Shell Island and our Welsh camping Staycation

We're seasoned campers but, for the first time this year, we decided to stay in the UK and brave a whole week of the British weather rather than our usual long weekend jaunts. Now a week or even a fortnight's camping in France is just wonderful - sunshine is almost (not always) guaranteed. But a week in Wales? Well I convinced myself that Shell Island - a new destination for us - would have its own sub-tropical micro-climate.

Alas, it seems Mocras (as it is know in Welsh - one of the few names I could pronounce) does indeed have its own micro-climate - desert storm.

Arriving on our first day we were convinced we had struck gold. Beautiful Shell Island in all its glory and a fabulous pitch among the dunes was ours for the taking. The sun was shining, the kids were throwing themselves down the largest sand dunes we've ever seen, the beer was still cold in the ice box and all was good with the world. The new Weber barbecue was put into action, a fantastic feast ensued and then we roasted marshmallows with the kids around the campfire before tucking them up with their Nintendos and settling down to some chill tunes on the ipod and a few more cold beers. The dogs snuggled up and dreamed of all the fun to come.

Day two and we woke to rather gloomy skies and a rather fierce breeze. Ho hum, we thought. Life is still good. A few hours later and friends arrived and pitched close by. We hadn't even realised we were all going to the same campsite until we got talking at footie training earlier that week. The boys were over the moon to have their mate Baillie in tow and off they all set, back into the dunes only to end up in a rather serious ruck with a bunch of other (older!) kids who were throwing sand in their faces and beating our youngest, only seven, with spades. He came screaming back to the tent, eyes full of sand and ended up with a very badly bruised back. Let's just say words were had!

The clouds showed no sign of clearing and the fierce breeze was gathering momentum, whipping sand off them their dunes at an impressive rate. But we're seasoned campers and we weren't going to let a little inclement weather ruin our evening. The campfire was stoked up once more and we tried to roast the marshmallows but the wind and sand soon put paid to that so we all retired into our tent for red wine and hot chocolate.

Bedtime came and we settled in. All I can say is thank God the kids slept through because, for the rest of the evening, the wind howled, the tent flapped furiously and I was convinced we were going to do a Wizard of Oz at any point.

Luckily our sturdy Outwell Montana (Note: metal poles are a really good move if you want a tent to survive Stonethwaite and Shell Island!) lasted the night but our poor friends woke to find their brand new tent practically flattened around them and duly packed up and headed home to complain to Go Outdoors for selling them a dud!

And so the week went on. Our friends returned 24 hours later with a new tent and a chipper spirit. It was their first wedding anniversary and they were determined to celebrate, if not in style. More drinks and more hot choccies with marshmallows were consumed and our friends endured a couple more days before the wind finally got the better of them and they decided to pack up and leave for a second time - duly ripping their second new tent in a week as they tried to pack in a force goodness knows what wind!

The rest of the week was dominated by grey skies and further (although less fierce) wind until at last, the day before we were due to head home the sun made a much welcome appearance and we were finally able to truly appreicate the glory of Shell Island.

Not that we'd had a bad time. The kids and dogs braved the surf despite arctic sea temperatures, crabbing was a huge success with all of us catching loads of the little blighters. (Told my neighbour earlier but he said I shouldn't go round broadcasting such information to the whole neighbourhood!).

Certainly our crabbing forays were far more successful that Martin's sea bass fishing attempts - despite getting expert advice from a member of the British sea bass fishing team all he managed to catch was lots of seaweed!

We then tried, but failed miserably, to buy some sea bass for supper but it seems that despite their being plenty of them swimming around the waters of West Wales, you can't actually buy them for love nor money. In fact what a dissapointment the local produce - or lack of it - was in general. Apart from a few good sausages and some Welsh cakes in a bakery it seems that every food shop from Barmouth to Porthmadog is full of the usual processed crap available everywhere. Saying that we had fabulous sit-down fish and chips in Barmouth and a fairly nice lunch and lattes in the Rock Cafe (turns out to be a God Squad joint) in Porthmadog. We also paid a trip to Portmerion and thanked our lucky stars we had waited until 3.30pm to pay the half price entrace fee. Very pretty and unusual yes but why is it you have to pay to walk round and look at a hotel and a few rental properties (mostly with Range Rovers parked outside) which only the truly wealthy can afford to stay in? No information, no guided tour, no little plaques telling us about the quirky architecture but we could pay another £3.50 for a guide book if we wanted. Personally, for almost £10 to get into the village in the first place, I would have liked to have had free access to a bit of history. Sneaked a look in the book in the shop and only learnt that the architect was originally from my home county of Northamptonshire. Bonkers then!

So crabbing, fishing, wave hopping, dune rolling, walking, cycling, sight seeing and lots of fun was had by all despite the weather but to be honest Wales (and the Welsh) was a bit of a let down. Beautiful, indeed stunning scenery but why then, when they live in such a gorgeous place, is everyone so miserable? Where were the friendly greetings in shops and pubs? Who is eating all the fantastic local produce that we know exists but could not find anywhere? Why were there scabby takeaways everywhere? And why was every accent we heard Scouse?

And Shell Island itself? A beautiful, truly gorgeous spot with stunning beaches, amazing views of Snowdownia and, on first appearances, probably the finest campsite to be found anywhere. But alas, below the surface, lurks the island's dirty secrets. Broken bottles, cans, nappies, bin bags - all strewn around the dunes. I suppose at least the perpetrators had at least tried to conceal their crap. But then there was the group of youngsters sitting on the beach enjoying a few beers and a campfire that we spotted on a late evening walk back from the sea with the kids and the dogs. No harm in that. Sadly, the next morning we found their beer bottles strewn across the beach and the inflatable dinghy they had with them burnt out atop the remains of the campfire.

One set of neighbours headed off home leaving four bin bags, a broken barbecue and around 50 empty bottles on their plot. (The bins were 100m away!). Two days later the wardens came and cleared the rubbish away.

Another set of neighbours abandanoned camp after their small tents were flattened by the heavy winds. Fair enough but did they have to leave the tents and everything else behind including dirty socks, old flip flops and food encrusted plates? This was four days before our departure and the remnants of their holiday remained after we had packed up and headed home.

At the centre of Shell Island is the main complex which has everything you could need including free (and clean) hot showers, a launderette, small (fairly okay priced) supermarket, excellent camp and leisure shop and nice gift and ice cream/fudge shop, cosy bar, scary, noisy games room (aaargh, the kids loved it!), hideous cafe churning out deep fried crap and creating an aroma of fine grease across the entire complex and decent kids play area. Good for watching the footie (two fantastic Arsenal results in one week) but scarily full of scallies dressed up to the nines in Bench and McKenzie, gold earrings dangling as they consumed WKD and pints of wine and screached at their 'bleedin' kids'!

To summarise, Shell Island has its problems. The rubbish is a big one and, while practical and offering more or less everything you need in an emergency, the central complex could have been so much nicer with a little thought, and perhaps a nod to the local area (and dare I say produce?).

The weather was pants (apart from the last two days) but we'd still go back. Despite our misgivings it's a truly stunning place with plenty of free fun to offer those with young children, dogs and a love of the great outdoors and real camping. Happy holidays!

Now it's Newhaven in the Peak District for the Bank Holiday weekend. Here we go again!