Siriol

Step Count: 22,468
Distance: 6.93 miles
Max Altitude: 344 m
Min Altitude: 67 m
Height Gain: 372 m
Height Loss: 211 m

After days of frustrating rest, I couldn’t wait to get back out on the trail again. My intention was to take it easy, see how the feet and legs felt and not put pressure on myself.

Before I left lovely Hay, I had a quick coffee while I checked the forecast. 30% chance of light showers. Excellent! Off I went on the Offa’s Dyke Path.

The trail took me over the Wye, which looked swollen and fierce after days of rain.

The next kilometre or so led me on a path next to the river before reaching a crop field.

Take a good look at that last photo because that was the last I saw of a dry sky for the rest of the day. A few moments after I took that picture, the heavens opened and it stayed like that for the remainder of my walk.

What was that about 30% chance of light showers? How about a 100% chance of thick driving rain instead? It proved, if nothing else, that the weather forecast in this part of the world belongs in the ‘comedy fiction’ section of your local bookshop.

I struggled to get my waterproofs on speedily. I may as well not have bothered with my ‘waterproof’ coat though. It didn’t take long for my Rab Fuse jacket to give way until my top half was drenched (I have complained to Rab and asked for a refund so more on that in another post, I’m sure). My shoes let in so much rain that I felt I was walking with two buckets of water on my feet. My Berghaus trousers performed admirably though, which is something.

I carried on walking through fields, following the waymarks as best I could from underneath my hood. I took a left turn. Uh-oh….a field of livestock….of the bovine type….with horns, big horns. There was no way I was risking it, just no way. I turned back, my feet squelching. I climbed over into a different field and started walking despite the warnings not to.

Mercifully, I had circumnavigated the livestock. However, where I had landed looked to be a pasture saturated with cow urine and diarrhoea and I was up to my ankles in it.

Perfect! After trudging carefully so as not to sink any further into the foul gloop, I stepped into a field of potatoes, which was altogether a nicer experience, I can tell you.

I just needed to get to Newchurch, that was all. But there was another 5.5 miles to go. I didn’t want to think about the state of my wet feet inside my wet shoes so I put some music on to distract me. From then on I sloshed from muddy field to muddy field under dark rainy skies. I even took my jacket off after a while. I mean, what was the point?

And finally after hours of footslogging with a cup full of water in my shoes, I spotted the most wonderful sight on the horizon – a spire! The church at Newchurch was calling to me like a choir of angels! But wait…why would I – a non-believer – be excited at the prospect of going to church? Well, simply because I knew that St Mary’s in the village is open all day long to weary (and soaking wet) travellers like myself. For a donation you can help yourself to teas, coffees, biscuits and cake. And more importantly on a day like today, shelter from the elements.

I swear to you, reader, that I’ve never been so happy to see a religious establishment in my entire life. It was magical! I almost cried with happiness. I dried myself off as best I could and wrung out my socks while the kettle boiled. I made a hefty donation and signed the church book with a shaky hand. I examined my kit (not great). I examined my feet (even worse).

Hiking can be so glamorous.

I sit in Hay-on-Wye with a mixture of emotions. On the one hand, pride, on the other, frustration.

Pride because my fundraising total for Pancreatic Cancer UK has now gone beyond the £1000 mark. Walking Wales only started on the 1st of June, so I’m insanely happy to have reached this milestone. It means an awful lot to me. And frustration because of the injuries to my feet and legs which are preventing me from carrying on and have forced me to take a rest day (probably two) sooner than I had intended to.

The donations and words of encouragement naturally spur me on and motivate me to get my boots on immediately and start walking again.

A few moments later though, I pause and remember that Walking Wales is a challenge, not a race. If I don’t look after myself now, I’ll never make it to the end. And that’s the moment when I banish the negative thoughts, start being kind to myself and remember what an awesome challenge this is….

Step Count: 30,879

Distance: 11.97 miles

Max Altitude: 547 m

Min Altitude: 103 m

Height Gain: 371 m

Height Loss: 502 m

It had been a soggy night in the Black Mountains. The rain had poured, pit pat, on Clark Tent non-stop. But I had been safe and warm inside nonetheless.

I awoke hungry and headed towards Treats, a local cafe/shop, to see if there was any chance of breakfast. I was in luck – scrambled eggs it was. And Sue, the woman who runs Treats, was kind enough to pack me on my way with a huge slab of Apple cake too.

The weather forecast wasn’t great; showers all day long were promised. Hatterall Ridge was shrouded in low level cloud.

The Offa’s Dyke Path goes across the Ridge for several miles. But with such bad weather and poor visibility, I made the decision to take the road route via Capel y Ffin to Hay. When hiking or backpacking alone, the only person you can rely on is yourself and you’d be mad to put yourself at risk if there’s a sensible alternative.

A mile out of Llanthony, the rain started. In Welsh we say that “it’s raining old women with sticks”. I’ve always loved that idiom. Out came the waterproofs and on went the rain cover on my pack. I continued walking.

I didn’t think of much. I just concentrated on the rhythm of walking. I saw nobody on foot, just people passing by in cars. I had no signal and I couldn’t take my phone out for photos as it was too wet. Besides, there’s only so many photos you can take of rainy pastures and sodden sheep.

In about four miles I came to Capel y Ffin (which means chapel of the border), which is a tiny village consisting of a church and couple of houses.

The rain started coming down in blankets. At the same time a yappy Jack Russell dog ran out of the nearby house and started barking at my feet. In such a situation, what do you do?

I hid.

My sanctuary was an old school red phonebox. The box had plenty of inhabitants but I was the only human to have been inside it in some time by the looks.

The owners came out to grab the ill-tempered little dog. There was silence. I tried to remember the last time I’d been inside a red phonebox. I couldn’t.

https://instagram.com/p/BGmP4tfzcuM/
In a few minutes, I started on my path again. About a mile out of Capel y Ffin, I sat down at the side of the road to eat the apple cake Sue had given me. I had walked about five miles or so and figured I had another six to go, or thereabouts.

I put some music on and I walked to the beat. The road ascended and ascended as I reached Penybegwn (Hay Bluff) to my right. And my phone sprang back into life with numerous social media messages that put a smile on my rainy face.

Then began the long descent into Hay itself. The Offa’s Dyke Path joined in from the Ridge but I continued on the road as the waymarks which should have lead me through fields into the town were not there.

Quite suddenly, stabbing foot pain started, so I walked on carefully after taking painkillers. But then the familiar twang at the top of my left quadricep happened, again, and there I was hobbling down the hill at a snail’s pace.

A car pulled up next to me. A friendly,  concerned woman was at the wheel.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, fine, no problem!”

“Are you sure you don’t want a lift?”

“No, no, honestly. I am fine”

“For God’s sake, you can’t walk! Get in!”

And so I got in the car and she drove me the last quarter of a mile into Hay. I was overwhelmed by gratitude.

After food, an enormous coffee and more painkillers, I limped to a pub to watch some of Euro 2016. Republic of Ireland versus Sweden, to be exact.

I took my socks off (discreetly) and assessed the damage (also discreetly). Definite plantar fasciitis, but worse, my little toe was in a bad way and purple. So I cleaned it, dressed it and carried on watching the football.

Looks like another rest day tomorrow.

 

 

Step Count: 21,662

Distance: 6.12 miles

Max Altitude: 532 m

Min Altitude: 116 m

Height Gain: 465 m

Height Loss: 341 m

Still excited by Wales Euro 2016 win, I woke with a smile and had a hearty plate of scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast.

It was a beautiful day with blue skies over the Black Mountains. My intention was to get some good miles in while the going was good.

I left the campsite and headed north on Offa’s Dyke Path, crossing the main Manchester to Cardiff railway line. From the get go it was a relentless ascent. And you know how I feel about those ascents. I worked my way up slowly but surely.

The aim was Hatterall Hill. I found the bogeyman staring back at me on my way up.

https://instagram.com/p/BGkV0oRTcqE/

The jagged Ysgyryd Fawr (Skirrid) mountain was suddenly behind me after being on my left hand side for most of yesterday. The view was stunning. Here’s the southernmost trig point on Hatterall Hill with Ysgyryd Fawr in the background –

The Offa’s Dyke Path stays on Hatterall Ridge for many more miles. Mountain sheep and shaggy wild ponies were everywhere.

And it was then that the dark storm clouds began to emerge from the west and I felt blobs of rain on my face. I hadn’t seen a single person on the trail all day bar one man a little earlier. I didn’t want to be caught in a storm alone on the ridge so decided to descend to Llanthony on a path that trailed off. It took me a while as I was going slowly in order to protect my knees.

By the time I got to the bottom the storm clouds seemed to have passed. Sod’s Law, but as a solo trekker, I made the best decision at the time.

Besides, descending to the valley below gave me the opportunity to look around Llanthony Priory, which is somewhere I hadn’t visited before.

And I also visited the Llanthony Priory Hotel cellar bar. It’s a quirky little place, full of character. But when the men next to me started talking about shooting water buffalo, I finished my coffee and left.

It was time to set up camp.

Tomorrow – Hay-on-Wye.

Step Count: 27,140

Distance: 10.39 miles

Max Altitude: 219 m

Min Altitude: 53 m

Height Gain: 385 m

Height Loss: 374 m

I woke up excited – today was the day that Wales were playing Slovakia, 58 years since their last appearance in a major tournament. Now, if that wasn’t motivation to get to Pandy at the double, I didn’t know what was.

I set off across soggy ground, soaked after yesterday evening’s downpour. The storm hadn’t quite cleared the mugginess but it was a little cooler and breezier than the past week. Colours everywhere were vibrant.

 

After passing by a Gwent Young Farmers Club event, the Offa’s Dyke entered a series of crop fields. The going was quite tough at times and I wished that I’d had a machete to thrash my way through.

 

Conscious of the time and the need to be in position (i.e. inside a pub with a telly) for the Wales game, I was keen to push on. However, this sign at the Treadam Barn piqued my curiosity.

 

So I stopped for a coffee and glass of water, plus they gave me a complimentary Welsh cake (win!). Treadam Barn is a restored 15th century oak-framed barn.  There was no charge, just the request for a donation. The route between Monmouth and Pandy has no permanent facilities except for one pub,  3km from Pandy. So this rest stop was most welcome. It’s not open all the time and is not run as a business. But if you’re walking past and this sign is planted outside, do go in for the warm welcome they offer.

I barely stopped after this. I had no mobile signal and the 5pm kick off time was getting closer. I whizzed past the 12th century White Castle. I wished I had more time for a nose around, not least because when Rudolf Hess was imprisoned nearby in the 1940s, he was allowed to feed ducks at this very location.

After walking through fields and hamlets, the path led me into a field of livestock….of the bovine type. It was happening again. It was bullocks. Some of them more excited than others.

 

When I saw more bullocks blocking the way to the next stile, I took a pass and made a detour. I didn’t need a repeat of the Newport Wetlands.

Earlier in the day, the kind people who look after the Offa’s Dyke had warned me to look out for this church –

It’s the Church of St Cadoc, and by all accounts, weary hikers can go inside and make themselves a cup of tea if it’s open. Unfortunately, there was no time for that. Next time maybe.

I had reached Llangatwg Lingoed, the setting for the only pub on this leg of the ODP. And boy, do those signs letting you know this fact bring a smile to the face.

 

Still, there was no time to stop so on I pushed. Pandy was tantalisingly near, as was the Wales match. I strode into the village looking for The Rising Sun pub and made a beeline for it. I was about to watch Wales take on Slovakia at Euro 2016!

What can I say about the match itself?? I laughed, I cried, I gasped, I shouted and cheered.

WE DID IT!!

Da iawn fechgyn….Lloegr nesa!

Step Count: 29,205

Distance: 9.47 miles

Max Altitude: 146 m

Min Altitude: 17 m

Height Gain: 334 m

Height Loss: 264 m

I woke up full of optimism. The messages, donations and kindness I’ve received over the past couple of days had been overwhelming. Pure motivation.

I ate breakfast and then started gathering the supplies I needed for the next couple of days. The route between Monmouth and Pandy has virtually no facilities. No cafes or shops or even public transport. There’s just one pub en route. So I did what any good traveller would do and obeyed the ‘when in Rome’ rules. Yes, I went shopping in Waitrose Monmouth for food.  Had to be done.

The Offa’s Dyke Path out of Monmouth leads you over the Monnow Bridge, which is a medieval gem and has seen so much history. It’s worth reading up about in order to appreciate it fully.

I was soon on the outskirts of the town where men were clearing foliage from the side of the road. “Where are you walking to, miss?”, asked one. I told him about my trek and he said it was amazing of me. His mum had died of cancer when he was just eleven and he’d been on a fundraising mission too, raising £17,000 in the process. “Where d’you put the tap for that kitchen sink you’ve got on your back then?”, joked another. “Cor I bet you were 6ft6 when you started this trek, the size of that backpack!” They wished me well, I said my goodbyes and was soon in the countryside.

I felt strong, confident and happy. I walked with a smile on my face and listened to music. I wondered whether anybody else had walked this trail whilst their iPhone blared out ‘Pump Up The Jam’ by Technotronic. There’s a first for everything. Even the sharp ascents into the forest didn’t bother me.

I met a man with a West Midlands accent who was a very experienced walker. We discussed routes and different parts of the ODP, where to camp and so forth. It’s always nice to meet fellow walkers and have a good chat about the path that you are both on in order to share information.

A bit further on, I bumped into a fell runner who was running the ODP north to south for the Alzheimer’s Society. The main topic of discussion was knees and how to protect them against all that the Offa’s Dyke Path can throw at you. He warned me about some of the hills yet to come and wished me all the best. I hope he raises lots of money for his charity.

When I’m following a trail, I’m always on the lookout for waymarkers. In the case of the Offa’s Dyke Path they come in the form of acorns because that’s the symbol of the National Trails. Sometimes they can be wooden signs, or stickers, or sometimes the words ‘Offa’s Dyke Path’ are engraved down the entire post.

Whether I had missed the marker or it wasn’t there at all, I didn’t turn off when I reached Hendre. By the time I realised that I’d missed it, it was too late to go back. I decided to carry on on the road and try to link up with the path further on.

What do they say about the best laid plans?

Cars and vans were roaring past me on the country lane that I was on. I wanted to rejoin the path but couldn’t see a route through the fields to get to it. But then I came to a public footpath sign directing me over a stile. Clearly it hadn’t had many visitors recently –

I could see the path marked out on my map and made a beeline for it. I had to get over another stile though, covered in nettles and then walk through some dense foliage which got worse and worse.

This was ridiculous. I turned back, crestfallen. And bitten and stung to bits.

I ended up in a random field and heard, “COOEY! Are you lost?” I explained to the husband and wife what had happened and where I’d gone wrong. My best bet was to follow the road apparently, which is what I did. I was back on the same piece of tarmac as I had been more than an hour ago. I refused to get angry with myself and carried on.

I got to a little patch of green at a small intersection. I sat down and had some food. Before long, the man and woman who lived nearby had come to say hello. I explained to them what I was doing and Bill immediately gave me £20. I was very touched. After putting the world to rights, I set off towards the path. This time I found it. Relief!

I felt a blob of rain on my face. Dark clouds were circling. I strode on harder. But before long I had little choice but to put the rain cover on my pack. It was a bit of respite to have a light breeze after days of sluggish humidity. It got heavier and heavier though, and soon, I was pulling my waterproofs out and yanking them on.

Fortunately, Clark Tent saw that I remained relatively dry.

Pandy tomorrow, I hope.

I’ve been hiking a whole week now. I can hardly believe that it was just a week ago that I set off from the Senedd on my Walking Wales journey. Just a week. I’m not sure if it feels like longer than that or like yesterday. What I do know is that I’ve learnt an awful lot in seven days, about myself and other stuff. As I sit here in Monmouth and contemplate, so many random things spring into my head –

1. I’m proud to have raised £881.78 so far. I’ve had donations from people I know, as well as total strangers. This is wonderful! I hope I do Pancreatic Cancer UK proud.
2. The people I speak with about pancreatic cancer are always shocked at the facts surrounding this silent killer. Most haven’t even heard of it. I hope I’m spreading a tiny amount of awareness. I think I am.
3. Never underestimate or doubt the potential kindness of strangers. My faith in humanity has been restored this past week.
4. A challenge like this is a ‘wheat from chaff’ marker as to who your true friends are (if you’re reading this, you know who you are and how much I love and appreciate your support).
5. I am my own worst enemy at times, but my own best friend too. I can get terribly down on myself but I can also drag myself out of it just as quickly too.
6. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast”. I almost forgot this sentence that I’ve repeated to myself over and over on hard treks in the past. I won’t forget it again. It’s so true.
7. I wouldn’t swap a Welsh cake for Kendal mint cake if my life depended on it (well, maybe I would in those circumstances).
8. Too many pubs are closing down.
9. My legs hurt.
10. And finally, a timely and most relevant piece of motivational advice from The Greatest himself, RIP. I will be keeping this in mind as I tackle those hills –

 

Step Count: 24,716
Distance: 8.94 miles
Max Altitude: 198 m
Min Altitude: 9 m
Height Gain: 251 m
Height Loss: 409 m

Despite the idyllic setting, I had a terrible night’s sleep. I woke at 4.25am and couldn’t get back  properly so had a proper grump on by 9am. I think it had been brewing since the previous day. Most backpacking hikers get to that one day where everything just seems a struggle and it takes everything to drag yourself out of it.

So, glum old me went to the shower block and on the way Farmer Brian of Beeches Farm gave me a cheery wave and invited me for a cup of coffee. He asked me what I was doing and when I told him, his response in the nicest possible way was, “are you mad?!”

We had a good chat over a cuppa about many subjects, including pancreatic cancer, and bulls on the Wales Coast Path (disgruntled farmers in his opinion). He told me that his campsite had humble beginnings and got started when Offa’s Dyke Path hikers started turning up in his field and pitching tents. Bit by bit they got the site to what it is today. It comes highly recommended by me; you could do a lot worse than slinging your tent up in this beautiful place. Brian even sent me on my way with a Mars bar. “You’re going to need the energy”, he said. He was right.

Off I went on the trail. It was late morning and the humidity level was cranked up to eleven. A short while after leaving the farm and taking a very sharp descent, the ODP turned into a choice of two paths.

I needed to get to Brockweir in order to get some food so went left. I also wanted to get back to the side of the River Wye.

Brockweir is a very charming little village. The path took me past The Brockweir Inn, and there was no way I was walking past! The advice I received from Will Renwick (youngest person to complete this route that I am on), was to stop at every pub and castle, so who was I to argue with such brilliant advice?!

I received a tremendous welcome at the pub and was well fed. I got chatting to two friendly Wye fishermen, James and Colin, who kindly sponsored me. And I very much enjoyed talking with staff Sam and Nicky, who were fascinated with my kit. They were also generous enough to make me a packed lunch for later.

With my belly full, I rejoined the path which hugged the Wye. It was hot and muggy. I walked past hikers who were sweating profusely accompanied by dogs with their tongues hanging out, knackered. When I got to opposite Llandogo, I sat down underneath a large tree to do some writing.

In a couple of kilometres, the path re-joined the other which had branched off before Brockweir. Suddenly my lovely riverside trail turned into an arduous and unrelenting ascent into the heart of Highbury Wood.

I sat down on a stone, listened to the birds and got annoyed with myself. Hiking alone means plenty of time to think things through, which in turn means plenty of time to overthink things too. But more on that in another blog post.

I saw that my solar battery pack was running low, as was my phone (which is what is throwing out my GPS signal and safety beacons). So I had to get a move on before I ran out of power and water.

A sharp descent lay ahead. Now, as much as I hate the ascents, I think I dread the descents much more, since I dislocated my left knee last year. On the way up you have all your muscles firing for you. But on the way down it’s just a bit of cartilage between you and miserable knee pain. Ok, I’m exaggerating a bit but you know what I mean.

Anyway, I was being super careful on the way down and minding my knees. And that was when I felt a twang at the top of my left quad. Out came the ibuprofen and on I limped like an injured hound.

By the time I got to Redbrook my battery pack was dead, and I was down to a couple of per cent on my iPhone.

I made it into Monmouth finally with no power left and in pain. However, I was able to sample the delights of electrical power, food and water. It’s the small things in life, it really is.

Step Count: 22,314

Distance: 7.3 miles

Max Altitude: 291 m

Min Altitude: 16 m

Height Gain: 358 m

Height Loss: 450 m

Feeling refreshed after my day off yesterday, I couldn’t wait to get the Offa’s Dyke Path started.

I even arrived at the start point during the morning (sometimes I impress even myself), despite having a poor night’s sleep (too muggy, no air). I was quickly on my way after a final pack check.

Here I am crossing international waters –

One of the first things that struck me was the marked difference between the nature of the stretch of Wales Coast Path I’d just arrived on and the Offa’s Dyke Path. One word = hills. Yes, hills, and plenty of them too. I met a Belgian man in full stride on one hill early on, whose first words to me were, “my God, what a big pack you’re carrying”. I offered him the chance to carry it up the hill but when he didn’t answer, I took it as a “no”.

I continued at a slow but steady pace. My earlier joy was short lived however, when a wrong turn due to a lack of waymarks took me on a wild goose chase landing me back where I was an hour previously. Talk about demoralising! I sat down, ate a Welsh cake (of course), put Biofreeze on my feet and carried on, rejoining the path where I should have much earlier on.

In the Tidenham Chase section of the path, I met a couple of gents carrying a huge banner, as though they were on their way to a protest rally. And they were indeed protesters angry at proposed fracking in the Forest of Dean.

I started to flag a bit and even a cheeky Welsh cake couldn’t save me. It was fortunate that I arrived at the part of the trail known as The Devil’s Pulpit, because the view lifted my spirits and geed me up. It’s a spot which has the most breathtaking view of Tintern Abbey, and is so-named because apparently this is where Satan himself would stand and try to tempt the Cistercian monks below from their holy path. Such a shame that it was a muggy, hazy day as the photo doesn’t do it justice.

By now it was mid afternoon and I was still in the forest. This section of the Offa’s Dyke Path has no facilities. From the start point onwards, there had been no cafes or shops or pubs. Yes I had supplies but my water reserve was dwindling. Also, there wasn’t a water source for me to fill my Water-to-Go bottle since the trail is very high above the River Wye Gorge. So when I saw a sign pointing towards a campsite, there was no way I was continuing.

A short way off the path was a stunning campsite complete with hot showers (think of me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts at this point).

And so as Clark Tent and I settled down for the evening, here was our view –