Jeremy and I are once again meeting in a strange car park in the middle of Wales… (disclaimer no sheep were hurt on this walk)! The car park was in Blaenau Ffestiniog just a short distance from the campsite we will be using on Tuesday night. We’re repeating what we did last time. We’re leaving the tents pre-erected at a campsite halfway through the walk. Cheating… maybe, but neither of us cares!

As is so often the case with coastal walks, the tents are just a couple of kilometres from our starting point, that is if you don’t mind getting wet or worse and with a heavy rucksack on, even drowning! In the way is the Glaslyn and Dwyryd Estuaries. Not massive detours but enough to make that two or three kilometres, 20 odd kilometres! However, before we contemplate the estuary walk the luxury of a hotel in Portmerion awaits. I’m told by Carolynn that I’ve been there before, but for the life of me I can’t remember. I’m not going to go into the history of Portmerion here, except to say that it’s an eccentric’s folly made famous by the TV program ‘The Prisoner’. I’m sure that many historians will be jumping up and down at my short description of such an amazing place, but if you’re interested Google it.

After an incredible breakfast, surpassed only by our Bacon and Egg butty the following morning, we set off to our start point. The parking is actually on the beach, a very long shallow beach. So I’m a tad dubious at leaving the car there even though I parked it as high up the beach as possible. What was a little off putting was that the tidal line appeared to come very close to the rear wheels of my car! I walked away from the car wishing I had the faith that we would see it again.

The first stop was just 100m into the walk, a lady, of similar age to ourselves, walking her dogs. I don’t know what came over me but I started up a conversation. Jeremy was stunned, he was actually speechless, as we talked about the coast path and a number of other walk’s in far distant lands. I have no idea why or how the conversation started, all I know is that it actually felt quite satisfying! A one off, surely.

45 minutes later it happened again! A couple on a week’s holiday were looking out over the estuary, I was a few metres in front of Jeremy deciding whether or not to keep my poncho on or risk removing it only to have to stop a few metres further down the path when it threatened rain once again, when I came head to head with the aforementioned couple. Rather than putting my head down and mumbling an incoherent greeting as I passed them, which would have been normal for me, I stopped and started up a conversation. Not the usual conversation about the weather but a more meaningful one about the local history and the couples many trips to the area. Jeremy, although still a little aghast at my conversational prowess, managed to contribute and then finally to talk us into an exit strategy, which after 30 minutes was required if we were to get on the move properly.

The rest of the day was spent talking and walking as only two older gentlemen can. The talk was of past prowess, putting the world to rights and how hard it is being retired!!! Until one kilometre before the end of our walk, we passed an elderly gentleman on an e-Bike taking his dog for a walk and if my mouth didn’t open again, another 10 minutes of my life wasted with small talk… why I asked myself? 10 minutes later we passed him again on his return and if we didn’t then spend another 30 minutes chatting about his life in Wales after moving from Solihull!

Tent life, living life as nature intended, free from modern technology and all the trappings of modern life! Life doesn’t get any better, two old friends, relaxing in our tents thinking of… well actually a pub meal, rather than the dehydrated pulled pork cardboard I was about to cook for us. The pub won the day and did either of us feel guilty… absolutely not. We also used this time to go and fetch my car from its dubious position on the beach and took it to the end of the walk. It would save us negotiating the public transport the following day.

Breakfast was once again not one of my gourmet meals of dehydrated porridge but after a short walk was a bacon and egg cob from Spar! It was here that once again we were to meet one of those locals that can only be found in ‘Little Britain’, his name ‘Bomber’. Nothing unusual about that, a very respectful nickname, until you hear on how he got it. It’s not a question we asked but it was freely given, anyway…it seems that he was unable to control his bowel movements during his school days!!! He only went into the Spar shop to buy his daily paper, how we managed to attract his attention, I’ve no idea. I’ve come to the conclusion that Jeremy and I must have the type of faces that attract some very strange personalities.

We were walking on the outer rim of the second named storm of the season and the winds were beginning to increase, the sand was blowing low across the ground swirling over driftwood causing ripples of sand to gently advance like an on coming tidal wave. We were struggling to make headway, with our heads bent into the wind, and our hoods up as we slowly made our way up the beach. We were at this point, on a section of beach that both of us were looking forward to. A designated ‘naturist beach’. It seems that a storm in the middle of November isn’t necessarily the best time to ogle at middle aged nudists on a beach! We were, I have to say, a tad disappointed.

The end was in sight, so another section completed and the next one booked for February 2024!