Chartist Cave to Talybont road on Cambrian Way: Day 5

A walk across open moorland with trouble finding a path.

After a little rain last night, there were still clouds around when I regained consciousness in the morning. Decamping I quickly reached the summit of Garn Fawr with its pile of stones. After that I had trouble finding the path, if indeed it existed. Following a bearing on my GPS I crossed the tussocky grass to reach a small road, avoiding the many sinkholes that are like a pox on the landscape. Fortunately the weather had been dry recently as otherwise the reeds suggested the land around here would be wet and muddy. A stone column beside the road had a plaque stating that the ashes of Aneurin Bevan and his wife were scattered on these slopes. Bevan, who was responsible for the creation of the National Health Service, so much loved by the British people, was a Member of Parliament for this area.

Quarry called Cwar yr Hendre

Shortly after the path follows the Brinmore Tramway for a little way, once used to carry coal and limestone down to the Brecon canal. A large limestone quarry (Cwar yr Hendre) was visible on the left, but the path skirted around it. As I left the area of quarrying the route became increasingly hazy with eventually no path at all. Following the track on my GPS across tussocks of grass was essential before I joined a track that led along the top of the ridge. From the ridge I could periodically see the Talybont reservoir in the valley to my right and the Pentwyn reservoir to my left. A steep and eroded slope led me down to the Talybont road. As the path over the popular Pen-y-fan area was still closed, I left the Cambrian Way for a few weeks and walked down to Merthyr Tydfil on the Taff Trail, one of the more important long distance routes in South Wales, and from there travelled back home.

View down to Talybont reservoir

Lord Hereford's Knob to the Chartist Cave on Cambrian Way: Day 4

Another ridge walk with a few summits before a descent into Crickhowell followed by a steep ascent to an arena of limestone cliffs.

On waking I made a clumsy exit from my small tent, trying to avoid the horse droppings. Above me were blue skies and skylarks singing, below me, far below me the lowlands were covered with a sea of white clouds, edging up the little valleys, with islands of green fields rising above the white in the far distance. To the east there were still hints of pink in the sky. The path followed the top of the escarpment as I walked southwest, rising up and down as the edge I was following intersected the valleys and ridges coming from the south. A few kilometres further on the way turned towards the south and followed one of the ridges, climbing up and down various summits. In the "U" shaped valleys below, carved out by glaciers long ago, neat fields were marked out by hedges and small trees. Higher up the slope the rough moorland began, covered with heather and whinberry bushes, difficult to walk through, the clumps and unseen irregularities beneath threatening a twisted ankle or damaged knee. Wetter parts were marked by white blobs of cotton sedge. 

Morning view to the north from Lord Hereford's knob

Trees on the hillside

Looking down on the town of Crickhowell from the mountainside

After the summit of Pen Cerrig-calch, I could see the town of Crickhowell, nestled in the valley beneath the curve of the mountain. A steep descent and I was at the smaller hill of Table mountain, stuck on the side of the larger slope. Surrounding ditches and banks showed it was once a hill fort, a natural defensive position in more turbulent times. 

Crickhowell had a bakery selling a good cup of coffee and a Cornish pasty (which they called traditional). This effectively cured to the beginnings of a headache, caused by more than 24 hours without caffeine. Picking up some plastic bottles of water I thought how much better some countries were at providing taps or similar for drinking water. In particular, in my travels through Hungary, most villages had taps or pumps painted bright blue to supply the passing hiker (left from the time when houses did not have their own piped water). Then on leaving the village there was indeed a public tap, dating from 1881 with a biblical quote, had I known I could have avoided the needless purchase of a plastic water bottle. Yesterday I had filled up from a spring, but these are pretty rare on the Cambrian Way, a consequence maybe of it taking a path along the top of ridges and the recent lack of rain.

Leaving Crickhowell, after a section of walking along the Brecon canal, there was a steep climb. From the bits of coal and the straight line of the track I assumed it was an old tramway, possibly used to bring limestone down to the lime kilns that sat beside the canal. On reaching the top of the climb, the Cambrian Way followed the base of a line of limestone cliffs, partly quarried, among hawthorn bushes. Seeing a man collecting the tips of stinging nettles I asked what he was planning for them. He said they were to make nettle tea, full of good things he assured me. In Britain we rarely use this plant but when I walked in Serbia, it seemed in common use as a vegetable.

Line of limestone cliffs above Crickhowell

After a walk beside a busy road, the path led over an extensive plateau. Somewhere in the middle I found the cave where the Chartists held meetings and hid their weapons. In the 19th century the Chartists were a movement who believed working men should be able to vote for members of parliament, something we now take for granted. The weapons were used in an attempted uprising in Newport. While such armed conflict failed, eventually all the men of Britain gained the vote and could stand as members of parliament (women had to wait a bit longer). They chose this spot as it was far away from anyone, and that was a good reason for me to camp here in a dip near the cave, watched over by a horse standing on the skyline.

Blorenge to Lord Hereford's Knob on Cambrian Way: Day 3

Another day of three climbs and some long ridge walks across open country accompanied by the sound of skylarks.

Sheep on Blorenge in the morning

At 5:10 am I woke and left my tent for a call of nature in my bright pink underpants, not suspecting anyone would be around at this time. I was wrong, two individuals were already on the summit of Blorenge, hopefully I was too far away from them to see what I was up to. Hurrying back into my tent I dozed until a more civilised 6:00 am before decamping. As I headed down off the ridge I passed an area of grassy pits that might have made a better campsite, but then you never know what's around the corner when looking for somewhere to pitch your tent and you could walk for ever in search of the perfect spot. I chose a route down that took me through an area known as the punch-bowl, with trees and a lake. A tunnel took me under the Brecon canal, and also under an adjacent house. Bypassing Llanfoist I crossed the River Usk on its multi-arched, stone road bridge, then crossed the meadow to the town of Abergavenny.

The Sugar Loaf

I timed my entry into town just right at 9:00 am when a bakery selling bacon "sarnies" and coffee was open, the smell alone was delicious. Suitably replete, I left the pedestrianised streets of the town, with its many little shops and headed up the Sugar Loaf. The climb up this distinctively shaped mountain is one of the classic walks of the area, popular with walkers on a fine day. Coming from Abergavenny the ascent is split into two parts. The first is through an oak wood. Spots of sunlight shimmered on the track as a gentle breeze moved the leaves above me. Leaving the trees there was a flatter section across moorland before a final steep climb up to the top. From the summit I could see many miles down to the River Severn and across Monmouthshire. The mountain is said to be called the sugar loaf as its shape is similar to cones of sugar, the form in which it was supplied in days gone by. The off white sandstone near the summit (from the Devonian period), eroded into a sand, which on glittering in the sun, does look vaguely like sugar.

Descending, and crossing a valley, at one point I assisted a farmer in persuading a sheep to go through a gate into a field by standing in the middle of a road. My next climb up a sunken lane so characteristic of the South Wales countryside, continuing on a tree lined path, lined with flowers such as pink campion. At the top the Cambrian Way followed the ridge for several kilometres across open moorland, to my left and right there were ridges running parallel to my own. Offa's Dyke path follows the ridge to the east, I walked it some years ago when I recall views across England, making the walk more dramatic than the stretch I was walking today.

Path up to Garn Wen

Those who planned the Cambrian Way were somewhat cruel as they took the trail down into the valley at Capel-y-ffin, only for it to climb back up a steep path to the high ground immediately after. The reward for this steep descent and ascent was seeing some monastery ruins (from a distance) and visiting the tiny, white church, which is complete with a wooden gallery. Having sweated back up to the ridge top, I walked on to Lord Hereford's knob. Less exciting than it sounds, it is a modest summit but from it you can see the escarpment formed by the end of the Brecon Beacons trending east to west. As there were some grassy hollows by the "knob", I decided to camp here. I had seen no-one around since the area of the Sugar Loaf so I thought I would be undisturbed; then two cyclists wizzed past. After that it was just horses and their foals munching grass near me. Whether they were wild or owned by someone I did not know, their shaggy coats and long manes looked adapted to living out in the cold and wet all year. The sheep looked pretty shaggy too, I guess it is not worth the farmer's expense to shear them so they rub off their winter coats on suitable rocks. This year's lambs, now pretty well fully grown, looked a lot smarter in their tightly curled woolly coats.

Looking back down the valley after climbing up from Capel-y-ffin, the white buildings are the old monastery and small church. The Cambrian Way followed the ridge on the right before dropping into Capel-y-ffin, Offa's Dyke Path is on the ridge to the left.

Machen to Blorenge on Cambrian Way: Day 2

A day of walking along wide open ridges with expansive views and three upward climbs.

Although some restrictions on travel are still in force due to the Covid 19 Coronavirus Pandemic I decided to spend a few days walking the Cambrian Way, spending the nights wild camping. Having gained a lift to Machen, I climbed up to my first summit, Mynydd Machen. Most of the trees on the path up the mountain have been harvested in the last few years and now foxgloves were in abundance between greying tree stumps. After a final steep ascent up an eroded section of moorland I reached the top, marked by aerials and a bench. Being a clear day I could see down to Newport with its historic transporter bridge and across the Severn Estuary to Somerset.

Walking down to Crosskeys I passed on old slag heap, refuse from the now defunct coal mining industry of South Wales, in the distance the new, cleaner sources of energy were visible, the silvery panels of a solar farm on one hilltop and beyond a few wind turbines. After walking down through woods, avoiding the signposted forestry operations I crossed through the strip development of Crosskeys and the railway line to reach the old Newport to Cwmcarn canal. Now abandoned and silting up, a moorhen, black with a red beak, was enjoying this industrial remnant.

Newport to Cwmcarn Canal

The second climb of the day took me to the hillfort on the summit of Twmbarlwm. From here I could just make out the two road bridges across the River Severn, as well as Newport, Cardiff and maybe the Brecon Beacons to the north. My view of the Severn estuary stayed with me all along the long, open ridge that led me to the town of Pontypool. On the way I met a herd of black cows, who stood their ground as I walked by, as well as sundry sheep who scuttled off. On approaching the town, the path dropped down the east side of the ridge through green and leafy beech woods. Many people were out walking with their children, enjoying the sunshine.

View north along ridge from Twmbarlwm hillfort

I stopped at the Esso station which lies on the Cambrian Way as it crosses to the south of the main part of town. After picking up some supplies and a welcome cup of coffee, I sat on a bench in Pontypool park to enjoy it. The park was a mixture of more formal cut grass and less formal woodland on the higher slopes. Climbing up through the trees and a short tunnel I reached the Shell Grotto, sitting at the top. Although never open for you to see inside, there were seats for me to recover after my exertions and admire the vista of distant lands spread out before me. Following the ridge my next sight was Folly Tower (also closed) after which I entered rough moorland. At this time of year it was covered with brown and uninteresting heather and whinberry bushes (like blueberries) bright green, but still too early in the year for any fruit. From the ridge the distinctive isolated mountain of the Skirrid stood out in the distance, an outlier of the Black Mountains that I would be walking across over the next two days. The Cambrian Way does not cross it, but it lies on the route of another long distance trail, the Beacons Way, a route which the Cambrian Way crosses a few times. To the east was the Sugar Loaf, one of my climbs for tomorrow.

Folly tower

After two aerials by a small road, and a memorial to a race horse I began to think of where to camp for the night. Officially illegal in Wales, wild camping needs to be done with discretion. To be legal you need to ask for permission from the landowner, but who knows the ownership of the common land I was crossing? If you camp at dusk and leave before anyone is up, in a secluded spot, leaving no trace but a patch of dry ground and flattened grass, then nobody is likely to be upset. Unfortunately at this time of year, days were very long, and in the area I was in, the mountain of Blorenge, I could see no places to hide my tent. I waited until an hour before sunset before pitching, when there was nobody around to see me and the sky was darkening as dark clouds accumulated in the west. I struggled to find a patch of grass off the main path, the clumps of heather being far too uneven, but settled on a spot by some rocks well off the main path.