The Little Church in the Sea

A Winter’s Morning on Anglesey: Finding Inspiration at St Cwyfan’s Church in the Sea

It was a beautiful winter’s morning. My wife, Clair, had been busy all week in her pottery studio, Bryn Teg Ceramics, working on bespoke commissions and sculptural pieces for her stockists. We both needed a day away from the studio—a chance to breathe, reset, and gather fresh inspiration.

We set out from Dwyran, our small, quiet village in the island’s southeast corner, and drove about twenty minutes to the picture-perfect village of Aberffraw. Known for its charming stone bridge spanning the tidal River Ffraw, the village exudes timeless beauty. Built in the 1700s, the bridge stands in an officially designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Aberffraw is also the gateway to one of Anglesey’s most remarkable sites: St Cwyfan’s, the 12th-century “Church in the Sea.”

We parked on the edge of the village near the bridge—free parking, though with only a handful of spaces—and set off along the coastal path with our two rescue dogs, Beaux and Harry. Beaux, a steely-grey wolfish lurcher cross, and Harry, a lively fox-red terrier, bounded ahead as we crossed the bridge.

This stretch of the coastal path is tide-dependent, best walked at low tide so you can cross the sands to reach Porth Cwyfan. Unfortunately, we’d mistimed it. With the tide still high, we doubled back to the car and took the narrow lane at the back of the village, which leads to a closer parking spot.

By then, the winter sun hung low in the sky, streaks of light glancing off icy waters and painting the green seaweed-covered rocks in gold. From the beach, the view to the church is nothing short of magical. The air was alive with sound—the haunting calls of curlews, the high-pitched chatter of oystercatchers—carrying across the stillness of the bay.

We waited for the tide to retreat, following the western side of the tidal estuary. The path is boggy in places, but stepping stones help you pick your way across. The beaches here are hushed and expansive, perfect for moments of reflection. We settled onto the sand with a flask of hot tea, gazing towards the deep blue Irish Sea and the shadowed peaks of the Llŷn Peninsula beyond.

When the tide finally ebbed, the green, mossy causeway emerged from the water. This centuries-old walkway was built to allow the local community to reach St Cwyfan’s. The church itself, whitewashed and steadfast, sits on the grassy tidal island of Cribinau. Once, it stood at the end of a peninsula between two bays—Porth Cwyfan and Porth China—but over the centuries, the sea gnawed away at the land, isolating it from the mainland and creating this tiny sanctuary adrift in the tides.

Standing there, with waves whispering against the rocks, it’s easy to understand why this place is called a church in the sea. It feels like a beacon—not just for sailors, but for the soul.

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