Conwy Morfa

Walking along Conwy Morfa is always glorious. To say it’s good for the soul is, quite simply, an understatement. 

It’s another dune-backed stretch of golden sand, totally undeveloped - the antithesis of the caravan camp stretches further east. But for one or two dog walkers, it is deserted. 

The morning clouds seem to have been driven westwards, banked blackly on the horizon, leaving a cloudless sky above. The tide is far out once more, leaving mirror-pools of water on the sands, in places deeply ridged by tide patterns, with banks of shingle ribboning the beach. 

On the horizon, below the clouds, lies Anglesey - home for our first eighteen years. Off Penmon Head  - its lighthouse barely visible - lies Puffin Island, with Mon’s main landmass stretching out into the distance.