OFFA' DYKE WALK.

OFFA'S DIARY.

This was my first ever walk, and my first diary. I learnt a LOT on this walk - mainly in the sack packing department, as I didn't know it was not the done thing to carry 13 tee shirts, a bottle of champagne (for the end of the walk), jeans and shoes to go out in at night.....etc etc. Needless to say, I learnt VERY quickly, and these days am FAR more prudent.

OFFA'S DIARY.



ON THE 18th OF MAY, 1991. I SET OUT TO WALK OFFA'S DYKE, A LONG DISTANCE FOOTPATH WHICH FOLLOWS THE EARTHWORK BUILT AS A FORTIFICATION AGAINST THE WELSH BY OFFA, THE THEN KING OF MERCIA.

THIS IS THE DAILY DIARY I KEPT WHILST DOING IT.

PROLOGUE.

The idea of walking Offa's Dyke had been implanted several years ago by a colleague at work, who said it was his great ambition. At the time I wasn't remotely interested in walking, but years later I remembered Denis' words, and decided the first long distance path I would tackle would be Offa's Dyke. The idea was to do the walk with my nephew Philip. As it turned out, I was to do the majority of the walk on my own.

17th MAY - THE JOURNEY DOWN.

Phil, Jane & myself drove down to Chepstow on Friday afternoon. After a little searching around, we discovered the footpath, which led to the starting point, parked the car and set off to walk the half-mile or so to the stone on Sedbury cliffs, which marks the start/finish of the walk. When we got to the stone, we met a mixed party that had done the walk from its halfway point at Knighton. We also met Bill & Brian, two old(ish) chaps who had done the walk in its entirety. We all chatted for a while before taking the obligatory photo's, saying our good-byes and parting. Us with our trepidation of things to come, them with their elation of what had passed. We parted company with Jane back at the car and continued on our own towards Chepstow, just getting the first two or three kilometres out of the way, intending to start the walk proper the following day.

We got to the youth hostel, which I had booked and paid for a couple of weeks previously, signed in, and dropped our sacks on our chosen bunks for the night. We then headed for the great Metropolis of Chepstow, where we had some very average pie & chips before going to Asda to get some bacon for breakfast. This I had to carry around with me.
After visiting a couple of pubs, we decided to go 'upmarket' a bit and went to the George hotel, a rather grand looking place just inside the gates to Chepstow. We stepped inside and who should be sitting there having a beer but Bill & Brian, the two we had seen on Sedbury cliffs earlier. We joined them and they gave us an insight of what was to come over the next ten days. They were tired after their days walk, and went to bed not too long afterwards. We decided to visit one more pub and, as time slipped by, didn't notice the 'witching hour' of eleven o'clock creep up on us. DISASTER! We should have been back at the hostel by this time, as the door is locked. I quickly hailed a taxi and went through the old 'don't spare the horses' routine. We explained our predicament to the driver and, by the smirk on his face, deduced he had probably done this trip before under similar circumstances. Phil went to check if we were to be admitted, but, in the words of the poet Alfred Noyes, 'all was locked and barred'. He came back to the taxi looking sheepish, and the by now giggling taxi driver said the only place we would get accommodation at this time of night was the George. We went into the very swish looking hotel, me with my Asda luggage, Phil with what he stood up in, and enquired about a room. When the manager, looking dire and dressed in a black suit appeared (“…...that you shall be taken from this place, to a place of execution, where you will be…..”). I felt we had about as much chance as Mary & Joseph of getting a room. To my amazement, the manager took pity on us, and gave us the key to a very nice room. He even let us have it at a knock-down price as we weren't having breakfast, and kindly offered to put my 'luggage' in the fridge overnight.





18th MAY CHEPSTOW TO MONMOUTH.

After a very comfortable night, and a really luxurious shower the next morning, we set off for the youth hostel at about 6:30am, reaching it about half an hour later after a steady and pleasant walk through the quiet streets. We sat in the morning sun, listening to the birds and hiding from the warden, until she unlocked the members’ kitchen at about 7:30am. We cooked and ate breakfast and then went to retrieve our sacks, which we had paid £13 for the privilege of leaving there overnight. We went down to the office to get our cards stamped, to be greeted to a wink and a 'knowing' smile from the warden, who probably thought we had 'pulled' last night!!
We stepped outside to be greeted by a warm sun and a pleasant day. We walked with a spring in our steps as we passed the George, went through the gates of Chepstow, and set off on our marathon. We climbed to the top of Lancaut quarry where we disturbed a climber trying to go to the toilet in peace! I think he nearly died when he looked UP and saw us looking DOWN! He quickly adjusted his pants and scurried off out of sight.
The views over the meanders of the Wye were very good from Wintours leap. The sack was beginning to bite a little by now and I shrugged uncomfortably. Those first two or three hours were pretty hard going, due in no small way to the previous evening, I suspect. We soon got our first view of the 1000+ year-old structure of Offa's Dyke, and very impressive it was too. We stopped a passing milkman and bought a bottle of water (?), a master stroke as the dehydration was beginning to set in. As we entered the first in a succession of woods, a sea of bluebells greeted us. We ascended Plumweir cliff following the Dyke wall, and up through high wood. If our senses weren't being overcome by the profusion of bluebells and/or the smell of the wild garlic, our sight was riveted with the glorious views over the Wye and Tintern Abbey. At Devils Pulpit we saw a really weird Yew tree. It looked like it was growing directly out of a large lump of rock. I took a photo' of it and we continued.
Disturbing lots of squirrels, we dropped down from Madgett hill where we were faced with a choice. Did we drop down to the Wye and follow it, or did we take the alternative Hudnalls route? Both were ‘official’ but, for no apparent reason, we decided on the riverside route through Brockweir. We walked along the banks of the Wye, marvelling at how still and tranquil the water was and lapping up the strong sunshine we were now bathed in. Without the shelter of the trees, the heat was on! As we walked, I commented that the river here seemed to be flowing faster than earlier. Within twenty minutes it was fairly racing along, almost tearing lumps out of the bank and we realised that the river must be tidal. When we had first joined it, the tide must have just been on the turn, but it was now ebbing in earnest and draining at an alarming rate.
We reached the road and left the Wye to start another long climb to the next succession of woods. It beggars belief, but here the bluebells and wild garlic were in even greater profusion as they jostled for position in the gentle breeze. The views back were superb and we could see the cliffs we had walked along earlier. We dropped down steeply out of the woods and into Redbrook, where we rewarded ourselves with a cooling pint of shandy before finally agreeing which direction to take, after a slight altercation with the instructions.
More climbing followed but, having had lunch, we were in our second wind and enjoyed the pull. I even thought the sack didn't feel too bad. We stopped to take a look at the Naval Tower and, from a nearby viewpoint, got our first peep at the mountains beyond Monmouth.

We again descended steeply through Beaulieu woods and into the outskirts of Monmouth. Here I was unlucky to just miss the cobbler, as I wanted to see if the waist strap on my sack could be altered. However, I was lucky in another direction as I managed to book two of the only three remaining beds left at the hostel. We didn't find the shower block until we had both had a cold wash. We inspected our feet (mine looked like rare steak, and Phil had a blister) and left the hostel in search of sustenance.

19th MAY - MONMOUTH TO PANDY.

Last night we went into Monmouth for a bite to eat. Plenty of choice here, and after eating we went for a pint. We had a few frames of pool and went back to the hostel (making sure we were back before eleven!). A couple were playing Scrabble and it wasn't until I had thrown out a challenge that I realised they were German and all the words were in German. We solved this by Phil & Rupert versus Les & Ulrich. After our bout of bilingual banter, Phil and I decided to leave them to one more game and we went up the wooden hill (God, not another hill!).
We had a great nights sleep and next morning I got up and made a huge fried breakfast so we could get by until teatime with just snacks. As we set off, the previous days labours reminded us of just how sore our feet were. Phil had the added problem of having turned his ankle crossing a stile yesterday, and that was giving him some cause for concern. We left Monmouth and, in stark contrast to yesterday, walked across rolling agricultural land mixed with the odd wood or two. The differing bird song struck me, as we now heard Cuckoo's Skylarks & plovers. Also we saw more rabbits as opposed to squirrels. The weather was cool and overcast, ideal for walking.
The lady in the youth hostel said today would be "a doddle" compared to the Wye valley....she lied!!! Actually, although the route is very up and down, sore feet and limbs probably added to the torture to make it seem worse than it was. Although different, the views on this section were no less stunning. Distant hills and ridges beckoned and came satisfyingly closer with each passing moment and my flesh tingled at the prospect of crossing them. In one field near Trothy, we came upon what I presumed to be two orphaned lambs. They ran up to us and showed no fear as they nibbled and sucked on our fingers. We fussed them for a while before taking a photo' and pressing on.

By now the sun was beginning to make its presence felt, and we became drenched in sweat at the slightest climb as the heat, combined with the weight of our sacks, took its toll. I was soon down to just shorts as climbing the annoyingly numerous stiles was proving more and more an effort. Any step upwards was agony for my shoulders as the heavy sack dug in, due to the fact I couldn't pull the waist strap tight enough to redistribute the load. Although suffering a little, we were not downhearted and made many jokes about ankles and sore feet.
By the time we got to Great Treadham the Black Mountains were looming ever larger. I took a few different pictures of them, but soon realised that the closer we got, the more dramatic the views were becoming. We next came to White Castle, which we had glimpsed through the trees, and when we got there, I decided to go in for a look. Phil said he'd try to grab forty winks while I'd gone but, no sooner had I gone through the gate, than the chap who takes the admission money decided to target Phil for a chat, and kept him awake 'till I got back. Still, I got some good photo's!
Up, down, (stile), up, down, (stile) went the route. Scorched, tired, parched and with he vultures circling overhead, we carried on in the blazing sun. After scratching our heads at a signpost we knew was pointing in the wrong direction, we discovered it was loose in it's hole, and some local wag had come along and lifted it out, spun it round and dropped it back in. We put matters to right, turned around and headed over the next stile and up the next hill. I say hill, I thought I knew what a hill was until I got to Church meadow at Llangattock Llingoed. I suspect many a poor soul has been laid directly to rest in the graveyard at the top after THAT climb!! The only saving grace was the Hunters Moon pub. A really cold pint, served by a really pleasant landlord.
Suitably refreshed, we left Llangatock Llingoed via some steps. We climbed the ubiquitous stile (well, we had gone fifty yards!) and straight into a bed of nettles. Phil did his police car impression (oo,argh,ooo,arghh) as the stings bit cruelly into his bare legs. Learning from his mistake, I pulled my socks up for protection, and sallied forth.....straight into some overhanging branches, which snagged my sack and dumped me unceremoniously into the nettles. This seemed to amuse Philip somewhat!
We crossed a few hundred more stiles and climbed the odd hill or two, but any negative feelings were tempered by the spectacular views of tomorrow's walk - The Black Mountains! We booked into our bed and breakfast and went...guess where?

20th MAY - PANDY TO HAY-ON-WYE.

We went across to the Lancaster Arms and sampled their chilli, (very nice). We also tried the beer (seeing as we were there) and a few frames of pool. We met up with a couple we had walked a short way with on the Fiddenham section of the Dyke, and discovered that they were staying in the same place as us. We had tried to get in to someplace here, which is famous for the breakfasts, but it was fully booked. You tend to glean this sort of info' from other walkers as you go along. However, I have no complaints at all about Ty Newydd. It's old, very clean, and run by a lovely couple named Bill & Jean Evans. They are a quiet, unassuming couple who have a great history. Jean makes soft toys and her fame is such that she has been commissioned by the Royal Family to make some.
We got back to Ty Newydd at about 10:00pm. Phil decided to turn in but I sat up talking to Bill. I think it's fair to say that, over the years, Bill has turned hid hand to just about everything. We talked about this and that, and Jean asked me what was wrong when she caught me rubbing my shoulders. I explained my problem with my rucksack and, after she'd had a quick look at it, she told me to empty it, after which she quickly altered the waist strap so it fitted me perfectly. She also stitched a loose strap I didn't even know I had and she wouldn't take a penny for doing it either. Thanks Jean!
At about 11:30 I too went to bed. After spending the night in a firm and comfortable bed, I awoke at about 4:00am but felt really good and refreshed. I lay and listened to the dawn chorus (an especially loud Wren) before getting up with the Cock crowing at 5:15am. I read yesterdays paper to pass the time, and wrote a few postcards. Phil got up at about 7:00am and, after a lovely breakfast and a guided tour by Bill, we said our good-byes and set off.
Although still looking a bit rough, my feet felt good but, more to the point, the sack felt perfect! For the first time I hardly knew I was wearing it. I mentally blew Jean a kiss. I took a final shot of the 'broken mountain' of Skirrid Fawr before starting the long haul up to Hatterall Ridge. As is usual with a climb the views steadily became more and more impressive. Also, the sun was beginning to shine with a vengeance... I wasn't the only one to rise early this morning! We were once again dripping with sweat as we passed the first of many fortifications, the very well preserved Pen Twyll hill fort. We next passed the enclosure of a ruined castle before gaining our first trig' point of the day (or as Wainwright would call them - Ordnance columns). The air was hot but very clear and I took a six shot panorama of the view (which turned out very well).

Although the sun was strong, we stopped sweating because on the top we were constantly fanned by a welcome, cooling breeze, which blew continuously. Spectacular view followed spectacular view as we walked along the ridge, which forms the boundary of England and Wales. We had been so lucky with the weather over the past few days and today was no exception with clear views and no haze. I suppose we could see all of forty miles to distant mountain ridges. We saw a bright, glinting reflection about fifteen miles away, and surmised it was a radio telescope dish or something of that ilk. One of the most striking features as the day went by, were the fields of yellow rapeseed dotted across the countryside like quilts. We could see Llantony Priory on our left in the valley, but Phil’ was hardly interested as his ankle was giving him a lot of pain and his feet were sore.
We carried on along the ridge, now bereft of superlatives for what was before and around us. I just drank it all in, generally in silence. The pace was slow and, apart from a quick spurt after a chocolate bar, getting slower. I felt really sorry for Phil’, as it was definitely detracting from his enjoyment of the walk. Some people would give their eye teeth to be up here in this weather, but for Phil’ it was an ordeal. The only saving grace was that Jane was meeting him at Hay-on-Wye to take him home. Somewhere around here I lost my bearings (instruction book wise) but it didn't matter, you couldn't get lost - just follow the top of the ridge!
Because of the problem of Phil's ankle, I wasn't going to visit Pen-y-Beacon but, due to the aforementioned lack of attention to the instructions, we ended up there. I am so glad we did as we probably got one of the best views of the whole ridge. Hang gliders and para-gliders were all around us utilising the strong breeze, whilst above us gliders were soaring effortlessly in the warm updraughts.

We dropped, painfully for Phil’, to the car park below and lay down to lap up the warm afternoon sun. We both took long draughts of water and settled back for a rest. We both nearly dozed off, and that would have been a catastrophe as, even though we had only been there a short while, I could feel the sun had caught me. The back of my knees were also feeling burnt where the sun had been on them along the ridge. Phil' was now limping noticeably worse than ever and I was glad that Jane was going to 'save him’ at Hay. He described that last four and a half miles to Hay as the hardest of his life. I dropped my sack off at Rosedale B&B as we passed it, and relieved Phil of his for the remainder of the walk into the quaint town. We had ice cream and cold drinks of pop, and sat down watching the girls go by until Jane arrived. I lightened my own load by sending some stuff back with them (I thought the typewriter had to go, along with the evening suit...joke!) ( I have since got my pack down to the minimum). So now they've gone and here I am on the patio of 'Rosedale'. It's 8:45pm, it's just starting to drop cool so I'm going inside. Tomorrow I'm going for a twenty one miler to a place called Discoed. The weather forecast is for probably the warmest day of the year with more settled weather for the coming week. How lucky can you get? I know I'm a bit burnt, but it's worth it just to be able to say; "I made Hay while the sun shone!"

21st MAY - HAY-ON WYE TO DISCOED.

Another day, another superlative. The forecast was right and it's been a real scorcher today. Thank goodness for friendly householders to fill a water bottle. Phil's gone home now and, although I miss the chat, it's been a different kind of pleasure to walk alone and I've enjoyed it. I did twenty one hard miles today. A heavy sack really makes a difference to the amount of ground you can cover. I'm staying at 'Gumma Farm' tonight, which is about five miles from Knighton. I'm hoping to get an early start tomorrow as I want to try and reach Montgomery, which is twenty four miles away. If I can do it, I can stay at Phil and Jane's house. Phil is trying to persuade me to have a go at his passion, wind surfing, but I think I may crack on with the Dyke first, and see if I've the time (or strength) when I've finished.
There were four guys from Nottingham staying at 'Rosedale' last night. I had a couple of pints and a good chinwag with them in the Black Lion. My room for the night was right at the top of the house. It was so mild last night that I slept with the window open. I had a really comfortable night, with the added bonus of listening to the various 'eeeees' and hoots of Owls. I managed to get the early start I wanted, and had the morning dew washing my legs for the first hour or so. It's a shame I didn't have something cool to wash my face too, as the sun was once again in evidence. I walked through a delightful conifer wood with the fairytale name of ‘Bettws Dingle’. From here onwards was hilly and hot, but very pleasant sucking in lungsfull of the pungent forest air. I looked back and took several photo's of yesterdays walk - the Black Mountains. I could see the ridge where Phil and I had seen the hang gliders, but it was in the blue distance now.
This part of the country is all hills threaded with dales, twisting and turning in and out. It makes for some really aesthetic little villages and Newchurch is one of them (so called because it has a new church!). I took a few pictures and descended into it. I drained the last dregs of my water bottle, but a friendly local refilled it for me. I went on into Newchurch (so called...etc.) and sat down to write a postcard home. I had bought the postcards in Hay but had stupidly left them on the shop counter. However, to my amazement, as I passed the little shop this morning at 7:30am, it was open and what's more, the lady who owned the shop had found them and saved them in case I came back in. I gratefully took them off her, bought a Cornetto ice cream, and headed off upwards towards Dysgwylfa Hill.
It was neck-twisting time again as the panorama surrounding me opened up. I stopped to apply more sun cream and frequently looked and recorded the beauty I saw around me. I dropped down from the hill and quickly reached the 'renovated' Stonehouse Barn, with it's 'friendly' sign complete with a picture of a vicious Doberman 'asking' you to keep to the edge of the property, (although the footpath runs diagonally across it). Just after this I saw a notification of an application to divert the footpath - guess where? Ho hum, how money talks.
Gladestry and Hergest Ridge. PHEW! The heat and the views.! This walk holds one treasure after another. Every day seems to be a stunner. Today I passed a stone called the ‘Whetstone'. Legend has it that the stone descends the slope each night to drink. (The Royal Oak, I think it goes to). I also walked past the old Knighton racecourse. I would have thought that the poor horses would be too tired to race after climbing up to Hergest ridge! I lay down in the sun and had a banana for my lunch, after which I lazily got up, applied more sun cream (it’s very good, this Mazola sun cream) before heading down to Kington, a bustling little town that felt a bit claustrophobic. I got the impression that the road was too wide for the footway. The enclosed or walled street made the whole place stink of exhaust fumes, or maybe I was too used to fresh air? I stayed long enough to buy my evenings repast, having left behind a sour faced shop assistant just because one of the girls had complied with my request to slice the loaf I had just bought. I also bought a couple of tins of Ruddles bitter, as a cursory glance at the map revealed there to be no evidence of a pub in Discoed.
I was soon climbing again, another toughie up through Bradnor Green with its common grazing, (judging by all the sheep in evidence). On and across the golf course, then (surprise) up and down across the Bradnor and Rushock hills. I met a couple wilting in the sunshine. She was sitting down with her neck covered against the relentless heat, and he stood there looking concerned. I did my good deed for the day and shared my sun block with them. I told them of the joys in front of them, and they revealed the delights I had to come, and we parted with a wave and a smile.
Shortly, I re-joined the Dyke. It is remarkably intact here, and the camera was clicking as the views again astounded me. After that pleasant interlude, an uncomfortable stretch of road walking followed (no foot way), before I again started climbing. I climbed into a forest, which afforded some welcome shade, and passed the fifteenth century Old Burfa House (photo). I followed a poor-ish section of the Dyke before stopping to 're-fuel'. I ascended some wooden steps to gain a forest track. An absolute killer of a hill followed the forest. It was like a miniature Birchen Clough (a severe climb in my native Derbyshire), but the excellent section, which followed, plus the Radnor Hills, more than made up for it. I stood watching the antics of a grey squirrel for some time before pressing on. I reached the road where I turned right to head for Gumma Farm. Feeling burnt and tired, I plodded along the long stretch of road before tackling the final cruel climb up to the farmhouse. I dropped everything and dropped into a hot bath and reflected on the past day in my luxury. Suitably refreshed, I went down for my tea, which consisted of granary bread, pate, Brie and the two tins of Ruddles beer. I sat on the farmhouse patio in the warm evening sun and wrote this section of the diary. Later I was treated to the sight of sheep shearing, something I hadn't witnessed before. I took the obligatory pictures and went inside to the sitting room.

 This is the only time the solitary side gets to me a bit, when the days’ walking is done and you're alone.

22nd MAY - DISCOED TO MONTGOMERY.

Once again,I awoke feeling really fresh this morning. The farmer came in to talk for a while last night. He seemed quite an easy going chap and had even acted as a sort of mediator - come - go between for a local rambling club that was going to have some sort of 'day of action' on a local private hill. He went to talk to the owner, and managed to strike a deal which was amicable to both parties, and peace was restored to the valleys. Although at £14 the B&B was a bit over the usual odds here at Gumma Farm, the breakfast was nothing special. The usual cereal and toast, followed by scrambled eggs and as many sausages as you could eat! When I first sat down to the table, 'mine hostess' asked me how many sausages I would like. I said two would be fine, but she said; "oh no, you want more than that!" It wasn't until I realised that all the usual trimmings would be missing that I agreed with her. I think there were about eight bangers in the pan altogether, and those I didn't eat were neatly packed up for me to eat during the day. I managed a bit more toast and coffee before departing, happy as usual, for Knighton and ultimately Montgomery.
I climbed out of the valley in which Discoed nestles, admiring the fine views to the left of Whitton. I passed a very wind-damaged barn with the remains of a very old cart at the side of it, the wheels of which would have done the front of any Wimpey house proud. I continued on, through fields, over hills and past a monument before dropping steeply towards Knighton. I entered through an archway. The first thing I did was to call at a local shop an buy some bananas to replenish lost energy before seeking out the 'Old School House', home of the helpful Offa's Dyke Association. I bought some very funny postcards, a tee shirt to pose in at the end of the walk, and a badge for my sack. I say ‘when’ I finish the walk, little did I know that by the end of today it would be 'if'‘!
I chatted idly to the centre staff and, when one of them inquired as to why I had a large bunch if bananas (I didn't know you could tell in these shorts), I explained the energy value of them. My explanation was greeted with a wry, knowing smile and the suggestion that I might like to eat another before setting off. After a good draught of water at the centre, I started up the 'nursery slopes' of Panpunton Hill (after, of course, taking pictures of the centre, founders stone, etc.). I paused at frequent intervals to listen to the quaint sound of my calves and lungs screaming for mercy! Having a sack the same weight as the average saloon car didn't help! When I eventually reached the top, I had a sit on the commemorative bench, admired the splendid view through the haze of sweat, and set off........into HELL!!!

Up, down, up, down...and not just hills, we are talking almost vertical faces here!! As one followed another, each one tearing my muscles apart, my mood blackened for the first time on the walk. Of all the walking I have ever done, this was by far the hardest. I realised too late that it was a mistake to tackle this section in one such long day. It was the only time in my life that I would say the reward (views) were outweighed by the effort (supreme). I was only glad I was on my own, as I would not have wanted to worry about a lesser walker, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to go any faster for a better one. At Llanfair hill I still felt a little uplifted by the sights, sounds and smells around me. I tried to jolly myself as climb followed climb. One thing that brightened the day was a lizard I surprised, sunning itself on a stile. It scurried away into the undergrowth as I placed my foot on the structure. Wincing, I climbed to the highest point of the actual Dyke at Llanfair Hill. I took a couple of pictures for posterity and pushed (and shoved, and grunted) on. I am amazed there are any hills left. If I see the words 'steeply up' or 'steeply down' any more in these instructions, I will scream.

AAARRRGGGHHhh!!!!! More hills! And yet more. The Unk Valley was nice though. I looked at it through the tears and thought what a nice place it would be to camp. Shame I wasn't carrying a tent. Mind you, the way I was feeling, the rim of an active volcano would be 'a nice place to camp'. Nutwood showed promise, but was terribly marred by that word 'steeply' again. You can tell what the terrain is like when you notice the local houses have got names like 'The Crows Nest'. A few more ups and downs followed, just to disillusion me completely, before I nearly got lost at the Blue Bell pub. Apparently I turned right instead of going straight on. It's a perfectly normal mistake for any gibbering wreck to make. After being put right by a smashing old man (who I managed to smile at weakly while thinking 'shut up and let me go - I'm tired'), I trudged, and I don't use the word lightly, on.
The B4386 road hove into view. I stared at it. I got down and kissed it. I told it what a lovely piece of road it was and how glad I was to see it. I even tried to give to a biscuit, but it wouldn't eat it! I turned left and started to tick off the half-mile or so towards Montgomery. As I was now off the official route, I had no compunction about sticking my thumb out at the first thing to come along. The first thing was a Range Rover. "Get in. How far are you going?", asked the driver. "All the way to Hell", I felt like saying, but I just said; "Montgomery". He laughed and said; "you can spit at it from here!". I felt like hijacking his Rover, taking him to Knighton, dropping him off and saying; "walk to Montgomery in ten hours, or I torch the motor", but I knew he would cheerfully let it burn after five hours.
We reached Montgomery in no time and I thanked the guy for the lift before going to ring Phil'. He wasn't in so I went to the pub and wrote some postcards, but not before I had demolished two pints of anaesthetic (or 'Double Dragon' as it was known). An angel in the form of Phil' appeared some time later. We went back to his place at Llanfair Caerinion where Jane cooked us all a fabulous meal. I fell asleep with the light on that night.

23rd MAY - MONTGOMERY TO TREFONEN.

Today was a funny sort of day. This morning Phil' was going to drop me off back at the Dyke where I left it the day before, but he missed the turning. As he was on his way to work, and a bit pressed for time, I said I would find my own way from here. That left me with about a mile to walk before I re-joined the Dyke. I duly reached the Dyke and set off to walk what I thought would be twenty easy miles, because I had only got a day sack with me, having left the 'saloon car' back at Phil's. However, the previous day had taken more out of me than I had realised and I found the going quite hard. Added to that, I miscalculated the mileage and instead of walking to my intended target, Llanymynech, I went as far as Trefonen. To cut a long story short, I ended up doing twenty-seven miles. No wonder I was stiff and my feet hurt. Tomorrow I was going to treat myself to a rest day. Anyway, back to the morning. I set off along the left of the Dyke with my legs, socks and boots soon wet with the morning dew. Today was mainly through farmland and on roads. I think my senses had finally become 'flooded' as I was getting blasé about my surroundings. It was all very tame compared to what I had been used to the last few days. There were one or two high spots, but generally speaking I seemed to be walking for walkings sake. The first bit that really perked me up was when I entered Leighton Woods. I turned into the woods by 'The Lodge' and came upon the shell of what looked like a kit car. Parked behind it, resplendent in its British Racing Green livery, was a very mean looking Ford Anglia with discreet Lotus badges on each side but very auspicious fat wheel arches and tyres. I stood in awe for a while before committing it to camera and moving on.
I climbed a track, which led deeper into the wood. I had to negotiate an awful stretch for a while. It was all churned up by heavy plant tracks and was overlaid with very large chunks of stone, which were very difficult to walk over. When I eventually left this track, I went into the heart of Leighton Woods with its reservoirs (Offa's Pool now dry). I emerged from the woods and climbed a road where I saw my first Woodpecker. I watched it for a while before continuing on to Beacon Ring Iron age fort. The well-matured wood, which was growing around it, was planted in 1953 - the year I was born! I passed through another wood to encounter my first other walkers of the day. I must have astounded one when he asked where I had come from that morning and I said "Monmouth". I actually meant to say "Montgomery". He must have thought I was Superman! We exchanged what was in store for each other and went on our ways.
I made my way across the fields and along roads before walking a very pleasant section at the side of the River Severn. More roadwork led to the banks of the Shropshire Union Canal. Lots more good views (and photo's) of Long Mountain and the Cirrig, with its memorial to some General on top. I made a slight detour to the Powis arms which, although due to alterations was a bit of a tip, was well worth a visit as the landlord seems hell bent on pleasing the weary walker. Also he offered good beer and a nice selection of food. I wrote a few more postcards before setting off again.
I met my next North/South walkers soon after. They were a couple, and were backpacking the Dyke. After the usual 'what's ahead' conversation, I continued along the flood banks. The walking here was quite uncomfortable, as it been quite muddy, but the last few days’ weather had baked the mud hard and it made for sore ankles. I presently got close up to the wire anchors of the Long Mountain radio station, which had been intriguing me for a while. These things are huge when you get up to them. The weight of the wire alone must be tremendous. It makes you wonder how they get it all together! When I eventually left the flood banks, I did a bit more stile work over farmland before deciding against the official short cut along the road, for the preferred peace of the Shropshire Union Canal.
I'm not much of a 'canally' person, but I must admit the flat, grassy walk along the towpath past nicely restored locks etc., was very easy on the eye and legs. I made Llanymynech at about half past four. I rang Jane and, although this is where I meant to call it a day, told her I would meet her at Trefonen - a further six miles on. I was feeling quite fatigued by this time as I started yet another climb up Llanymynech hill. I skirted around the old Roman quarry (complete with Roman spoil heaps) and followed the very well marked path through the undergrowth. I managed to avoid the nettles but got quite a mauling from the gorse bushes close to the path. I hugged the edge of the golf course, watching the antics of predominantly women golfers. I had a couple of bananas and a drink before following the path, which now descended. I knew what was to follow, because as an old walkers adage goes;

' What goes down, MUST come back up'!!’

I walked towards, before turning left at, Nantmawr. I began the last climb of the day up Moelydd Hill, and to it's commemorative flagpole. A good photo' opportunity presents itself here, and I didn't waste it. I started down again, but the path is virtually non-existent here, and I went awry. Luckily, a passing car stopped and the occupant put me back on track. When I reached Trefonen, I slumped on a wall until the Angel Jane appeared unto me!

May 24th - Rest Day!

Today I was very stiff and tired. I decided a rest day would be a good idea. Also, it fitted in with Phil's plans, so I didn't need my arm twisting! I went into Welshpool for a look around. The narrow gauge railway that I was looking forward to taking was unfortunately closed until 'tomorrow', so I fell back on the trusty thumb. The first thing to come along was a 'roller'. Needless to say, it didn't stop, but I had a laugh at the look of disbelief I got from the occupants that someone should actually dare to hitch at a Rolls! A Mini Metro was the next vehicle to appear, and stopped at my side. The guy was all dressed in black, and told me he was going to a funeral. Still - any port in a storm. I used to like Mini Metro's - that was until I realised my sack weighed about the same as one!!
I had a good look around Welshpool and the impressive Powis Castle. I didn't go inside, as the entrance fee was prohibitive to say the least. I pottered about, taking the odd photo or three, before wending my way to the bus stop (which, conversely, was at the railway station), where I observed the second coming of the Angel Jane in her mates car. They spotted me and picked me up.

May 25th - TREFONEN TO LLANGOLLEN.

Back to perfection! Last night we had an absolutely scrumptious home made pizza with all the fancy sauces for tea. Later we all went down to the local for a drink. I managed to win a couple of quid at pool and, when we got home, Phil' and I sat up 'till late listening to some classic heavy rock music and chatting. I managed to give Jane a wave as she went to work at 5:20am this morning, but went back to sleep for a couple of hours. It really is amazing what a little rest can do. I am transformed today and I feel so good I would gladly tackle the Knighton onwards section again! The forecast for the next few days is hot, hot, hot! Phil' dropped me back at Trefonen and, whilst I was getting my bearings, up walked Steve and Steve (?), the two lads Phil' and I had walked a bit of the way with on Hatterall Ridge. We went on together, swapping tales as you do, but the main topic was the blister on Steve's leg. It was the size of a Ping-Pong ball, no joking. Apparently he had not exposed his legs to the sun since the days when he used to wear short trousers. I expressed my amazement at its size, but he then informed me the 'big one' had burst in the night!! On closer inspection, I could see the mark of 'the big one'. I took the inevitable photo' and we pushed on.

I had expected it to get warm but contrarily it was quite cool, with a stiff breeze blowing. Once or twice I even considered putting on my fleece, but didn't bother. There were even one or two spits of rain to accompany the dark clouds, but no real problem arose. The Dyke kept us company as we approached Oswestry Racecourse, which wasn't used anymore, and a couple of topographic stones pointed out the mountains we could see. Cader Idris was one. One of the Steve's was in familiar territory now, as his in-laws lived nearby so, instead of checking the map, I just followed him.
We left the old racecourse and climbed Bakers Hill. The rest I had had proved invaluable as I now climbed with ease, even though I was again wearing my big sack. I was looking around admiring views and taking pictures again. However, I could see the signs of fatigue in Brummie Steve, as his head went down and the conversation slipped away. They could do with a rest day, I thought, but they were planning to push for Prestatyn for Monday. I had learnt my lesson. Setting too high a goal leads to dogged single-mindedness and you lose the enjoyment of the walk.
We were following the Dyke again, sometimes walking right on the top of sections of it. We met, and walked along, the English/Welsh border. We also passed the 130 mile point and started the climb to Mount Wood from Craignant. Still following the border, we descended through Nanteris Wood to a muddy track., admiring a really old looking timber chapel with the bell still in use. We took the official route past Crogen Wladys and caught our first glimpse of Chirk Castle. We also passed by the most thickly populated Bluebell wood I have ever seen. I detoured to it and took a couple of photo's (surprise). The field I crossed to get to the wood was absolutely full of Rabbits. I have never seen so many in one place....it must be something in the water!
When I re-joined them, the two Steve's were eating Mars bars, so I had a snack myself. One of them was bemoaning the fact that there didn't seem to be a pub on the route today. However, ever the optimist, I said canals always meant pubs, and we were going to walk along one soon! The next part of the walk was tremendous. When I think of the times I have driven, or been driven by my father, through this area and never suspected the delights it held, I could spit! So much beauty stuffed into one section. Surrounded by mountains and rolling hills, we joined the Llangollen canal. The flat walking suited the Steve's. Ducks, barges and various other craft went slowly about their business as we padded along the towpath. We got some nice shots of the viaduct and, as we passed a lift bridge, I SAW IT!!. The 'Aqueduct Inn' was perched majestically above the canal, waiting to entice the passing unwary. 'Oh, yea of little faith', I thought, as we (noticeably quicker) climbed the steps to enter it's welcoming door. We were treated to fine ale, a fine welcome, and good food by the new landlord. We devoured burger, egg and chips, complete with buttered roll for £1:50p. Incredible value, I think you'll agree. The chips had a lovely nutty flavour and rated as some of the best I've ever had (or was it just 'cause I was very hungry?). We departed, our thirst slaked and our bellies full, and I vowed to write to the O.D.,A and recommend them to include the Aqueduct Inn in their publications.
We crossed the extremely impressive Pontcysyllte aqueduct, where a head for heights is needed, before the final climb through a wood full of beautiful bird song. We parted company, them for their tent and me for the luxury of a B&B, with a vow to meet later for a curry in Llangollen. I walked contentedly along the quiet road in search of 'Cefn-Y-Fedw', which was the name of the house I was staying in. There were very few places around, so I didn't think it would be hard to find. Apparently the name means 'behind the Birch' and that's where it must have been because I was struggling to find it! I had almost passed it by when a Volvo with personal plates pulled up at the side of me. "You must be my hiker for the night", issued a voice from within. Well, standing there in my shorts, boots and rucksack, she'd got me bang to rights! The lady in question was Shelagh Roberts, my 'Mum for tonight', and we strolled up the long driveway to the house. I say house, I was agog! The place is like a palace. It is a very old farmhouse that has been really well restored. What with the Peacock strutting round the garden and little touches like the original Oak beams everywhere, it had a real charm to it. I was given a really good welcome, the fire was lit and tea and cakes proffered. I also met a Canadian couple, would you believe they were called Sheila and Steve! They were on their honeymoon and I secretly hoped I didn't get the bedroom next door! They very kindly offered to give me a lift into Llangollen, as they were going there for a meal themselves. I gratefully accepted and went to get ready. As we were leaving, Shelagh said; "come back when you like, the door will be open". I think I'm gonna like it here. Another perfect end to another perfect day.

26th May - Llangollen to Llandegla.

I met up with the two Steve's as arranged, and we decided to have a beer before going to a restaurant. As we walked into the pub, we realised that there seemed to be about six girls to every bloke! We sat at a table with our eyes on stalks, wondering if crumpled trousers and creased tee shirts were 'de rigueur'. It was as if there was a party somewhere and everyone knew except us! They were all dressed up to the nines, and ninety per cent of them were real stunners. We sat dribbling and drooling for about twenty minutes, before deciding to go. We watched about twenty more Miss Worlds come into the pub (it must be something in the water) before reluctantly rising and leaving. I can't say the Steve's were very enthusiastic, but we left anyway. We had a really good 'blow-out', tasting some of each others food and swapping Naan bread. At £10:00 per head, including a couple of drinks, it wasn't bad value. We did a couple of pubs afterwards and I got talking to a guy at the bar who was down here doing a bit of hang gliding. I told him we were walking the Dyke, and he told me he was planning to do it himself, taking just five days. I'd love to see him on the section between Knighton and Montgomery! We parted company at about 10:00pm, as I had arranged a lift back with Steve and Sheila. It did seem a bit early, but you know what these newlyweds are like - yawning unconvincingly as soon as the reception is over! They duly arrived and we made our way back to Cefn-Y-Fedw, where we chatted for a while before going to bed. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow, and had a peaceful night until about 4:00am when the Peacock started to call. It was more strident than any alarm clock, and I dozed for the next few hours until 7:30, when I got up, surprisingly fresh. I went downstairs to check the forecast for the day, and Shelagh came down and asked if I was still interested in seeing some stone circles she had told me about on their land. I was, very much so, so after breakfast she got the Land Rover out and took me, Steve and Sheila up to them. We had one hell of a guided tour, with Steve vying with me for the title of 'most prolific photographer'. Shelagh told us of the history of the 600-acre 'site of special scientific interest' (designated by the Countryside Commission), and pointed out all the high spots, like the chieftains burial chamber. After the tour, I gave Shelagh my heartfelt thanks for a great B&B, and the rest of her hospitality, pulled on my boots and set off to Llandegla.
I had been shown 'Dinas Bran', a castle-like building atop a hill, many times by my father as we passed through Llangollen on our way to Anglesey. In my walking instructions, it pointed out that a detour left went straight up to it, and was well worth a visit. I decided that, despite my late start, I had time enough and so pointed myself in that direction. To my surprise, I met up again with Steve and Sheila, who had had the same idea, so we spent a half hour together with Sheila fretting as Steve and I posed for photo's on the edge of a pretty dramatic drop.

 I got some of the best pictures so far, with Llangollen as a backdrop along with the railway and the Eglwyseg Rocks. I left Dinas Bran, which is actually an old abbey, and re-joined the Dyke path. The next part of the walk is called 'the precipice walk’, and not without reason as the scree path runs alongside the Eglwyseg Limestone crags, and is quite exposed. There is a very good example of an old Lime kiln that can be inspected. I have seen many similar structures in Derbyshire. They were used to produce Lime to enrich the soil of poor fields.
The morning mist, which had spoilt views earlier on, was now clearing and I was once again full of the joys of Wales. The crags towered above on my right, and the verdant green vale of Llangollen twisted away to my left. I had to be a little vigilant here, as the scree path could be a little hairy in places. I was just pleased it wasn't damp underfoot.
The path now snaked away to the left, leaving the mighty crags to drop into a wood. Another pleasant woodland walk followed as I approached a place called 'Worlds End'.
I had seen, and been intrigued by, this place name on the map. I was full of expectation as I approached it. I got the camera ready for another onslaught but I needn't have bothered. The place was probably pretty once, but now it was just a car park / tip!
I was horrified and disgusted by the state of the place. There was more litter in this one location than I had seen on the rest of the walk. I put my head down and pressed on.
A short crossing of a peat moor, very reminiscent of the peat moors of Derbyshire followed, during which I encountered some trail motor bikers ripping up the peat (despite notices informing them they shouldn't be there). After exchanging pleasantries with a walker I met heading for the aqueduct, I left the moor. I was looking forward to the delightfully named 'Tegla Cottage', which was to be my B&B for the night. Chocolate box pictures with roses round the door and a little wooden sign with 'Tegla Cottage' etched into it went through my mind. The reality was less impressive. I was disappointed by its run down appearance. A large lady in a drab, dark green dress answered the door. She smiled at me, but my gaze dropped to her chest, where there was the most enormous greasy stain on the end of each voluminous breast! Had she leant over something and unwittingly 'dipped’, or was this where she wiped her hands when cooking? I'll never know. She invited me in and I, mesmerised, obeyed.
I was offered the option of going straight up to my room, or having a cup of tea. I took the tea option, and was ushered into the 'visitors room'. I sat there in the most depressing room with its World War Two wallpaper and furnishings. I watched and listened to a large Bluebottle that could have buzzed for England flying round the room. If I'd been a fly, and this was my patch, I'd do a Kamikaze into the nearest spiders’ web! In came the lady carrying a tray, on which there was a cup of tea and some cake. I went to sugar my tea, and saw what looked like Blackcurrant jam on the spoon. I decided against sugar. I picked up a piece of the buttered cake.....and, horror of horrors, it was covered in hair as though it had been dropped!! She slipped back to the kitchen and I gulped down the tea and secreted the cake in my rucksack. I KNEW I had to get out of this place, but how? My head spun, and I could see the headlines....'WALKER FOUND POISONED ON OFFAS' DYKE'! The lady's voice broke into my nightmare. "Would you like a full fried breakfast?" I answered weakly, "yes". Pictures of hairy eggs swam before my eyes. She then shouted to ask how far I was going tomorrow. When I answered "Bodfari", she said; "that's the spirit, sixteen and a half hard miles". Suddenly, I could see light at the end of the tunnel. I fumbled with my route notes and agreed profusely with her - it did look quite hard, and would she mind awfully if I tried to press on a little further? Yes, I knew I was booked in, but I really did fear for my ability, and I would gladly pay for the tea and cake! I gave her my best 'lost lad' look, and I must have appealed to her Mother instinct, as she agreed with me. I gave her £1 for the tea etc., and disappeared into the sunset faster than Roy Rodgers!!
I had no idea where I was going to stay, and had decided to push on but, just as I was about to pass a neat little house, I recognised it's name from the 'where to stay' guide, and decided to call in. This place is more like it, and I'm staying here tonight. Food poisoning averted, I'm going to the pub for a meal.


May 27th - Llandegla to Bodfari.

I enjoyed a meal from the very varied menu at 'The Crown Inn' in Llandegla. I also met and chatted with a bloke who had moved into the area quite a while ago, and obviously loved the district as he told me lots about the place - local history, places of interest etc. In the Crown I fell for the smoked Mackerel, with a complimentary glass of Laphroig whiskey. A very good Chicken curry followed before I made my way back to 'Benarty'. The daughter Dawn and her boyfriend were watching 'Ghost' on the video. They invited me to stay and watch it , so I did. Nobody cried at the end, but I think it was close! I went to a comfortable bed and Glyn, the son, cooked me a very good breakfast before I set off to conquer the first of the Clywyddians.
I tackled the first hill fairly easily. Other ‘Dykers’ had warned me that this was a hard section, so I was harbouring a little trepidation at what was to come. I was pleased to see the early morning mist burning off and, full of high spirits, I pressed on. I climbed the first 'proper' Clywyddian hill, Moel Y Geli, admiring an inominate lake on my right. ‘Moel’ prefixes most of the hills in this range. If these are 'Moel' hills, I dread to think what the mountains are like!! I climbed one or two more 'Moel' hills, meeting one or two walkers, and headed deeper into the hills.
The hills were getting a little more serious now, but nothing a bit of sweat and grunt couldn't handle. As I rounded a corner, I saw a monster in the form of Foel Fenlli hill and fort.

This was a very severe gradient, but I still felt powerful and, although there was an alternative to skirt round the western contour, I pushed on and up to the top, there to be rewarded with fine vistas in all directions. Although I could see further the more the day wore on, Snowdonia was still enveloped in come/go cloud, which often threatened me with its presence. I wound down the track towards Bwlch-Pen-Barras, noticing that the nearer I got, the more litter there was. I crossed the car park and started up the twisting track to the Jubilee Tower on Moel Famau. This was real Dovedale country (i.e. accessible to all) and the slopes were crowded with people (and, as usual, filthy with litter). When I reached the tower I queued up to examine the topographic plate. The tower was built to commemorate the accession of George III.
By now I could see Tryfan, over in Snowdonia and, although I couldn't make it out for definite, I was convinced I could also see Pen-Yr-Ole-Wen, as the Carnydd range was also in view.
I continued along the ridge, basking in the strong sunshine and now down to just shorts and boots, chatting to various walkers as we crossed paths.

 I was beginning to realise that the people I had spoken to doing the walk in the opposite direction, who had described this section as 'difficult', were going to be unpleasantly surprised by the new definition of ‘hard’ when they reached the section known as the roller coaster!

 Yes, it was tough, but now that it's done, I don't feel at all bushed and I feel I could easily walk back along it tomorrow. I think I skirted around Moel Arthur but I'm not sure. There was a section where the erosion was very bad and so I followed instructions of the route marked around it. I dropped down, and then climbed back up again to (yawn) yet another hill fort (only joking!). This place must be a historians dream, as there are so many hill forts in such a short distance. I saw a quite sensible looking chap wearing, of all things, a personal stereo and singing away obliviously to himself. I found it hard to believe that anyone could ignore the free symphony of bird song that was going on all around. I reached and admired Pencloddiau hill fort and set off down its slopes when...I SAW IT!!! That glinting expanse that I suddenly noticed on the horizon in front of me.....it was THE SEA! My heart raced and I just stood there smiling. The end was in sight. Achievement and disappointment vied with each other inside me. I just know it will come as an anti-climax, and I know I'll be sad, but even so my pace quickened. After a short while I sat down and wrote a few postcards, bathed in the strong afternoon sun. It was almost as if I was deliberately holding back the ultimate moment, the way you save that last bit of succulent meat on your dinner until last.
I dropped into Bodfari outskirts and sought the directions of yet another friendly local as to the whereabouts of 'Bryn Clywd', my nights stop. Although it was after four o'clock, I could smell he had just come from the pub, but he seemed O.K. - and his directions were spot on. Later on, I was hoping to sample the fare in the local pub myself, as it was quite talked about by 'Dykers' I had met. Their extensive menu was famous, and I was keen to try it. This B&B looks nice and the people are easy going too. They have got a border Collie (my favourite) and a pet lamb round the back of the house that comes when you call it. I could just fancy a nice leg of lamb!

28th May - Bodfari to Prestatyn.

Last night I walked down to the legendary Downing Arms. I can now vouch for it's acclaim as I had one of the best meals so far, no mean boast as I have had some good tucker along the way. I also investigated the other hostelry in the village (just so I couldn't be accused of being partisan, you understand), which is called the Dinorbin Arms. I tried a few of the 124 or so whiskeys on offer, and bought a tee shirt to remind me of the place (just in case the whiskey clouded my recollection), before making my way back to Bryn Clwyd for the night. I attempted to make small talk and watch a program on T.V. about the Monsoons in India, but torpor was slowly overtaking me so I went to bed.
The next morning I was up first, so sat reading the paper until Mrs. Parry came downstairs. She did the Dykes’ reputation for good food no harm at all with her breakfast. I thanked her and pulled on my boots for the last time this trip and left Bodfari - by the uphill route, of course!
The chap who wrote this walk must have something against breakfast, as he always seems to be trying to rid you of it with a good hill immediately after you've had it! The climb out of Bodfari to the next Moel hill, Moel Y Gaer, is very steep. In fact, the track up to the start of the climb is very steep! I plodded up, passing to the right of Pant Glas ruin. I had woken this morning in a brilliant mood, but for some reason I suddenly started to feel low. Also, after a steep climb I developed a headache - not like me at all. After walking with it for a while, I capitulated and took a couple of paracetamol.
I took another climb in my stride before reaching a major road works across the path. I followed the 'diversion' signs and walked up a pleasant, though steep, lane. The instructions dictated I turn right halfway up it. I groaned. The footpath was three times as steep as the lane. Resigned, I plodded on...slowly!
I passed Coed Cym, Marian Cym and up and over Marian Frith. Each time I topped a rise, I could see the sea getting ever closer. My mood had lifted tremendously but the pace was still slow due to the sapping terrain. I passed Marian Mill, admiring what was left of the mill and wheel, and stopped to look at a pond crammed with Trout. I would have loved to drop them a line!!
I pulled my protesting body up the final 2000-foot climb and was rewarded with the entire panorama of Prestatyn. The path wound round a quarry, gave one last assault on my legs, before dropping down, long and slow, to the outskirts of the town. The pace now quickened to match my pulse, and I was grinning inanely as I strode along. I was almost hurrying now as I strode purposely through the streets, cursing inwardly at the day-trippers and holidaymakers getting in my way.

 I got within the final couple of hundred yards, and made a point of looking for the Monument to Offa, King of Mercia, but I couldn't find it. I asked a passing bloke if he knew where it was, but he wasn't a local. I next asked a young girl....BINGO!

 I managed to talk her into walking the final bit over the sea wall defences with me, and she took the final photo's of me walking up to, and dipping my feet in, the sea. She did well. I popped the cork on the Champagne I had carried all the way and we shared it in triumph. I took Tracy's photo', and we went to hunt the elusive Monument. There was some building work going on, and we discovered the builders had laid it face down on the ground to stop the brass plaque being stolen from the front of it.

 Tracy took a photo' of me looking bemused at it and, after thanking her, I went into town to have the last roll of film developed.

29th May - Epilogue.

So, that's it. Been there, done that. Had lots of good times, a couple of dark spells but, on the whole, I've really enjoyed it. I've been dead lucky with the weather (brown as a berry), met some smashing people, had great places to stay but, most of all, fantastic views. I could stand up now, turn round, and walk right back to Chepstow



Les Singleton.


May 29th 1991.






ADDENDUM.

On reading back my diary, I do seem to whinge a lot about the hills. Please bear in mind that this was my first long distance walk, and I have since learned that a bottle of Champagne, jeans, shoes to wear in the evening and thirteen tee shirts is not the best way to walk up big hills! These days my pack is trimmed with a lot more thought to my poor body! Anyone thinking of attempting this or any other walk should read the epilogue. It says it all.