June 9, 2009: Llanidloes to Clywedog Sailing Club
On the descent to Van
The unsatisfactory end to our first Glyndwr’s Way expedition meant that in order to complete the route in its entirety we would now need about nine more days of walking –and that we would have some awkward gaps to fill as well. Margie and Tosh, offered a nine-day expedition, chose to complete the task instead in separate trips, one of four and one of five days – and so it was that we met in Euston Station at noon on Monday, June 8, 2009, for the resumption of our quest.
Tosh had forgotten why it was that I had mandated a 12:23 departure (just to give us a little more time to make our connection at Birmingham International) and, thinking that we would take the 12:43, was drinking coffee at Caffe Ritazza when we she emerged long enough for me to find her in a very crowded concourse. The women were able to finish their drinks without burning their tongues and we made our train with no difficulty. Unusually, we had not met beforehand to purchase tickets or to reserve seats – but with the tickets purchased this morning we were easily able to find seats aboard the Virgin train, one that made only one stop in Coventry before delivering us to Birmingham International. The girls chatted, read the papers and snacked. I bought a sandwich. We arrived at 1:33 and therefore had about half an hour for a cup of coffee in the very snazzy modern station.
Our Arriva train departed from platform 1 at 14:09 and once again we had no trouble finding seats, but I could soon see that the strategy of leaving our backpacks (we also were carrying knapsacks) in the luggage racks at the end of the compartment was a mistake. This is because at Birmingham New Street a large party of school children was ushered into our carriage (where they did have reserved seats) and each was carrying a huge case – so that their luggage was soon burying everybody else’s or just clogging the aisles. A patient teacher, assisted by several helpers, took command of the situation and tried to find seats for the little old ladies who now joined the train. He told us that many of these inner city London kids had never been on a train before, let alone in the country. They wailed in protest when the smell of silage penetrated the carriage.
For a while a pretty girl eating a Whopper sat next to me and so I heard my first mobile phone conversation in Welsh (we heard much more of the language on this trip). We agreed that some of these kids (ten or eleven or so in age) must have emptied the entire contents of their rooms into their cases – even though they would be at an outdoor center near Machynlleth only for a week or so. Complicating matters was the fact that a four-carriage train was down to two compartments since an earlier collision with a cow had halved the numbers. At each station more people tried to squeeze in. The Welsh girl yielded her seat to a little old lady with shopping bags galore, but near the end a cheery lady in a wheelchair got on and her presence added another impediment to those moving along the aisles. At least the train was on time at Caersws and, headaches from all the racket boiling in our brains, we fought our way off. The sponsoring teacher, who reminded us so forcefully of our own adventures on trips with kids, was doing something we would never have been allowed to do – drinking a can of Stella. He helped us retrieve our bags and we climbed down at 16:14.
Waiting for us at the end of the platform was the dignified form of Gareth Morgan, whom we had met the year before while staying for two nights at the Severn View Guest House in Llanidloes, a comfortable and well-run establishment under the supervision of his wife, Angela. On the present occasion, again unusually, we would spend all four nights of this expedition in Llanidloes, taking advantage of the Morgan’s ability to provide transportation at the beginning and end of each walk. We now sped off amid wonderful lush countryside, with resplendent spring flowers (even some red rhododendrons) all about us. It was a grey afternoon and Gareth said that the weather forecast was iffy.
Each of us took our old rooms back and then we had a walk around the town. Llanidloes is a very interesting place with a number of ancient monuments – but it looked down at the heels as well, with many shops closed and others only open on a sporadic basis. We paused for our first drink at the Royal Head (on a side street), Margie usually drinking a whisky, Tosh a Jack Daniels, and I my pint. When we returned to Severn View we sat down in the visitor’s lounge to watch the ITV news at 6:30, joined by two Burmese cats, a veteran whom we had seen last year and a newcomer, Sally, only a year old. The two shared a basket in front of the fire and they looked so sweet, snoozing away together.
Severn View doesn’t do evening meals and so we now faced the usual dinnertime dilemma – where to eat. We decided to try the Mount Inn, practically next door – having been told that there was a new chef (we were told the same thing last year). At least the service was faster, the only other customers being four burly lorry drivers at a nearby table. We each started with a vegetable soup, though it was hard to figure out which vegetables had gone into the blender. Then Margie had the chicken (no sauce) and Tosh and I chose one of the day’s specials, Beef Stroganoff. This was a mistake for the beef in question was very tough and gristly. When the meal was concluded we returned to the guesthouse and went to our rooms. I read a bit, articles from The New Yorker and The New York Review of Books, and I was also starting an interesting novel, Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance –– but it was an early night for me.
In spite of all the dire predictions it wasn’t raining when we repaired for breakfast at 9:00 on the morning of Tuesday, June 9. We had some dry cereal and then Tosh always had a poached egg, Margie scrambled eggs on toast, and I the same with two sausages. Mrs. Morgan had made all of the jams and preserves herself – gooseberry, black current, ginger and rhubarb, marmalade – and these went down well on toast. When we had asked for packed lunches the year before Mrs. M. had said that we would do just as well at the Spar grocery down the street and so this is where we headed at 9:50 (after a conference with Gareth Morgan on where he might pick us up at 3:00).
It took us a long time to get out of town because Tosh had her sandwich made for her on the spot while Margie and I took our chances with the in-house concoctions already on the shelf. It was 10:10 when we were able to start our seven-mile walk to the Clywedog Sailing Club.
Each of the ladies was armed with a camera on this trip (still using film as a matter of fact) and so one or the other of us was always snapping away. I found a lovely memorial stone in the park on this side of the Long Bridge and then we crossed the Severn and turned left on Westgate Street, and, after passing a suburban cul-de-sac (Tan Yr Allt), we found a GW fingerpost pointing to a path uphill and so we could begin our first ascent of the trip. Our route carried us through the Allt Goch woodlands and waymarking was good – we were even sharing a mile or so with the Severn Way. Of course I was using my walking stick and had done so on all walks ever since the difficulties I had encountered on the walk into Llanidloes last year.
The sun came out as we climbed and this was most welcome. After sliding off to the left we reached the borders of the St. Idloes Golf Course and used its access road, by the club house, to head north, turning off above a half-timbered house (many of these about) and using a lane up to a gate from which we were launched cross-country over a hilltop in the deep grass. As we began a northerly descent we used both roadway and field path with wonderful views down to Van or Fan, a village in the valley bottom. Our route did not enter this place, only a few hundred yards away – if there had been a pub symbol on the OS map in David Perrott’s guidebook this would have been quite different.
Instead we merely crossed the road and followed a fuel truck up a lane, turning off to follow a path into woodland where bluebells still bloomed. Occasional views of Van Terrace were available through a stand of conifers as we marched up Garth Hill, moving steadily forward along the ridge top until we picked up an overgrown green lane heading in a westerly direction.
In this fashion, with all the usual twists and turns and gates and stiles, we reached the tarmac of the road that we would eventually travel over more than once by car.
The descent that followed was dispiriting because you could see that it was complemented by an even steeper rise ahead. At least, as we began our pull up this stretch of road, we had a full view of the Fan Pool on our right; earlier we had been prevented by foliage from seeing this fishing lakelet during our traverse of the ridge to its south. With the summit of Penwar on our left we continued to rise, eventually reaching a level plateau and so getting a view of the next stretch of the route. Here too we could see the road rising after a dip – but this time we were allowed to escape it for a farm track that promised a far more level surface as we headed west. Just as I was about to open the gate to this track the farmer pulled up behind me with a trailer in tow and I was able to do him a service. “This is my lucky day,” he said – his cheeks a vivid red.
king south near Bryntail Farm
I was growing a bit anxious about our 3:00 pickup time but I told Tosh that at least we might do better on the more straightforward stretch ahead. No sooner had I uttered this boast then one of those dreaded route diversion signs announced a new route around (rather than through) Bryntail Farm. I took out a runny pen and tried to record the new instructions in my guidebook as Tosh dictated them to me. In the event, though we now had rough pasture and stiles instead of a nice lane, it wasn’t too difficult to follow the waymarking for the next few minutes and we were soon back on our lane. Shortly after the farm we decided to stop for lunch.
Tosh, who often took herself off at such moments, sat facing a southerly prospect while Marge and I perched on a large boulder at the side of the lane. I ate my coronation chicken baguette and drank some of my Dr. Pepper Zero cola. We did not linger, given the time restraints, and shortly after the resumption of our walk we obtained our first vistas of the dam of the huge Clywedog Reservoir. With this dramatic structure getting ever closer we now began a descent to the ruins of the Bryntail Mine (Tosh had to poke her nose into these). I crossed a bridge over the Afon Clywedog and took a picture of the white water, then had a rest in the shade on a step. It was quite warm and I knew we had another major stretch of uphill to come.
Much of this was accomplished on a series of roads, though fortunately there wasn’t too much traffic as we inched up the moorland where gorse and bracken bloomed. Eventually we reached a spot where we could see much of the surface of the reservoir, walking past a viewing platform where tourists were patrolling with their dogs. Now we left tarmac and were ushered back to grass for more uphill – as we climbed up to roadway yet again. Views were excellent in all directions as we dropped down to a house at Tycoch, one famous for the ornamental hedge at roadside; today blossoming plants were forcing their way in colorful splendor through the background foliage.
Below: the southern end of the Clywedog Reservoir
We left the road to walk past the house and out to the open hillside where our grassy route would now take us down to water level. As often happens when I sense we are behind time I led the way on this descent, one that had a few surprises. Not one but two inlets had to be circumnavigated as we pressed on, now just above the shoreline. At last we rounded a corner and in the parking lot of the Clywedog Sailing Club I could just see Gareth turning his car around. It was 3:05. I was glad we were almost on time because Angela had an appointment with a chiropractor in a nearby town and so we were sped homeward, revisiting many of the places we had recently passed over and along.
We agreed to meet at 5:30 and I took a shower and had a little nap. Carpenters had arrived to add bookshelves to the guest lounge and so we watched the news in Margie’s room and then headed for the Angel Hotel for drinks (we had been here twice in 2008) and then on to one of the town’s two Indian restaurants, the Bengal Brasserie. Tosh and I had Indian beer and we shared a number of dishes. The food was okay but much of it had been livened with lurid food coloring and this was disturbing. So was the drunk who kept rattling the front door. I tried to stay awake a bit longer this evening but by 9:30 I was again out.
To continue with the next stage of the walk you need: