Goleudy's Lighthouses

If you know me on Twitter, you'll know my name's 'Goleudy'.  I often wonder how many people mispronounce it in their minds; completely unaware that it's the Welsh word for 'lighthouse'!  Yep - I love lighthouses.  I can even remember the very moment I fell in love with them.

It was a stormy night in 1999 and I was tucked up at home, full of flu and feeling generally miserable.  Flicking through the TV channels, I came across a film called 'Losing Chase'.  There was a woman in a blue dress going loopy atop a red brick lighthouse in the middle of a storm similar to the one that was raging outside my living room window.  I even remember the lines spoken:

"A slow, steady decline and then BAM! One triumphant stand at Gayhead Lighthouse in the middle of a spectacular nor'easter.  I sure picked one hell of a storm."

To be honest, the rest of the film was pretty crap and not worth recalling...but I remembered the lighthouse.

Ever since then, I've been fascinated by those tall buildings that warn ships of danger and guide them to safety.  There's just something beautifully enduring about them; something that endears me to them and makes my heart smile every time I see one.

With Coyote, I've been lucky enough to see and photograph lighthouses in Wales, England, Ireland and Scotland - and no matter how many I see, I never get bored with them.  Hell - I'm even a member of the Association of Lighthouse Keepers!  Yes, I'm a nerd...and I wear my enamel pin-badge with pride ;)

Being a lighthouse geek, I'm bound to have a few favourites.  Like petrolheads and their cars, some lighthouses hold special places in my heart and shine brighter than the rest.  All lighthouses are wonderful (apart from the Whiteford Point Lighthouse on Gower. That one scares me.) but there are six in particular that mean a lot to me.

So, without further twaddle, I'd like to introduce you to my top six!  Flashy flashy...

TRWYN DU LIGHTHOUSE, ANGLESEY

Built in 1838 at a cost of £11,589, Trwyn Du is a beautiful old lady who stands proudly between Dinmor Point and Puffin Island, Anglesey.  On a quiet day, you can hear the fog bell that hangs from the railing sounding every thirty seconds. 

LOOP HEAD LIGHTHOUSE, COUNTY CLARE

The current tower was built in 1854 on the site of previous structures dating back to 1670. Loop Head Lighthouse stands at the tip of the Loop Head Peninsula where the Shannon River meets the Atlantic Ocean - and Coyote took me to see it on my 31st birthday.  I have very happy memories of standing on top of the cliffs on a stunningly gorgeous day, looking out to the horizon.  'Next stop, America!' he smiled. (We actually went back to Galway and got a McDonald's, but I'm not fussy ;)

STRUMBLE HEAD LIGHTHOUSE, PEMBROKESHIRE

Standing alone on Ynys Meicel (St. Michael's Island), Strumble Head Lighthouse is separated from the mainland by a very narrow gap through which the sea boils and froths in stormy weather.  Built in 1908, this lighthouse is the youngest of the six - but isn't lacking in charm.  She packs a punch, too:  Her 1,000,000 candela light can be seen 26 nautical miles away.

POINT OF AYR LIGHTHOUSE, FLINTSHIRE

Built in 1776 but inactive since 1883 when a lightship took over her duties, Point of Ayr lighthouse stands forlornly on Talacre Beach.  The lighthouse once displayed two lights: The main beam shone seaward to Llandudno and a secondary beam shone up the River Dee, towards the hamlet of Dawpool in Cheshire.  The lighthouse was put up for sale in November 2011 - and bought in April last year for the fair sum of £90,000. I hope the new owners can restore this sad-looking lighthouse to her original glory!

SOUTH STACK LIGHTHOUSE, ANGLESEY

Separated from Holyhead Island by 30 metres of swirling sea, South Stack Lighthouse was built in 1809 at a cost of £12,000.  She's a very elegant tower; but her beauty belies her dark story. On Tuesday the 25th October 1859, the most severe storm of the century occurred.  Assistant Keeper Jack Jones had been making his way across the iron footbridge to join Principal Keeper, Henry Bowen, who was already on duty.  A rock was swept from the cliffs by the strong wind, fell and struck Jones on the head.  Covered in blood and senseless with concussion, he dragged himself up the gale-lashed path and feebly cried out for help.  He lay, head in hands, unable to move any further.  Bowen found him the next morning, groaning; his hair matted with blood.  Jack Jones died three weeks later of a compound fracture of the skull.  

ARDNAMURCHAN LIGHTHOUSE, WEST HIGHLANDS

Situated on the most westerly point of the British mainland, Ardnamurchan Lighthouse was built in 1849 using granite from the Isle of Mull.  It was designed by Alan Stevenson - uncle of Robert Louis Stevenson - whose family designed most of Scotland's lighthouses over a period of 150 years.  On the morning of 22nd January 1852, there was severe storm and lightning struck the tower causing broken panes and plaster to come off the walls. Fifty feet of boundary wall was knocked down and 40 feet of road was washed away by the heavy seas. The keepers boat was broken up although they had secured it 15 feet above the last known high water mark.  It's rough out there!  Almost as rough as the seemingly never-ending road we had to travel to reach it.  And I won't even tell you what happened on the way back.  Just think full bladders + pot holes - public toilets and you'll get the general idea.  Worth it, though!  As every single one of them is.

The Grand Poobah of Pump House

Part 1

Once upon a time, in a verdant western county, stood a small red brick building in the middle of a roundabout.  Known as 'The Pump House', it wasn't an impressive building by any means.  In fact, it belied the grandeur of the man who lived between its walls.

The Grand Poobah of Pump House was a solitary man.  Every day he would walk to the local newsagents to buy the papers; occasionally taking a stroll down to the ferry port to silently watch the great ships arrive and depart.  He made no conversation with passers by; too lost in his thoughts to even realise they were there.  People often wondered what he was thinking about - for though his furrowed brow showed he was constantly pondering, he never uttered a word.

He was a broad-shouldered man; well-dressed in fine linen jackets and silk ties.  His rotund belly was testament to the gourmet food he liked so well; for he was often spotted dining alone in expensive restaurants.  Some say that he only ordered dishes that came on silver platters - and chefs were instructed to ensure there were no sprouts in the building where his meals were prepared. 

At the weekend, he would leave the confines of the Pump House and walk along the coast of his beloved county.  People would smile and bid him a good day; but still he didn't see them.  So wrapped up was he in his cogitating that he didn't have time for pleasantries.

What was troubling The Grand Poobah?  Perhaps it was his loneliness?  Anyone who knocked on his door was greeted with silence; for The Grand Poobah never allowed anyone across his threshold.  He was an enigma. Rumours circulated (as rumours are wont to do) that The Grand Poobah was plotting something; that his thoughts were edged with a black tinge of sinister doings.  Others believed that he was simply a haughty man who had his head shoved firmly up his own arse because he had so much money.  Nobody could be certain, but soon their theories would gain momentum...

Poo Bag Pretenders

Poo bags.  They've become a bit of a feature on this blog, haven't they?  They've become a bit of a feature in pretty much everything Coyote and Roadrunner do, really...

...which is rather amusing as, even though we both have dogs, they don't come with us on our random and always unplanned adventures around Wales.  In case you're reading this and haven't got a clue what we're talking about, you'd better have a quick shufti at this: http://coyoteandroadrunner.blogspot.com/2011/12/legend-of-pembroke-dock-poo-bag.html  That's where it all started.  We've even returned since to boost our supplies!

Now then.  Christmas is a time for giving, right?  Right.  And it's always nice when you're given something that obviously has some thought behind it...so imagine our delight when Coyote unwrapped a present from Roadrunner's dad's girlfriend and found POO BAGS inside!  The glee!  The wonder!  The awe!  Feverishly, we opened the box to check them out.  Would they rival the legendary Pembroke Dock poo bags?  Could the Pembrokeshire town be about to lose its poo bag crown?  The suspense was immense!

It didn't happen.  The bags in question were black and, although they carried a pleasant scent, they couldn't match the delicate bubble gum whiff and sheer quality of the ferry terminal bags.  Plus...these pretenders had been paid for.  The Pembroke Dock poo bags are free.  Yes - gratis.  No strings attached.  (Ok; so the new bags only cost £1 and it's a little more expensive than that to travel to Pembrokeshire...but that's just a minor issue that isn't worth quibbling over.)

These bags didn't even have a picture of a dog doing a poo on them.  That must be a design fault; after all, can you imagine the confusion?  Without a picture of their purpose, one might mistake the bags for actual bin bags - leading to much frustrated disappointment when you can't fit them in your kitchen waste vessel. 

No; Pembroke Dock still shines as the Mecca for discerning poo bag hunters.  Splendid.

If your local park or ferry terminal offers poo bags, please let us know.  Although impressed to bits by the Pembroke Dock bags, we're always on the lookout for improvement.  We might even pay your town a visit to check them out!  You have been warned.

Strumble Head Lighthouse

Strumble Head Lighthouse

Sometimes even Coyotes and Roadrunners have to stop for a few minutes to catch their breath.  When they do, they sometimes find themselves in beautiful places.

We took an impromptu trip to Fishguard.  Our objective: to find The Fishguard Nearly Dead Society.  We think we saw a couple of members, but their HQ is so well hidden that we drew a complete blank.  

Feeling as deflated as a balloon 5 days after a party, we sat on a wall by the port and watched the seagulls swoop and chatter as they came in to roost.  A ferry was about to depart and Coyote thought it would be a fab idea to drive as high as we could to get a good shot of it departing the harbour.  Back in the car; off we went.

Up and up through narrow winding roads we travelled; the light fading fast.  I snapped my 300mm lens on and readied to grab a shot of the ferry...but suddenly all thoughts of the ferry and her wake faded.  In front of us, flashing elegantly, stood Strumble Head Lighthouse.

It was a breathtaking scene.  Her lambent white paint reflected each flash; silently guiding, warning and protecting.  The sun was dropping ever closer to the horizon, setting the clouds aflame with vibrant oranges, reds and purples that no hand could reproduce.

We were joined by a handful of photographers who set up their tripods and sat patiently; waiting for the perfect shot in the approaching twilight.  The sea lapped gently at the rocks below as gulls flew by soundlessly; their wings as soft as the breeze.

It was a lucky find that neither of us will forget.

The Legend of the Pembroke Dock Poo Bag

Pembroke Dock Dog Poo Bag

Pembroke Dock; the third largest town in Pembrokeshire.  Lying north of Pembroke on the River Cleddau, it was originally a small fishing village known as Paterchurch; greatly expanding in 1814 onwards following the construction of a Royal Naval Dockyard.

So much history to be found!  We simply couldn't resist the lure.

Pembroke's one-way system scared me.  I couldn't take the excitement.  Coyote told me to close my eyes and reassured me that we would be safe, but I curled up in the passenger seat and whimpered until I felt the car slow down.  I peeked through one eye and saw a sign that told me we were on Meyrick Owen Way.  Where would such a grand thoroughfare lead us...?

To the ferry terminal.

Coyote bought a coffee that had all the depth of a dehydrated paddling pool while I stood gazing at the Irish ferry; smiling as I imagined Michael Flatley getting pushed off the stern by a disappointed old lady in a beret.  We walked outside into the car park; the tumbleweed rolling idly across the tarmac.  (Ok; there wasn't any tumbleweed.  But there should've been.)  

But then our interest was drawn.  A dog poo bin.  And next to the dog poo bin...a plentiful supply of splendid green and black dog poo disposal bags.  We had to have one.  Looking around stealthily, we swiped one and legged it to the car.

Tearing away in a haze of triumphant adrenaline, I noticed that - the wonder!  The awe! - the poo bag was scented.  Yes.  Pembroke Dock ferry terminal has scented poo bags.  For free.  Not only that; but they even have a picture of a dog actually doing a poo on them; just so you don't mistake them for carrier bags and put your groceries in them.  That would be embarrassing.  Needless to say, we were both completely astounded and awestruck.

To this day we haven't found another scented dog poo bag.  Not at a ferry terminal, anyway.  

Well done, Pembroke Dock.  Marvellous.