We set off from the ferry with high hopes and a slightly over-ambitious picnic, only for the satnav to send us down a single-track lane that ended in somebody’s driveway. After a sheepish three-point turn and a chorus of giggles from the back seat, we finally pulled up outside 3 Trem Y Mor, its whitewashed walls glowing in the late-afternoon sun. The cottage sat just far enough from the road to feel tucked away, yet a short stroll down a sandy path brought us straight onto the beach at Traeth Lligwy.

Our first evening was meant to be a gentle coastal stroll before supper, but the sky had other ideas. We’d barely zipped up our jackets when a sudden warm shower swept in from the Irish Sea, turning the path into a glistening ribbon of puddles. Rather than retreat, we embraced the drizzle, squelching along the cliff edge with rain jackets flapping like sails. The air smelled of salt and wet grass, and every few minutes the clouds parted just long enough for shafts of golden light to spotlight the waves.

By morning the weather had settled into that peculiar Anglesey warmth—sun on your face, a cool breeze at your back—and we set out again, this time with proper walking boots and a flask of tea. The coastal path unfolded in gentle rises and dips, offering sweeping views across Dulas Bay. We paused often, partly for the scenery and partly because someone (me) had forgotten how steep even modest Welsh hills can feel after a winter of desk-bound living. It was humbling, in a good way, to be reminded that legs need training just as much as any other muscle.

Lunch was a simple affair on a sheltered stretch of sand, the tide so far out that rock pools shimmered like scattered jewels. The children paddled while I watched a pair of oystercatchers skitter along the shoreline, their orange beaks bright against the grey stones. Later we followed the path a little farther toward Moelfre, where the little lifeboat station stood bright against the blue, and turned back only when the first evening chill crept in.

Back at the cottage, sandy shoes lined the porch and damp jackets steamed on the radiator. I poured a cup of tea and watched the last light fade over the water, feeling quietly grateful for a holiday that had started with a wrong turn and turned into exactly the sort of slow, weather-shaped adventure we’d needed.