After a disturbed night because of low temperatures - clear skies have their drawbacks - I left my tent into the cold silence of an early morning, a thin strip of orange across the hills to the east and above, a cloudless blue-grey dawn sky dotted with stars. It was perfectly serene. If it had not been for the temperature and my need to be mobile and generate some body warmth I would have happily sat there enjoying the peace of the morning before the world below awoke.
It was before 7am when I set out and although it was light the sun was not properly risen, not yet warming me nor the world around. I followed the wide lane of dewy grass that cut through the bracken and fern on the hilltop, saw frost on not too distant fields below me and after leaving the hill and walking three hours of high-hedged lanes, tractor muddied tracks and the wet, grassy fields of the flood plain I was in Hay-on-Wye.
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| Towards Hay on Wye |
Today's leg involves a long ridge walk on the Black Mountain's Hay Bluff ridge and you climb up to it soon after Hay-on-Wye. My original aim today had been to walk until I was close to the end of the ridge and spend the night camped out before descending the following morning and continuing the route. After last night's fitful sleep it struck me it might be uncomfortably cold so now I wanted to complete the ridge and get at least part way off before stopping.
I stopped in Hay-on-Wye for a hearty breakfast and to top up my water. It was then a weaving walk through the town's narrow streets and a long hard climb through steep fields and woodland to gain the first slopes up to the ridge. On another day those slopes would have made for perfect camping with their wide expanse of smooth grass extending close to the ridge and dotted with gorse and fern. But there was to be no stopping here for me today and I headed across the grass towards the dark, looming ridge to begin my climb up its steep slopes.
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| Hay Bluff |
It was a slow ascent. I stopped a while to talk to a passing local woman who seemed to want to share her life story with me - I guess it can be easy to talk to strangers - and then continued more slowly in her tracks along the path that stretched out like a scar on the hillside. Eventually I made the top and the nine miles of ridge walk that now faced me.
The ridge top is wide and covered in gnarly heather. Its width tends to conceal much of the view to either side while ahead undulating ground and a series of high points limit any view forwards to the distant horizon. The ridge path cuts through the heather and dark peaty pools of still water, a path that is in parts gravel, in parts stones and in parts slabs but which is always hard on the soles. It is a barren landscape of browns and blacks, for the most part not practical camping ground and certainly not the walk I had imagined. To say it was unenjoyable would be overstating things but it did little to inspire. There was the occasional view to the distance and horses and sheep added distraction but for the most part it became a traipse to get the miles done. But those miles took their toll and despite my intentions I did not make the end of the ridge before I decided to stop for the night.
As a result I now find myself camped right by the path in a small patch of uneven grass that is no bigger than my tent, the best place I can find and still over four miles from the end of the ridge. I have food enough for a hearty meal and enough water to see me into the morning. The forecast is for a quiet and wind free night - in part a reason for my willingness to stop - so if I layer up before climbing into my sleeping bag I might get a reasonable night's sleep.
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