Notes from the Welsh Woodlands
In this episode I take a walk through the ancient Celtic Rainforest of Ty Canol with Jane Davidson, former minister for environment and sustainability in the Welsh government and one of the driving forces behind the creation of the Wellbeing of Future Generations (Wales) Act.
We talk about the importance of restoring balance with nature and how walking can open our eyes to the possibilities of a better, sustainable future.
Listen to the podcast here:
High in the Elenydd region of The Cambrian Mountains sits a lonely red phone box – surely the most remote site in all of Wales. It’s a landmark in this desolate highland and an important marker for hikers navigating the challenging Cambrian Way trail that runs the length of Wales.
Here’s the latest video dispatch from my Liminal Forest journey through Wales exploring how we restore balance with nature.
The next part of the journey was going to be tricky.
When I first started planning a walking route connecting the woodlands and forest of Wales one issue kept leaping out at me from the map. How was I going to get across the Elenydd, the sparse and barely populated upland region that lay between the two market towns of Llandovery and Tregaron?
Most of it sat above 400 meters and was sliced by a series of steep valleys that helped the upland tributaries feed into the river Tywi. On the OS map, the part of the Elenydd I needed to cross was an intimidating squash of orange lines signifying a very significant hike. This was Twm Sion Cati’s stomping ground. The famed local outlaw would have walked or ridden by horse across the Elenydd as he travelled from his home in Tregaron to his hiding place cave in what is now Gwenffrwd/Dinas Nature Reserve as he evaded his arch-nemesis the Sherriff of Carmarthen.
At a loss to come up with a satisfactory route myself I started researching long distance walking paths across what looked like an impressive yet inhospitable part of the Cambrian mountains. That’s how I stumbled upon the Cambrian Way, an ambitious and very challenging 288-mile hike across the major mountains of Wales running from Cardiff in the south to Conwy in the North. It was the creation of Tony Drake, a former department store owner who ultimately sold the family business so that he could pursue it true calling – walking. In 1968 Drake convinced both the Ramblers Association and the Youth Hostel Association to back the creation of The Cambrian Way so that it would be clearly marked on OS maps and have official markers positioned along the trail to guide the type of walker adventurous and hardy enough to undertake it.
It just so happened that one section of the route connected the village of Rhandirmwyn with the ancient Cistercian abbey of Strata Florida near the village of Pontrhydfendigaid. By consulting the Cambrian Way guidebook and cross referencing against the OS Map I could see that, if I started near Rhandirmwyn, I could follow the Cambrian Way up the Doethie Valley until I reached a remote hostel called Ty’n y Cornel.
I’d visited Ty’n y Cornel the day before as part of my reconnaissance for the Doethie valley walk – driving up the very steep, single track mountain road that led east out of Llanddewi Brefi (named after the St. David, the patron saint of Wales). Outside the hostel’s front door there was a plaque dedicated to Tony Drake. On it was an inscription which read: “He worked tirelessly in Wales and England for the RA (Rambler’s Association) for 60 years but his greatest love was always the wild beauty of his creation, The Cambrian Way.”
The next morning, late summer morning I set out on this remote stretch of The Cambrian Way just north of Twm Sion Cati’s cave. I knew that it was highly unlikely I’d meet many other walkers in the Doethie valley – it was that far off the beaten track. Suddenly I was overcome with a feeling both of exhilaration and trepidation at being out here alone.
I was also very wet. It was a dry, sunny morning so I’d worn light, breathable trousers for the walk. Normally I’d have been in shorts but the reputation of the Cambrian Way suggested I’d be picking my way through brambles and God only know what else along the way. Now, 30 minutes up the trail, the mist had lifted above the valley but I was soaked – my distinctly un-waterproof trousers being in constant contact with the dew-laden bracken that reached up to my waist.
But what a sight lay before me. Ahead lay miles of meandering river valley walled in by steep Fridd-dominated hillsides – a patchwork blanket of red, brown and green flora – and it was topped off by the bare, exposed ridge on either side. In the distance I could see the tall Sitka spruce trees of the Tywi Forest plantation standing to attention like a military guard….
This year, wave upon wave of staycationers have travelled through Wales, experiencing all it has to offer in terms of nature, the outdoors, the beaches, history, folklore and, of course woodlands and forests.
One favourite destination is the Hafod Hotel situated right on the Devil’s Bridge falls in Pontarfynach. But did you know that over 150 years ago, Devil’s Bridge got its name because of another era of staycationers, the Victorians, flocked here..
I tell more of the story in this video clip.
In the latest video clip from The Liminal Forest journey through Wales I visit Cynghordy Viaduct, one of the most impressive feats of engineering in Wales.
The viaduct stands 30.5m high and is curved across the Bran Valley. It is built on on 18 semi-circular headed brick and sandstone arches with square rough-faced rubble piers. It was built 1868 for the Central Wales Railway.
Cynghordy Viaduct is located a few miles outside of Llandovery on a windy, single track road that climbs over the hills to the village of Rhandirmwyn.
You’d never find it unless you knew where to look – unless you’re taking the train through Mid-Wales that is!
In this latest video update from my journey throughout Wales mapping the new National Forest for Wales I head to Gwenffrwd Dinas north of Llandovery in the heart of the Cambrian Mountains.
Gwenffrwd Dinas is one of the few remaining temperate rainforests – so called Celtic Rainforests – in Wales. It is riche and alive with biodiversity and is truly breathtaking in its beauty. It also is a RSPB nature reserve.
Any National Forest must surely find a way to link the Celtic Rainforests.
Part of the fun and the challenge of creating this 300-mile walking path through Wales has been researching and mapping the routes I would take. A lot of the time I start by studying OS Maps – searching for established trails and walking routes. If there are tricky looking parts to the walks I’ll try and scout them in advance to make sure I don’t get too lost or run into obstacles/blocked routes along the way.
I plan each walk to follow a specific narrative route. And so, when I wanted to tell the story of Wales’ industrial deforestation during the height of the iron and coal boom, I knew I had to map a route that would lead me across the South Wales Valleys. The route I was contemplating ran from the outskirts of Aberdare (located at the top of the Cynon River valley) around the Rhigos Mountain (the highest in South Glamorgan) and through the dense conifer forests of the Afan Valley to the town of Neath some 35km to the west. Clearly that was too much walking for a one-day hike (for me at least) so I decided the best way to plan a manageable route was to undertake reconnaissance by mountain bike.
I had a group of friends who regularly rode the bike trails in the hills north of Cardiff. I ran my idea by a few of them and they seemed keen for the adventure – you might say a little too keen and that concerned me slightly. You see, I’m not a very experienced mountain biker. But I had been a bike courier in New York some 30 years before. That had to stand me in good stead, no?
One damp summer morning six of us set out on the journey. We met at Dare Valley Country Park, just outside of Aberdare, having first deposited two cars at our destination at Gnoll Country Park, a famous old estate on the outskirts of Neath. We’d ride for about four hours then drive back for the car we’d left at the start. I knew most of the riders from walking trips we’d done in the past but a couple I’d be meeting for the first time.
The night before we were due to ride I decided to review my OS map route. The plan was to climb through the nearby woodland up to National Cycle Path 47 then follow it as it weaved its way below the Rhigos Mountain through a wind farm and into Afan Forest Park. From there the trail would lead us gently down into Gnoll Country Park. The distance seemed very doable though I was slightly perturbed by the estimated 580m in ascent that we had in front of us.
Maybe there was a shortcut?
And so, over a glass of red wine (okay maybe two) I revisited the route I’d already mapped and started to tweak things a little. It struck me that, instead of starting at the east side of Dare Valley Park we could ride to its northwestern tip (where the old Bwllfa coal mine once sat) and follow the path up the hill. It would save us at least half an hour of riding uphill. Pleased with this last-minute adjustment I headed off to bed.
It wasn’t until we started cycling up my shortcut the next morning that I realised the magnitude of my mistake. Within 10 minutes of the ascent at least two of my companions had stopped talking to me.
“Are you sure this is a cycle trail?” said my friend Richard (who had invited me into the riding group and I sensed was already regretting it) as we pushed our mountain bikes up a thin, muddy, steep and very slippery track up the side of Mynnydd Cefn-y-Gyngon.
“No, it’s not. It’s very clearly marked as a footpath,” said Allen, another of the riders who was now studying his own OS map of the mountain. Allen was a high school teacher and highly experienced in leading mountain walking expeditions. He’d also gone on walks with me in the past and was clearly skeptical of my map-reading abilities.
The day didn’t get much better. Even when we’d made it onto the cycle route 47 I still managed to get us lost in the windfarms – at one point we raced down a dirt track only to reach a dead end and then had to climb all the way back up.
“Never, ever, surrender high ground when riding,” another one of the riders who I didn’t know so well muttered at one point.
“I think you’ve invented a new sport. Losteering” said Richard, trying to lighten the mood.
To get back up to route 47 the regular riders knuckled down and steadily tackled the climb in low gear. By now I was walking and pushing my bike. Then, having found the proper path once more, we started the many descents into Neath over loose gravel forestry roads. The other riders would speed ahead while I hung onto my handlebars for dear life, gingerly using the front brake to delay what I was now convinced was an almost certain appointment with a broken collarbone.
“Try not to use your brakes on the descent,” said Richard after I finally made it, white knuckled, to the foot of one hill.
“You just have to learn to trust the bike to ride the gravel and choose the easiest approach to the corners. You’re more likely to come off if you brake.”
I looked at him incredulously but tried to put his advice into practice. The only time I braked for the rest of the descents was when a herd of deer – three adults and two foals – shot out of the conifer forest and leapt across our path into the woods on the other side of the track.
Finally, after a few hours of being shown up as a very mediocre mountain biker and an even worse mountain bike trail planner, we made it to Gnoll Country park and the sanctuary of my car, safely sitting in the car park. As I breathed a huge sigh of relief at having survived the day I suddenly realised I didn’t have my car keys. They must have fallen out of my backpack when I was getting ready to start the ride. Or worse, I’d lost them in the forest!
My riding companions looked at me in disbelief – who was this idiot they’d agreed to follow through the Valleys?
And yes. I had to take the train home.
In this video adventure I visit the Hafod Estate in the Cambrian Mountains.
It was created in the late 18th century by a young aristocrat called Thomas Johns and was modelled on the philosophy and writings of an artist, called William Gilpin.
He came up with the idea of the Picturesque Movement – of creating landscapes modelled on appreciating the world through its natural beauty.
Some academics even suggest that this estate Hafod could have been the inspiration for Samuel Coleridge’s famous Xanadu.
We know that Coleridge walked through here as a young student and maybe what he saw really inspired him.
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