The Man Who’s Made Himself Homeless to Clean Up Wales’ Beaches, Aberaeron

The biggest impact travel’s had on me hasn’t been the landscapes, architecture, history, food or any particular aspect of the individual cultures we’ve been touched by, although each of these has of course been an inspiration. Nope, it’s all about the people. For reasons I can’t put my finger on, I’m far more open to contact with strangers than I am when I’m at home. Folks we’ve come across in this way have, often without even knowing it, introduced us to new ways of thinking we’d never have been exposed to otherwise. Like the idea of retiring in my early 40s for example, a frankly preposterous idea until you meet someone not too dissimilar to yourself who’s done it, the slow but sure way. Travel did that for me, something I’ll be forever grateful for.

So when Ju told me she’d just “bumped into that chap we saw on the BBC who’s hiking the Welsh coast and cleaning up the beaches”, I was intrigued. She was on her way back from the Saturday morning Parkrun at nearby Llanerchaeron, and had spotted Geraint on the beach, picking up rubbish and popping it into a red bin bag. He’s not hard to recognise, as you can tell from the photo below, with a fearsome red beard not unlike the one I used to have.

“Shall we offer him a cuppa?” she said. This is the “do we-don’t we” crunch point folks. The tipping point, the sliding door. A choice between the easy and comfortable (“nah, let’s let him carry on, he’ll be busy”) and the less comfortable (“yeah, why not, go and offer him a coffee”). I admit I often fall backwards to the easy but this time I was too intrigued and a few seconds later Ju was heading over to the stone beach to invite him in. A wee while later, over he came (we’d thought he’d changed his mind, but he’d had to walk a way to find somewhere to bin all the detritus he’d collected).

Dropping his rucksack outside (the photos above were taken as he was leaving), he initially refused to come inside as his boots were dirty. We laughed this off, as we’re not the fussiest cleaners on the planet (i.e. we’re lazy sods and often walk around in the van with shoes on). Inside over a brew-n-biscuit we learned a bit about the fella and what he was up to, and it was pretty incredible stuff folks.

It turns out Geraint’s let the lease expire on his rented house, so is effectively homeless, and is living from his rucksack which I may have mentioned weighed an absolute ton. Look, here I am almost failing to get it on, saying a few choice words which thankfully you can’t hear from a photo:

To keep his costs down Geraint’s sleeping rough. Not a problem for him, as he once spent four years living in a tent in the woods in Scotland (yes in the winter too!). He once woke up scared he was dying as he couldn’t breathe, but it turned out his beard had frozen across his mouth, it was that cold. I looked at his wind-battered face and calloused hands and told him trying to sleep on benches and the like would do me in. “Yeah, I feel like I’m 105” he said (he’s 51). “Have you got a mat?”, “yeah, I’ve got one on my pack”, gesturing slightly at all his worldly goods lying on the grass outside. “What about a pillow?”, “nah, I roll up my coat”. All of this was very understated, all in a day’s work. He’s clearly one tough bloke. Ju and I have sold/given away most of our stuff over the years and lived in small spaces for a decade. Ju’s marathoned and I’ve run the odd ultramarathon. It’s all been an absolute piece of cake compared with how Geraint lives. Humbling stuff.

He’s just worked his way around the Gower, so had been cleaning some of the beaches we’d been on recently on this trip, including the one at Rhossili. I’ve a habit of picking up the odd bit of litter from beaches when I leave them, but nothing on the scale of Geraint’s mission. At Rhossili I’d picked up a wrapper at the end of a run, only to discover it was covered in human sh*t. A tad fed up I was, especially as it was only about 200m from free toilets. I told Geraint about this and he nodded, he’d seen it a thousand times he said, alongside all the dog sh*t, much of it left in plastic bags on the beach and path.

He went on to tell us how he’d picked up a ton of rubbish from the Rhossili beach, some swept in from the tide, some left by visitors. Not everyone’s happy about what he’s doing though. Back before he started his epic trek, he’d been out cleaning his home beach. Some kids had questioned why he was picking plastic up before throwing stones at him and asking him if he was stupid. On the plus side, some of the group tried to stop their missile-launching peers, and when he returned some days later he saw them out litter picking on their own. Once he’d begun his trekking mission, he’d started visiting the local businesses to tell them what he was doing. One told him he wasn’t needed as they “clean the beaches ourselves around here”. He did it anyway, finding bags and bags of new rubbish. At Rhossili he’d been instructed to leave the beach by a disgruntled campsite owner, something to do with a rotting cow carcass on the sands. The same guy had given him a donation before the argument, and insisted he give it back afterwards.

After Geraint left I grabbed a couple of bags and headed to the stony beach opposite us, figuring it was the right thing to do and later realising I was getting a tiny insight into his challenge. At first I couldn’t see anything to pick up, but then as I got my eye in it started to appear. Plastic bottles and tops, bits of fishermen’s net, bags full of dog poo, a used shotgun cartridge, some upholstery sponge, rusting chunks of metal, faded drinks cans and a whole host of unidentifiable bits of plastic. I returned to the van a bit knackered from all the bending down, a tad damp from a small rain shower and wondering where I was going to get rid of all this rubbish. If I’d left it in the campsite owner’s bins I guessed he’d have been unhappy about it, although it was the beach directly outside the site I was cleaning, for free? Dunno, I’d have to ask him and I’ve not got Geraint’s balls. In the end we carried it to council beachfront bins about half a mile away. Geraint said he carried it for miles sometimes. I’d worked a very small area of beach. Cleaning the entire coastline of Wales is a monumental job, one without end.

We mentioned the book “The Salt Path” to Geraint, the second time someone’s brought it up with him he said. Perhaps because it echoes what he’s doing in some ways. The book relays the real-life story of a couple made homeless through the financial misdoings of a supposed friend. One of them has a degenerative disease, to make things worse. They ended up walking a coastal path in Cornwall as a way to get a handle on their dire situation and decide what to do next. Being suddenly homeless, sleeping rough and having to hunt for the basics (water, toilets, food, shade, shelter) they found members of the public would look down their noses at them, an underclass. Geraint relayed similar experiences. The fact he’s doing something so selfless and extra-ordinary is hidden. Maybe with more publicity he’ll get more acceptance, a little recognition and an easier ride – I hope so?

Anyway, to finish up Geraint pointed out he can only currently clean the coastline he can access, and much of Wales’ coast is at the bottom of a cliff face. The rubbish there is only accessible from the sea, so he’s raising funds to buy a boat or two. He’s then thinking maybe he can team up with environmental students who’ll pay to help out on the boat, in return for gaining a certification of some sort, being trained in boat handling for example. Sounded like a great idea to us, so we gave him a few quid. If you’d like to do the same, you can donate here, or just support Geraint with a like on Facebook.

All that stuff aside, we’re really enjoying Camping on the Farm in Aberaeron, a recommendation from full time motorhomers and blog readers Marg and Phil, thank you again! We’d looked at staying in New Quay but the farm site over there wanted £37.50 a night for the two of us, and this one’s only £20 (although to be fair the former included electricity). So here we are. It has two large flat grass fields, right on the beach, about a five minute walk from Aberaeron with its pastel-coloured Georgian houses, harbour, pubs, shops, restaurants and supermarket. The few negative reviews for the place cite the small, aging shower block. Ju found it clean and perfectly useable (the site’s not very busy at the moment). I’ll just shower in here, not a problem.

Aberaeron has a fair few Welsh-speakers too. When we went for a walk the day we passed a group of nippers (litter picking) who were being spoken to in Welsh by their two teachers. Our ears pricked up, really nice to hear, not that we can understand much other than araf (slow – everyone driving in Wales will know this one), dim parcio (no parking) and pant cudd (hidden dip). Runners at Parkrun were speaking Welsh too, something we’ve not heard once as we’ve travelled across the south of Wales. There’s also a bus service up and down the coast from Aberaeron, so we could visit New Quay or Aberystwyth if we fancied.

It blew a hoolie last night, but once we’d turned the van to face into it, we got a great night’s kip and today it’s calm, lovely and sunny. We’re liking it so much we’ve extended our stay to Sunday night, then we’ll do a two-stage blat home for an appointment back in Nottingham in the week.

Cheers, Jay