Hell to Heaven Gateway to Hell Wednesday morning started badly. I felt sure I was to walk out of Llandovery on the same path that the mini Granny Trek came in the day before, but looking at the map with Julia some doubt crept in. It was a rare case where two heads are not better than one, for I set out across the wrong field. My judgement was impaired by a group of horses in the far corner, one of whom was extremely frisky. Giving them a wide berth, I gained the top of the field, where there was no exit into a copse. I was already convinced that I should be further west, but had no inclination to retrace my steps, so Fritz started the day being lifted over the barbed wire and thankfully we were soon able to make our way through the trees and get onto the right path. The landscape was now very hilly and we traipsed up and down, through field and woodland, with manageable gates and stiles and ate our lunch in the shade of a large tree before tackling a length of overgrown path that luckily included little bramble and nettle. The subsequent stiles proved dog unfriendly, but by now both dogs have got the hang of me slipping my arm under their chest, gathering up their hind legs and lifting them so that they can get a purchase on the top bar with their front feet, while finding the top step of the stile with their back feet. In the early days they would wriggle like mad – probably because the only other time I lift them like that is when they’re going to have a bath! Julia rang to say she was having trouble with the car – a light had come on the dashboard which suggested overheating. She’d made me a flask of tea, as I was to touch the busy roads in the early afternoon, so we met by the bridge at Llangadog and I disposed of the tea in double quick time, while the dogs actually paddled in the river. This shows just how hot it was, as neither of them likes the water. Julia was concerned at how busy the road was, with major roadworks at the junction where I was due to cross the A40, so we all got in the car and she drove to a garage about half a mile to the west of my proposed crossing point. Fritz seemed very tired, so I swapped my companions and started back along the A40 to regain the route. There was a good grass verge on this section and in any case the traffic was stuck in queues waiting interminably for the four way lights. Clouds had been building up in the sky and suddenly there was the most tremendous shower of rain. It lasted over five minutes and I was soaked to the skin – absolutely wonderful after sweltering for hours – and when I’d dried out, the fresh feeling lasted all of an hour! The way continued up hill through quiet lanes and was only marred on the descent by a longish section of bramble and nettle. I was running late, so decided to finish a couple of miles earlier than planned. Julia had succeeded in getting the car fixed, so we were soon back at the super Abermarlais Touring Park, which was one of the best of the entire trip. Thursday morning brought another bad start – for both Julia and me as it happened. I guess one has to admit that both calamities were due to stupidity. I was due to cross the A40 again and Julia had found a better place than the one on my map. Having covered the couple of miles not done the night before, I veered off my route and marched forward, expecting to come to the nose-to-tail traffic of massive lorries that we’d become used to on that busy road. The GPS was pointing in a completely different direction, but my addled brain put that down to the fact that I had adjusted the planned route. As I neared the heart of Llandeilo, I began to think it seemed strange that the road was so far away. Dropping down through the picturesque streets, I came to the anticipated horrible traffic, crossed the road and then my brain suddenly kicked into action. Looking at the map, I realised that to the east of Llandeilo, the A road splits into two, the A483 carrying masses of heavy traffic down to the start of the M4, while the A40 continues to Carmarthen with much less activity. I’d crossed the A40 almost half an hour previously and walked into Llandeilo for nothing. I’m really glad to have seen such a pretty place, but my legs could have done without it! Meanwhile Julia had decided to take a picture of Llandeilo bridge, with the village clinging to the hillside above it. She took the camera, Fritz and the car keys into a very large meadow beside the river and spent some time taking a selection of professional shots. On returning to the car, she discovered that the keys – which she’d hooked into the belt carrier of her trousers – had gone missing. She had locked phone, money – everything – into the car, so she spent the next half an hour or so combing the meadow full of thistles until she miraculously found them. It’s lucky that she knew exactly where she’d lined up each subject matter for her photos, to give her an inkling of where she’d been. As well as the pleasure of seeing Llandeilo, my mistake meant that I walked across Dinedfwr Park and I settled down to enjoy the country lanes. All went well until I passed Aberglasney Gardens. As the lane climbed a steep hill, the way was barred by a padlocked rusty gate bearing a notice – ‘Private Property – No Entry’. There was no alternative path, so Rudi and I managed to squeeze round a massive stone beside the gate and immediately take a path leading away from the road. A footpath sign soon reassured me that I had a right to be there, but then we found ourselves in sadly overgrown woodland. It was a battle to make our way through, but a second stile bearing a footpath sign took us into a rough area of steep pasture, where we could sit in the shade of a tree for lunch. I was about to take bite out of my sandwich when a furore of barking made me drop it! Just above our heads behind us, five sheepdogs snapped and snarled, threatening to get through the netting and barbed wire. I could see a man walking across the higher field, but he didn’t bother to call the dogs off. Thankfully they couldn’t get at us and soon peace was restored, but life was soon to turn much more horrible. Finishing lunch, we pressed on – climbing a rickety stile, bearing yet another footpath sign, into a wood. This was truly the wood from hell! As we plunged deeper, the path was lost in dead branches, dense nettles, a thatch of savage bramble. I felt my skin being stung through my clothes and the barbs of the bramble tore at the fabric. I constantly had to stop to ease the strands from round my neck to save being gouged to pieces and as we were on a steep hillside, my feet kept slipping from under me. Rudi seemed to pick up the scent of unfortunate walkers who’d been here before us, so I trusted him and battled on. There came a point when I truly thought we’d be lost there forever. There was no signal on the mobile or the GPS and no visible sign of a path. I fervently hope that was the worst half hour of the Granny Trek, because I don’t think I could cope with anything worse. When we at last tumbled out into another area of rough pasture and found the next footpath sign I cried with relief. Descending through a field of large cattle was child’s play – especially as it was so hot that they were sensibly lying in the shade of a large tree. Things improved rapidly after that and a kind gentleman in a village gave Rudi and me drinks of iced water. He seemed a bit stunned at how rapidly a pint of liquid disappeared! Julia phoned to say she was concerned about the stretch of A40 I was to walk to finish off the day, so I was glad to agree to stop early and rethink the next day’s plans. That evening we moved on to Gellilednars – home of Diana and Geoff – and after the horrors of the day, I felt sure I’d died and come to heaven! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |