The Beacons Way

The Beacons Way
The journey taken by the Beacons Way, my route from Day 4 to Day 12 (with a rest day on Day 8 - hooray!). The first 3 days follow the Cambrian Way.

Day Three - Upper Cwmbran to Abergavenny, 15.3 miles

I managed to scare myself out of my wits last night. I'd hung up my rucksack to dry on one of the rafters of the derelict campsite building, and had attached to that my waterproof trousers and rucksack cover. I came back from the pub in the dark with my head torch on and happened to turn towards the building, to be confronted with not a rucksack but 'The Rucksack', beast from hell. It took me a while to compose myself enough to take a photo!


'The Rucksack', coming to a cinema near you (maybe you had to be there!).

And the excitement didn't stop there. With the torch on inside the tent it looked very cosy, but once the Sun was up, with light coming in from the outside, I could see countless slugs sliming their way across the outer surface of the inner tent. They were everywhere! I immediately thought about my belongings I'd left in the porch area, namely my boots, shoes and water bottles. They were beyond slimed. One slug was even peering at me over the tongue of my left boot. I threw it out and was left with no choice, I had to to put my hand into each boot and shoe to check for further imposters. There were none. I dragged everything into the inner tent and relaxed. Breakfast time. Mmmmmmmmmuesli. It was ok actually because the bigger best bits had obviously settled at the top, and they were quite tasty, though it does mean that the less interesting oaty bits will dominate later on.

I soon packed and went to collect my packed lunch from the house. Then I felt guilty about moaning yesterday because it was a veritable feast, and all for £3. In fact the camping was only £3 as well so it had been a cheap night's accommodation, with added entertainment. So just the water bottles to fill and I could set off.

Ah yes, the water bottles. The two main ones have small, tubular nozzles, and in each one a small slug was lurking. I could not believe it. How was I ever going to use them again? I smacked each bottle against a wall and one slug fell out, but the other wouldn't budge. So I basically set off with a pet Gelligravog Farm slug.

At some point today it has slimed out. I have no idea where it is. Is it still in the rucksack? Is it sliming my clothes? Is it sliming the room in my B&B? Will it do the entire Beacons Way with me?

Ah yes, the Beacons Way. I've finished the Cambrian Way bit now and begin the entire Beacons Way tomorrow, in pretty dodgy weather it sounds like. This could be more of a problem than yesterday morning because the hills are higher but hey, it's all part of the fun, allegedly.

There had been a couple of showers last night and today started in gloomy fashion, though it was dry. It was a quick (well, 90 minute) up and over into Pontypool, but the up was hard work and it was very muggy (22 degrees). I was also reluctant to have a drink of water because of the slimy nozzles. From above Pontypool looked much better than previous towns, not as linear and in a prettier setting. I dropped down to it's edge and had a dilemma. Straight ahead was my path, a single hill lasting the rest of the day (11 miles!). To my left were the gates to Pontypool Park and possibly a coffee. A coffee? Cooooffffeeee!!!! I had no choice, but it turned out to be a good no choice.

All I knew about Pontypool before today was that it had a brilliant rugby team in the 70s/80s. When I was at high school all the boys had these sort of hessian mini-rucksacks which you wrote band names all over. But whereas mine and nearly everyone else's were daubed with 'Led Zep' and 'Floyd', Andy Evans had 'Pontypool Front Row' on his. Pffff! I'd like to have heard them attempt to sing Stairway to Heaven.

After only a few minutes in the (very impressive) park I stumbled upon Pontypool Leisure Centre, which had a cafe serving quality coffee (the machine is as important as the coffee beans in a place like that, and the machine was good!). At exactly the same time it tipped it down outside for about 30 minutes. As a result I managed to avoid any rain at all today, and there were plenty of showers about. One passed so close to my right at one point that all of the trees about 200 yards away disappeared, but I managed to stay dry.

The second very, very long hill was great to start with, on a ridge with wonderful views as far as the Severn bridges. The mega-shower had also cleared the air so it was less muggy, the only negative upshot of which is my sunburned head. Never mind. Things became much less interesting as the ridge widened into moorland (much like that above World's End near Wrexham) and the path stayed in the middle, so there was nothing to see except bilberries, heather and bog. During this section I did the unpleasant but necessary, and had some water. I took out the vacated bottle and, without thinking too much about its previous inhabitant...... (wait for it) ........ took an enormous slug (boom boom)! I thought I could detect slight sliminess, but I may have imagined it.

After six miles of bilberries, heather and bog, which I covered in as short a time as I could, I was fed up and grateful to reach a road crossing and car park, where I met four very nice people in as many minutes. The first two were an older lady and younger girl. They were volunteer rangers and wanted to survey me. They were very excited about my walk, but especially about me having just walked the six mile path that nobody usually bothers walking. I was asked what I knew about 'Foxhunter'. I said I knew nothing. I was asked what I knew about the area being a World Heritage site. I said I knew nothing. They hid their disappointment well. But.... I do now know, because they told me. 'Foxhunter' was a famous horse buried there, though I don't know why. And the area (known as Blaenavon) is famous for its ironworks. I promised to Google both later, but haven't yet. A couple of minutes later I met two old ladies, the only other people in a car park which is, it has to be said, in the middle of nowhere. They were looking for Foxhunter's grave and were so delighted when I showed them that they offered me a lift to Abergavenny, despite me explaining several times that I was on a walk.

My high point for the day was quite close, the summit of the wonderfully named, in English anyway, Blorenge. It didn't feel very high, yet, but I realised that I was at 559m, higher than Moel Famau, as was most of the surrounding area. A short walk later I was staring down a cliff at Abergavenny below, and suddenly it felt much higher.



Abergavenny from Blorenge.

The walk down was incredibly steep, basically the shortest route possible, straight down the cliff. It would have been pretty tricky without the pack but it was really hard work with it. I was tempted to take out my breakables, then lob the pack down and catch it up later.

An hour or so later and with throbbing thigh muscles I arrived at my very pleasant B&B in Abergavenny, which is a lovely market town that for some reason I've never been to before. One glorious shower later I set off with a plan. To have a pint in all four of the pubs listed in my Good Beer Guide app, then go for a curry. I've achieved the first part, now for some food.

-- Posted from Kev's iPhone

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