Glyndŵr’s Way: day 1 to 3

Pre hike, in Wales. Not really relevant but left in for the record (Ignore italics to get to Glyndŵr’s way)

Has the scale finally tipped? Have I finally fallen in love with Wales. (Our version of Wales that is of course, not the nation in general!). These beautiful grand settings driving in. The low thick cloud. The atmosphere of the pass. The mawddach view framed by the chapel windows. No longer just familiar. A painting of light. Barmouth stretching in the grey: looking backwards to the bridge silhouetted black by the sky and framed by steep rises and the spire of that grand house on its eyot. The peace of the woods. The ever changing tides on the eustary. Have I ever seen this view before- will I ever see that view again, even if I where to watch it for the rest of my life. Bilberries. The way ‘over the top’- routes as familiar to me as the ways near my home. The shape of Cadair Idris. I forget it - and then, seeing it again so stark, I know it so well I would miss the slightest change of gradient. I didn’t lie, then, when I used to cry out ‘ I hate Wales’ from Cadair’s slopes. Is it familiarity - the return year on year, knowing the changing patterns that have taken place to this land- or just aging, that turned that bitter despising into this stunned admiration?, where I feel like I have never seen this grand land before but in paintings, yet feel I have lived it evry month. Cadair : the long saddle back. The table Standing proud of the arête the two bowls and the scree. The South Downs was very much a human landscape: evry hill crowned with a settlement , uplands shaped by shepherding, The white ground itself a memory of those who’d worn it away long before . In part this is also true of Wales But this land doesn’t need humans to define what it is- within a year the I walked paths start to disappear. The craggy hills rise, glacial history feeling as recent as the construction of its stone walls.

Glyndywrs way

First I must learn how to spell Glyndwr - I see why Shakespeare choose glendower

Day 1.

I set off from Llangunllo sometime heading on 11:30. This first bit was very hot and my bag felt very heavy. It clattered as I walked. On a hill an old farmer -( wearing a woolly hat- in this weather!) points me in the correct direction. The way has been walked enough to leave a shadow in the grass on narrow bits but not to wear it down to the eath, or leave sign of the way in an open field. Rowan is in bright orange red berries: summer’s holly. The first trudge was hot and tough. Not having a 25000 map was tough at first as the change in perspective of a 50000 makes the miles seem less signifiicant. I stopped in a plantation shadow for lunch on beacon hill common (I seem to have walked a lot of ‘beacon hill’s in these walks). My shoulder pain ached. It was absolutely baking over the high exposed moorland, although the gorse was in beutiful bright yellow bloom, it was all beautiful, but all so exposed. Two kites dives and called together. I’ve never really appreciated before quite how impressive birds of prey are, swooping overhead. Birds, with wings outstretched, gather them in for a twisting dive, then quickly break out again into a soar. So hot for 8km over the moor. The wind turbines turn slowly. I descended to camp 4:30- Trevland was really nice actually: a friendly couple in a bungalow with a funny long eared red eyed dog called Betty. I camped in the garden and used one of the bedroom bathrooms. They also had two cute garden houses in use for guests. The grass is great for pitching. I heard thunder roll at 5:40 and light rain started even though I was in the hot sun. Full rain and lightning by 6. I’ve no signal to send a message. I eat tea cross legged in the tent - nice and dry while the rain smashes into the fabric, I can’t believe I m considered getting a double layered tent because I wanted to watch the stars through the gauze - sounds like asking to get wet on the night. I know that as I lie here under the rain, others will be lying under there own storms, awaiting the break of results day. As ever under rain my mind rerurns to the some poem ...blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon / but here I pray that none whom once I loved / is dying tonight or lying still awake / solitary, listening to the rain, / either in pain or thus in sympathy / helpless among the living and the dead ... run the proper lines, but my mind has evolved it’s own version. I pray/ that no one that I love is dying tonight, / or lying awake listening to the rain/ in pain, or solitude.I can’t here the thunder over the rain and wind but I feel like the lightning is very close. The rain is madly heavy. I ran into the house to clean my teeth, everything was normal. After a long while I came out, chatting to the owners, then -a horrid moment of realisation- the man pointed out to me that my tent door was open. The distance between the house and the tent seemed more rain than air. I ran to rescue it. Everything in the right of the tent was wet. The ‘bathtub floor’ proved its waterproofness: the whole right hand side was flooded, my silk liner was as sodden as it could possibly have been - sucked up as much as it could take. My Odlo puffer jacket- which I had intended never to let get wet was spattered with rain. I’d no idea how soaked my thermarest was. I tugged it all aside, threw anything I thought was dry enough to the left, tried tipping up the floor to pour away the water (only sent half flowing the wrong way), wrang out the silk liner and used it over and over to dry and soak away the puddly. I wiped everything, wrang out everything. There was a limit to my precautions, a that’ll do mind. Finally- probably half an hour later- I took off my waterproofs and actually got in the tent proper.

I slept on the floor and used my thermarest for a pillow to let it dry.

Day 2

I got up 6:30, though I was already awake. My stuff hang out to ‘dry’ was wetter than after I washed it. I left at 8 after a nice chat with the lady. I think there’s hope these clouds will burn off. It’s results day- I feel second hand anxiety for everyone today. A big herd of cows saw me and stampeded (literally, running as a whole mass) to block my gate ahead, thankfully they then ran off again back over the hill. Old hedgerows are now lines of trees. Rabbits hopping through the dew. The sun is high but shielded by cloud, but I think it is warming. I should have read some welsh poetry before I left- the stuff I read before, Edward Thomas and all that, doesn’t fit with this land. Too steep too green. Trying not to mess up the sheep herding. There aren’t walkers on this trail. Just farmers, and sheep. The shrill call of an eagle/ buzzard/bird of prey? So humid. I’ve been going off Offas dyke pretty much since beeches said they’d charge double, and I doubt it will be too unique after this one. The ideas come into my head of walking to Cambridge. I made a mistake but followed a turbine service track instead- they are so beutiful, sleekly rotating against the clouds. A young farmer on a quad bike asks me to go a different way as they’re bringing through cattle, so I go round the ramparts of ‘wolfs castle ‘ Later at lunch on a hill I hung out my liner to air- it dried brilliantly- and aired my feet too. I saw a green lizard creature scampering off a footbridge. Deep yellow hills, covered in blooming gorse- you’d never dream of such magnificent colours being natural, but here glowing dense like thousands on thousands of suns sitting in dark green Space, the real sun had thankfully gone behind a cloud. There’s a wide line of conifers high up on a ridge just beyond Moel Dod, that has an air of mystic to it. The edge ones sit on top on old wall, roots tearing stone from stone year by year, and they stretch along the hill ridge at even height, whispering the strength of the wind through their arms. The view can be seen grey through them, four or five trees deep. A somber and lonely setting for this confident place, run along by a rampart of earth. The storms they must have seen- I wonder how it was up here last night with the lightning all around. The sun is back but now my shadows behind me. This is a special place . The rest of the day I found hot and hard- I was tired but I got to camp at 4; exactly 8hr, 3km/h. I’m already getting anxious about wild camping on night 4. Camp was actually much nicer than I expected- I’d thought home farm would be a basic tap and field, but I was actually camping in the ruins of the Abbey which is quite extrodianary- with nice shower and bathroom too. I got a text through from my friend saying her exams had gone badly. The evening went fine, everything sorted well, and trying to plan, rather than stress about the wild camping- I’m going to have to set off with 4kg of water though, and I don’t even think that is anywhere near enough because normally I’ll drink 2 l walking, a litre arriving around camp then stuff for cooking, but I’ve literally only got half the amount per day I’d normally have.

Day 3

The morning was grey but not cold. I spent time in the lovely exhibition room for the abbey. Abbey cwm hir village has an interesting church as well, and a funny old petrol pump on the roadside. A man driving asks me if I’m walking glyndwyrs way- he’s planning to next week, it’s nice to know other people do walk this trail, even if not frequently enough for me to see anyone! I saw a pretty young calf limping painfully. This is so different to the South Downs and the cotswolds- remote but not in a serene way, a worked land- tractors crashing and the whistle of farmers herding sheep heard over their baaring, the way is made up of gravel tracks, dewy fields, and heavy farm gates- no nice fancy gates like on sdw. Low cloud, dark greens: water in the air and on the ground. Sheep always chase me. I phoned home and sent texts from a hill top. Glyndywrs way cafe was closed even though it’s self service- I’d been excited, but doubtful it would be open in this remote place. I love how judgemental my geology and scenery book was about the farm houses here, saying many a run down cotswold barn was prettier. He has a point, they do the job but in a dreary way. Lunch on some discarded corrugated sheets by a small quarry. Now listening to podcasts because I’m bored. The white tails of bunnies flash all about between the gorse on the slopes of Pegwn Bach. Streams expose interesting formations of slate, aligned diagonally. One of the climbs up from a valley stream was increadibly steep- seemed near to virticle ! Although my ankles throbbed I was glad I was going up rather than down it. But from the very top the view of the u valleys and hill tops was grand. These steep ups and downs made me feel so done, but I realised at the top of one hill I actually had far less far to go than I thought - I thought there were still another 5or6km or so, but actually only 2 or 3. All was going well. It got hot so I perfectly timed my water to finish it before I got to camp to be as hydrated as possible. I walked down past new chapel to my marked site of Cwm Farm. Not sure which one to go to I tried one door, no one there but then I saw a young (ish) man and he seemed confused but said to go round to the big house, I followed a track round which led to another house. Loud radio was playing from the window. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. The third time I knocked and called hello. A lady replied hello from inside, we talked through the window, I tried explaining but she obviously had no idea either (and I think didn’t want to come out due to COVID)- I said I’d try again at another place or go find signal. Leaving back by the first building I saw two women by the farm buildings, asked them, but they were no help either. So I walked up hill, very thirsty, kept checking my phone over and over. No signal. No signal. I was getting pretty panicky- that horrid feeling of helplessness where you just don’t know which way to turn. I walked again past the permanent caravan park entrance, hoping for something promising but could so no water taps and no signal, a family were unloading and I argued with myself about asking for help but was too scared. I was wondering whether it was possible - or legal- to unplug the blue wires from a caravan to try and get water. But as I walked further back up the hill I saw a water tap between caravans. I went in through a dodgy gate and was so fearful the tap wouldn’t work, but it did, and I drank heartily. Still no signal, but then I got a tiny week one and 3G. Tried searching Th e internet but no hope so walked further up hill. I was very hot. I went into the churchyard where I saw a bench in shade, and I thankfully had enough signal to text mum and dad. My emotions that had built up by the stress now poured out, even though I was in a much better position. They found me the number but none of us could get through. But waiting I became resolved that I wasn’t enjoying this and asked to be picked up. I’ll skip tommorrow, and possibly (probably) the day after that. Dads coming to pick me up (an hours drive each way which I feel guilty for but relieved) I’m sure the landscape will be interesting but I don’t think I’ll miss much. Its been monotonous, hard, and dreary. I’d like a shower. And some more calories than I’m managing to get. And frankly I’d like to get back to reading Les Miserables. As always I get annoyed at myself for how much I panic under stress- one slight thing goes against plan and I break down. But I do hope that each of these little tests might have some positive result: one day I’ll be strong enough to deal with pressure. Like when I think logically, I could have walked on to Llanidloes (although the dehydration thing was hard), which would have taken only about another hour and I’d probably have been able to find accommodation there as it’s a town. While drafting a text to my a level friend I thought how it is a bit ironic: Although I’ve always thought of myself as British rather than English, Ive felt from these experiences so far that I associate much more with the English landscape rather than the Welsh, and here I am, defeated by Glyndŵr.

the drive back past mDinis mawdry And the pass was very very beautiful and grand.