June 17, 2010: Llangadfan to Pont Llogel
Looking north toward Pant-gwyn
We had our breakfast at 8:00, finding our plates set up in a little breakfast room we had not even noticed the night before. We had paid our dinner and bar bill already but we now had to pay for our lunches – though, in fact, we were handed only some sandwiches. Crisps, candy bars and bottles of water (albeit in glass containers) were available from the bar itself. There was no longer a shop in Llangadfan – or in the two adjacent villages either. It seemed to be another lovely day outside when we made our departure. It was 9:07.
In just a couple of minutes we had retraced our route along the highway, touching base with Glyndwr’s Way again, and turning right onto a lane next to the ubiquitous chapel. We reached the entrance to the first of a number of farmsteads, Blowty, turned right and climbed our first stile. (Stiles were outscored by gates today, 19-13.) Here Marge and I waited some time for Tosh to remove several layers. Keeping a hedge on our right we moved from east to north, a direction we now followed for some time – making our way forward from one farmer’s field to the next. To help us on our way we now had the company of two barking dogs, come over to see that we didn’t linger for long in their territory. For a mile and a half we paid close attention to guidebook instructions – with much advice about the location of walls, hedges, trees, footbridges and the like – gradually gaining elevation under cloudy skies. At one point we were returned to roadway near the farms of Bryngwalla and Pant-gwyn. Near Pennyfford we abandoned the route itself, which had entered an overgrown green lane, keeping parallel with this track on the adjacent field until we had escaped it all by reaching a roadway.
Here Tosh struck up a conversation with some workmen who were making repairs to the tarmac surface. She asked them if they were repairing potholes but they were here to re-situate a rattling manhole cover. They quizzed us about our walk and our origins and wished us well as we crossed the road and took to a thin path at the start of another extensive experience with forestry. When we joined a wide forest road several minutes later I sat down for a rest and some water, finding just a small patch of shade in which to perch. Our track soon turned from west to north and we plodded forward, the girls always under instruction to wait for me at the next junction. How differently they walked: Tosh appeared to scurry at all times, Marge to saunter. (Tosh later claimed that she moved fast because she was afraid of losing balance at lower speeds.)
We had about a mile and a half of forest this time, continuing in our northerly direction at several crossings and having another rest near the top of a gentle climb. There were a variety of footpaths to choose from up here, each promoted by a different color on the waymark posts, and we had to be careful to follow the acorn. I lead us forward as we headed downhill, abandoning the track for a rough sunken lane and then a wet path that followed the bottom of a dingle. At the end there was a footbridge and it lead us up to a lane that could now be followed for a considerable distance – as its surface gradually solidified. There was still forestry on our left but on our right we now had wonderful open views of the valley below and the hills behind.
At one point I found Tosh is earnest conversation with two other walkers (well, they had a car with them today) as they compared notes on favorite routes. The road walking seemed to go on forever, though there was at last a left curve to it. As we reached farming territory again I had my first sighting ever of a wild badger. Unfortunately this one was recently dead, probably the victim of a passing car, and lying on its back with its feet in the air and a cloud of circling flies hovering over its large body. It looked quite pathetic. I was hoping that the flies that had been bedeviling me for the last few miles would join their friends here but they persisted in accompanying me on a right hand bend and so down to the valley bottom at Ddol Cownwy. Here there was a giant, but quiet caravan camp and here, after crossing a bridge, we settled down on the grass to eat our lunch.
The dam at Lake Vyrnway
We did not linger for long since midges, not seen in Wales before, decided to join the flies in their attacks on my sweaty arms and face. Our route led us north, soon leaving the valley bottom on a steep, rising track that re-entered forest. This was a protracted struggle and I got well behind here, always choosing another trackside target, a bush, a patch of grass, a shady spot to aim for before pausing for another rest. At last we reached the high point of this pursuit and the trackway curved to the left and downhill. We emerged into daylight again, with an embowered lane on our left and, on our right, the first view of the region’s outstanding physical attraction: the dam at one end of the huge reservoir, Lake Vyrnwy. Unlike our experience with Llyn Clywedog, however, we would not be visiting the waters of this reservoir or accompanying its shore on our travels – our closest acquaintanceship would come with a descent to the village in the shadows of the dam, Llanwddyn. To accomplish this we climbed a stile and began a steep downward path, often over marshy territory, reaching the bottom shortly before 2:00.
There were lots of tourists about and we joined them in heading over to the Old Barn Café, part of a complex of craft shops that also featured a garden center and bicycle rental. We chose a shady table and I had a Diet Coke and phoned tonight’s landlord to advise him of an arrival between 5:00 and 6:00 at our pickup spot. Tosh had some ginger ice cream and the ladies visited all the shops. I asked Margie to keep an eye out for bootlaces, since I had noticed that one of mine had begun to unravel this morning and she soon returned with some lurid orange ones and then with the proprietor of one of the craft shops, who brought with her a far more suitable white pair, refusing to take any money for them – “I just had them lying around.” I had advised my walking partners that we needed to leave by 2:30 and, each having bought some costume jewelry nearby, they duly reported for the next stage at that time.
We left the village on roadway, then switched to track, heading east through a sessile oak forest on fairly level surfaces with the Afon Efyrnwy down on our left. Eventually we emerged from the woods into open territory near a road junction at Abertridwr, where Tosh left us because she had spotted a post office off to the left and reasoned they must have newspapers. When she returned we headed south along the highway, with lots of traffic for once, continuing to climb for a mile or so on tarmac. When we reached a Forestry Commission sign for the Dyfnant Forest I had Tosh take my picture for I had just realized that in crossing the Pont Bryn-y-fedwan at Abertridwr I had completed my 4400th mile on Anglo-Celtic footpaths.
The church at Pont Llogel
We had another steep climb into these woods, finally crossing a road and continuing uphill for some time. Gradually we obtained views of the valley below us, crossing the brow of a hill and beginning a descent that included a diversion from the original route as described in our guidebook. I had copied out details of this new route, one that included some wooden stairs, and things seemed quite well waymarked. Ahead of us was the village of Pont Llogel, but to reach it we had to cross several fields, turn left at a caravan camp, fight our way through the undergrowth of a hillside, and pass to the left of the local church. We arrived at a grassy bit of parkland next to a red telephone box at 5:25, our walk over for the day. We had covered 10.5 miles.
Of course my phone could obtain no signal – but in this case Tosh was equally unlucky in her attempts to notify our hosts of our arrival. We were just about to try the telephone call box when a farmer, whose Range Rover was parked next to this red sentinel, stopped in his deconstruction of a Kit-Kat bar in order to advise us that if we just walked across the street we would obtain a signal. This Tosh did and this time she was successful – our landlady promising a pickup in twenty minutes. Then our new friend quizzed us about our travels and origins and, pronouncing that his snack would now have to do until a late supper, drove off. He had obtained his treat from the post office up the hill and Tosh now headed here. She found no newspapers but she did buy an airplane-sized bottle of Courvoisier for herself and a small bottle of Bells for me and Margie – we would have no pub tonight.
In only ten minutes our host (who must have been on route when we called) pulled into the parking lot behind us and we loaded our stuff into the back of his car. I couldn’t budge the front seat and was a bit squeezed in the remaining space as we began a twenty-minute journey. I was surprised that the Gilson’s place, Pentre, was considerably off route – having wrongly assumed that we were heading for another Pentre, which the GW reaches at mile two the next day. Mr. Gilson, who had been living here for only twenty years or so, was keenly interested in local history and he kept up a non-stop lecture as he drove us over the twists and turns. He kept sheep now but, asked if he had a dog, replied, “No, my sheep all know me.” He said that he and his wife, Christine, used to walk, but that they each had a wonky knee now. Seeing our grey-haired hostess struggle though her chores made us wonder how long it would be before she would want to give up b&b as well.
Pentre was a charming and antique structure, surrounded by flowers, with a marvelous hill dominating the scene across the valley. The place was celebrating its 400th year and, though modernized, you could still see some of the original beams. (For that matter the Cann Office Hotel had the date 1310 on its façade – so who would be impressed with a mere 1610?) We each had our own room on the first floor but there was only one bathroom and even this had to be shared with another walking couple. There was a nice shower, however, and at 6:40, all shiny and clean again (and me with cream spread over the midge bites on my forehead) we met in Margie’s rooms for our clandestine drinks. Tosh, who now discovered that the sweater she had been searching for these last twenty minutes had been left in Margie’s room, had some Brazil nuts and I brought some crisps. The other couple were driven off to a pub for their evening meal; ours was outstanding, with Tosh serving as “mother” in the division of a meat pie in pastry (accompanied by a large array of cooked and salad vegetables) and then in the presentation of a wonderfully tart gooseberry crumble – with locally harvested fruit – and custard. Once again, while there was still light in the sky, we crawled off to bed.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: