Hiking in Wales: Worm’s Head – Race against the Tides to the Island in the Sea.

I balance on uneven, sharp-edged rocks that are scattered across the seabed, slippery algae in front of me, a pool of water and shells next to me, and in the background, the sea thundering and surging gray with white foam caps. The same sea that will soon return while we, like stumbling fools, are hiking to Worm's Head in Wales—a tidal island that is only temporarily connected to the mainland at low tide and then cut off again.

“Hey, that sounds cool! Let's walk to that island,” I had suggested. The path is only about two miles long, and the window of opportunity for hiking is five hours – two and a half hours before low tide and two and a half hours afterwards. Sounds like plenty of time – but then we realize: just because it's called a hike doesn't mean there's a hiking trail. After walking along the cliffs and following the signs down to the shore, we stand somewhat perplexed in front of a stone desert with crustaceans that could just as well be the moon – okay, with water and atmosphere – and crustaceans. It seems surreal that this landscape in front of us is the seabed. The parameters are set: at the top of the cliff, there was a warning sign with today's tide calendar and the latest time to be back – and the directions from here seem to be: “Just go ahead, find your own path and enjoy!”

“Are we just going to walk... like straight across,or what?” I ask my husband, nervously.
Three people with buckets trudge along and right into the moonscape. 
“I believe so,” he says.
I look at my watch. Of the five hours, we have a little less than three left. But who knows when we'll be back in Wales at this spot. Maybe never. So it's all or nothing at all. So we go. All in.

The walk along the clifftops down to the shore is already absolutely stunning. Hiking in Wales in November – gray and dreary? Not at all! Everything is glowing. The sea is blue, the wide beach below is golden, the nearby mountain slopes are red-orange from the autumn ferns, and the cliffs are green from lush grass. Fluffy sheep graze next to furry horses whose manes blow in the wind. My husband had to change money for the parking meter, then we had gone to the restroom at the hiking parking lot, and now we really have to get going. I've been afraid of huge waves for years, ever since I was unexpectedly knocked over by a wave on a beach in Spain and hit the hard volcanic sand face first, and my husband can't swim. No kidding. As you can see, we are extremely qualified for this job.

Worm's Head rises black and green from the sea like a lump. If you don't make it away from there in time, you can hope for a cell signal (questionable) or ring a small metal bell and wait for someone to come and rescue you. In the meantime, hail, rain, thunderstorms, sun, storms, fog, and rainbows can all roll in – when hiking in Wales, the weather sometimes changes from one extreme to another every fifteen minutes. The poet Dylan Thomas is said to have been stranded overnight on the tidal island. Somehow that reassures me. Silly. As if it makes it any better now that some famous person was once lost there.

When we arrive at the shore, there is a sharp drop-off where the waves normally crash against and the sea reclaims the land year after year, day after day. In front of us is a wide rugged field. Somehow, I had imagined a solid hiking trail that someone had carved into the seabed. But there is nothing. So we stumble off. Besides us, there are a few other crackpots on this "trail", which reassures me at least as much as the story about Dylan Thomas.

We are making much slower progress than expected, because the ground is completely uneven, full of sharp-edged stones, hard shells, slippery algae, and small puddles of water. We climb and sway, stop and look, and constantly calculate new routes. I look at the sea roaring behind Worm's Head. You can hear the surf. I want to look at my watch, but then I don't dare. Oh well, it can't be that late, can it? A few feet further on, I take a look anyway. Only half an hour has passed. I take a deep breath. Then I almost fall into a puddle. 

Slowly, Worm's Head comes closer. From here, it looks like a sleeping dinosaur. I look back at the mainland. The thought that the place where I am standing now will be under the sea in a few hours keeps driving me crazy. My husband is already several feet ahead—as always. But I absolutely have to take a few photos. If we get stranded here, then I can say, look, just like Dylan Thomas, only without Dylan Thomas!

Finally, we reach the island, and the first thing I see is the little emergency bell. Hopefully, we won't need it.
“Quick, let's go up!” I shout, even though a little sandwich break wouldn't be a bad idea. But we can eat that later, if we're stranded here. What else could we eat anyways? Some herbs? I look around. And all around us is only salt water to drink. Great. 

We climb Worm's Head – and wow, from the top there is a 360-degree view of the cliffs on the mainland, the “hiking trail,” the sea, and the rest of the island, at the end of which there is a rock arch called Devil's Bridge. The wind sweeps across, then there's a brief spell of sunshine, then the rain comes pouring down.
“We did it!” I shout. It's wonderful.
 “But we still have to get back, Sarah,” my husband reminds me. One of us always seems to have tidal anxieties.

The tide has now reached its lowest point. It's a strange feeling. From now on, the sea will return. I quickly glance over my shoulder. Is it here yet? Now?! 
Nonsense! 

We walk along the ridge of the island as the sky clears again. Suddenly, we spot seals down on the beach. They lie on the sand, chilled and shapeless, as if someone had stuck cute faces into sausage casings. 

Then we decide to skip the Devil's Bridge and head back early. A quick glance at the clock and over to the emergency bell – there's still time for a sandwich! We sit down on a rock and take in the magnificent nature in front of us. I imagine owning a cabin on this island – where no one can bother you for half the day. It's crazy how a place like this can be both fascinating and unsettling at the same time.

Then we work our way back across the seabed toward the mainland. I try to block out the sound of the roaring sea, but glance at the shore from time to time to see if the water has risen. No visible sign of it. Then the rain clouds fly away in the wind and a rainbow stretches between the coast and the sea. I balance enthusiastically with my camera on a rugged black rock, while my husband looks at his watch and probably wonders whether I'll fall or we'll drown.

An hour before the deadline, we're back on the mainland shore. I look over to Worm's Head. What a thrilling and beautiful hike! As we reach the top of the cliffs again and are almost back at the parking lot, the sun breaks through completely and the incredibly vast and beautiful land shines in all its colors. Oh, Wales. If I could, I would walk back over to Worm's Head right away. 
But it's impossible now. I wave to the spirit of Dylan Thomas. What a trip. 

If you like, you can follow our stories, hikes, and outdoor adventures daily on Instagram: @squirrel.sarah.

Find more hiking adventures here:

• Hiking in Wales: Hypothermia - small Mistake, serious Consequences
• The Magic of Seeing and Sea – Through-Hike John Muir Way, Scotland
• With one Foot in the Abyss: A dangerous Hike on an alpine Ridge
• A Giant's Kettle and an Island in the Alps – Roadtrip Switzerland