In every human pursuit undertaken across the British Isles, the availability of tea and cake holds paramount importance. When a hiker or cyclist delivers the harsh verdict “there’s no good café” to their companions, an eerie silence ensues as everyone promptly excludes that cursed area from their itinerary. The significance of this essential food item is evident in our island’s landscape: Dundee, Eccles, Bakewell, Chelsea …
Thus, it was with some anxiety that I embarked on a walk around the Llŷn peninsula in Gwynedd, Wales, as part of what is known as the Seafood Trail. I adore lobster, but where are the fruit scones? Bangor University’s ocean sciences department has created a directory of seafood vendors to motivate trekkers along the coastal route. That’s great, but it’s the afternoon slump that concerns me.
We commence our journey on the northern coast in Nefyn, a locale featuring an outstanding brewery and a beautiful beach that houses one of Wales’ most Instagrammed pubs, the Tŷ Coch Inn. My friend Andy and I are both anxiously checking the weather applications as the forecast predicts storms. The intention is to hike and camp, but only after a calm beginning at the Nanhoron Arms hotel. This proves to be twice as advantageous as dinner includes a delectable Anglesey sea bass, and the following morning, we can remain dry while observing a relentless downpour. We each packed a tent, yet neither has been tested under such rainfall.
I’m already a devotee of the Wales Coast Path, one of the most stunning walks globally, but I’ve never traversed this specific segment. Right away, we have a fantastic beginning: the rain stops, and we traverse the Nefyn golf course, settling into a pattern of cliffs and coves. In a protected area, a few Atlantic grey seals frolic in shallow waters while the older ones rest on the shore. A kestrel hovers aloft, and butterflies flutter around a few late blossoms. In May, this would be a floral extravaganza, but for now, we have blackberries to sustain us.
As lunchtime nears, we begin to look ahead and almost instantly spot Cwt Tatws. The name approximately translates to the Potato Shed, but it fails to capture the true splendor of this café, made even more remarkable by its prime location near a gorgeous stretch of sandy beach in Towyn. A diverse selection of sandwiches, salads, pies, and, of course, cakes, is complemented by cozy seating, a vintage clothing area, and an offering of Welsh products. Unfortunately, we both lack room in our backpacks for a bag of sea salt or a bottle of Welsh whisky. However, we do indulge in an additional piece of coffee and walnut sponge before departing.
After 3 miles (5km), we descend onto a sandy beach at low tide and navigate through a cluster of sentinel rocks. This lengthy stretch, Traeth Penllech, is truly a gem, guiding us toward our first campsite at Moel-y-Berth. Operated by Mike and Joanna Smith, this is the type of location that visitors return to annually. There’s a shop and a handy café for breakfast where, the next morning, we sit and witness another wild storm sweep through. When we eventually venture out, however, the sun has returned.
Our fortune persists throughout the day, but by midafternoon, a dilemma is approaching. Without tea and cake, I suspect my stamina will only last for a few more miles. However, at Porthor’s Whistling Sands beach, Caffi Porthor makes an appearance, another treasure, offering an extensive assortment of delectable homemade cakes, including the Welsh classic, Bara brith. If you’re not acquainted with this delightful delicacy, it’s a fruit cake infused with tea and spices. And Caffi Porthor creates the finest I’ve ever tried. Andy, rather foolishly, declines it, and as a result, three miles later, he believes he has run out of energy, opting for a shortcut across the headland to Dwyros, our second campsite. Meanwhile, fueled by tea and cake, I continue on for an additional seven miles around what is the best segment thus far: the actual end of the Llŷn peninsula. The breathtaking cliffs provide a stunning view of the tidal race between the headland and Bardsey Island. On a day like this, with powerful winds and a current running at approximately four meters per second, it’s an awe-inspiring sight.
Aberdaron, just around the bend, is a charming village featuring an excellent fish and chip shop, Sblash, and a wonderful pub, The Ship, an ideal spot to practice a few Welsh phrases as that’s the primary language here, as it is in most of Llŷn.
Regrettably, the following morning, my linguistic abilities falter. When I inquire with some teenage boys about the path to Rhiw, the next village, I’m greeted with laughter. Apparently, my question pertains to something entirely different.
The seafood, however, has truly come into its own now. In Rhiw, I connect with Brett and Nia, who gather crab and lobster for their Top Cat Caffi, where we enjoy a lobster salad for lunch. Unfortunately, the weather is rapidly worsening, so we’re unable to assist with that day’s catch, which Brett invites visitors to help with. That night, camped at Rhydolion farm, we manage an additional mile to the charming village of Llanengan to savore some exquisite mussels at the Sun Inn.
The final day involves an invigorating trek across surfers’ beach, Hell’s Mouth, once infamous for shipwrecks, then around the Mynydd Cilan headland to Abersoch, where there are plenty of cafés to seek refuge from the storm. The seafood has been remarkable, but the cherished memories of tea and cakes are what I hold dear.
The trip was sponsored by Natural Resources Wales
