On a day that ended up fourteen miles long, I walked in persistent, heavy rain. Although I tried to add another layer of protection to me and the rucksack by wearing a poncho, it was blown about so much in the heavy wind that it became a danger when it blew into my face and blocked my vision. The result was that I arrived at my destination soaked through three layers of clothing and the rucksack soaked as well. Fortunately, I was able to change my arrangements at the campsite and instead of camping I am tucked up in a yurt drying out all my gear.
The walking day split neatly in to three. First, I had a few miles of beach walking where the fresh breeze off the sea could be moderately described as bracing. There was a sense of excitement walking by the water's edge watching and listening to the crash of the big breakers. When you are up against the elements, sooner or later there is an element of surrender, a point at which you reach acceptance and beyond that is a wonderful sense of freedom.
The second section of the day was a long road walk inland from Tywyn to Bwlch. Starting at sea level, towards the end it started to gain height, ready for the third and final cross-country section over the hillside. Just before Bwlch I passed, given the rurality of the location, an intriguing sign for tea and cake. Thus I found myself sitting in the rain, underneath a sun shade, by a picnic table drinking coffee and eating scones and jam. The warm crisp, shorts scones were a delight and the hot coffee warmed me up nicely. Many thanks to the farmer and his son who prepared it for me, readying me to meet the foe on the moorland. If
The third section was a meandering, rolling grassland with sections of track thrown in here and there. The outstanding feature of it and of a number of previous sections was the sheer quantity of sheep shit on the Welsh hillside. I wonder the country does not sink under the weight of it. At first you try to avoid it, tip-toeing in your clumpety boots like a ballerina. The reality is that it is just like being wet. The only one that matters is the last one which you can deftly scrape off on some handy clump of grass. Thus released from worldly concerns you are free to mull over more esoteric matters like where does the wool from the holes in your sock go?
The walking day split neatly in to three. First, I had a few miles of beach walking where the fresh breeze off the sea could be moderately described as bracing. There was a sense of excitement walking by the water's edge watching and listening to the crash of the big breakers. When you are up against the elements, sooner or later there is an element of surrender, a point at which you reach acceptance and beyond that is a wonderful sense of freedom.
The second section of the day was a long road walk inland from Tywyn to Bwlch. Starting at sea level, towards the end it started to gain height, ready for the third and final cross-country section over the hillside. Just before Bwlch I passed, given the rurality of the location, an intriguing sign for tea and cake. Thus I found myself sitting in the rain, underneath a sun shade, by a picnic table drinking coffee and eating scones and jam. The warm crisp, shorts scones were a delight and the hot coffee warmed me up nicely. Many thanks to the farmer and his son who prepared it for me, readying me to meet the foe on the moorland. If
The third section was a meandering, rolling grassland with sections of track thrown in here and there. The outstanding feature of it and of a number of previous sections was the sheer quantity of sheep shit on the Welsh hillside. I wonder the country does not sink under the weight of it. At first you try to avoid it, tip-toeing in your clumpety boots like a ballerina. The reality is that it is just like being wet. The only one that matters is the last one which you can deftly scrape off on some handy clump of grass. Thus released from worldly concerns you are free to mull over more esoteric matters like where does the wool from the holes in your sock go?