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White Sands / Porth Mawr was just White Sands when we holidayed in the caravan owned jointly by my Dad and Uncle George.  Back in the 1950s it stayed permanently in a field above the beach.  We spent a lot of time on the sands and I think this is where I got my love of the sea and clambering over rocks.  These days it is a much acclaimed beach and has a huge carpark.  No camping allowed, but you can have surf lessons and Uncle George's son, Cousin Richard, is a leading light in the Surf Life Saving Club.

David and Frances drove me there one day and we sat in the car and reminisced.  Conveniently, there is also a bus so I could get there easily on my own.  In the past I have used many wending ways to get there but the fields and tracks were sodden after days of hard rain that luckily ceased just before I got to Wales.  The bus is mud free and also allows dogs.  I bonded with this lurcher before he undertook his soulful walk. 

It is a moody beach

and a paradise for sea dares

and sea tracking.

this is how I like my beaches

On a sunny day it's a different kettle of fish.

This was the day I chose to bypass the beach and climb Carn Llidi

which was silly really because it was the hottest day I'd had so far.  I didn't get to the top and, while I'd like to blame the heat, I think age had something to do with it.  The drive to conquer has gone

but the need to see the horses roaming free remains.

In the 1960s our camping site was Caerfai.  Here we stayed in our tent on a farm, trudging through sludge to the farmhouse to get milk.  It is an organic dairy these days and the camping is far more civilised.  Huge motor homes lumber down the hedgerowed lane and disappear through coded boom gates.  I walked via the cliffs and via the road a number of times.  It's like a time machine for me.

Only once did I venture down to the actual beach.

The descent is steep, even though the wooden stairs of my childhood have been replaced by concrete steps.  The wildflowers make the effort worthwhile

as does the beach itself.  It crossed my mind to join this woman for a swim but I let her enjoy her solitude.  I kept watch just in case The White Lady, terror of young swimmers, emerged from her cave to snaffle her.

looking back along the cliff path from the road

catching my breath as the sun catches the cottages

There is nowhere I would rather be.