Wind whistling through the sparse gorse, we walked along the rough uneven track that wound its way along the base of the rolling cliff above us. To our left we looked out across the swelling Irish sea, watching the sky turn from blue to pink as the late autumn sun sank towards the horizon, turning small white waves into candy floss collecting in the distance around the dark hazy shape that is the Isle of Anglesey. 

 Conversation slowed to a natural stop and we paused at a break in the bushes, allowing us to stare right out to sea. Embracing a rare moment of silence and simply appreciating each others company. Stood on a cliff edge at the base of the Orme, watching the sun set and listening to nothing but the sound of the bracing wind and waves hitting the rock face below. A little bubble of serenity, only ten minutes away from the centre of town. 

 For those who don’t know, the Great Orme is a coastal country park in North Wales, comprising of a large grass covered cliff that towers over the town of Llandudno. It has been inhabited since the bronze age, when early humans dug deep into the limestone, creating the intricate maze of tunnels that now forms the oldest and longest mine formation in North Wales. It is one of the key locations on my doorstep that kindled my fascination of archaeology and geology, taking trips as a child to the mines and searching for fossilised brachiopods around the rock faces and cliffs of the Orme itself, taking them home as a prize of the day and a little piece of memory that still lives in a cardboard box in my childhood bedroom.

  Feeling the temperature drop as it went from evening to twilight in the space of minutes, we brought ourselves back to the present moment and continued our walk. Conversation picked up, rabbits scampered along the path ahead and herring gulls dived up and down through the thermals, grouping together then pairing off in search of food down on the pebbled beach way below us.

  Continuing along a bend in the path, towered either side by particularly tall bushes, we came across an open stretch of concrete expanding out across the path in front of us. Patches of grass and coastal flowers had found life in the cracks, and spurs of metal protruded from the centre. What once may have been walls of a building were just visible through brambles strangling the bricks over on the far side. Amongst many others similar structures cast about the Great Orme, this area was once a World War II artillery bunker, initially erected as an extra precaution from enemy attack coming in from across the Irish Sea. Now it remains as just a slowly fading reminder of the history that has shaped the Orme throughout the years.

 Movement ahead of us made us stop. 

 For a fleeting second I thought we might bump into some other walkers, but instead, what we saw was rather unexpected. A parade of the living embodiments of the Great Orme’s mascot, the Kashmiri Goat.

 These goats have been inhabiting the Great Orme since the late 1800s and are a common sight once you reach the summit, often found grazing on the rock strewn grass or climbing the rock faces themselves, nimble as any mountain climber. However, seeing them so low on the cliff and being so close to them was a sight. The national lockdown that rendered Llandudno a ghost town in the previous months had allowed the goats the freedom to explore further into town unbothered, wandering the streets like any weekend shopper, popping into peoples gardens and climbing boundary walls like parkour enthusiasts.
 
  One by one, these large mountain goats marched slowly towards the bunker, long yellow/white fur glowing in the remaining light of the evening, each with long deep brown horns that curled backwards in a point towards their necks, contrasting greatly against their bleached bodies. They must have found the bunkers to be the perfect shelter to rest for the night out of the wind. As if in rank they entered the empty structure, hoofs scratching on the flaky concrete, and arranged themselves into a group. In a slightly eerie way, the sight of them standing in a circle in the dim light of dusk was quite reminiscent of a horror film.

Almost in awe we stood and watched them as they settled down to rest. All our lives we had lived in North Wales and never seen the goats so close or in such a big group, we counted around 13 in total. It was definitely a positive and special memory to come out of a very troubled year!