Words: Ray Goodwin

Photos: Ollie Sandeman &
Ray Goodwin

This adventure is covered in three YouTube videos:
https://youtu.be/NdIBadSgmWk
https://youtu.be/JHGHYvqMy78
https://youtu.be/L2b7ok8R1xE
Ray has taken a canoe around the Stack on a different trip: https://youtu.be/JEUnWAqL4jQ.

THANKS TO:

Thank you to Ollie Sandeman and Dave Janes for the excellent company on this adventure. It was great to do something with you at last. My thanks to Silverbirch Canoes for the wonderfully light Kevlar Broadland; NRS for the gear, including dry bags and BA, and Freebird Paddles.

Ray Goodwin’s website:
www.RayGoodwin.com
YouTube Channel:
www.youtube.com/c/
RayGoodwinCanoe

Frontier Bushcraft
https://frontierbushcraft.com

Ray Goodwin’s Ynys Mon/Anglesey
Big tides and strong winds

It had long been on my list, around Ynys Mon in a solo canoe. It was over a cup of tea that I shared that idea with Ollie Sandeman, and lo and behold, it was in his sights as well. Within minutes, a plan was being hatched with Dave Janes coming along. Paddling it with these two was an attractive idea.

In the days before the trip, Dave came up with a plan, using the wind forecast to start near Caernarfon and do a clockwise circumnavigation. But the best laid plans changed with the latest forecast. None of us wanted to be in a strong east wind on the west coast, and with tide races towards the end of the day. The plan changed, and we would go east on the Menai Strait, into the wind, but have a better wind direction on the subsequent days.

Day 1
My alarm went off at 04:00, and I was quickly up. A hurried tea and a slice of toast, and I was in the car.  The drive to Caernarfon was easy, and then down the lanes to a meeting point to the west of the town. At 06:00, the boys arrived. A cheery good morning, but quickly the gear was packed and we were on the Menai Strait.  Early in the day, it was mirror calm; it was just how long that would last.

Not long! Within 20 minutes, the wind picked up in our faces and strengthened quickly. As we passed Caernarfon and its iconic castle, the going already felt like hard work, but at least the tide was beginning to run in our direction. There was no shelter; it was just a matter of digging in. Past the rather grand Plas Newydd, the statue of Lord Nelson and high above, on his column, the Marquis of Anglesey, Henry Paget, a hero of Waterloo (he lost his leg there). Minor distractions amid hard work.

Then it was into the Swellies between Stevenson’s Britannia Bridge and Telford’s Menai Bridge. The current was running strongly, maybe 5 or 6 knots. The rock ridge of the Y Griben (the Welsh for ridge) was still visible with powerful eddies and shoots. I couldn’t resist and went for one of the eddies. Shooting across the eddyline, I carved deep into the eddy only to find myself on top of a monstrous boil/up welling of water. I giggled as my boat skidded across it with the occasional twitch, back onto the Swellies. Ollie and Dave had a real dynamic set of breakouts into its eddy, while I managed to get misaligned and only managed a rather sedate passage to the north.

Beyond Menai Bridge, the easterly wind picked up, gusting beyond force 4.  The tide was strongly in our favour, but now, with the wind over tide, the waves were steepening up.  But these waves were the indicator of the current; there was smooth water just to our south, but that was a bad sign. It was a whole series of huge eddies that had the current running against us, and with the wind travelling in the same direction, the surface was smooth. So, we stuck to the waves and bounced our way along.

We had one brief break behind a small headland.  It allowed us to discuss this plan that had us paddling into a force 3 to 4 for most of the day. Although it was an agreed-upon plan and a good one, it still allowed us to berate Dave (so unjust). I took the opportunity to explain that any slowness on my part was due to my age of 72 years, which was more than their combined ages. It’s good to have an excuse.

We eventually beasted our way to Beaumaris and the shelter of the promenade and pier. It was a time without wind, a good break, and lunch. Ollie and I had our little packs of snacks. Meanwhile, Dave whipped out his stove and was cooking up a mini pizza; he has got style, that fella.

The wind was still in our faces but had dropped off over lunch.
The upturned and barnacled hull of the sand dredger Hoveringham II (sank in 1971 whilst being towed by a lifeboat – no lives were lost) was a minor distraction along the way. Its cohort of cormorants took to the sea as we broke out behind it.  Soon, we were on the easternmost part of our journey with Ynys Seiriol/Puffin Island to our right, past Trywn Du lighthouse and onto the east coast. The wind was dying off, but our bodies were feeling it, and so up went the sails. It was slow going, so we had to paddle as well, but it felt great after navigating through that wind all day.

We needed a campsite, which wasn’t the easiest thing to come by along the coast here. But there is one lovely spot in the floor of an old quarry high above the sea. The landing was on a bouldery beach, and now I hit on an expected problem: after kneeling all day, my legs no longer worked effectively. I was all over the place. Thank goodness for travelling with two much younger (and very fit) guys. My kit and boat were transported up to the top of the beach while I staggered along with a pole in each hand.  I managed to carry one load up the steps to the quarry, but the guys handled the rest of the gear.

It is a beautiful spot with stunning views out to Puffin and beyond. It had been a very long day, and we were all soon in our tents or bivies.

Day 2
There are few things better than having everything to hand in the morning. A roll over and reach for the stove for the first brew of tea (I had to make my own… the guys had some failings). It was an early start again, so we could get up to the north east corner to catch the ebb tide close to the turn for the run along the north coast.

I got packed quickly so I could at least carry my own gear down to the launch spot. My legs had recovered to a degree. Some steep waves were coming into the beach, and I was slow. Dave waded into the water to hold my bow as I got in. The boulders were extremely slippery, and even Dave managed to fall into the water. But he and Ollie got me launched, although I was still full from the last two waves, and I paddled rather unsteadily offshore. Ollie quickly paddled out to me to give me stability as I bailed. But we were drifting back towards the shore, and Dave, without comment, slipped a tow on us to keep us out there – a relatively smooth sort by the pair of them.

The wind was good, and it was time to sail. We were headed for the village of Moelfra. It was pleasant to run on a broad reach with the wind almost at right angles. Ollie and I were close for a bit of chat or some banter (see the video).  The crossing of Red Wharf Bay/Traeth-coch, some 10km, was soon done, and we landed on the shingles in Moelfra. Small numbers of tourists were wandering the beach, and it felt like a very different world. Dave had a real purpose in landing here… (he is a good man)… Ann’s Pantry was just two minutes from our landing spot! Tea, coffee, and breakfast were soon ordered, and the luxury of a real toilet was appreciated. However, one of the waiters soon complained about the puddles of water draining from the three of us, a highly recommended stop.

On a sombre note, the rocks off the village were the site of the greatest marine disaster in Welsh history. The Royal Charter was heading for Liverpool in 1859 when it encountered a Force 10 storm. The captain dropped anchor off Moelfre, but during the night, it intensified to a Force 12 Hurricane. The masts were cut away to reduce windage, but to no avail. First, one anchor chain snapped, and then the other. The engines were not powerful enough to keep her off the shore. The ship soon started to break up on the rocks. Four hundred fifty people drowned, with only 39 survivors. Not a single woman or child made it ashore. The Royal Charter was not alone, and around the UK, 200 ships were lost.

Our passage was easy, but sailing soon became unproductive. Sails were dropped and we paddled onto Ynys (island) Dulas. A few seals were spotted, but with the ebb tide now running, it was quickly onto Point Lynas and its lighthouse. A small tide race was already running. I took it while Dave and Ollie cut through the cave on the headland. We now had a stern wind, but it was disappointingly weak, so we needed to paddle as well. One by one, we ticked off the headlands and bays, and with the full force of the ebb, progress was quick.

At Harry Furlough’s Rocks, a small reef runs out to sea. Here, flocks of terns were fishing, taking advantage of the shallow flow. Their shrill cries and headlong plunges filled the air around us.  Out to sea were the Skerries and their lighthouse, always an incredible sight and a favourite paddle.

The wind dropped before we rounded Carmel Head, and we were back on the paddle.  We hugged the coast and paddled into another of Dave’s spots—a tidy strip of grass to camp on between the shingle and a marshy lake.

Yet again, the guy carried my boat and some of the kit up the beach.  This getting old sucks.

Tent up and food eaten, we could chill out on the beach with a fantastic view through the cliffs and out to the Skerries and the flash of the light (two white flashes every 15 seconds: I so remember that from my Irish Sea crossing in canoe.  The flashes from South Stack and the Skerries had allowed us to identify our position and progress).

Day 3:
The wind had strengthened again, and Dave had a cunning plan. The tide was against us, but we would hug the coast and go deep into Holyhead Bay before cutting across to the huge breakwater of Holyhead Harbour. There we would wait until the tide turned before taking the ebb around the Stacks and onto the west coast.  It was a bold but good plan, and I could see no better way.

Tucked in under the cliffs, we were sheltered from the wind but not from the tide. The flood tide didn’t go cleanly across the bay and around Carmel Head.  No, some of it hit the coast to the south of us before turning north and then around the headland.  On the first little headland, the tide was running quickly against us. I misjudged it and ended up surfing outwards before finding enough acceleration to fight up against it. Tucked in tight, there was only one more point where we really had to make an effort. Sails up and with a strong east wind, we were soon hurtling along on an exhilarating ride. Just holding a stern rudder in place with the water singing off it was so fun.

But a doubt was creeping into my mind. This was a stronger wind than forecast. I was beginning to have a bad feeling about the Stacks in this wind. Not a place I wanted to be in a canoe. Were the guys bolder than I wanted to be? I voiced my concern to Ollie on the first occasion we were close together. He shared my concern. Now, for Dave, just how bold was he feeling? Eventually, we got close enough to chat, and to my relief, he felt the same. We weren’t going around the Stacks in these conditions.

So now the alternatives. We could either land somewhere and lay up for the day, hoping tomorrow would be better, or cut through the Inland Sea to the south of Holyhead. We could complete our circumnavigation of Ynys Mon and come back to do Holy Island/Ynys Gybi and the Stacks another time.

We ran onto a beach at the western end of the Stanley Embankment. We needed to wait for the correct stage of the tide to go through the embankment tunnel. Dave had to make a tough decision, knowing the next day was his wedding anniversary. He chose wisely: he now had to walk, train, and bus to get back to the start point. Ollie and I planned to take the tide through the Inland Sea and camp where the estuary reaches the sea.

The tunnel has a very nasty weir just at its seaward entry, and it has a fearful reputation. We need to wait around three hours before it was safe to traverse. Tucked into the shelter of my canoe with the sun out and soft shingle to lie on, I made full use of the time and had a kip. Just before launching, Ollie suggested that we play rock, paper, scissors to decide who went first into the tunnel.

A quick paddle across the wind, and we turned through the tunnel. The timing was perfect with the weir having no impact on the flow. Always a relief to get this one right.  We sailed across the Inland, exiting it at Four Mile Bridge.  The short estuary was, as ever, a delight.

It was late afternoon, and one of the sandy bays at the end of the estuary was particularly attractive.  The thought of a chilled evening was appealing.  Ollie came alongside.  He thought that sailing conditions were perfect, so we should press on and camp further down the coast.  With no reluctance, but with a longing glance at the camp spot, I readily agreed. The sun was out; the wind was steady out of the east, and the sail was up.

As we approached our possible camp, it was my turn, “It’s too good, I think we should continue.” Ollie had been having the same thought.  We kept going.

A brief encounter with a porpoise; it took no notice of us, but it was always nice to see.

Ollie got a phone call from Dave asking where we were camped. ‘Caernarfon’ was the response, even though we weren’t there yet. He explained to Dave that conditions were too good, and we had just kept going. The pity was that Dave would have stayed with us if we had known we would go all the way to the end. He would have made it home for his anniversary.  But plans must embrace change and grab opportunities. It was sad not to have him with us.

We passed close to Llanddwyn Island and its light. The sun set. As we turned into the Menai Strait, we dropped sails and paddled on past Fort Benlan. The red flash of a port buoy guided us in. Soon we were sliding up the shingle.  Ollie came to shake my hand. Another tick off the bucket list and fantastic memories to tuck away. Ynys Mon never disappoints.