‘At last the climax, a nerve-racking step over a vast space’: my Anglesey adventure
29.08.2023 - 06:35
/ theguardian.com
Sometimes you have to travel far to understand what you’ve left behind. Fifteen years ago, on a granite slab in the Rockies, a local climbing guide turned to me and said, “Ever heard of a place called Anglesey?”
We’d ascended to a pinnacle under an azure sky. The soaring rock giants of the American west stood sentinel all around. I was a beginner in rock climbing, but this looked about as good as it could get. He sighed. “Anglesey. I’ll go before I die.” He looked away with a thousand-yard stare, and added, gnomically, “A Dream of White Horses.”
Humans love naming the things they find. The first Europeans into America lavished their imagination on the landscape, hence Eureka Springs, Ginger Blue and Humptulips – a Terry Pratchett favourite. In Wales, religious mystics wove biblical legend into the hills: there’s Nasareth, Bethlehem and Paradwys. Rock-climbing routes are named by their discoverers, usually with similarly imaginative grandiloquence. A select few climbs become classics. An even smaller number become global superstars, sufficiently famous for a man from Wyoming, who had never been to Europe, to yearn to experience A Dream of White Horses, a route on the north stack of Gogarth.
He leaned back against the rock. “Solid-gold classic, man.”
Now I’m heading to Anglesey (Ynys Môn in Welsh) with climbing guide Henry Castle from Climb Pembroke, one of the country’s top sea-cliff climbing specialists. In the car, we discuss why routes become famous. “The moves, the rock,” he says, “and the journey.” He thinks a bit. “And the commitment. A Dream of White Horses is about commitment. Once you start, there’s no going back.”
I hope I can cope. I have two days to dwell on the fear while I do other things.
Cemlyn Bay, on the north of Anglesey, is a lovely spot cut across by a shingle bank that has isolated a lagoon. If you can ignore the distant silhouette of the decommissioned Wylfa nuclear power station, it’s perfect. A footpath across the shingle makes a great platform for watching the birds that nest on the lagoon’s islands. Mostly it is terns – flocks of Arctic and sandwich – but there’s a pair of avocets, too, and oystercatchers. I explore the banks a bit and spot large mullet basking.
I paddle out, skirting the western side of the bay and rounding an island. Seals pop their heads up. Sea kayaking requires careful study of wind, tides and weather forecasts, but I’m heading out in slack water with a light breeze predicted to drop away under a clear sky. If you’re unsure, get a guide or do a course. Anglesey is renowned for its sea kayaking and there are several outfits. I’ve brought my own kayak, but they are available to hire.
When I get to the centre of Cemlyn Bay, I chuck out my spinner and haul