prologue
Day 1 - Tuesday 6th April 1993
The walk started quite inauspiciously. New roads and an old map ensured a certain amount
of confusion in Neath before we managed to locate a footbridge over the tidal river. The tide
was in but there was enough slimy mud exposed to dispel very quickly the thought of
dipping a toe in the water. Instead I posed for a photo on the bridge. We had decided to
have another rendezvous later so I was not carrying my large pack.
In less than a mile we were out of the town on the path to Mynydd Drumau but as we
paused to cross a minor road a pickup truck approached carrying some loose planks and one
of them flew off straight towards me. It twisted round in the air and clattered harmlessly
onto the tarmac leaving me shaking a bit and thinking 'that's one of my nine lives gone
already'.
The path was well marked and led us pleasantly through trees and bushes high onto this
quite craggy hill. At the top we were surprised to find not open hillside but walled sheep
pasture. A farmer was driving around in his landrover so we sneaked up to the trig point
and back to the bridleway as fast as we could.
From here Rowland returned for the car and I proceeded northwards, no longer on a
right of way. It was of course not strictly necessary to have climbed this hill at all although
it was a good deal more pleasant and purposeful than just walking on the road. Even had
this bit of trespassing been avoided it was inevitable that more would be needed to complete
my traverse as planned. I felt uncomfortable though because I knew that the farmer was
about and hurtled through several gated fields at full speed before having to climb a couple
of barbed wire fences to attain the track which led to the road.
Pontardawe was again confusing with new roads but I was soon climbing up the main
road amongst the diesel fumes. I sought out the path to the east which was not hard to find
and undulated pleasantly through the woods to emerge on the minor road which I had
decided to follow rather than risk further problems on Mynydd Uchaf which seemed to
have few rights of way across it. I was anxious to get into open country in good time to
camp.
As soon as the road emerged over a cattle grid onto unfenced hillside I found the
motorcaravan parked and went in for lunch and coffee. Then I changed into new socks and
nearly new boots and shouldered the rucksack. The car drove off and suddenly I felt myself
properly committed to the walk. There have been many occasions in the past when I have
been dropped out, often in very wild surroundings, and watched the vehicle disappear
leaving me to get to some distant rendezvous. This can sometimes be quite a frightening
moment. I recall one day a very long time ago being committed in this way to a traverse of
Black Hill on the Pennine Way and can still remember the real terror which struck me at
that moment although soon to pass as I concentrated on navigating my way across that boggy
plateau. More recently on a magnificent traverse from Loch More to Inchnadamph over
Beinn Leoid, the Stack of Glencoul and Glas Bheinn, which crossed some of the wildest and
most remote country in Britain, I had only walked half-an-hour from the car when it started
to rain and the mist came down, a sobering moment in trackless territory of that sort. Well
on that occasion I was lucky for the weather cleared again and I enjoyed one of the finest
walks of my life instead of what might have been my toughest ever navigation exercise.
Today there were no such fears for I was not going, for the moment at least, into trackless
or remote country and could back out at any time if I wanted to. Yet a similar sort of feeling
of fearful anticipation hovered at the back of my mind. It was quite justified too I suppose
for I was in a sense walking into unknown territory never having committed myself to such
an extended undertaking before.
The road descended steeply to the dismal village of Cwmllynfell. It seemed completely
dead but perhaps this was an indication of prosperity, these tidy houses devoid of any sign
of life, the mark of a village unaffected by recession and unemployment where everybody
was away at work this early in the afternoon. I was pleased that it was deserted for I felt
conspicuous. I had not yet walked myself into the landscape. An old man greeted me in
what was surely intended as a friendly gesture, 'going camping?'. I felt embarrassed by the
question and muttered a non-committal reply. Later as I became at ease with myself in the
role of backpacker I would have responded quite openly.
An elaborate concrete track with a multitude of fancy kissing gates led out of the village
to the National Park boundary where a notice on the gatepost exhorted me not to leave litter
but not, I am glad to say, not to camp. Once in the park things became a lot less pleasant.
Deep bog and a great deal of doubt intervened before I finally climbed a gate which led,
with sighs of relief, onto the open fell. The going thereafter was quite good. The hillside
was grassy with odd outcrops of stones easily avoided. It was the sort of ground which
might become boggy in wet weather but after the long dry spell it was straightforward
walking and it was good to be climbing away from civilisation onto this empty hill. I made
my way across to the Aman Fawr and followed it almost to the col where I set up camp by
the now very tiny stream.
From the campsite it was an easy climb to Garreg Lwyd, the first two-thousander. One
down - 180 to go! There was a splendid view eastwards to the Carmarthen Fan peaks,
scheduled for tomorrow, but I looked north seeing, if only in my mind's eye, the last
mountain, Tal y Fan! It was very windy so I took a couple of pictures and returned to the
tent which lay sheltered in a fold of the hill, the only disadvantage of this being that the sun
was gone from the site very early. It would be a long time before I saw it again.
I felt very content to be camping again at this excellent site on a lovely evening. I just
finished supper, an unambitious meal of cup-a-soup and pot noodle, and wrote up my log in
the available daylight and then snuggled into the sleeping bag with a cup of horlicks to enjoy
my new luxury, a tiny radio. I lay warm and snug and listened to Scheherazade and just as
it finished the rain started gently falling.
next day
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