Prestatyn sits on the coast, overlooked by a steep escarpment. The start of the route begins at the coast, heads inland and uphill along Prestatyn high street and then up that escarpment.
A little after eight we headed out of our accommodation near the top end of town and onto the Offa's Dyke route. Having walked down to the coast yesterday before heading to our room we considered that short part of today's leg completed so walked directly to the road that led to the escarpment and through the last straggling ends of the town's houses before winding our way upwards on lane and track.
It was a hard ascent, made harder by over twenty kilograms on our backs and legs not yet tempered for the hills. Three people, head down with effort, worked their way uphill. We spoke little and the main sound was the rhythmic thud of three pairs of feet on firm ground and the regular rustle of rubbing clothing as legs propelled us slowly up through shrub land peppered red with the berries of summer, the bright hues of rose hips and the deeper crimson of hawthorn berries. We followed car-free roads and grassy footpaths over long sections that criss-crossed heavily undulating fields and woods and over numerous unwelcome and effort sapping stiles. By midday a gentle rain had set in as we looked south across greyed out hills and dropped down on a stony track towards the tiny village of Rhuallt.
As we walked I occasionally recalled parts of the route from four years ago: the sweaty and stepped ascent up from Prestatyn with its sweeping views across the town and out to sea; the seemingly pointless steep descent less than a mile further on, the prelude to another climb, requiring caution and like a joke played by the universe on those who had worked hard to get that far; the huge rusted remains of the workings of a water wheel on a track seemingly devoid of water; and a solitary bench set high in the landscape where we sat in the rain looking back over the ground we had walked and from where our hard morning route looked deceptively flat.
Thirteen miles in and tired from our packs and our effort we stopped at Bodfari where we ate a much needed Sunday roast in the village pub; it had taken over seven hours of hard walking, continuously ascending and descending, to reach here and we were exhausted. The tiny village represents the end of the ‘official' first leg of the walk but we had agreed to walk another three miles to climb up onto the Clwydian ridge and camp for the night: we had in mind some woods to protect us from the strong winds forecast overnight. However, despite the morale and energy boosting food, tiredness again got the better of us as we climbed towards a late-afternoon blue sky on a narrow path through bracken. An opportune camp site presented itself and no one dissented at the idea of stopping. Instead of woods we are now on flat ground slightly below the ridge line with a long and high stretch of gorse which we hope will protect us from the worst of the wind.
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