River Dee: Flintshire

Yesterday I walked into Flintshire in North Wales, and then got a train back out again. It was very drizzly for most of the day, which suited the walk quite well. I did this mostly because I wanted to follow the path of the River Dee (Afon Dyfrdwy) to see what it looked like at the estuary, where it turns into the Irish Sea. 

The Welsh Goddess Aerfen has strong associations with the River Dee and there used to be numerous shrines to her along its length. Her name means "Spreader of Carnage" and I imagine she would have spread a lot of it when she flooded. Chester (Caer in Welsh, literally meaning "the Castle") was maintained as a stronghold by the Romans, the Angles and the Normans, to stop the Celtic Decangli and the Cornovii (and their later descendants) from spreading carnage by rampaging out of the hills down the Dee Valley and into the lower areas. 

It was hard to keep all of that in mind while walking along the modern Dee, which is effectively a canal, linking Chester to the sea. The Flintshire towns of Shotton and Connah's Quay are now quite poor, because the Deeside docking infrastructure is no longer that relevant. Some of the walk took me into the towns, to avoid power stations and active docks. 

I made it to Flint by about 3, and spent several hours at Flint Castle, looking for birds. The castle was built in the 13th century and has an unusual French design featuring one isolated high tower. I climbed it (using the brand new metal spiral staircase inside it), and got an excellent view if the wading birds in the marshes below. I couldn't have seen them otherwise, so I am glad it was there. 

I walked a further mile or so, to get to Baggilt Stone Circle, before realising the end of the estuary was too far for one day. Total distance about 14 miles. I am surprised my legs are still speaking to me. 

More folkloric stuff: the Dee Estuary is famous for sinking sands / quicksands, and there is still a whole section on the northern (English) side called White Sands, where you aren't allowed to go. I could see it from the Welsh side. There are plenty of sad tales about young women being lost to the sands, and a rather mawkish poem by Charles Kingsley (1850) about how 'poor Mary', a cowherd servant, was lost to the Sands of the Dee, after her master made her go and bring the cattle in at the wrong time. I'm pretty sure the river Goddess would rather have been drowning the master in the poem.