Waking up to the dawn chorus of the nearby sheep i was pleasantly surprised when I poked my head from beneath the flysheet to see relatively clear skies. I'd been expecting poor weather again but was hoping that it would stay clear at least during my ascent of the mountain waiting for me on my door step.
Leaving camp i set off towards a track tthat ran along the base of the mountain towards a steep track which was once the entrance to the quarry situated about half way up. It was going to be a tough and gradual start to my day. Slowly making my way up the views behind me over looking Trefor and the coastline I'd spent the previous couple of days hiking were spectacular.
The old quarry hadn't been used for many years and the derelict buildings built into the rocks were not only impressive in size but also eerily quite. From below it looked like an enormous fortress. It was in fact where the stone was crushed and loaded into carts and eventually lorries ready to be shipped to Liverpool for export.
The track now began to zig zag the remainder of the way to the summit. The weather appeared to be holding out and with a slight breeze and fairly clear skies it seemed the weather reports had been wrong. Finally reaching the top i began the long but easy hike back down the far side. It was considerably cooler at the top and making my way down the wind increased, it was fresh to say the least.
As i made my way along the track from the top i looked downbto my right and wondered if i could have taken a more direct if not more exciting route back down. I was uncertain at first but as i descended and had a better clearer view i could just make out a faint track that potentially would have been safe enough although extremely steep. I wasn't going back though to find out as i was halfway down already and heading towards where i thought would have been a nice walk if it hadn't been for mass deforestation.
Now at a lower altitude the air begun to warm, i still had a fair hike ahead of me before i would reach the coast again so i downed my pack and took a break. Whilst sat at the side of the road taking in the incredible change of scenery, it was like I'd passed through a wardrobe and stepped into a fictional fantasy land, an elderly gentleman was walking up the hill towards me.
We greeted each other and began to chat. The gentleman was a local who as it transpires had lived in the area all his life and regularly went down the hill to the coast from his village a bit further up from where we met. He'd seen massive changes in his lifetime and recalled life around the quarry and how it impacted his childhood.
The forest that was being torn down around us had only been planted sone 60 years earlier. In his youth the gentleman recalled the landscape being very different, there were no trees just rock, heather and grass. The quarry was also running and as a child he often went down to the village below to play with the children, riding the empty quarry carts up the mountain with no health and safety to stop them.
During the war the area had also been mined to prevent the Germans from landing tanks there. These had long been removed and the area was now safe to enjoy. We continued to chat and stories of his youth recalled how he used to take a ride with the local postman down the old cart track to the bottom where he was often handed the key to the postbox, for him it was a privilege even though quite often there would be maybe only one letter to be delivered.
The gentleman's father was also a special constable during the war, it was a way of avoiding conscription and being sent away to the front line. One old war story he told me was of a fisherman who lived up on the hill in solitude. The villagers hardly saw him, one day his dad was called to a fire at the fishermans cottage which had burnt down to the ground. Whilst inspecting the remains he came across the bones of three dogs but no human remains. Locals had spoke if a red flashing light in the sea the same night and speculation began to flourish as to whether or not the fisherman had in fact been a german spy and if the red flashing light was in fact a beacon on a u boat to guide the spy to it for extraction.
As we said fairwell it began to briefly sleat and once again the air felt cold. I continued my descent down to what remained of the old quarry village stopping at a cafe near the beach for a hot chocolate. My chosen route would now drop me briefly onto the stony beach below before having to once again make an ascent up into a smaller quarry and up onto the cliffs above.
After passing through several fields i stopped for custard. I was feeling unusually hungry. Re energised i continued on following the signs of the coastal path where i hit the main road. The path headed inland but i continued along the road finding an overgrown foot path leading down to a beach once more.
The beach was very stony and hard going and swept round to a small headland with a harbour and half a dozen houses and some huts. A set of steps cut into the cliffs took me back up to the top where once again i rejoined the coastal path that would take me passed ty coch inn, the worlds third best pub, I'd been told. From the pub, which was closed, i carried on following an unusual footpath again cut into the cliffs until u reached the new Porth dinllaen lifeboat station, my destination for the day.
Whilst relaxing in the crew room i was joined by the local womens institute who were there for a tour of the station. Speaking predominantly in welsh, which i found very kool, they very politely translated their banter into English so that i could join in the laughter. I was being made extremely welcome. Once the tour had finished i was taken to the old crew quarters, a house in the village where i could rest up and prepare myself for the following day.
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