North Wales – A Land of Mountains and Mines

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North Wales – A Land of Mountains and Mines

By Caroline M. Jackson

North Wales – an ancient land of castles, craggy mountains and deep mines, it is a corner of Britain yet to be discovered by overseas visitors. Welsh is spoken locally but everyone also speaks English and signs are bilingual. My biggest challenge was pronouncing names of towns such as Pwllheli, Llangollen or Betws-y-Coed (pronounced Betoos-ah-Coyd).

Having allocated five days to ‘do’ North Wales, we began our circular trip from Chester which abuts the English/Welsh border. Our first overnight was in the little town of Llangollen which nestles in a deep mountain valley carved out by the River Dee. Absorbing the ambience, we wandered across its Gothic bridge, indulged in a poke of hot off-the-griddle Welsh cakes and watched families taking horse-drawn narrowboat trips along the picturesque Llangollen Canal of Thomas Telford repute. I relished the quiet scene because I knew it would soon change when thousands of visitors would descend upon the town for the annual International Music Eisteddfod in early July.

Our evening entertainment was to be in Ruthin Castle, a half-hour drive north past Valle Crucis Abbey, a beautiful Cisterian monastery. Now a hotel, Ruthin Castle is famous for its mediaeval banquets. Several evenings a week, the townspeople don costumes and provide musical entertainment for today’s modern pilgrims. With bibs tucked round our necks, goblets of mead at the ready and a dagger in our hands, we dined to the accompaniment of a melodic Welsh choir and harpist. Our ‘removes’ otherwise known as ‘courses’ included Welsh lamb and a syllabub of fruit, cream and wine. On departure, we discovered to our chagrin that the heavens had opened and within ten minutes of driving, we were completely lost. However, there’s an angel around every corner and ours turned out to be the local police who were hiding behind a high hedge on the lookout for speedsters. Standing with my now soggy map, I asked for directions back to Llangollen. The officer looked puzzled, “Oh, you mean Chlangochlan”. Courteously, they sent us on our way with a caution to watch out for the sheep wandering in the mists around Horseshoe Pass. By midnight I was grateful to climb into my warm bed at the luxurious Wild Pheasant Hotel back in Llangollen.

Our next little adventure was due westwards through the mountains to the harbor town of Porthmadog. En route, we visited the Llechwedd Slate Caverns and hopped on the last 45-minute underground tour. At the request of our guide, we donned our hard hats and climbed aboard a covered tramway which transported us along an 1846 network of tunnels and hand-hewn caverns. As the damp cold enveloped us, we learned of the hard and dangerous life endured by the miners. “This,” wrote one 12-year-old miner in 1856, “was the hell the preacher talked about in church.” The taped narrative punctuated with harp music and backed by a male-voice choir needed no Disneyland embellishment. The setting and the atmosphere was enough to bring a tear to the driest eye. On returning to the surface, a sunny walk around the adjacent Victorian mining village and a seat outside the Miners’ Arms pub were a welcome contrast. As the surrounding slag heaps of slate lost the sun, we decided to drive west to Porthmadog. Situated in acres of grasslands and estuarine mudflats, this town is a popular destination for train spotters who can take a narrow-guage train journey or just enjoy the action at the West Highland Railway and Ffestiniog stations.

A nearby attraction is the Italianate folly of Portmeirion, the brainchild of eccentric architect Clough Williams-Ellis. By setting off early in the morning, we missed the influx of tour buses and thereby had time for a leisurely walk along the sandy foreshore of Cardigan Bay. From here we continued along the Lleyn Peninsula to the seaside town of Criccieth. I had visited this town as a child yet little had changed. Blessed with a sweeping sand and shingle beach, the shore was dotted with families sheltering behind colorful striped windbreaks, while the more sedate dallied in tearooms. This scene is watched over by 13th Century Criccieth Castle which is located on a splendid promontory.

Historians could easily spend a week visiting local castles, each a day’s march from one another. Of special note are Harlech, Caernarfon, Beaumaris and Conwy. The latter is one of the most picturesque and a masterpiece of medieval architecture. The adjacent town is a busy fishing port and has many delightful tearooms and craft stores.

The last leg of our journey north to Llandudno, took us through Snowdonia National Park – an 840-square-mile area which is dominated by 1,068-metre-high Snowdon, Britain’s second highest peak. Although a heavy mist clung to its summit, we did admire the woodlands which were amassed with purple rhododendrons. Just north of Betws-y-Coed, I was intrigued by a sign pointing to a Roman Spa called Trefriw Wells. We were not disappointed. Believed to have been discovered by soldiers of the XXth Roman Legion, our self-guided tour took us to the Victorian Pump Room and bath house complete with slate tubs where the iron-rich waters help many maladies. I partook of the waters inside a golden stalactite-studded cavern and the taste reminded me of old-fashioned iron tonic.

Later, we sojourned at magnificent Bodnant Garden, a must for every garden aficionado. Situated above the River Conwy, the 87 acres of gardens boast many lovely water features. For me, a highlight was a walk through the 160-foot flowering laburnum tunnel.

Dubbed the Queen of Welsh Resorts, Llandudno was designed by the Victorians and curves between the twin limestone headlands of the 680-foot Great and Little Orme. On our first morning we took an open-top double-decker bus tour which loops around Llandudno and its sister city, Conwy. No sooner had we become seated upstairs when a strong wind whipped across Llandudno Bay, grey clouds turned to black and we were caught in a deluge. Risking decapitation while the bus lurched under an archway near Conwy Castle, we slid down the pole to the lower deck.

A walk along the Llandudno promenade and pier are mandatory and provide the perfect venues from which to take photographs of the curving townscape of terraced hotels. Later, for a bird’s eye view, we took the century-old tramway on a mile-long climb up to the summit of the Great Orme. The area is a nature reserve criss-crossed by marked trails. The elusive wild goats that roam the grassy Orme are descendants of a pair of Kashmir goats presented to Queen Victoria by the Shah of Persia. The views are spectacular and as I scanned the coastline, I remembered the worlds of Percy Shelley who in 1812 wrote, “Steal, if possible, my revered friend, one summer and come to Wales.”