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  • Simon Jones

Walking the Wales Coast Path part 1 - 2020 Chester to Llandudno

At the beginning of last year, before I had walked Offa’s Dyke, I still had the vision/dream to walk the whole of the Wales Coast Path in my heart and wondered if 2019 could be the year. But the thought of leaving my wife with our then 1 year old son, alone for three and a half months, albeit with a few visits from them along the way, seemed a little too gigantic a step, without asking the wisdom of others. So I wrote three emails to three friends who themselves were husbands and fathers, now with grown up kids, and whose wisdom I valued. After their responses and further thought, prayer and discussions with Nathalie, we decided that I should walk the Coast Path in stages rather that in one go, but before that I would walk Offa’s Dyke, which I did last year, and then eventually this would mean a whole circumnavigation of Wales. Others have done it – it is not so much attempting an exceptional challenge, though I won’t underestimate it too much, but it is more following a dream in my heart and pursuing it in a way that is right for my shape and character... having fun along the way, and hopefully being open to God’s Spirit to be used and be a blessing along the way if and as He prompts me.


So now, here the dream to walk the whole Welsh Coast Path finally begins…




Monday 14th September


Nathalie and Samuel drop me in Chester, by the train station.

Much later start than I had hoped for.


Want to get away from the busyness of the outskirts of Chester to a place where I can settle for the night.


Would have liked to have popped into the city centre for a coffee and shop around, but it’s just before 6pm, and I only have two hours of light for walking left. And we know Chester well and come here regularly, so I need to change plans and walk as far as I can.


Follow a part of the canal system around the outskirts of the city that I hadn’t seen before.


Then just outside the edges of the city, I move from the canal to the concrete path that runs along the River Dee for the next 10 or so miles, as it begins to become the Dee Estuary.


Prefer not to Wild Camp in Farmers fields where I can avoid it, but sometimes it is the only option, and here I think that’s going to be the case - slipping over a fence at the side of the path and into a field.


The only thing is many of these have cows in, and it’s definitely not a good idea for anybody to camp in a field with cows in!


One is empty, but I can see these ones have hedges instead of fences between them - hedges that have gaps in - and the cows could decide to move from one field to the other.

I don’t fancy waking up next to Bertha the Cow, or even worse, being walked on by Bertha and her mates off for a midnight wander between the fields!


Eventually after 2 hours of speedy walking, get to an empty field next to a field of corn, that looks like I could briefly camp here between the hours of darkness, without offending anyone.


Just as setting up, a Barn Owl flies over - and that’s what I love about wild camping!




Tuesday 15th September


Predictably, I oversleep!


As am up and starting to pack away at about 9.30, a car drives onto the field and am greeted warmly by a female farmer.


This is both the same and yet completely opposite to what happened to me the first night I ever tried wild camping, where I was not very popular with the farmer for doing this.


This time, I said sorry if she minded - I had a list of campsites with me but had started my walk late and sometimes ended up needing to wild camp, and offered to pay her for having camped in her field.


She was friendly, unoffended, refused my offer of money, said she could tell I was genuine, and said that over on another part of their grounds that they do have a campsite if I needed it in the future. Then she wished me well on my walk.


She did say there were people coming in to gather the cut grass in the field in a few minutes, so I got ready to leave as soon as I could and left no further trace of my presence.


I never do – except if I camp in long grass then there may be a flat patch for a few days until it recovers itself!


Carry on up the River Dee…


It is very industrial, and I stop to read notices about the area’s industrial history in boat making, steel works, coal transportation etc… etc… and even currently a source of carrying of Airbus parts in stages all the way to France where they are put together.


I didn’t know that the Dee from Chester to the Estuary had had to be re routed along an artificial route in the 18th century after it had eventually silted up… and ceased to be as travelable by boat. This allowed much of the industry to grow and carry on.


What is fascinating about walking the Dee is that now that a good percentage of the industry has gone, old industrial sites have been turned into nature reserves.


Whilst it is still quite industrial, the Estuary is one of the best places for watching birds - particularly ducks, geese and waders - in the UK.


I had not been looking forward to this first section of the Coast Path as much as the future ones, and whilst it still may not end up being my favourite section, when I’ve finished – nevertheless, I now feel I would have missed something if I hadn’t done it.


After a long road walk, get out onto Flint Marshes with Flint’s tower blocks reminiscent of places near the part of London I grew up in. Now on essentially open and common land, feel almost immediately - once I have left the road and crossed the railway - that it is a good place to stop and camp… right here at the edge of the Marshes.




Wednesday 16th September


Walk over to Flint station car park to meet Nathalie and Samuel, and my mum and dad who are over in Wales, holidaying in Anglesey.


Quite often I don’t meet up with people on the walks I do, so that I can be alone and open to the flow of the Spirit, but this time it feels right to meet up.


We walk past the castle, and over through the marshes, slowly, chatting, looking at birds, then walk back the way we came and finish with a drink together in a pub in Flint.


Nathalie then drops me where we got to and I carry on from there for an hour or so.


There is a ‘sea wall’, known as Picton’s Cop, that I am walking on, and at the end of it, feel a sense to climb down, and camp on the bit of the Marsh in front of the wall, with the wide stretch of the estuary beyond the marsh, mostly sand rather than water. The wall seems to have been mainly built to prevent the land behind all being cracked saltmarsh type soil and be more farmable, so I feel fairly safe about setting up here - but still noticing how close it is to the muddy bank at the estuary’s edge, albeit most of the estuary being sand at the moment, I just double check the ground, and it seems sunburnt dry, so I feel fine with this.


Wake at 1am (Thursday morning). Need to go outside of my tent for a wee, and am shocked to see just how close the water is to the edge of the mudbank that I am only 2 metres away from. Within the last few hours it has transformed from a large sandy stretch with a few flows of water through it, to a gigantic sea stretching over to the banks of the river on the other side - the banks of the Wirral.


I begin to doubt that sense I had to set up here!


This is not good! I have no idea whether it is still coming in or not. I may need to watch all night, and move if it comes in further.


Check the tide times for the area on my phone, and to my relief high tide passed at 11.30 – goodness knows how close it came to carrying me off to the other side of the Atlantic.


I have visions of me waking up floating away at sea in my tent, like St Brendan in his massive voyage in the Atlantic, and thinking, ‘Oh no I’m floating away to America. And what’s more I can’t swim’.


There’s an honest confession. One of a few giants I have not yet slayed in my life.


Mind you I’m not sure anyone ever wakes up in a tent floating away who can swim and thinks to themselves, ‘Oh look I’m half way across the Atlantic in my tent… Oh well never mind I’m a strong swimmer’…


But, still, a few messages are making themselves clear.


1 – Don’t mess with the sea!


2 – Check the tides!


3 – Perhaps if you are going to finish the rest of the coast path, you better finally learn to swim, old boy – just in case you do misjudge something and drift away one night. I had a few adult lessons a few years back, and got just about to doggy paddle status, but it some how feels a bit embarrassing having lessons as an adult – still this might be one to conquer.




Thursday 17th September


Wake up a little late, and can’t resist waiting till high tide at about 11.30am to see just how far the tide did come to covering this little patch of salt marsh in front of the sea wall. It got to no more than a foot below, and in most places centimetres below the edge, and in most little inlets it is lapping up over onto the mud that I considered so sunburnt dry when I made my ‘reccy’ last night.


I ask a man about it and he says that – on a bad day - it can throw bits of the concrete of the sea wall up over and onto the fields on the other side!


Not wanting to confess, I say to him, ‘So, not a great place to camp then’, and he says, ‘Not on days like that’.


This seems to be another thing to learn about the tides… which the more ‘sciency’ will know already, but I am behind on… that as well as being affected by storms, the moon phases also affect the level of high tides. I thought it was as simple as… if there’s no wet bit on the beach/sand, that is how far the tide goes – end of.

There’s a truth to that, but clearly it’s not ‘end of’.


Walk some more…


Eventually come to a boat called the TSS Duke of Lancaster which had been decommissioned, and come to rest here. I’d seen it on the BBC documentary, Coast. It was docked here in 1979 and has been here since. It used to be used for parties and that kind of thing, and was known as the ‘fun ship’ but is currently not being used, though many would like to restore it to that purpose.


I decide that my thin, fairly cool, stretchy hat that I bought for all weathers last year, should come off for a couple of hours just so that I don’t go home sunburnt on my cheeks, but with the top of my head, which has little in the way of hair, being a completely different colour. Later I realise I’ve lost the hat – must have dropped out my pocket - and regret taking it off.


Pace can only really be described as pootling today!

That really, if push comes to shove, is my natural pace, and is what I have been walking at for most of this walk so far…


I enjoy pootling, and it means you see, and enjoy and take in… a lot more.


Later, though, my pace changes really rapidly. I just have this sense, which I think is God, that I need to get quite a lot further than I am – don’t know why, but the sense is clear, and I trust these senses when I’m out. So I suddenly switch gear. This has happened a few times since I’ve been walking like this over the last 5 years, and all I can say is it’s like my legs suddenly get a strength to speed along, even with a heavy pack, way beyond my natural pace.


Come through a little village called Fynnongroyw, an old coal mining village with about 10 chapels along its street. Then keep walking along a grassy walkway between hedges out to Talacre. Come eventually to a tarmac path walking between grassy/duney sections and a Gas Terminal.


All the way along as it has been getting darker and darker, lots of wild geese have been flying over. Many of these I think are migrating and arriving here for the winter.


Am now right at the edge of where the estuary fully meets the sea.


Decide with it almost completely dark to skip over into an incredibly overgrown field/ area. Is hard putting my tent up amongst thistles, but just about manage, except for a massive mound of earth in front of my tent. Tread on it and realise it is a mole hill. Pray that the mole will be ok and will have other places he can go!!




Friday 18th September


Go past Point of Ayr RSPB bird hide, and sit there. Speak to a man who confirms that the massive flocks of geese are just arriving. He then tells me that he used to be in the Fire Service and retired early. He is a really nice guy. Said that now there is thought of combining Fire Services and Ambulances, because the Fire Services are used less and less. We have got so good at health and safety that we hardly have fires any more. He told me a story about nearly accidentally throwing a sleeping person out a window with a mattress. The person was so well wrapped up in the burning sheets, that they nearly went out the window with the mattress.


I get a meat and potato pie, a coffee and an iced bun, and walk onto the massive stretch of sand that now begins to stretch for miles west towards Prestatyn, Rhyl and beyond, starting here with a massive dune system behind the sand. I pass Talacre Lighthouse, and quite soon decide to sit and have my hours silent meditation time, sitting by the dunes in the sunshine, with the sea gently lapping in the distance.


Walk through the Dunes and the Gronant Dunes Nature Reserve. Feeling a bit low today.

God feels distant. Questioning myself a bit as to why I’m doing these walks.


I feel a bit bad to feel low, when I’m doing something I love, and walking through a beautiful nature reserve in glorious sunshine. But I do.


Later, there is a point where you can turn off to watch the Little Terns on the stony shore. They are rare in the UK and being protected here. They migrate from West Africa to here to breed in May, and return to Africa in August, so I’ve already missed them. But still I read all the notice boards. They are another one of those amazing species like Swallows and Ospreys that spend half of their life in one part of the world and half in another, rotating each year, and with two amazing journeys in between, without even a ‘fly in’ Starbucks on the way!


Get to the edge of Prestatyn


Feel I really need to stop and have a rest day tomorrow, with two nights at a campsite, and perhaps some time milling around Prestatyn and the nature areas nearby and reading, etc… But out of the two campsites one is locked to outsiders, for families only and with no easy way of contacting them to see if they have spaces, and the other one doesn’t have a good feeling.


So in the end go back to a place I remembered about a quarter of a mile back on some really high dunes, almost acting as a cliff of sand down to the beach, which looked like an idyllic spot for wild camping. Set up here, feeling quite aware of some younger people – mostly about 18 years old, having fun nearby on the dunes and drinking. They see my tent as they are wandering back – and one of them attempts to jump over the edge I am on. Another lobs his empty beer bottle which smashes on the stones and rocks below. Pray the broken glass won’t hurt anyone tomorrow, and hoping they won’t throw anything my way. But these kids are ok, just a bit tipsy, and they soon move on. And then I’m pretty much alone.


My head starts to get cold, and realise I lost my hat earlier in the week.

A bit unsure and concerned about what to do.


In the end I do the only thing one can do in this sort of situation without a hat –

wear my pants on my head!

I seem to lose hats very easily – about every 6 months on average. Gloves are even worse, so I don’t bother getting them.

But when you’ve lost a hat and its cold and you’re outside, you need another option.

And pants, or boxer shorts, are quite a good alternative if no-one is looking.

Am I ‘over-sharing’ here?

I don’t recommend trying it when out for a meal, walking down a street, or in fact when you are in any sort of reasonable company.

But when you’re on your own and you have no hat…

I’ve done it once or twice when camping in the shelter of my sleeping bag and tent.

But there was one time I ‘took it to the streets’.

And that was 10 years ago when I was living in Bala for ‘6 months out’ of my work in North London. I had just met Nathalie, and we had just started talking on the phone regularly once she had returned to Holland. It was December and an exceptionally cold winter – reaching easily temperatures of -12 in the evenings. Yet I had a flatmate and still wanted to go outside and talk to Nathalie on the phone in ‘privacy’, and again I had lost my hat – so I did the only thing you can do when it’s -12 and yet you want to go outside and talk to your girlfriend with no hat to put on: Wore about 3 pairs of trousers, 3 socks, 5 teeshirts, a thick coat, and underneath the hood of my coat – pants on my head!

Remembering all this now with a smile as I lie happily and warm in my sleeping bag, with the first really cold evening of the autumn.

Muse to myself, ‘I’m not really sure you’ve lived if you’ve never worn pants on your head!’ Now there’s a deep thought.


I sleep well.




Saturday 19th September.


As it’s not going to work to have a full rest day today, I have a half rest day, and after packing my tent away sit reading for a little while in this high patch on the dunes, basking in the sun.


Then go and sit in the CookHouse Pub and Carvery for a meal of Chicken and Chips, whilst charging my phone. It’s my first hot meal of the week, and much needed.


Then shop in the large complex near Prestatyn. Buy some laces, a hat, and far too much food to carry out of Prestatyn. Try to go healthy after eating a packet of Jaffa cakes and a whole packet of Caramel Digestives, and lots of other unhealthy snacks in a single ‘less than 24 hour period’ earlier in the week. But still am laden down with shopping, albeit healthier goods.


This is not a good look. A massive back pack, plus two shopping bags! And it is not very practical. Get back to the beach to the ‘End of Offa’s Dyke sculpture’, where I finished walking last year, and sit down trying to rearrange things to at least one shopping bag by attempting to throw stuff away, stuff into my big bag, and where this fails just to eat it all now! A lady comes up to me to ask if I’ve just finished Offa’s Dyke saying that she just has. I say no, I walked this last year, but have just started the Coast Path. She wishes me well.


Walk as fast as I can to Rhyl.


Rhyl gets slated in lots of ways these days, but I have a fondness for it and I quite like the overall feeling by the seaside. By the harbour a lot of work has gone into its regeneration. But I say a prayer for the continued healing of the town, and the struggles with deprivation, etc… these are the sort of places God loves to hang out.


As I was coming in to Rhyl Town, walking along massive swathes of Sandy beaches, I inscribed the words ‘bring on play’ in the sand. God has been teaching me for some years the importance of play in our spiritual journeys… that life cannot be just about work… or even just about praying and working - or even just resting, praying and working! We need play in life to find ourselves and express who we are… it is one of the key ways children grow into maturity. Yet despite the fact he’s been working on this for a while with me, I still can get laden with worries, and everything seeming bit too heavy and too much like hard work. Realised as I was walking into Rhyl, that I was in that place again, and that part of walking the coast path is me learning, or re-learning to play and realising that that is a key part of the journey. So, I write these words in the sand to continue my embracing of the playful side of life.


Except for a candy floss flavoured ice cream (that’s new!), keep going for another three miles in the almost dark to Abergele, past Caravan Parks galore, and even some late night funfairs to get eventually to Abergele.


Have a struggle deciding what to do next.


It is now almost 9.00pm and I have not found a patch of ground I feel comfortable wild camping on.

I think of a guy called Len who I met last year when walking Offa’s Dyke path,

and remember stories he told of adventures he had had, including once in Scotland walking miles and miles through the night with no fear.

Realise most of the path to Llandudno will be promenade from here, so I could just keep walking through the night, and get as close to Llandudno as possible ready to rest for a good time at the end of this walk.


On the other hand, not really sure I feel I have that in me at the moment, and then I won’t have slept all night, so perhaps I should find a campsite in Llandudno.


Can’t decide, so move off the beach where there are Camper Vans pulled up and fires lit, and into the Abergele and Pensarn station, and get out my list of campsites.

The advantage of living reasonably nearby is that I know the area fairly well, and know that the number 12 bus goes along most of this Coast, so call a number of campsites around the area, thinking that I could get a bus back and finish the walk from here tomorrow morning.


In the end the only one answering is a campsite called Dinarth Hall near Rhos on Sea.

Get a bus there and follow the directions to the campsite, thinking that it will be fairly quiet at this time of year. But the field is literally jam-packed with holiday makers!

It is noisy and not quite what I was hoping for.


I feel unsettled here and can’t work out why – the campsite is a good one, and the people running it are lovely.




Sunday 20th September


Get a bus back to Abergele to continue the walk.

Leave my tent, sleeping bag, and a few bits at the campsite, to pick up later when I’ve

Walked the 7 and a half miles back to Rhos on Sea.


Walk at quite a pace today, and it is a blessing walking with a pack less than half the weight of the last few days.


Feel God gives me one simple phrase of blessing to pray for this area – hopefully one simple phrase can be used just as much as more complicated prayers.


One section is particularly surreal, where thousands of massive concrete shapes are acting as a seawall. I don’t know whose idea this was, but I don’t think it was someone who is into all things natural!


Come through Colwyn Bay, and a lot of built up areas until eventually reach Rhos on Sea which is a cute little village by the sea with a slightly more intimate and less touristic feel than the rest of what I’ve walked today. Still I do what every good tourist does – take my shoes and socks off and dip my toes in the water, visit the Tourist Information Office, and then most importantly go and buy an ice cream!

Then walk a very steep uphill route up to the campsite.


Pack the tent, and get back down to the seaside again, much later than I had intended for just after 6pm. I am wanting to get across to the Little Orme to camp there, and don’t have a lot of light left to get there.


But I also want to go and visit, on the outskirts of Rhos, ‘St Trillo’s Chapel’ – an extremely small stone chapel by the sea, thought to be the smallest chapel in Britain, on the site of his 6th century Celtic hermitage. Despite my need for carrying on – can’t resist allowing myself half an hour to sit in the silence here. Seem to enter the silence so much more easily. It’s hard to fully understand, but it does seem that - whilst you can rest and pray in all places - there are places, where people have prayed a lot, and perhaps with a certain ‘thinness’ about them as the Celtic Christians believed… where the veil between heaven and earth is particularly ‘thin’… where it just seems easier to become aware of God’s presence, enter His silence, and feel His love.


After half an hour, need to keep going, and walk as fast as I can beyond Rhos on Sea, along Penrhyn Bay and eventually, after passing the final large house on the cliff behind the bay, up a set of stairs, and onto a road in a sleepy and wealthy housing estate, and along to another set of wooden stairs, leading up onto the beginnings of the Little Orme.


I notice a sign which lists things you are not meant to do on the Little Orme and camping is one of them.


Meet a lady who seems a little pushy, when I say I am aiming for Llandudno, and says she is concerned about me walking over the Orme with it almost dark and offers me a lift to Llandudno.


I decline, whilst thinking what to do… I don’t like to wild camp in places where there are signs saying not to.


But last night was a disturbed night and I’ve been walking past busy resorts all day, and so I can’t face, having packed everything up, returning to the campsite I came from. I also can’t face the noise of Llandudno without a bit more of the quiet of nature. But also, am not sure how safe it is to walk over the rocky, Little Orme at night/late evening. See the pathway up and how rocky it looks and make a decision there and then that I won’t attempt going over tonight.


So I am out here on this grassy eastern side of the Little Orme, and wandering what to do. I decide that decisions have to be made according to the situation, and for me a lone walker, the best decision here would be to camp, as long as I leave no damage. I wait for the last of the walkers to disappear, well into the dark evening, so as not to cause offence and then pitch my tent.


It is beautiful and wild and really well kept, despite the nearby houses.

There is a bay called Angel Bay about 10 metres away, with Seals making the loud seal noises that they do.


This is quiet and peaceful. I stand outside bathing in the peaceful night, looking up to the stars, and feeling peace and quiet, perhaps for the first time during this walk, and think that this is what walking and wild camping is all about.


Set my alarm for 5am so as not to cause offence with the locals, who clearly treat this patch of nature with respect and as their own.




Monday 21st September


My phone battery gave up during the night, and so I didn’t wake till 6.50 am. Wake, and soon hear a dog walker up. Dog comes up to the tent and jumps at the tent attempting to eat me it seems. His owner calls, ‘George, come away.’ And then mutters to himself, ‘Shouldn’t be there anyway’. I decide it’s not a morning to take my usual two hours of getting ready and packed away, and once they’ve gone throw everything out of my tent, and get the tent down first, and the rest packed away afterwards. Even try to ruffle the grass back up…


But this spot is two beautiful to rush away from, and so I go and spend a couple of hours admiring the view down to AngelBay.


See about 4 seals splayed on the nearby rocks.

Then a couple of ladies speak to me, and tell me about this bay and how many seal pups you get later in the autumn. But there is one down there now, very visible in his furry white coat, and that is the first time I have ever seen a seal pup in the wild.


A man walks by and chats to the ladies about a documentary that is being filmed on Wednesday here and the various issues with it. He seems involved with it and trying to prepare for it.


The ladies move off, and one of them wishes me well with some guided walks that I hope to get started up in my area, the Vale of Clwyd, next year.


Eventually I climb slowly over the Little Orme, and on down towards Llandudno.


I have plenty of time to enjoy the town before getting a bus back to meet Nathalie.

This is my other half days rest.


Sit on the east side of the stony bay, amongst others. The sun is warm. Behind me are an older couple, and a mum with her kids. I toy with a dip in the sea. Get up to my knees and decide it is too cold. Then a couple in their early seventies come and sit right by me, take a few things off (not everything, of course!) and wade right in without even a flinch and then both begin flawlessly practicing their breaststroke up and down the bay. This is the encouragement I need to at least have a dip and I do just that but only a very quick dip, but it does cool me down, and it is warm enough to sit drying off, reading Kate Humble’s ‘Walking on My Feet’ – her really interesting take on walking and a diary of a year in the life of her ‘Walking life’.


Climb little by little along the bay – in and out of the town.


Eventually finish the walk with a sit down in the Llandudno Starbucks (drinking a gigantic sized white chocolate mocha with cream) which I have always loved, and sit by the window reading a little more of my book!


Muse to myself that the two best moments on the walk were the half days rest in Prestatyn, and the half days rest here in Llandudno.


I think that says something about me!


But you need all the walking to get to these beautiful and relaxing ‘rest up’ spots. And I do really love the walking. It had times where it felt quite hard this week and times where I seemed to struggle to find the necessary bodily energy, but that doesn’t discourage me – it is quickly becoming one of my main hobbies, and brings a lot of happiness hormones with it. But I do normally need one full rest day in a week of walking, with two nights at the same campsite either side of the rest day, to feel happy with the balance of walking and being. Otherwise it can end up feeling like a burden, and just pushing yourself to get as far as you can. Where as part of the joy is what happens on the way. But this time a full rest day wasn’t possible, so I had to improvise, and I loved today, and feel happy with where I’ve ended up and where I will continue from next time. So it is worth not sticking too closely to set ideas, and letting the mood take you, your heart lead, and hopefully also being open to the stirrings and leadings of the Spirit along the way.


Go to get a bus at 3.50 to get to Rhyl in time to get a lift back home with Nathalie after she finishes work at 5pm.


Get to the bus stop as the bus has shut its doors – knock, but he is on his way, and has no intention of letting me on. The next bus is in 10 minutes.


I use the moment to buy one final ice-cream – a honeycomb one in a chocolate waffle cone, with a flake in it – well, I deserve it!


Wander with it back down to the bay – in 5 hours here I’ve only made it half way along Llandudno bay, now truly in rest mode, so I’ll pick it up from here next time – in the middle of the bay.


Fit all this in and still make the next bus at 4pm!


Best moment? The ice-cream I’ve just had. Second best moment? The White Chocolate Mocha with cream I’ve just had. Third best moment? Sitting on my bum reading today!


End up 15 minutes late for Nathalie and so she has had to go, so as not to miss the closing time for picking Samuel up from Nursery.


Means I’ve got to wade my way back on the buses, which is a bit laborious.


Whilst on the bus home, find myself singing the words to a really old Graham Kendrick worship song, that I have not even thought about in about 20 years.

The words are:


‘We’ll walk the land, with hearts on fire, and every step will be a prayer’.


I didn’t rationally think about trying to sing a song about walking - I found myself singing it beyond any rational process, and seeing as I have not had it in my mind at all, I know this is God speaking to me.


This is really encouraging to know that though the walk wasn’t all easy, and quite often He didn’t feel close, yet every step of the walk, even in my playing, resting, thinking, talking, worrying at times, and simply being, is actually a prayer.


The thought really lifts me as I return to Nathalie and Samuel and wait for the next part of the Coast Path to continue.




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