Mooving camp night on Hell’s Mouth cliff

We DeCiDeD to try a spot of wild camping in Wales for our summer holiday in the late 1960s. on arriving at Hell’s Mouth on the llyn Peninsula, we thought it a wonderful idea to camp on top of a cliff overlooking the long crescent beach. the sea views would be wonderful, the sunsets spectacular. Unfortunately, the car was parked about half a mile away and all the camping gear had to be lugged across a grassy field.

A couple of hours later, tired but comfortably settled in and enjoying a nice cup of tea, we spotted a few bovine heads appearing over a little hill some way off but definitely advancing in our direction. this was most unsettling for townies whose only experience of cattle was rawhide, the tV series where a stampeding herd regularly flattened the cook’s chuck wagon before Gil Favor and rowdy Yates rounded them critters up. As we contemplated striking camp, i suddenly remembered the time i received a nasty electric shock when, after losing my footing, i fell onto an electric fence — the sort that farmers run from a big battery to keep livestock in check. My girlfriend had brought her knitting on holiday (don’t ask) and now we were about to find out if a couple of balls of thick Aran would keep these cows at bay.

We got to work stringing double knitting, 8-ply ecru wool between the gorse bushes and were soon behind a three-strand fence. the herd edged closer and closer but then stopped just short of our defensive shield. A spooky staring contest followed before they moved off inland after what seemed like an eternity. our relief was short-lived, however, for as darkness fell, a gentle breeze turned to a howling gale, rain lashed down and we were sure our tent, with us inside, would be blown into the sea.

Next morning, all was calm and serene, but one stormy night in Hell’s Mouth was enough for us.

Ian S. Clark, Freuchie, Fife.