Aberdyfi to Machynlleth-fancy seeing you here!

I woke the next morning rested but reluctant. I was rested because if you walk 12 miles you tend to be so exhausted that by bed time you don't fall asleep so much as lapse into a coma. I was reluctant for two reasons. Firstly, I had walked at least 10 miles a day over the last 6 days, I was aching all over and had blisters on my blisters. I felt as if someone had taken a baseball bat to me in the night. Secondly, it was the last day of the holiday and in spite of all the pain I didn't really want to stop. I was caught up in the traditional Schrodinger's Uncertainty Principle of Walking; I simultaneously wanted never to walk again but also never wanted to stop walking. It is a very odd feeling that most walkers will recognise. I lay in bed, looking at the walls of my tiny room, putting off the terrible moment that I had to start moving (because this was going to hurt quite a lot) until I heard Rhian pottering about her magnificent boudoir. The cat now out of the bag and alive, I knew I had no choice but to get up and walk the last day of the holiday, from Aberdyfi to Machynlleth. (Good use of the extended metaphor, there, Helen. You're getting better at this writing thing...) (I will get an A* in English yet...)

Rhian had made the coffee and was poaching some eggs. The guidebook was on the table, face down, open, she was obviously way ahead of me this morning.

'Sleep OK?'

'Yeh, like the dead. I was so tired even the pain in my legs couldn't keep me awake.'

'Well, today shouldn't be too bad. It's 12 miles, but mostly on the flat once we get up on the ridge.'

'Hmm, not sure I like that "mostly"'.

Rhian went back to the eggs and I leafed through the pages that covered the section we were going to walk that day.

'Shit! Have you read this bit? "The path climbs through a an area of saplings - a cruelly steep ascent at this stage of what has already been a fairly tough day" '

Rhian had her back to me and was pointedly concentrating on the eggs.

'I'm sure it will be fine.'

'But it says 'Cruelly steep' and it has a dash before it and everything!' My legs were throbbing now, joining my brain in a fit of panic.

'Eat your eggs, it will be fine'

Following our inability to find a train station the previous day we had decided to play it safe and drive to Machynlleth and all the way the thought of that cruelly steep section after a fairly tough day ran through my head. Whatever Rhian had said over breakfast I felt that this was going to be a hard last day.

The walk began in Aberdyfi. The town had started as a commercial port, exporting local slate and bark. The eastern end of the town had once been home to seven shipyards but it was hard to imagine that as we walked past the shops and holiday accommodation that now make up the town's main source of employment. Aberdyfi is also well know as being the site of the kingdom of Cantre'r Gwaelod, which sank into the sea. Local legend says that if you walk on the beach at Aberdyfi you can hear the submerged church bell. We headed up a hill and past the Literary Institute.

The Institute is a fine old building with an interesting history. It was built as a seaside bath house but was taken over by the Plymouth Brethren who used the pool on the lower floor for baptisms. Art and science classes started in 1882 to educate the locals and it became a reading room, eventually acquiring over 800 books. It developed as a place of entertainment as well as education when they got a billiards table in spite of the objections of the local Rector who threatened to resign as vice president if they bought one. It has a history of being involved in charitable work, hosting Belgian refugees in the first world war and educating evacuated children in the second. The Literary Institute one of the last reading rooms in Britain and a lovely place.

The tide was in as we set off, huffing and puffing as we climbed some steps up and out of the town. The path took us up a hill strewn with gorse bushes and continued to rise until we passed some farm buildings. It was hard graft and I was very happy when the climb eased and we saw Happy Valley falling away to our left as we walked along the path. It was picture book perfect, lush with green rolling hills in the sunshine The path at this point was a farm track and the walking was easy and rewarding.

'I don't know why the book said the walk was going to be tough , Rhi, this hasn't been too bad.'

'That first climb was tough but we were fine, just took our time over it'.

'True. It's not as if we are rushing to meet a train or someone at the other end is it?'

' Not today, thankfully! Nope, we are free to take as long as we like' . She was quite right, it is one of the great joys of the walk. All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other with no other demands on your time.

Eventually the path dropped to the other side of the ridge top and we were given our first sight of the Dyfi estuary since we had left the town. Because we had needed to take frequent breaks as we climbed up onto the ridge the tide had turned and what we saw was just astonishing. On the far side you can see the hills behind the Ynys- Hir nature reserve, a saltmarsh and wetland area that is an RSPB site. We were hoping to walk that section this holiday but time and distance had conspired against us and we would not walk that section for over a year. In front of the green space was the estuary itself. The tide being out the river, like us, was taking its time getting to its final destination. Water had pooled into silver curlicues that were reflecting the gun metal grey of the clouds that had built up as we had flogged up the hill. We had seen so many beautiful places this holiday but this was just breath-taking. I kept asking myself the same question, why had no one ever told me how stunning this part of Wales was? This section is very well named, The Panorama Walk.

We walked on and eventually sat down beside the wall that we were following for the last outing of Mrs Oram's cups. I don't think that they had a better site, although the bridge at Barmouth might have run it a close second. We enjoyed the break, and the Snickers hit the spot (other chocolate bars are available) with an astonishing view.

We got back up, packed away the tea cups one last time, and got back to the path. It soon became very muddy, with standing pools of water and thick black mud. Rhian went on ahead, probing the ground with her poles and I attempted to put my feet in her squelchy foot prints. This wasn't simple, since she has longer legs than me and is somewhat more confident. I wobbled along and ended up with a boot-ful of smelly mud.

The next point on the path was the Arthur's Horse stone. Folk tales say that this is where King Arthur killed the monster Avanc which lived in Llyn Barfog, a lake on the top of this ridgeway. The horse was called Llamrei and dug her hooves into the ground when she pulled the monster out of the water. The stone has a large horses' hoof shape in it, if you squint your eyes and look hopefully, but in reality it is probably a Neolithic marker. We walked on, and I was hoping to see the Llyn but the hills were in the way and I was too tired to clamber up the hill.

The path led us downwards at this point and proved to be quite rocky, muddy and consequently slippery. We inched our way down (thank goodness for walking poles!) and were relieved to get past this bit of terrain. Although it was a gloomy day, it was very warm and we we puffing and blowing somewhat, when emerging from some trees farther ahead, we saw two young women striding towards us in a way that made us distinctly envious of their youth and evident fitness. We greeted one another and stopped to exchange information about the path to come. The young woman with pigtails and a tee-shirt with the logo shown below told us that she was walking the whole of the Wales Coastal Path, non-stop, to raise money for this very worthy organisation. We were suitably impressed. She was accompanied by a friend who would walk with her for a week or so, and then she would be joined by other friends and volunteers when they were able to. They were a delightful pair, and her enthusiasm, love for bees and youthful energy were admirable. We wished them a cheery farewell and continued downhill. (It was a lovely exchange and she gave us some information on the section from Machynlleth to Borth, which she had walked the previous day and we were hoping to finish later in the year. In exchange we told them about the mud along the top.)

Not long after seeing the bee girl and her friend, and having passed through the Plas Talgarth holiday resort, the path took us down to the A493. It was strange to see a road after hours of stunning countryside. We didn't spend much time on the road but dropped down into a field where we managed to completely mess up where we should have been walking. We kept coming up against small rivers rather than the foot bridge we were promised in the guide book. Eventually we saw the bridge across another boggy field and we back tracked, and I got another boot-ful of mud. The other foot this time so at least I had balanced mud and equal squelching.

The village of Pennal was next and we were amused to see that it had two bus shelters, facing each other across a lane, so we had one each to sit in as we ate our lunch and I redressed my feet. The mud and water had made the blister plasters move and I needed to replace them.

'I'm still worried about the next section Rhi, it looks as if its going to be a bit of a slog.'

'And I'm sure it will be fine. Flapjack?'

I got to my feet, limbs aching and groaned. I half staggered across and took the proffered flapjack. If I was this bad crossing a road, how on earth was I going to manage the next section with the 'cruelly steep ascent'?

We kept checking the guide book as we were quite worried about getting lost - there were lots of paths leading off our route and we were not always convinced we were on the right one. Finding the blaze for the WCP was a relief. We reached a farmhouse and veered right, gently uphill again as the book told us. We knew that at some point, up ahead, was the "cruelly steep ascent". Trepidacious was how I was feeling. Helen was the same. We were quite tired by this point. It was sweltering. The road went on and on and still no sign of the dreaded climb. The book told us it was 3.2 kilometres to this point, just after a junction with a path coming down from our right. Where was this path for goodness' sake? When would we see the sign? I was feeling anxious and walked slightly ahead (partly to escape Helen's rendition of "Keep right on to the end of the road" or whatever song she was yodelling to keep her spirits up and to march along to - bless her) (Its a Long Way to Tipperary) and finally, finally, there was a path coming down from the right, and a little further on, the WCP blaze pointing straight up the steeply wooded hillside. I wanted to sit down but there was nowhere to sit. I was worried. Never had the guide book described any part of the Wales Coastal Path in such baleful terms. We looked at each other.

This is the section that seemed to go on for ever. It was hot and the trees blocked any breath of cooling wind. Rhian was a long way ahead of me, avoiding the singing. I was terrified that we had missed the turning and keep checking the map that didn't give that much information.

"You ready for the next section then ,Bracey?"

"Not really - but what choice do we have?"

We took a drink, wiped the sweat off our hands, gripped those walking poles for dear life, and began the climb. The path was narrow and stony, with the surrounding saplings and bushes needing pushing back. Helen was in front. She did her mountain goat impression while I wheezed along behind. Then suddenly we were above the tree line and the path flattened out towards a stile. We looked at each other, astonished! The word "gruelling" had been used in the guide book, the ascent "cruelly steep". It wasn't anything like as tough as we were expecting! We crowed with relieved laughter. This was nothing in comparison to the Stairs of Cirith Ungol on the Ceredigion section! Nothing in comparison to some of those almost vertical ascents on the Pembrokeshire section! While we were admittedly hot and sweaty, and needed a little rest, we were fine and ready to continue. You might accuse us of being a little smug and self satisfied, I suppose. But actually, it made us realise that whatever the challenges of the path, we could overcome most of them with a bit of perseverance, swearing colourfully and stopping for breath. And the views were just fabulous! (What she says. It was a wonderful moment. I felt at that stage that we were invulnerable and nothing could top that moment.)

The fabulous view

Climbing the stile, we could see that our path led us downhill across a field towards the River Dyfi and the market town of Machynlleth. We were excited because the road beyond led us past Bron yr Aur, the hideaway where Led Zeppelin famously recorded Stairway to Heaven. I am better on the downhills than Helen so I cantered down the field, with the voice of Robert Plant in my head

"There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold

And she's buying a stairway to heaven..."

I started to search in the side of the path. 'Not here, sod it!'

'What's the matter, what have you lost?'

'ITS NOT HERE!'

'WHAT?'

'There is no bustle in this hedgerow!'

This earned me a significant amount of side eye. Eventually she said, 'He might have meant a noise, you know, rather than clothing'. This level of informed pedantry (Moi? Pedantic? As if!) after 12 miles was impressive and we laughed, following the path down hill.

The path was now a dirt track, snaking down the hill with a significant drop to our right. Coming towards us was a small car, driven by a man with a women in the front seat. Both were wearing a rictus of terror on their faces. (I was terribly tempted to giggle) They stopped the car and wound down the window.

'Is Bron-Y-Aur near here?' the man asked. From his accent he was American

'Yes' said Rhian, "but its about half a mile up this path and you can't get to the house itself, that bit of the road is private.'

'But we have come this far we may as well get as close as we can' said the passenger. The man didn't look convinced but wound the window back and managed a noisy hill start, continuing up the path, driving almost as slowly as we were walking.

"They've obviously never tried a hill start up Woodland Terrace in Cwmparc," I mused, remembering the horror of my driving lessons in the Rhondda.

We rounded a corner and saw an older man chopping back some of the hedgerow.

'I wonder if he's looking for the bustle?'. I got some more side eye. We got to chatting with the man who told us he was a local Parish Counsellor and he liked to keep this part of the path well maintained. He asked us if the top was in reasonable shape. We told him it was quite boggy and he mentioned that they had plans to put in some stepping stones.

'Did you see those two in the car?' We nodded.

'We get a lot of them. They all want to see the house and this track scares them witless. Just wait, they have to turn round on it, that will scare them even more'. He laughed and we did too, happy now that the walk was almost over and that we didn't have to do a three point turn on a dirt road with a steep drop to one side.

Reaching the main road, the A493, which led to the bridge over the Dyfi, and the station in Machynlleth where my car was parked was simultaneously a relief and a sad moment, as we were nearly at the end of our week's walking. The road was pretty busy, and as we approached the road bridge we paused for Helen to sort out her blisters and to take a photo or two of the river itself. The road bridge itself was also busy and I was a little worried that there was no footpath. I turned back to see if Helen was ready, then picked up my poles and turned towards Machynlleth. There was a car coming towards us. A dark red, very old VW Golf convertible. That looks like Sam's car I thought. Sam (favourite son)(well, only son) loved and adored this ancient rust bucket. Oh, it's T reg, just like Sam's, I thought. Then I looked at the driver. It was Sam. "It's Sam!" I exclaimed loudly, "My son, Sam!" in case Helen thought I meant some other Sam. (As if, she'd be shouting about some random Sam). And he waved back, indicated left and turned down the road we had just walked along. I turned and saw Helen, open-mouthed (not for long of course - she's seldom lost for words). (Ha!) I was as excited as the queen of the small country of excited people with the best flag in the world when their football team has reached the semi-finals of an exciting football tournament with a brilliant 3-1 win over the top-ranked team in the world. So, very excited.

The coincidence was truly incredible. We live 111.1 miles south of Machynlleth (I Googled it) and quite what he was doing driving over that bridge at that very moment when we happened to be crossing it I had absolutely no idea! Anyway, it was lovely to see him and Helen and I made a massive fuss of him when he parked up and got out. Turns out he was on his way to cousin Tomos' stag do which involved zip-wiring and all kinds of other bonkers pursuits Betws-y-Coed way. I had completely forgotten about this and when it was. If we had been even 10 seconds longer chatting to the man on the hillside we would have missed him!

Proud mother photo - what you cannot see is that Sam had put his hand on my shoulder for this photo and recoiled in horror at the sweatiness of said shoulder.

We got into his car exclaiming "There's a there!" and "Fancy that!" all the way to Machynlleth railway station, where he dropped us off, saving us the walk over that very busy road bridge over the Dyfi. I still, to this day, cannot get over that moment of looking up and seeing him driving towards me, smiling and waving. He sped off heading north again, and we headed back to the flat in Barmouth, tired but delighted. It was the most amazing co-incidence! I wouldn't blame you if you didn't believe us but it really did happen.

This was the total of the week's walking in July 2019 and while we hadn't walked as far as I had idiotically planned we had done really well. We were now walking further in miles than we had walked in kilometres when we first started walking the Wales Coastal Path We treated ourselves to a meal out in Barmouth and toasted our success.

'So where next then Rhi?'

'The Llyn, I think.'

'I don't know it at all.'

'Nor me but we are getting better at this walking lark. Nothing is going to stop us now!'

How little we knew just how much was going to happen in the next year that would make walking in Wales impossible at times. But for that moment, as we sipped our pints of beer all we felt was the warm glow of success and happiness.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkF3oxziUI4