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Day 7 - Easter Monday
I slept badly again. I could not seem to get comfortable on the wet pillow. As soon as there was the faintest glimmer of light I was brewing coffee and on my way before 7am. It was another misty morning but at least the rain had stopped and as I climbed onto the ridge just south of Chawrel y Fan the sun was trying to break through. I expected to be struck by that bitter east wind but instead there was only a gentle southerly breeze.
For the moment the mist persisted and it was a dreary four mile trudge to the trig point on Rhos Dirion where at last some sort of view opened up down the northern escarpment. These long flat grassy ridges are the special feature of the Black Mountains, each with a clear track, along which one may stride without worrying about navigation. The only mental effort required is to circumvent occasional boggy patches. When I think of these hills I always visualise them on a beautiful sunny morning with the larks singing and the legs carrying one effortlessly through this open airy landscape. Well the larks were singing undaunted by the mist, it was only I, longing to see the curve of the hill and the arching sky, who found it oppressive.
I turned and followed the escarpment to Twmpa rather surprised now that it was 10.30am that I had met no one else on this bank holiday morning. As I descended towards Gospel Pass this dearth of people was suddenly replaced by several large parties on their way up.
At the back of my mind all morning had been an irritation with the next two peaks, Black Mountain and its frustrating south top two miles further down the ridge. I had only seen two alternatives, either to go out and back from Hay Bluff or to go out from Hay Bluff and then down onto the road and either stay at the youth hostel or walk on the road all the way to Hay-on-Wye. I had only gone a few feet up from Gospel Pass when another possibility struck me. Why not go down to Capel-y-ffin now and back along the ridge? I made an instant decision to implement this third option. It might not have been the best plan but the firm decision put me in a much happier frame of mind. I wondered why I had not thought of this earlier as I could have gone straight down the ridge from Twmpa but the truth is that this would probably have taken a lot longer because now my decision was made I simply hurtled down the road. I noticed that the youth hostel had a 'vacancies' notice but this was of no interest to me now; I had committed myself to get to Hay. So when I reached the phonebox I rang one of the B&Bs in the Ramblers book, La Fosse, and booked myself a room.
I half expected to find a cafe as well as a phonebox because I could remember a very wet day in these hills with Slough Rambling Club. But this was more than thirty years ago, before the days of Goretex waterproofs. We came down to Capel-y-ffin and dripped all over the floor of a cafe here which was still happy to provide us with a delicious afternoon tea. Although a day like this may be a miserable experience at the time, these are the days one remembers while the sunny ones merge into a blur of delight and disappear into the deepest recesses of memory.
By the time I reached the south top of Black Mountain the day had cleared and at last I could enjoy the sweeping vistas characteristic of these hills and see the highest tops which I had climbed in such dreadful conditions yesterday. Offa's Dyke path runs along this ridge with signposts in places, something which I am always unhappy to see on the open hill although welcoming waymarks through agricultural territory. This popular long distance path ensured as well that the bogs on this ridge were harder to avoid than elsewhere except on the very highest plateau of Waun Fach. Yet in between the bogs were some exceptionally firm sections of excellent fast walking. No attempt has been made to deal with the erosion despite it being an official long distance path. Just as well perhaps for attempts to stabilise paths through peat bogs elsewhere have sometimes been fairly catastrophic. There were plenty of people about although few of them looked like long distance walkers. Three mountain bikers got their map out and asked me where they were!
My bagging of the 33 South Wales mountains ended with a bang quite literally. Just as I reached the unmarked top of Black Mountain a tremendous clap of thunder erupted behind me. I did not waste time deciding which was the highest tussock. I shot off the summit at full speed no longer trying to pick a dry route through the bog. I forked right hoping that it was Offa's Dyke path and, although it was now raining torrentially, I did not stop to put on the waterproof trousers until I was well down the hill. Thunderstorms are the one thing which really frighten me on a mountain.
I somehow missed the path and just walked down the road into Hay-on-Wye, arriving two hours earlier than I had predicted and soaking wet once again. The en suite facilities turned out to be a shower this time which was a bit disappointing as I would have enjoyed another long soak. Still hot water of any kind was welcome and after a shower and a cup of coffee I went to the Cinema Bookshop and bought the next three maps. I sent home 161. It was in better condition than 160 had been but this was not thanks to better weather. In the Black Mountains the paths are so clear and run for so long in the same direction that one rarely needs to consult the map.
Just across the road from the guest house was the Old Black Lion, proudly boasting that it has been named by The Independent as one of the top 100 pubs for food in Britain. It offered a three page restaurant menu and a separate three page bar menu so the choice was overwhelming but I was eventually seduced by the description of their vegetable lasagne made with fresh ginger, sherry and white wine. It was a most unusual and delicious dish washed down, needless to say, with an equally delicious pint of lager.
Hay-on-Wye was the first important staging post on the walk and since I had both time and comfort I made a longer and more thoughtful entry than usual in the log: 'Well here I am in Hay-on-Wye; a point for licking of wounds and a certain amount of satisfaction. If I stopped now I should still have completed an excellent one week traverse of all the South Wales mountains. But I do not have any desire to stop at the moment. My feet are a bit sore but so far a few strategically placed plasters have kept blisters at bay. The biggest problem has been rain because after one night's camping everything is at best damp and much of it sodden. Two consecutive nights of camping in the rain will be most unpleasant but will be unavoidable in the Gorllwyn/Drygarn Fawr area should the weather remain inclement.'
'I have been thinking about this log and realising that if I published a book about this walk I would be criticised for saying nothing about the history and culture of the country through which I am walking. Indeed I see the walk really as one across the bare bones of Wales where the impact of people is often beneficial providing comfortable guest houses, pubs and shops; but also sometimes obstructive with barbed wire fences, impenetrable forests and hostile landowners.'
'The nature of the walk decrees that some trespassing is inevitable so I might also be criticised for admitting my offence or worse inciting others to commit an offence. Above all else I would be appalled to think that any book of mine should be construed as a guidebook to a continuous walk over the Welsh two-thousanders. Nothing would horrify me more than that anybody should publish such a book and that it should become an official (or even unofficial) route.'
I determined to put less details of my route into the log from now on but it is actually remarkably difficult to write a sensible description of a walk without it becoming pretty obvious where you have been.
As well as admitting to trespass I should also have to admit to illegal camping. Somewhere in the Brecon Beacons National Park I saw a poster about walking in the park which contained a paragraph about camping stating that all camping needs the landowner's PERMISSION (their capitals). It went on to say that it will almost always be impossible to get such permission in open hill country because such land belongs either to the National Trust who will never grant it or to commoners who cannot all be contacted. In practice of course the discreet camper is unlikely to be challenged. I very much like the idea of 'bivouacking' as defined in some of the French National Parks where camping is tolerated only in a small backpacking tent well away from roads or huts and only overnight, this being defined as within two hours of sunset or sunrise. I would be pleased to see such a policy implemented in the British National Parks because I think there is a good argument against the setting up of base camp tents which are left all day at places like Sprinkling or Styhead Tarns in the Lake District and which do cause visual pollution, spoiling the wild country for passers by who have to tolerate their intrusion. This is quite apart from the pollution of litter left by some campers which is utterly inexcusable.
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