Last night I wandered into Monmouth high street across its red stone thirteenth century bridge. It seems a place with history, a history it seems to celebrate. I wish I could have dug deeper into what this small town has to offer but it was late and I was too tired so after dinner I walked gingerly back to my hotel on sensitive feet making me unsure how today would work out.
My feet still felt a little sore as I stepped out into a cold and misty morning, a night of sleep not having worked its usual magic. I walked up the high street with its numerous coffee shops whose warm, cozy surroundings would have drawn me in under different circumstances, and headed out of town. This morning was a stark contrast to the peace and serenity of yesterday's departure from under the open skies of the Black Mountains, surrounded as I now was by rushing people, noisy traffic and the confines of a town's streets.
It was a hard climb up through woodland and narrow lanes: slow, plodding and at times seemingly never ending. Around every corner the path seemed to continue steeply upwards through the trees, every promising flattening of the path nothing more than a prelude to the next climb. It was hot and it was sweaty. And despite legs strengthened by ten days of walking it was tiring.
That first climb ended at the Kymin, a small eighteenth century roundhouse nestled on the edge of woodland with views down to Monmouth, today lost to the mist and only hinted at by a fading information board. By midday I had completed the second and was on the third climb of the day, all similarly steep and all through woodland. I was following the route of the Wye Valley, not along the valley floor but it seems the hills that parallel it: up a hill, along the top and down the other side only to climb the next, and all mostly through forest. The Wye Valley is a beautiful setting but I saw little of it other than the occasional glimpse of the river at ground level. Otherwise I was surrounded by trees, no views of the Wye river or scenic panoramas from the hilltops. And by now I was feeling the strain of the day physically and mentally: walking in woods gave little sense of headway - no change of scenery or distant landmark indicates your progress - and the day was feeling slow and endless.
By the time of the fourth big climb - and the last - it was clear the day was going to be a longer one than I had hoped when I set out this morning. Even the long stretch of relative flat that followed, supposedly along a length of Offa's Dyke but which was lost among trees and not obvious to see, required me to dig into mental reserves to maintain anything like a reasonable pace from my tired and sore feet. I passed viewpoints and landmarks amid those trees but they became nothing more than markers on my route indicating how near or how far I was from finishing rather than points of scenic interest to enjoy.
Despite that seemingly never ending woodland that seemed to suck up the hours but not the miles I did eventually break into more open ground for the last part of the day. It made a difference to my mood seeing the next objective I was walking towards - the end of a field, a house in the distance - but I was still tired and slow as I traipsed along lanes, across fields and then through Chepstow high above the Wye. The last quarter of a mile took me across fields, a final stretch of Offa's Dyke and a last short but unwelcome steep uphill push to the heights overlooking the banks of the Severn Estuary - Sudbury Cliffs - and the marker stone indicating the finish of my walk. It had taken me nearly ten hours to cover today's eighteen miles so I could stand here at the end of the Offa's Dyke path that I had set out on eleven days ago.
 |
| River Wye |
It was a two mile walk back to Chepstow centre and the station, a walk I thankfully did not have to consider as Mark kindly collected me from a pub fifteen minutes walk away. Today was difficult, even after all my previous days of walking. Whether it was because it was last day or the cumulative effect of all the previous miles I do not know but I found it particularly demanding and I was profoundly grateful for being collected thereby bringing the day, and the walk, to an earlier close than would otherwise have been the case.
 |
| End of the Line |
No comments:
Post a Comment