I awoke early to the sound of rustling leaves but no rain. Given that the forecast yesterday indicated rain from early morning I thought I would make haste to pack everything away before it started. That done, and with banks of threatening grey cloud overhead, I set out in the first light to get some dry miles in.
Today has been billed as the 'worst' day by walkers I have met, a relentless up and down over the Shropshire hills for fourteen miles. It certainly started in an intimidating manner with a steep and slow nine hundred foot climb through fields up the side of the first hill of the day. It topped out below the cloud and I had a more gentle walk across the rounded top before a slow and careful, steep and muddy descent through pine forest to the valley floor for the next ascent. As I haltingly climbed up through more steep and wet grass towards the high second hilltop I was wondering just how long I could keep up any reasonable pace over such demanding terrain and why Offa could not have redefined his border so his Dyke went around the hills rather than directly over them.
Fortunately things changed. I found myself still climbing and descending steep slopes but their heights were now much reduced. I was generally able to reach the top in one push although I needed care on the wet and slippy descents. In between were longer more undulating stretches that allowed for a reasonable pace.
It was still dry and I was below the cloud enjoying misty views across the hills in the near distance. The air seemed heavy. It was a heaviness that affected the sound around me, blocking any noise from afar but accentuating that from nearby: the sound of the birds close by seemed particularly clear and heightened. But that sense of heaviness also seemed to be the prelude to the rain which hit me mid morning, at first a swirling drizzle that was more pleasing than problem but not long after, a steady hard rain.
I pressed on, warm but wet, and the easier, undulating stretches across the tops seemed to get longer. There was little to see through the rain and mist, even less so with my coat hood up, when my view became a dripping, narrow section of the world immediately in front of me, of wet grass and of muddy and rocky paths. It was unfortunate as part of the route now paralleled the dyke for some distance across barren hilltops. Not covered by trees or obscured by hedgerows, it stood proud of the landscape around it, disappearing into the rain in one long, linear sweep. Even with today's reduced visibility you got a much better sense of the scale of the structure and the effort behind its construction and I wondered how much more impressive this section must be on a clear day.
After over seven hours of walking, up more steep hills, skirting contours and across largely barren hilltops, all mostly in rain, I caught my first misty sight of Knighton, a mile off and way down in the valley. It was still an hour before I was sitting in the Offa’s Dyke museum at the edge of the town with a much needed cup of tea and slice of cake while looking for accommodation for the night on the internet; I was soaked through, dripping onto the cafe floor, and it was still raining hard outside so there was no way that I intended to camp.
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| Knighton |
I paid over the odds for an also-ran hotel at the bottom of the high street but in this weather and my wet state it all seemed irrelevant: the hot shower and radiators blasting heat that welcomed me were worth a king's ransom that day. Cleaned up, dried out and feeling more human I headed back out into the rain for food. Knighton is charming although smaller than I imagined and it seems quiet for a Saturday but there was enough to serve the needs of this walk and weather weary individual.
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| Knighton |
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