Wild Barley

‘I must be crazy’. ‘What am I doing’. The thoughts chased round in my head as I navigated the winding roads of North Wales in the pitch black. It was early, still dark. No other drivers on the road.

‘I must be crazy’. ‘What am I doing’. I had woken us all at ridiculous o’clock, me, husband and two kiddies, bundled us all in the car still in pj’s and headed north.

The Welsh mountains beyond the windows were completely obscured by darkness. The headlights sliced through the night, revealing the winding road and the trees to the side. We were heading for Anglesey, and even leaving Llangollen in North Wales, it was still a good 2 hour car journey through the mountainous landscape.

With dawn breaking we drove over the Menai Bridge and onto the the largest island in Wales. As the grey light filtered through, bringing into sight our surroundings, the thoughts of ‘I must be crazy’ and ‘what am I doing’ are joined by ‘will it be too windy’, ‘will they be there’, ‘will it be worth it’.

The reason for these thoughts? The reason for dragging everyone out of bed so early? Dolphins of course.

Point Lynas on the north east coast of Anglesey is known as an excellent spot during the autumn to see an inshore movement of Risso’s dolphin. For years I had seen posts on various social media platforms of dolphins being seen from shore here. I had read about Risso’s around the UK and about these inshore movements. And I had thought, I really want to go! After all we are frequently in North Wales visiting family.

The reason for the super early start was that while dolphins can be seen at any time of day, I had read that an hour or so before and after high tide tends to be better. And that morning, high tide was just after 7 am. Add in the 2 hour drive, and there you are, a very early start was in order.

As the morning light continued to grow, we arrived at the bottom of a small road that ended at mini roundabout. Ahead the road gave way to a slip down to a little beach, the tide in, hiding the rocky pools that would later provide further fun for our little explorers. To the right it stretched up in a single lane onto the headland, at the top of which we could see the impressive structure of the lighthouse looming in the morning light.

Here for the time being I parted from my little family, with Lee off to find a parking spot, and get the kiddies wrapped up in layers over their pj’s before joining me. Me, I headed straight up the single track lane, onto the headland, towards the lighthouse, towards the sea.

As I came onto the top the wind tugged at my coat and I was grateful for the layers I had on. Ahead, to my left, I could see white caps swirled on a greenish grey sea, waves dipping and rising. Not ideal conditions, but actually better than I thought it would be. To my right, the headland protected the sea from the wind, and it was calmer, smooth, silken, glowing in the morning sun that was streaming between the clouds.

I wound my way right up to the white washed walls of the lighthouse, and then around it, onto the headland in front. I worked my way to stare right out to sea, a 180 degree panorama of sea in front of me, the lighthouse rising behind, its light still spinning at this point.

I stood gazing out at the sea. Banks of cloud, low in the sky near the horizon, a deep purply blue, ominous with rain. Directly ahead of me, the sun was breaking through, sending shafts of light down to touch the waters surface, turning it molten gold. Behind me and above the lighthouse the sky was still quite clear, a pale shade of blue streaked with white whisps and fluffy cotton wool clouds, tinged with pale reddish light from the rising sun. Where sky met land more purply blue clouds hugged the horizon. The headland around me was a mix of greens, reddish browns, whites and greys, a patchwork of grasses, heather and stony paths.

I stood and I gazed, scanning the ocean, turning to face the wind and then switching to let it buffet me from behind. And then, there amongst the waves of an ocean that changed from greenish grey, to molten silver, to gold, to deep blue topped with white, in one sweeping 180 view, I saw dark fins. Tall, sickle shaped, unmistakable. I let out a breath that I hadn’t realised I was holding, and a sigh as the tension escaped me. A sigh of relief and of joy. For me nothing beats seeing a dolphin.

And so there they were, for a good two hours, cruising back and forth in front of that headland. Occasionally circling into the calmer, sheltered waters to my right, east of the headland, before working their way round and surfing in the waves rolling past to the west. There were at least six Risso’s dolphins, including some really white males. Like all dolphins, Risso’s are very tactile, often raking their teeth over each other, males in competition, females in courtship, and during any social interaction. Unlike in other dolphins, these scratches and rakes heal white instead of grey in Risso’s so that the older an individual gets the whiter it appears, especially males. I still vividly recall seeing my first ever Risso’s dolphin from a boat in the northern part of Cardigan Bay and thinking ‘what they heck is a Beluga doing here!’ It wasn’t a Beluga, just a very old, white and heavily scarred male Risso’s dolphin.

About half an hour into watching these dolphins, I spotted the distinctive outlines of bundled up kids coming over the headland and round the lighthouse. The best bit of the day was then to come. Watching dolphins with my two little ones. It was delightful listening to them shout and jump with delight when they spotted the dolphins fins slicing through the water. A particularly excited yelp came when one of the dolphins leapt right out of the water in front of their eyes!

For the most part we sat up on the headland, giving us a wide field of view, but as the pod began to move more to the west we ventured down to the rocks near the waters edge and were rewarded when the pod surfaced close by, with one individual breaching three, four times in a row, and then they were gone.

However our encounters with cetaceans on that blustery headland that morning was not over. As we walked back up to the lighthouse fins once again caught my eye. Only this time they were smaller, and accompanied by a head with a distinct beak, unlike the rounded, beakless, blunt head of the Risso’s dolphins. A slender body and a flash of yellow confirmed these dolphins to be Common Dolphins. They zoomed past close in very quickly but once we reached the top of the headland we could clearly see a pod of at least 30 or more moving and feeding a little further offshore. They stayed at that distance for a good length of time, surfacing this way and that, sometimes slowly, sometimes with a spurt of speed that brought more white water amongst the waves, clearly chasing fish and feeding.

It was well after high tide when the action returned to right in front of the headland. This time it was Harbour Porpoise. Birds had begun to gather close in, sitting on the water, lifting up, circling, before dropping back down. Tide lines were clear in the water, changes on the surface from smooth, glassy patches followed by more churning, swirling. Amongst these the porpoises were surfacing, moving in different directions, surfacing first one way and then the other, feeding amongst the tidal race. Now it was the turn of the porpoises to surf the same waves rolling in from the west that the Risso’s had surfed earlier. Adults and small calves surfed down the waves, sticking their heads out of the water. For porpoises, not really known for their acrobatics or exuberant surfacing, it was quite a spectacle and topped off a truly wonderful morning.

And so, in answer to those questions. ‘Am I crazy’ – yes probably so, but only in the sense of being passionate about something. ‘What am I doing’ – following that passion, being true to myself, and hopefully inspiring my kiddies too. ‘Was it worth it’ – absolutely.