My Travels In Wales

I’m back in London now having just returned from Wales. Here is one adventure that I stumbled into while I was staying in a town called Brecon:

Wednesday was my hiking day in Brecon. I had arrived the night before and setup camp about a mile out of town. I picked up a guide book at the camp store that had routes for ten local area walks and started to plan my day. I had done a lot of hill climbing with my bike over the past few days, so I though I’d stay "one the level" and try a six mile hike along the canal. As I walked along the route, I decided that I really did like hills and that this low elevation stuff was killing me. There were so many people along the path and I could hear a lot of traffic on the roads. After I completed the six mile loop I knew that I had to get a "hill fix."

All the locals had suggested that I take a bus up to Storey Arms and walk back into town. The hike was something like eight miles and mostly downhill. However, what caught my eye was a ten mile hike to the highest point in South Wales that was ten miles long. I had to go for the gold and bragging rights. The guide book said that I should ask the bus driver to drop me off after Storey Arms at an unmarked stop called Pont ar Daf. As I got onto the bus, I mentioned this to the driver and he gave me a "yeah, yeah, Storey Arms." I paid my fare and sat down. As the bus began to roll, I looked at my guide book again…It definitely said that I should be dropped off AFTER Storey Arms. The bus wended its way, slowly, up the hill and finally arrived at Storey Arms and the bus driver indicated that I should get off there. I whipped out my book and showed him what it said, but he insisted that if I wanted to walk back into Brecon that I get off here. Well, now I had the attention of the whole bus and people were looking on in amusement, probably thinking "those crazy Americans." I told him that I didn’t want to just walk back into Brecon, but climb to the top of Pen y Fan "Oh yeah," he said, "yeah, I know where THAT stop is." Well, now we are getting somewhere I thought, so I sat down and the bus moved on.

About a minute later the bus driver pulls to the side of the road and says, "Yeah, here you go…Pen y Fan." I looked out the window, but all I could see was a field. What could I do? I had to get off or risk looking a "nutter." As I got off the bus I looked at the other passengers who had incredulous looks on there faces that were seemingly saying "He’s getting off the bus in the middle of a field." I trudged along the shoulder and climbed down into the ditch. There was nothing here, no trail, no signs, I was dropped off at the side of the road. I climbed back up to the shoulder and walked along, trying to figure out what I was going to do. I heard a whirring behind me and turned around just in time to jump out of the way of a sheep herder on a Honda four wheeler. It was one of those moments where you can’t decide if you should be happy that you’re unharmed or pissed off at the driver. I decided that since I didn’t know where I was going, I shouldn’t make any enemies until I do. I walked down to where the sheep herder had stopped and asked him where the trail to Pen y Fan was. He pointed upwards and spoke in a broken Welsh/English accent—in other words, I have no idea what he said. I did see people walking in the distance and decided to head towards them.

The field was wet and boggy. I stomped through the muck and at one point lost half of my height as I fell into a soup of mud and grass. There I stood, waist deep while the sheep herder watched from behind and the trail people watched from above. I continued to plow my way through, now with wet boots, until I reached the trail. The ascent was an hour and a half, but I raced up to the top in less time. I determined to pass everyone that had seen me fall into the bog. I reached the top and the wind started to kick up. Now the question became, which peak was the tallest one. I scrabbled up to the top on one peak and asked a fellow sitting up top, he said he didn’t know but that the "other peak" was "that away." I found another person and he didn’t know either, but he said his father in-law, who was a local, would know. At we waited for "local expert" the chap managed to get in a quip about Americans and their cell phones, "I passed an American a few minutes ago and she was just chatting away. Can’t you people give those things up?" I just chuckled and agreed with him. Local expert showed up and pointed towards the peak in front of us. I set our towards the peak and it immediately became enshrouded in clouds. I wandered around the top for a bit, trying to figure out which way was south. I couldn’t see anything and so I couldn’t get my bearings. I decided to wait for local expert and ask him where the third peak, an subsequently south, was. When he arrived, local expert got a rather quizzical look on his face and said "Third peak?" My heart sank. I’d been putting faith in a man that didn’t even know about the third peak. Local expert thought that the third peak might be off to the left, so I headed off in that direction. As soon as I climbed below cloud level, I could clearly see that there was no peak anywhere on that side. I scrabbled back up to the top and walked, to there other side. I stared down and soon I saw another peak. I was fairly sure that I was headed in the right direction, but I have to admit that I was a little nervous. I decided to go for it and continued on down the path…I wouldn’t see another soul for several hours.

The trail joined what is called "the Roman road" that may or may not have been built or used by the Romans. The guide said to bear left, even though right seemed like right direction. After a few minutes I was at the start of a valley. I took a few pictures, but I’m afraid that they won’t to justice to what I saw. It was almost like being in an IMAX movie, where the scenery totally surrounds you. Walls of green were off to both my left and right. Hundreds of sheep grazed on the steep banks. I sat down and it was almost like I wasn’t there—like I was just observing. What a grand moment in life.

I headed onwards, still not sure if I was headed in the right direction. After a few more miles, I could see a few more visual checkpoints from the book and I knew I was headed home. In the background I heard a helicopter and I turned around to see an RAF crew practicing where I had just been an hour ago. They were shooting off smoke flares and hovering low to the ground, generally just making a lot of noise.

I returned to Brecon a very tired man. I was dirty, sweaty, one my socks was crimson from a nail that nicked a nearby toe, and ready for beer. I dropped into a pub and the locals seemed impressed with my day’s journey. There was even a group of Dutch folks that moved over to join into the conversation.

After dinner I trudged the mile back to my tent only find that a group of twenty German bikers had setup camp right across from me. Actually, they were fairly quiet and it turned out to not be a problem.

What a day that was! Oh yeah, I managed to lose my watch, too.