass my feet were soggy so I took to a bit of road walking to see if the gentle squeezing action of each step would push some of the water away from my toes. It didn’t work, but with the rain easing off I was beginning to generally dry out anyway.

On reaching Aberdaron my eyes narrowed with scrutiny and a little nerdy pleasure as I came across pieces of bright blood-red Jasper lying on the beach, presumably remnants left behind from when it was mined in the area. I could have taken some huge chunks, but I didn’t fancy carrying the weight another 15 miles, so elected for a piece to fit in the palm of my hand to add to my growing collection of little keepsakes sitting in a cupboard on board Snickers.

The going was slow as the wind continued to push me back but the rain cleared completely as I rounded the end of the peninsula at Braich y Pwll for a brief glimpse of Bardsey Island. With three decent climbs taking me over Mynydd Mawr I then dropped down for a series of low cliff walks with lots of pretty inlets and beaches, including the aptly named Whistling Sands which genuinely squeaks a little strangely as you walk across it. The wind was now over my shoulder, so progress was a little faster as I listened in to Lewis Hamilton winning the Spanish Grand Prix and Man City winning the premiership with only a brief conversation with five friendly and chatty women walking in the opposite direction to break my stride.

At this point I received a text from my mobile phone network provider. “Welcome to Ireland.”  Luckily my GPS is a little more accurate even if I am now a little scared of the charges on my next bill.

Stage 70, 12th May: Towyn (nr Tudweiliog) to Pontllyfni

The weather was much kinder today. Cool, breezy but with plenty of sunny spells and those lovely white puffy clouds again. The walk was very much a continuation of yesterdays low cliffs and inlets but now with added mud and standing water from heavy rain which had battered the van roof inches above my nose all night.

Our hosts at the overnight pitch at Towyn were again very generous and welcoming and even very kindly insisted on providing both Mike and I with packed lunches for the day, including one of the finest chocolate brownies I have ever had the pleasure of tasting.

On reaching the Nefyn and District golf course I nearly decided to cut across the headland of Trwyn Porth Dinllaen as the return path was no more than about 50 yards across a closely cut fairway. But it was a wise choice not to as the views from the end were great in both directions and I would have missed the pretty hamlet of Porth Dinllaen, tucked neatly away under the cliffs next to the lifeboat station.

From the hamlet I was able to skirt the beach and climb back onto the path via the slipway at Morfa Nefyn for more low cliffs and a little inland detour before crossing lush pasture for a climb up Mount Pleasant and further upwards to the highest point of my entire walk to date as I took the track over the pass at Bwlch yr Eifi (1200ft) and rapidly descended into the town of Trefor guarded by the huge disused quarry buildings looming over it from the hillside.

Looking back West from Mount Pleasant

Here I decided to grab the opportunity to relive my childhood and enjoy a FAB from the freezer cabinet of the local shop. I didn’t even know they still made them. It made a worthy treat.

Infact, the whole day was a treat. Stunning views, clear skies and a varied terrain had made this one of my welsh highlights and it was only spoilt by the last three miles of roadside walking from Trefor into Pontllyfni. But in reality, three miles wasn’t going to really spoil a good day.

Stage 71, 13th May: Pontllyfni to Menai Bridge

I was expecting lots of road walking today, but I had forgotten how unforgiving and tedious tarmac can be. So when Amy joined me for a day of trudging the black stuff, it was great to have company. From Swansea University, Amy is researching the Wales Coast Path for her PhD and wanted my thoughts and impressions so far. I happily chatted away the hours as she diligently questioned me and recorded her answers into a dictaphone. I hadn’t talked like this for months and my throat got sore after all the silence of my usual walking routine.

We stopped at a waterside bench in Caernarfon for our packed lunches with my Marmite and Dairylea wedges more befitting of a school dinner than Amy’s adult ham rolls. I completed the schoolboy picture by signing a consent form allowing Amy to use my decidedly rubbish answers and we headed off around the castle walls.

To add to the excess of tarmac we also didn’t get particularly close to the sea that much. I was also disappointed for Amy that we didn’t meet any other walkers for a chat, other than two whingers complaining about the lack of signage close to the Menai Bridge. But at least she got to appreciate that the coast path isn’t all cliffs, crashing waves and happy chatty hikers. Amy’s parents were waiting to meet her at  Y Felinheli and after 16 miles we said our farewells and I was left to trudge a few more miles of tarmac.

Eventually the whingers proved to be partly right. The Coast Path signage around Parc Menai just vanished completely, but not where they said it would. Nevertheless I stayed on course and actually followed the best bit of path  I’d had all day as it wandered its way through deep woods and down to the waterfront by the Britannia Bridge. In doing so I almost missed the discovery of the day in possibly the spookiest mausoleum you could possibly find tucked away in near darkness behind tall trees and complete with broken windows, crumbling masonry and heavy rusted railings. Nearby Vaynol Hall is well-known for its supposed hauntings and I can vouch that its mausoleum isn’t a place I’d be happy visiting after dark.

Vaynol (Faenol) Mausoleum

Stage 66, 7th May: Llandanwg to Borth-y-Gest

With light rain on my back and a stiff breeze I started the day with a Harlech Beach walk before crossing Royal St David’s golf course to rejoin the road. The thought of a main road and dodging cars sounded not only tedious but dangerous so I elected to follow a path running parallel to the tarmac through fields of pasture and run the risk of five, yes five, consecutive fields containing my walking nemesis, cattle. In this instance I remained untroubled as all five fields clearly had some soporific drug in the grass, as none of the beasts barely raised a bovine eyebrow as I paced through their patch.

I briefly rejoined the road and made my way around the salt marshes and dyke tops of the Afon Dwyryd estuary. I had hoped to cross the estuary to Penrhyndeudraeth (no I still can’t say it, despite Aled’s tuition) via Pont Briwet but all hopes were very thin as I knew the rickety wooden bridge was being replaced. They were duly dashed as I approached to see dozens of men in hi-viz jackets and plenty of big construction machinery blocking my way. Despite wearing black, I don’t think I could have sneaked past, even at night.

I had dreaded the eight mile inland detour but I needn’t have worried as in truth it was rather pleasant. The route took me away from the road and up through forestry and alongside hidden lakes before returning me down to the road at the grandiose church like building of Maentwrog hydoelectric power station. I mistakenly stayed on the high wall-lined road for the last mile to cross the river at Maentwrog village but ducked back into the hills on the other side to follow the Ffestiniog railway through the fresh leaved woodland and back down the valley to Penlan.

With only a few miles of my day left the coast path blatantly took a tourist tempting detour down to the edge of Portmeirion. In my opinion, this was needless and quite cynical as you have to pay to get in to the picture postcard village that once took a lead role in The Prisoner, a cracking TV series some 40 or so years ago. As I am a name and not a number, the tempting glimpse did not tempt me enough and I headed over to cross The Cob into Porthmadog and a meet up with Aled in the little bay at Borth-y-Gest.

Stage 67, 8th May: Borth-y-Gest to Llanbedrog

A grim wet forecast from Kate at home was unwanted but right again. With the rain tipping down, I waited half an hour to let it ease before venturing out to cross the beach at Black Rock Sands in full waterproofs. The beach crossing was still masochistically enjoyable and understandably devoid of people, though I couldn’t really appreciate the view with my hood pulled down and pinched in around my face.

On approaching Criccieth the rain eased and was replaced by a heavy sea-mist and drizzle. It was dry enough for me to remove my claggy waterproofs, walk along a drying road and sit on a scruffy beach near Afon Wen for lunch alongside the delightful neighbours of a static caravan park and a sewage farm.  Without warning the sea mist lifted and turned to torrential rain. A hasty donning of my waterproof jacket ensued but before I could think about getting my overtrousers on it was too late and I was drenched.

By the time I reached the beach towards Pwllheli the rain had abated and I took to searching for the biggest complete shells I could find on a foreshore littered with large scallops, some still complete but not particularly appetising. The sun came out and the haze cleared for the first time in what felt like weeks. Snowdonia magically appeared inland with the clouds topping the mountains like cream on a cake. I’d left my camera in the van today for a good wet reason but that reason didn’t seem such a good idea now.

To top a pretty rotten day, Aled had a surprise up his sleeve. Whether he felt sorry for me, whether he was fed up of my pathetic efforts of pronouncing Welsh town names in the close confines of the van, or whether he just fancied some home comforts, I’m not sure. Either way, the thought was a great one as he had managed to find us a stable cottage for three nights of proper base camp. Crugan Farm near Llanbedrog was a perfect little retreat.

Stage 68, 9th May: Llanbedrog to Rhiw

It was to be a dry, sunny but pretty damned windy day. Thus it became a bit of a battle as I climbed the cliff to take a picture of the most photographed beach huts in Wales and rounded the headland at Trwyn Llanbedrog. To the west the bay opened out before me to reveal a fine view across St Tudwal’s Road to the rich boy’s play town of Abersoch. This time the seafront was not so much lined with caravan parks  but instead it was the millionaire’s equivalent, trying to look every bit like Miami Beach condos.  They actually seem to do it quite well and though they are not to my taste, they are a vast improvement on the anonymous rows of static caravans.

On leaving Abersoch a loud squawking drew me to a fight ensuing in the driveway of a large house. A sparrowhawk and a magpie were locked together with the hawk’s talons embedded in the magpie’s chest. I thought about separating them, but the bird of prey wasn’t going to give up a very large lunch for the sake of lil ole me. I decided not to intervene and let nature take its course. I reckoned that the magpie would put up one hell of a fight but would as likely lose.

I then walked right through the middle of yet another golf course to round my second headland of the day and walk across the top of a gorgeous unspoilt and unfrequented beach at Porth Ceiriad. I then fought my way around my biggest and last headland of the day getting buffeted by hefty chilling winds so cold that I even ventured to give my gloves their first outing since March. Down into the bay at Hell’s Mouth, I was disappointed to have to divert inland and zig-zag my way across a literal maze of fields set to pasture for what looked like millions of sheep and the token herd of inquisitive cattle. The coast path signs had annoyed and confused me all day. Work seemed to be in progress all along this stretch with new paths, old paths and closed paths not very distinguishable. I no longer trusted them and just took to map references instead. Ordnance Survey wins today. Oh and just to add….for the first time since day 3 – my feet didn’t complain once! Da daaaaaaaa!

Stage 63, 4th May; Aberystwyth to Machynlleth

A cool overcast day is perfect for walking and I made my way around Aberystwyth seafront with some real optimism for the week ahead. The seafront which, only a couple of months ago, had made the news headlines for the devastating impact of the winter storms showed barely a sign of damage, with only one small section of paving cordoned off and waiting to be be relaid. I have been impressed by our national resilience after the conveyor belt of storms which battered the south and west coast. When we get hit hard we always seem to bounce back quickly and to me that seems so completely and utterly opposed to our rather pathetic efforts to maintain and keep things clean on a day-to-day basis. We seem to revel as a nation in the glory of achieving big things and yet lose interest when it comes to keeping it all running and maintained.

The seafront was lined with campervans and motorhomes many of whom seemed to be brewing up a breakfast. At one van a quick conversation about my little expedition ended with a generous cash donation and my optimism lifted a notch higher.

It was then up and over a few small cliffs for five miles to the long thin and very tired town of Borth before I edged around the salt marshes and broke off for lunch. Clearly my sandwiches were of real interest to two very large and inquisitive horses as they came over to nudge at me to give up some of my much-needed fuel. When I declined they took it upon themselves to start a fight. Not with me – I might add – but with each other. Back to back they stood as they kicked and bucked, landing real eye-watering bruisers on each others backsides. I was rather glad they hadn’t picked a fight with me, but I was genuinely concerned that they might actually hurt each other. Maybe they did, but the fighting stopped and they went back to munching the grass around their hooves again as if nothing had happened. Resolving domestic incidents in the horse fraternity isn’t something I have a natural talent for or even a vague understanding of and probably not something I should consider as a future career move.

I then ducked inland to cross the A487 and climb through woodland to meet up with the Cousin Hill Clan of whom two (Jane and Richard) would join me for the last eight miles into Machynlleth. It was great to have company and the last two and half hours of the day flew by as chat allowed my mind to think of something other than how much my toes / knees / back / shoulder might hurt. To top it all Richard splashed out on a handful of Magnums for us all to enjoy with Aled in the van at Machynlleth station.

That night Aled and I checked in at our campsite and then gladly joined the clan (Aunty Nancy, Mike and Jane, Tricia and Richard plus Jester the dog) for a full Sunday roast at their holiday house in Pennal. As ever, I filled my boots and took full advantage of their copious amounts of hot water and bath facilities. Well, Why not eh?

Stage 64, 5th May: Machynlleth to Llwyngwril

Having given our fee in exchange for a donation from the beautiful location at Gwerniago Farm Camp Site, my main activity today was to have to decide whether to walk along the road or hike up into the hills along the official coast path. I started by walking from Machynlleth along the road and back past Gwerniago to Pennal. It might have been another perfect overcast and cool walking day, but I didn’t like that road walk. It was dangerous. Too many high walls, blind bends and nowhere to escape if a car cut it too fine.

At Pennal I nipped in on the clan again for a brisk bacon butty and then headed out over the fields after offering to take Jester for a very long walk. Once up and inland again, I enjoyed the aptly named Panorama Walk which gave me grand views of the estuary and valleys inland and beyond to Snowdonia. Though the weather was great for walking it was rubbish for taking photos and it really wasn’t worth taking even one as in this instance the cloud and hazy mist just turned everything into a flat grey digital blur and couldn’t do justice to what I had seen with my eyes.

I eventually headed back down to sea level at Aberdovey for lunch and a spot of people watching by the beach. Unfortunately I couldn’t stay long which was s shame as there were plenty of entertaining people about and a certain predominance of brummy accents. Instead I opted for a long hike along the sand to a very drab and dreary Tywyn which didn’t entice me to hang about so I quickly crossed the railway line, grabbed a quick Mint Feast from the local shop and headed inland once again for an equally drab and dreary road which seemed to drag on for miles. At least it gave me the chance to catch up on a few phone calls, though I suspect that my chat wasn’t the most inspiring.

When I reached the main road I was feeling particularly drained and quite bored, so this time elected to follow the official coast path and went even further inland and over the hills. This lifted my spirit if not my energy and I lingered (rested) to explore a derelict farmhouse complete with abandoned personal possessions and a lovely old rusting range in the fireplace (photo).

Fortunately, Aled had booked a B&B at the Garthangharad Hotel with a welcome gratis room for me at my end of day stopover, so guess what….I had another bath!

Stage 65, 6th May: Llwyngwril to Llandanwg

With the company of a man named Aled and fluent Welsh (North Walian) speaker for the week, I was not only grateful for his ability to speak to the locals in their soft and lyrical tone, but also for being very patient with me and my very clumsy and typically English effort at trying to pronounce place names with far to many LLs, FFs and DDs in them. The whole week was becoming quite an education to me, but I’m still not sure it will stick.

From the door of the B&B I had a decent 45 minute climb to nearly 1,000 ft, with cracking views down into Barmouth Bay (photo) and across the next estuary into Snowdonia again. From here I had a rapid descent through plantation forestry into Fairbourne and around the estuary flats before crossing the long and spectacular Barmouth Bridge. I then discovered that the distance saving ferry to Barmouth was running but I was glad I made the bridge crossing as using seasonal ferries isn’t in my rules, even if they are only my rules.

I picked up my pace along the promenade at Barmouth and just missed the Cousin Hill Clan who had arrived in town just as I was heading out of it along another few miles of tedious roadside tarmac. From here I obediently followed the coast path which seemed to needlessly duck away from the road to cross a few caravan parks, as if advertising their wares. It then quickly nipped back up the road and equally quickly left it again as if having made up its mind to find the sea. I crossed some very welcome dunes and eagerly made my way along two and a half miles of deserted Morfa Dyffryn beach before crossing a huge and very nearly empty campsite at Shell Island.

With the high revving and popping sound of a high performance sports car racing around the disused Llanbedr Airfield accompanying me I then took to familiar bland MOD roads crossed the railway for the umpteenth time to find Aled in Llandanwg. In doing so, I just managed to dodge the big black clouds heavy with rain which had been looming over my right shoulder for the past two hours. Success!

Stage 61, 1st May: Mwnt to New Quay

With heavy rain to start the day, my hopes for Ceredigion weren’t improving. I spent the first hour or so inching forward along slippery muddy paths edged with knee-high clumps of wet grass, which were very quickly exposing the fragility of my boots waterproofing. Though my boots fit like slippers and seem to be quite tough yet lightweight, their water resisting qualities seem to last barely a few miles and I am soon squelching my way to a sock change as the water seeps in where my toes crease the upper.

By Aberporth the rain has stopped but clouds hang low and heavy over the cliff tops. Ceredigion is taking its revenge on me for my lack of enthusiasm yesterday. It’s tough walking. Lots of steep climbs, quaint inlets to round and slippery slopes to descend. The inlets at Tresaith and Llangrannog are both hidden until I am literally on top of them and at the latter I take a break to reminisce and reacquaint myself with some excellent chips from the Beach Hut (not a day for ice cream). I briefly catch up with Phil and Stuart who sit with me to enjoy their full fish and chips whilst I cram mine in accompanying them with some cheese and marmite sandwiches and a pork pie.

From Llangrannog it’s up and over again to cross a long winding cliff path cut into the edge of tall cliffs and feeling every bit like a scene from Middle Earth. The path was….errr….supposedly closed, due to a landslip. However, the barrier tape was stripped back and it certainly looked passable to me. Indeed it was passable, but not for the faint hearted as the cliff had slipped away and the path was now perched precariously on the steep slope with deep cracks filled with newly deposited scree and loose earth (photo).  To miss this section by traipsing inland via the signposted diversion would have spoilt the highlight of my day, so in my head the dynamic risk assessment was worth it.

Another drop from the hills brought me to the once pretty hamlet of Cymtydu now dominated by yet another static caravan park. I sometimes wonder why planners allow these modern-day shanty towns to sprout up in such idyllic locations only to completely spoil the place. I’m sure it’s a good way of generating an alternative income, but surely there is a more aesthetically pleasing way of skinning that cat.

With a final climb and traverse it was on to New Quay and an exhausted meeting with Stuart and Phil (Tweedledum and Tweedledee). I was mighty grateful for their company and an evening of slightly coarse schoolboy humour.

Stage 62, 2nd May: New Quay to Aberystwyth

A cool overcast day with a drying breeze was perfect for walking. New Quay seemed very quaint out of season and presented a picture postcard scene (photo) as I rounded the shingle topped beach at high tide for a low cliff and woodland walk to Aberaeron. Here the coast opened out with the sea bounded by a wide expanse of lowland farmland edged by soft low banks topping scruffy shingle and silty beaches. The smell of fertiliser hang in the air and lines of ubiquitous static caravans were always there to blight any potentially pretty spot. The path ran parallel to the main landward A487 West Wales coast road only briefly closing together to skirt another caravan park near Llanrhystud.

From here things improved dramatically as the path crossed rolling green hills. The grass was truly lush, soft under foot and sprinkled liberally with sheep poo. The occasional derelict farm, not spoilt by a field full of static caravans, allowed the mind to picture a rather juicy and probably very expensive renovation project. My wishful thoughts were brought to a halt as I crossed into a buzzard’s nesting ground and found myself aimlessly flailing my walking pole in the air as the huge defensive bird duly and angrily buzzed me till I was out of range.

One last climb of the day was followed by a long sharp drop and almost aerial approach into Aberystwyth. With a final sweep around Tanybwich Beach I met up with Stuart and Phil for our last night and a good plate full of pasta to top up my carbohydrates.

Rest Day, 3rd May: Aberystwyth

A day to take stock, do some laundry, say my thanks and goodbyes to Phil and Stuart and wait for Aled (a former work colleague and friend) to arrive.

The totals?  1,243 miles,  218,400 ft of ascent over 62 days of walking, averaging over 20 miles and 3,500ft per day.

The body? Lighter….much! Not sure of my exact poundage loss since I started training last year, but my waist certainly has a dramatically reduced circumference even if I am probably developing an ice cream belly.

Sanity? I think it’s still there….somewhere. I do feel enormously guilty for being away from home for so long. That feeling doesn’t settle or dissipate and seems to get worse on days when I’ve enjoyed myself.  I fear telling my family that I’ve had a great day sometimes as I am fully aware that they are back in the real world and that the grass needs cutting again. I miss home too, but I can’t admit that here, can I?

Gripes? Not really….and I shouldn’t complain as it was my decision to attempt this walk. But I would be lying if I said it was easy. So for a bit of honesty, here is my little catalogue:

• The blisters I had early on have now healed or toughened to a callous. My feet and toes are sore every night and I can barely hobble around for an hour or two after I’ve sat down for a rest. By morning once I slip on those slipper-like boots they seem raring to go again.
• I also suspect – not confirmed – that I actually broke a toe on Stage 3. It took six weeks before I felt comfy on it again, so fingers crossed.
• My back aches a smidge – but that’s my own fault for having naff posture. Back straight Mr Hill!
• My right shoulder does hurt….but nothing a bit of Wol taught and self-administered reflexology and a large dose of ibuprofen can’t keep at bay.

Stage 58, 28th April: Whitesands Bay to Strumble Head

Now it really was rather amiss of me not to mention in my last blog that I enjoyed a Twister when I passed through Newgale on Friday. Humble apologies to those who like to know a little more about my ice cream intake.

I knew today would be one of stunning scenery as I set out over the next few days to cover very familiar family holiday territory. What I thought would be a glorious sunny day to compliment the scenery was indeed sunny, but disappointingly hazy. The light and conditions were poor for photos and when I met a photographer with his huge SLR camera plus oversized tripod on the cliff path shortly out of Whitesands Bay, we agreed.

The first ten miles to Porthgain was, to put it simply, gorgeous. If I could recommend any ten-mile section of the coast so far it would be this one. I had so many “Wow” moments with so many different scenes and that’s despite the fact that I know the area well. Usually I get a couple of these moments per day, here it was a couple per hour. I feel I’d be robbing people the opportunity to see for themselves by trying to describe what I saw, so I won’t.  Hopefully some of the pictures I’ve put on Flickr will do a few of the scenes justice, but I suspect they fall way short.

For part of this section I met up with Stuart, half of the Stuart and Phil support crew combination I had as company for the week. Phil had to vanish back to work for a day or two, but Stuart joined me at Abereiddy where we lingered at the Blue Lagoon (photo), scene of one round of the 2013 Red Bull Cliff Diving World Series. We ambled at a leisurely pace over to Porthgain, passing the lovely beach down below the cliff at Traeth Llyfn and my favourite Sea Bass fishing mark (no, I’m not telling). On reaching Porthgain we enjoyed a rare lunchtime pint in The Sloop and browsed around the gallery. The brick / slate / roadstone history of this little port gives it a dramatic backdrop and we lingered probably a little longer than we should.

I left Stuart at the gallery and headed back on the path for some increasingly rough and rugged terrain to cover.  Time was noticeably ticking by and the day was already wearing a little long, as were my feet. Though the afternoon didn’t carry as many wows, I still felt that the camera couldn’t really do it justice. Even the spectacularly sited youth hostel high on the cliff edge at Pwll Deri looked dull to photograph and by the time I reached the Strumble Head lighthouse it was well past 7pm and we were due back at Wol and Taffy’s for my last night of pampering. Even if Strumble Head didn’t photograph brilliantly today at least I had one I made earlier to hand (photo).

Stage 59, 29th April: Strumble Head to Newport Sands

With genuine and heart-felt thanks, Stuart and I said our goodbyes to Wol and Taffy and headed out for another sunny, yet disappointingly hazy day. The terrain continued to be rugged with an almost scottish lowland feel about it. I couldn’t really identify any particular landmarks, but that didn’t make the walk boring or dull. But real entertainment value was had as I stood aside to let a full coach load of ramblers walk by followed by a large group of Geology students from Keele, this time carrying blue hard hats and their regulation issue yellow field notebooks. It must have taken a good fifteen minutes for me to try to say hello to all of them and in catching the second rambler I saw for a two-minute chat caused a bit of a traffic jam.

On dropping down the cliff into the port of Goodwick my eye was immediately drawn by the sight of an ice cream van parked bang on the path. On approaching, my eye was further drawn by the fact that it seemed to have one of my flyers posted in their window alongside the iced-lolly menu. Stuart had primed them. I couldn’t resist – a Mint Feast was soon in my mucky palm and I didn’t even get a discount.

A tarmac path bypassed Fishguard along the Marine Walk taking me around the headland and down to the prettier Lower Town.  Onwards I discovered many hidden inlets and coves, including a real gem at Aber Bach and a gentle but long climb up the south side of Dinas Head took me to a trig point at the farthest end before a gentle mirrored descent down the north side and a return to cliff top walking and even more pretty bays all the way to Newport. With a quick inland diversion around the bird rich estuary of the river Nevern and I was back across a links golf course to meet up with Stuart at the north end of Newport Sands and a very welcome overnight stop at the luxuriously appointed Llwyngwair Manor Holiday Park.

Stage 60, 30th April: Newport Sands to Mwnt

Although it was overcast and cool with occasional spits of rain, it was not enough to dampen my spirit. The long knee-deep grass gave me a wet start and I spent the first hour knocking dew off the tufts overhanging the path in a vain attempt to keep my feet dry in boots which were not quite as waterproof as advertised. The terrain was rugged again with many ups and downs and with inlets and coves to circumnavigate. It was all very pretty, yet also a little samey, until I reached Traeth Bach where the inlets became inundated with added arches, caves and even peculiar little sea etched tunnels.

Heavy folding in the high cliff strata with sharp anticlines and synclines reflecting the geology I saw way across the water back in North Cornwall was equally spectacular at Camaes Head (photo). Some of the folded rocks were bent double in the water and at first glance resembled the back of a very large beached whale.

From Camaes Head a gradual fall took me to Poppit Sands and the Afon Teifi estuary up to St Dogmaels and around to Cardigan. On the pavement alongside the main road into Cardigan I sadly turned and said a fond farewell to the acorn symbol of Pembrokeshire and hello to the waves and cliffs symbol of the Ceredigion Coast Path. The first few miles of pavement, farmers fields and roadside walking back down river from Cardigan to Gwbert and across to Mwnt didn’t bode well for Ceredigion. I rather hoped it might improve along with my aching right shoulder, nagging sore toes and a grumbling left knee. More ibuprofen anyone?

Stage 56, 24th April: Dale to Broad Haven

After yesterday’s personal best of 26 mixed Pembrokeshire miles, today was now proper Pembrokeshire in my eyes.  The refinery humming had given way to gently undulating cliffs with the reassuring sound of breaking waves. If I turned an eye backwards the refineries’ stacks were still visible, but the bright if hazy sunshine gave them back the grand mystical look I first encountered rather than the overbearing unease I felt at close quarters.

Marloe Sands were guarded by inaccessible cliffs with only a few hardy souls having made it down to the beach all tucked in at one end. Beyond came the very sheltered cove of Martin’s Haven where a dad was teaching his young son to fish from the small pier by casting, holding the rod and clearly just fishing himself. The lad seemed to have lost interest and was idly picking at stones with, I suspect, an urge to throw them at the float his dad was watching intently.

I passed over more low cliffs with the occasional seal head bobbing just beyond the surf before coming into the tiny hamlet of St Brides Cross (photo). St Brides Bay was now opening out in all its glory and the haze had melted away to reveal a crystal clear view right across to St Davids and beyond. To my distant left I could just make out the coast of Devon and Cornwall, but only just. This would probably be my last sight of somewhere now very distant in my memory too.

Stage 57, 25th April: Broad Haven to Whitesands Bay

Today proved to be a stunning day all round. The weather was clear, bright and pleasantly warm without being too hot. Fortunately everything was at its best for a long day combining the many predicted ascents and coves with distance.

Much of this coast is familiar to me due to numerous family holidays in the area. Usually I’d seen much of it from the road / landward side. This side is better. If any part of this journey was to resemble some of the more rugged parts of Cornwall and Devon it would be the next few walking days.  Steep valley traverses feel very familiar, if less daunting than when I first met them back in March. The coves, bays and havens seem tranquil and were filled with turquoise seas topped by powder-blue skies. This ruggedness stayed with me all the way to the popular and picturesque village of Solva but then gave way to shallower rolling cliffs with only the tiny harbour at Porthclais (photo) stepping inland before continuing around to St Justinian’s and the traditional boathouse and slipway of St Davids lifeboat station.

The tide had recently turned and was gathering incredible pace as it ran out over the rocks straddling the channel between the nature reserve of Skomer island and the mainland, known locally as The Bitches.  I briefly stopped to admire the current eddying and almost, but not quite, forming whirlpools.

It was a long day and the clock was well past six o’clock by the time I turned into Whitesands Bay. Throughout the day I had met a fair few walkers enjoying the best of the weather. I’d met a German tourer, an American hiker, a few Welsh strollers and of course the obligatory English residents whom I envied a little for having forsaken their homeland to adopt this stunning part of the world. But the best meeting of the day came right at the end and much though it would have been great to meet up with Rob, he had already taken advantage of a lift and headed homewards with yet more of my thanks. So, with two days rest promised at a friend’s house near Fishguard, a familiar face and slim figure stood on the path staring out across the beach. Kate had made her way over for the weekend. She didn’t see me coming, nor did she smell me – which was probably more of a surprise.  Even with my texts forewarning her of my ripening travel aroma it didn’t stop her from giving me a great big and very welcome hug.

MILES TO DATE: 1,134   ASCENT: 192,000 ft

Rest Days, 26th & 27th April: Letterston nr Fishguard

With two very welcome days in the company of Kate at Wol’s (Anne) and Taffy’s (a very old but rather soft border collie) house, it was great to be able to relax, have a bath or three, catch up on the washing, let the feet have a breather, enjoy some pampering and take stock of my little adventure to date. The thought of starting again on Monday didn’t seem particularly appealing and saying goodbye to Kate after her brief but very welcome visit wasn’t easy at all. I was sorely tempted to head back with her for all the comforts and familiarity of home…. but no – onwards and upwards, on the map at least.