Although Chester is technically in England, for many in North Wales especially in the North East it's the biggest and most important "local" City and as such acts as a sort of unofficial Capital (hard luck Wrexham). There are many Welsh patriots that would argue quite vociferously and loudly about how important it is to have a sense of identity that doesn't involve anything that's over the border (pronounced to rhyme with Mordor). This attitude just makes the fact that the official "Wales Coastal Path" guide starts at Chester Train station, even funnier.
The Path is a fullsome eight hundred and seventy Miles stretching from the outskirts of Chester, along the North Wales cost, doing a full loop of Anglesey, around the Llyn Peninsula and Penbrokeshire, skirting both Swansea and Cardiff before finishing in Chepstow (also in England)
Officially it starts right at the England/Wales border on the outskirts of Chester but with poor transport links, Mr P, my steadfast walking companion and I decided to get the train from Flint to Chester and then walk back to the car.
We're currently just starting to emerge from the lockdown and as such this kind of trip would have been illegal just a couple of weeks ago. We're now allowed to travel further than a five mile distance from our homes. There are still restrictions in place and a bunch of social distancing rules to follow but mostly things have returned to a semblance of normality.
We parked the car in Flint, Mr P having driven the vehicle and I impersonated Miss Daisy by staying a social distance away in the back. Having waited for the train for a while we donned our masks (a requirement for public transportation) and boarded. Many of the seats had "Please don't sit here due to social distancing" notices but we managed to get two diagonally opposed seats and travelled comfortably.
Of the few people in the carriage I'd say 90% were wearing a mask, that is until we stopped in Shotton and a group of four teenage lads got on ignored the signs, ignored the masks and sat close together at a table horsing around as if the world wasn't currently being ravaged by a virus.
I can't be mad. When you're that age you're invincible and all-knowing. It's only with the benefit of age that you appreciate your mortality and actual ignorance. Of course if they keep ignoring the mask order they may not get the opportunity for hindsight.
We arrived in Chester Train station which was super quiet and started our journey heading up to the canal and walking alongside it over to Telfords basin. It's an area that's changed significantly with high rise high cost apartment blocks replacing disused warehouses. They're very posh looking and although smaller they're probably more expensive than my house. I couldn't live there though. I'd miss the garden and I enjoy not hearing everything my nieghbours are doing. Some of the walls are so thin in these places you can a gnat coughing in a neighbouring apartment.
Allegedly there's a statute in a local bylaw that allows a "Goode and Proper Citizen of Chester to shoot any Welshman found within the town walls after midnight with a crossbow." It being just after nine in the morning I felt we were relatively safe but still kept an ear out for anyone cocking an antique weapon in our direction. It was mostly unarmed dog walkers and fishermen; fishing was one of the first activities allowed after lockdown, I suppose as social distancing is second nature to most people that actually enjoy fishing.
A narrow hole in the wall guided us down a Victorian terrace and out through a park and onto the path proper. It's a wide tarmacked stretch with enough room for three people to walk side by side. The River was low when we started and the muddy banks could be mostly seen as we strolled with the river on our left.
I remarked to Mr P. that given the anti-clockwise nature of the path around Wales there was a possibility that this maybe one of the few parts of the walk where the water would be on our left hand side. There was quite a full bodied aroma as we headed out of Chester past the sewerage works which belied some of the rather nice houses here on the outskirts.
The path ran straight for a while and then turned a corner to the England Wales border and the official start of the Costal path with two marker stones as a sort of start line. Quite simple and thoughtful as start lines go.
The path here is so straight you could shave with it and there's little to do but walk, chat and get out of the way of Cyclists. Most were friendly and courteous and seemed happy sharing the path with us mere pedestrians.
Although I do own a bike and am officially at 'middle age' I must admit I haven't heard The Call of the Lycra as Jack London might put it. I have no desire to wedge myself into ill fitting skin tight day glo active wear; making me look like a reject from a sausage production line tumbled into a child's painting set.
Of all the bicyclists there was one fellow who cycled towards us, straight backed cycling with no hands whilst in possession of a waxed moustache, ridiculous round sunglasses and a roll-up cigarette he was elegantly puffing away on. There aren't many more things wouldn't scream "I'm French!" other than wearing a Bretton shirt, beret and string of onions. Also doing all of the above whilst being on strike.
After a decent stretch where the only change was the distant towers getting incrementally larger we reached the blue bridge and crossed to the other side of the Dee. The path became more gravelly and wound along the banks of the river past a number of WW2 era pill boxes. Clearly the denizens at the time were concerned about a serious Nazi invasion of the North Wales coast. Although I'm not sure how far they would have got into some of the rougher areas of Flint and Shotton before deciding it wasn't a great idea and heading home. An army might march on its stomach but I imagine you'd find it pretty difficult to march if some shell-suited scrote has nicked your boots, medals and put your Panzer Tank up on bricks.
At Connahs quay we turned inland and spend a while walking along the roads. I imagine that the path will flit in and out of the coast as you can't entirely rely on the banks and the tidal nature of some of the inlets. Although going from a very sedate and pleasant river walk to the side of a busy road was a bit of a culture shock if I'm honest.
We passed the power station whose massive chimneys we had seen from the start of the path and found their road signs limited vehicles to 29 miles per hour. That extra mile an hour clearly making all the difference.
Eventually after following the main coastal road for a while we turned down a narrow walkway to cross the train tracks and past another sewerage works,(Yay. Smells.) onto the Flint Marsh. Its not a place I've ever been before but was beautiful with a wide vista of scrub-land and not a soul about.
The guide warns of damp and squelchy conditions but with it not having properly rained for a while the marsh was dry and springy under foot so it felt in places like walking on the moon. Good for tired feet certainly!
Over a couple of wooden bridges took us onto a gravel path and led inextricably to Flint castle and the end of our first days walk.
