2nd May 2010
Mariah, They call the wind Mariah [Paint Your Wagon]
Another walk up the Snowdon Ranger path in the early morning, back up to the
first ridge as yesterday to look for the Grasshopper Warblers again. This time
it was blowing a gale.
Returning to the hostel, I packed up the bike and set off for the next RSPB Reserve,
Morfa Dinlle, I eventually found it but not with the help of any RSPB
signs because there were not any. I did see two Whimbrel here but little else
due to an exceedingly high tide.
Through Caernarfon I cycled after following the coastal path for a while but I was
not allowed into the castle because of the bike. There was nowhere available
for bikes so I would have had to leave all the panniers, tent, sleeping bag and
of course The Lads outside the castle with the bike chained to a railing. Sad
not to be able to trust people not to steal things. I was extremely
disappointed but I was not prepared to argue. Different places I had found,
from whatever organisation, were quite different in their approach to cyclists
and their bikes. Here, Cadw, the Welsh Government Heritage Organisation, unlike
the fabulously accommodating English Heritage at Rochester Castle in Kent, would
not let me put the bike and panniers anywhere except, as I said, chained to the
railing outside the castle walls. I politely pointed out that I had had the
collection box stolen from the front on a previous occasion and would have to
decline their offer. I did not want that to happen again.
So sad to have missed such a wonderful castle, one of the best in Britain, let
alone the most impressive in Wales, I cycled on. In fact I cycled onto Anglesey
via the Britannia Bridge. It is such a shame that electricity cables spoiled
the view down the Straits.
Wait a minute Gary! What is all this talk? Sad and disappointed in Caernarfon? What about the views of the castle from outside? What about the spectacular views a little while later when cycling over The Britannia Bridge overlooking the Menai Straits? Get a grip, man! Life is good. Caernarfon and Anglesey were fabulous.
Right, getting back into a more positive frame of mind, I made a quick
stop at Nelson's statue with its views to Plas Newydd. Located on the shore of
The Menai Traits, south west from the Britannia Bridge, Plas Newydd is a
stately home where I had stayed whilst at Chester College. A Biology Field Week
enjoyed there with other students and one of the best biologist lecturers I was
ever privileged to meet, Bruce Ings, with beautiful grounds overlooking the
Straits back in the summer of 1975. Bruce Ings was a passionate natural
historian with a particular interest in myxomycetes, in other words those
fascinating lumps of colour one can find on tree trunks called Slime Moulds.
Such a privilege to have had him as one of my lecturers.
On
the way towards the next RSPB reserve, I made another quickish stop at the
place that I defy anyone not Welsh to pronounce, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwyllllantysiliogogogoch.
I tried to pronounce it by speaking out loud and luckily no one was anywhere
near to hear my garbled attempt. I later heard that the wonderful comedian and
Northern Irishman, Belfast-born Frank Carson could say it. It's the way he
tells it!
I
found and looked at yet another burial chamber not too far away. Bodowyr, alone
in a field stood quite impressively surrounded by a fence to protect it from
the sheep!
Down to the famous Cob adjacent to the famous house that belonged to a
favourite bird artist, Charles Tunnicliffe. I remembered how I collected his
books a few years back and would gaze at the etchings and paintings within
their pages. I went and sat outside the house, his house, near to the road
bridge in order to try and see the sea, beach and bay with his eyes.
Turning inland, I followed the large dyke's bank, cycling until I reached the large expanses, wet grassland and reedbed blocks, of the next RSPB Reserve at Malltraeth Marshes. As I watched the birds there the sun slowly set on what had been a fabulous if a little mixed day. I slept by camping near the reserve but not before seeing Swift at last [187] and even then, I had a Lesser Whitethroat singing close by as I snuggled into my sleeping bag in my tent on a path amongst the reeds.
Tickle My
Feathers
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