The Welsh say "We'll Keep A welcome in the hillside" and for the wanderer who is prepared to go that extra mile they have something rather special hidden away at the end of a long road....
In an area better known for its acre upon acre on monolithic spruce there exists a place so dam nice that I felt ashamed to walk through it with my boots on. Young Oaks, Beech, fresh ferns, lush grass gently mowed by the occasional passing sheep and for the footsore a lake to paddle in.
Sweet clear water streams flowing from the high ground, none of that murky brown stuff from the drainage ditch.
The weather on Friday was just glorious and the remains of the afternoon rolled by dreamily after a large glug of brandy in my coffee following the grisly business of blister surgery. My boots having not quite broken-in as I had hoped. Weary from the hike getting there just threw the sleeping bag down on the poncho and nodded off for the night. A few hours later in the early hours I'm cursing my laziness having a minor panic scrabbling for the tarp as the rain came down with vengeance.
Saturday was dead day. Grey & soggy and though decidedly inclement it wasn't too bad where I was with drizzle some mist nothing I'm not used too. However going further afield meant passing over higher ground and that looked decidedly ugly, plus my feet hurt and that's a recipe for a miserable disaster.
What the Met Office calls low cloud is awfully close when you are 300meters above sea level and with my route home taking me up over top at 500m decided to stay put and explore where I was. Even with wet-weather gear I was eventually soaked and holed up doing the poncho & candle routine, had it been any worse towards evening then I almost certainly would of said Sod It and had a proper fire on the ground. Instead made do with an improvised 'Swedish' candle standing foot long branches into an Ikea hobo stove, bit lively but very toasty.
Sunday all was well in the world again with the return of sunshine.
Well almost, the bitey insects were out in force and immune to the Poundland bug-spray. Aside from that my wet gear was steaming in the morning sun, blisters were still annoying but had stopped stinging. Having done little on Saturday save putter about, eat and sleep was rested and ready for new scenery though staying another day was seriously tempting. A short three hour haul into the high forest later that afternoon I'm back in more familiar territory for my last night.
With only four trains a day out of the town timing is everything. With the final leg on Monday being a relatively short downhill stretch along forestry tracks to the train station being way more pleasant than a ten mile dash!
In an area better known for its acre upon acre on monolithic spruce there exists a place so dam nice that I felt ashamed to walk through it with my boots on. Young Oaks, Beech, fresh ferns, lush grass gently mowed by the occasional passing sheep and for the footsore a lake to paddle in.
Sweet clear water streams flowing from the high ground, none of that murky brown stuff from the drainage ditch.
The weather on Friday was just glorious and the remains of the afternoon rolled by dreamily after a large glug of brandy in my coffee following the grisly business of blister surgery. My boots having not quite broken-in as I had hoped. Weary from the hike getting there just threw the sleeping bag down on the poncho and nodded off for the night. A few hours later in the early hours I'm cursing my laziness having a minor panic scrabbling for the tarp as the rain came down with vengeance.
Saturday was dead day. Grey & soggy and though decidedly inclement it wasn't too bad where I was with drizzle some mist nothing I'm not used too. However going further afield meant passing over higher ground and that looked decidedly ugly, plus my feet hurt and that's a recipe for a miserable disaster.
What the Met Office calls low cloud is awfully close when you are 300meters above sea level and with my route home taking me up over top at 500m decided to stay put and explore where I was. Even with wet-weather gear I was eventually soaked and holed up doing the poncho & candle routine, had it been any worse towards evening then I almost certainly would of said Sod It and had a proper fire on the ground. Instead made do with an improvised 'Swedish' candle standing foot long branches into an Ikea hobo stove, bit lively but very toasty.
Sunday all was well in the world again with the return of sunshine.
Well almost, the bitey insects were out in force and immune to the Poundland bug-spray. Aside from that my wet gear was steaming in the morning sun, blisters were still annoying but had stopped stinging. Having done little on Saturday save putter about, eat and sleep was rested and ready for new scenery though staying another day was seriously tempting. A short three hour haul into the high forest later that afternoon I'm back in more familiar territory for my last night.
With only four trains a day out of the town timing is everything. With the final leg on Monday being a relatively short downhill stretch along forestry tracks to the train station being way more pleasant than a ten mile dash!
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(and indirectly related to the style of shelter in that recent post) I've been using 'Incognito' for a few years now - soap; spray; roll-on and since last year their 'incense sticks' (citronella) all to good effect.
