Nice steaks on the barbie last night cooked by my sister. We can argue quite well. Harsh arguments, by email, text or even face to face; using naughty words. But on these last two walks where she’s helped me out setting up camp, transferring kit and cooking nice scran we’ve not argued. I know how to wind her up but I’ve only been playful on this trip and she’s not blown up. Must be getting old. Well, obviously we aren’t getting young. Nobody is, but it’s good to spend some time together. 

She gen me a lift to Gladestry, after making ham sandwiches for breakfast. She also gen me a spare sandwich wrapped up.  Up the hill and a final look back at Hergest Ridge. Again in the sun. But I am too much in the sun, since I banged my head. Particularly when I passed the hamlet of Newchurch.

Sorry. I can’t stop looking back at Hergest from different perspectives. It’s got something that Mike Oldfield recognised. You can feel it walking on the top. 

Anyway, onward and upward and downward and upward. I dropped down over rolling fields to the hamlet of Newchurch. 

And I took a wrong turning along a country lane instead of cutting south over a hill. By the time I realised, I was just too far to turn back. Two cars passed me. One offered a lift and the other asked for directions. Interactive traffic! Not a busy route. Nice views though.

I sat at the roadside and ate my packed lunch! I got a signal on my iPad and mapped out my route to Hay on Wat. What! Who cares? In the sun, free as a bird and strolling the merry way and jumping the hedges first. So I drank the clear clean water for to quench my thirst. Sweet thing, sweet, sweet thing. A sugarbaby floated by. With champagne eyes. How good was Van the Man! No question mark needed. And I caught sight of Hay on Wat. 

Only 11 miles today. Should have been 10 but got lost. Well, maldirected, not lost as such. Per se. No no no. Not lost my precious! 

The Lord of the Rings trilogy of films was really good. It didn’t follow the book religiously, thank God! Boom boom. But it was true to the spirit of each character and the story. Gollum was down to a tee. They all were.

I crossed the River Wat by Hay and looked down from the bridge. An old dear and a ratty little dog were playing on the bankside. It were Debs! She came up to take me to another new campsite. The river – Wye really, but Wat is fun – is lovely.

We drove over the Black Mountains to Pandy, found the campsite and pitched up. Another Indian takeaway, another pleasant evening and looking forward to a great night’s sleep. 

Night night. 

Breakfast in Kington and off to Discoe. Setting off quite late nowadays, ten or half past. As long as I get the miles done I’m not too bothered. 



Discoe was soon left behind in the valley in the photo above, hidden by the trees. The country is really lovely in this part of the UK. Rolling hills with dramatic mountains occasionally showing up. Just beautiful. The weather makes a big difference, although the sun is a devil for walking, even without a rucksack it’s hard, hot and sweaty. As the actress said to the bishop. 

Look at the photo below. Five miles from Kington in the middle of the Welsh Marches and it’s fantastic.

The geographical feature of the day is Hergest Ridge. An impressive lump of rock around 5 miles long and high enough to keep small herds of wild horses safe from humans. Offa’s Dyke Path runs right along the spine of Hergest Ridge, which was immortalised as the title of Mike Oldfield’s second album in 1974.

The hike up was tough but the top was flat with great views.

And horses…….

Walking southwestwards the Ridge narrows and drops down in stages, with a final flourish falling into Gladestry.

Looking back it’s just lush.

OK Mike Oldfield you honoured a great ridge. But only by choosing it for the title. The album was crap.

Some nice houses round here. Look at this one.

Debs picked me up in local Huntington and she’d got a barbecue for us. Yippeee!!!

14 miles done today, 49 in total. Still a little behind. Boom boom!

Night night.

Well, it’s a lovely walk, via Knighton, and it’s 15 miles so I’m losing strength. Day one, 20 miles with a rucksack. Today 15 miles without. You’re turning into a wee pansie Mr Smith. And I don’t mean that in a homophobic way at all. I don’t do that stuff.

We (me and my sis) had breakfast in Clun and she dropped me off where I’d finished. Good old kid. We found the drop off location by a dead tree which we’d spotted when she picked me up, and due to a leaf of bracken that I’d picked and left in the road, like Gandalf. 

Anyroad up, I like trees me! 

Brilliant inum? But for any Lord of the Rings readers dunt the last one look like the evil willow that trapped Frodo? Thank goodness for Tom Bomadil.

It was another run of steep up and down and up and down. Looking forward…..,

And looking back.

It’s hot and as soon as I break into a sweat I get flies on me head. My new hat seems to attract the buggers. Great word innit? Buggers, buggers, buggers, buggers. 

I’ll throw in these photos at random. Oh, this when I got closer to Knighton and rain was coming in, which never caught me. Ha ha!

And this is the RAF cruising round and protecting Knighton from the Germans. Sorry, I meant Russians, but I like Russians. Sorry…. doesn’t mean I don’t like Germans. Oh bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger.

Met my sis for a pint in Knighton but then shot off towards Discoe. One big up, one slow down and I’m there; there there. 

But what’s this in the middle of nowhere? Dunno.

I needed to drop down this hill to my sister, waiting in her van to take me back to a relocated tent. How brilliant is that?

And here she is! What a daft monkey!

A takeaway Indian, a reasonably early night and here we go!

Night night my loves.

I’m behind again. I finished the last walk in Welshpool and intended to get the train from Leeds, walk 12 miles south in the afternoon, pitch my tent and crack on. Train delays and the England semifinal put these plans in the bin so I got a room in an Inn and watched the match. Then set off yesterday morning with great sadness but national pride. And a South Yorkshire back three to be proud of, including two Blades ex-players and fans. Thank you England.

Anyway my first stop from Welshpool would be Montgomery, a classic Welsh Marches town. I needed to cover 20 miles today with a loaded rucksack so I road-walked up the Severn valley floor to gain time. The Severn is lovely at this stage of its journey.

Montgomery was a very attractive little town. Friendly folk too.

It was warm. Very warm with my back pack and I had a right sweat on. The next 4 mile stage was down to Mellington Hall. Lovely houses on the way and great gardeners. Cop these roses.

At Mellington Hall I reconnected with Offa’s Dyke Path, which I’d left in May, and looked ahead to the seriously steep hills and valleys between there and Clun. My sis, Deb had taken time off and was pitching her tent there. And she would transport this bloody, heavy, sweaty rucksack for four days. Hooray. But then she goes. Boo. 

The hills loomed.

I got up the first hill, eventually, and the line of Offa’s Dyke, an 80 mile defence line against the rebellious Welsh, became clear and high and continuous for the rest of the day. 1200 years old and still impressive through woods, down valleys and up hills. Amazing.

The rest of the walk to Clun was up and down, radical slopes and bigger sweats.

After 20 miles I was on my last legs stumbling down a lane when an old dear came up behind me and hooted. My sister! 

We marked exactly where she picked me up so she could drop me off there tomorrow. Thanks babe. 

The campsite in Clun was great. Deborah had found it and put the tent up and cooked a lovely meal. Clun is a fantastic town. Classy and historic. 

Night night. 

I’m booked in a B&B in Knighton. I’m not going to get there as I’ve had a rest day and am 29 miles short. At the end of today I will have done over 150 miles in some hot weather, carrying a heavy rucksack so I’m not too disappointed. My feet need some attention. My new boots seem a bit problematic but I’ll sort it. Tanat Light Railway was an experience and the morning was bright when Mike came to pick me up to take me back to Trefonen so that I started walking where I finished last night.

I walked round to the Post Office and bought a tuna sandwich for breakfast. Then I set off at a brisk pace. There were a few hills to climb and the first gave a magnificent 360 degree panorama of the Welsh hills and English valley.

What a morning! Look at this as well.

The route crossed a disused railway line which was actually an extension of the Tanat Valley Light Railway. It runs for miles!

By noon the Path was leading towards the Llanymynech Rocks, an escarpment with a cliff face on one side. The climb was grinding but great, and the views were wonderful, being a last chance to wander a hill before the long plain to Buttington. The Rocks were photogenic too.

I dropped down into the valley and followed the flood embankment by the side of the River Severn through fields. Some were empty, some had sheep and some had cattle. I am wary of cattle and avoided conflict where they wouldn’t move off the path. In one field a large bull was shouting and showing off to his cows. He blocked my path and pushed me away with his head. I got past him and quickened my pace but he started running after me, then two bullocks joined him, then the cows followed suite. About twenty cattle legging it after me. I concentrated on the metal gate as I ran to it as I would only get one chance. I reached straight for the latch, pulled the gate open, dashed through and slammed it as the cattle hit the gate and the fence. I was a bit nervous but as you get older these things aren’t so scary as they used to be and you concentrate on escape rather than trying to jump hedges. 

I made it to the Green Dragon at Buttington by 6pm. Fed, watered and put my tent up out back in their field. A decent last day of this section. I’m now 17 walking days away from completing John O’Groats to Land’s End and I’ll do that in July. Thanks for reading my blog. See you in July.

Night night.



A decent sleep and packed by 9.45 and off, down the track to Llangollen. (‘Track’ – railway terminology). A cool but dry day and a cheap but lovely full English in town.

The town is a canal centre, steam train centre, historical centre and a beautiful location. I’m becoming a Taffyphile.

The Offa’s Dyke Path ran along valley floors today but I wasn’t finished with mountains. I found a route to Trefonen, where I was headed, which climbed two serious hills and took me down narrow country lanes. After half an hour I was questioning my sanity as I gasped for breath up the steep slope. But looking back was worth it.

Over the top of the hill the track dropped down for a couple of miles to a small village on a river and then kicked up a rougher track to the top of the second hill. This was not as steep but higher. Again, looking back was lovely. 

A few miles over the top of the hill I met Offa’s Dyke Path and carried on along it. King Offa may not have defined the Welsh/English border but the Path certainly straddles it most of the way down. Switching backwards and forwards. 



The path cut across fields and through ancient woods where things got very Lord of the Rings. Treebeard in person. Look at those beechy toes.

Then it dropped down to a stone seat with a stone roof, custom made for Gandalf, Strider and Elrond. Sat around having a chat about the Ring and things. Shooting the breeze. Killing Orcs. Normal Wednesday afternoon in Lorien.



Climbing up out of the valley was the first time I had seen Offa’s Dyke itself. Eroded and not as high or wide but still brooding over a thousand years since it was built. 

I was camping in Trefonen at Fron Farm and I walked up the posh drive to it when a 4×4 came up. I asked if I could camp there and he said they didn’t take campers or caravans and never had. My research and planning was cack. There was another campsite which I’d contacted but didn’t get back to me. The bloke with the 4×4 said they could put me up at the local pub. The local pub said I could camp out back on their AstroTurf as long as I didn’t knock pegs in??? I had no signal so they rang local B&bs and the nice people in the bar all tried to help. 

Eventually a bloke in the corner, Mike Thorpe, said he was a volunteer at Tanat Light Valley Railway and he would drop me off there to camp. What a star!

There were real trains in this quiet valley. And if you look over my shoulder above you can see the fireplace and wood remaining from a hippy weekend. Wow! I was tired but I couldn’t resist a fire. Particularly when Mike gave me a bag of tea, toilet rolls, blankets, fire lighters and a gas lighter. 

All by myself. 

Night night.

Funny innit that the Welsh and the Spanish both have these double L features in their languages, including place names, and they are both pronounced similarly. Thle. I think. Therefore I am.  

I had a rest day yesterday in Llandegla because it had a shop and a cafe and my bloody feet (blistered as well) needed a break after a week. It was lovely with a lie in and a great all day breakfast in the community shop and cafe, staffed by volunteers and well deserving of support. The local pub was closed until late afternoon but I needed a seat in the shade so I sat outside and read the free local newspaper. The landlord summoned me in and suggested that I sit in their enclosed beer garden where I could stay until they opened. They opened at 5pm and although they weren’t serving dinner they gave me cheese and crackers and a big slice of home made pizza. I went back to my tent after a couple of beers for a tin of cold beans. Then I watched Gold Rush on my iPad in my sleeping bag in my tent. Frickin awesome (even though this phrase is banned on this blog). Frick Frick. 

The Welsh people in these borders are so kind and pleasant. Really nice folk. 

I upped tent at 9.15 and packed all my gear. Off by 9.45 and walked to the community cafe for another cooked breakfast. Lovely. By 11.00 I was back on the Path up from Llandegla into the hills. 

The forest hid any views of Llandegla but created some good ones looking forward.

Up on top of the hills the moor was bare of trees and the Path headed over to a steep escarpment that wound its way west to east, passing Llangollen in the process, nestled in the valley to the south. I spotted the start of the scarp from a distance.

Luckily today was cooler than of late and I made decent time. Dropping part way down the valley the Path cuts left to run across the middle of the escarpment. Keep your footing old lad.

The path eventually dropped down and met the road, which I followed down into Llangollen two Coors and momentous fish, chips, curry and mushy peas eaten inside for under £6. I like Llangollen. It’s relaxed and rural with a bit of sophistication, but not too much to hike prices.  I walked up to the campsite.

Walking uphill the ruins of Crow Castle stand out solidly on the skyline. Originally an Iron Age fort, then Norman, then rebuilt in the 13th century by Welsh princes. 

And beauty in the hedgerows. 

The view from my tent was better than Gold Rush. That good! 

Night night.

I got up at 8.15 after a decent night’s sleep, although getting up for a pee in a tent that you can’t sit up in during the night is a bit of a challenge. I don’t actually pee in the tent. I get up in it and from it to pee. OK, OK, OK. This genre of joke is exhausted. I won’t bore you with it again. Funny though innit! Frickin pure gold, as the Hoffmans from Portland, Oregon might say on Gold Rush. Then bash their safety helmets together. Praise the Lord but that is just badass summat. New series on tonight at 9.00pm. Better get my iPad recharged. Frickin awesome. 

I had my cheese and tomato sandwich bought from Tesco and it was frickin awesome. OK, OK, OK. the Gold Rush genre of phraseology is hereby frickin dispensed with. 

Frick!

Frick, Frick, Frick, Frickin Frick. 

Quest, Channel 37, 9pm. Be there or be square.

I’ve titled a blog ‘the Long March’ before, but this one was relatively short for a trekker. However it was killingly up and down on steep mountainsides in full sun and heat, climbing 4,000 feet with 16 kgs of rucksack and water on my back. And the march was 18 miles. My legs are stronger than my lungs,  but my legs were aching towards inaction. 

This is Bodfari looking back with a line of caravans to the bottom left of the church tower on the valley floor. That’s my campsite that is.

The first big summit was Penycloddiau which had a 4,000 year old burial chamber on the top as well as being one of a number of Clwydian hills that were perfect for defensive works and became hilltop villages in the Iron Age 2,500 years ago. Surrounding the hilltop are huge earthworks which have since eroded to small, but still impressive, fortifications. Dug by hand, antler and stone. If our ancestors reproduced on average at age 20, and we took the male of each generation since then (including ourselves), there would be 125 people. Take all 125 Smiths to Magaluf, give them 10 pints of Estrella each and there would be carnage. I’d probably be the least mental, strange as it sounds. 

 This is the defensive ditch.

Offa’s Dyke is a similar defensive works, dug out 1,250 years ago with a ditch 60 feet wide and a wall of earth over 8 feet high defending Mercia (middle England) from the Welsh. It is 150 miles long. No power tools, no bulldozers, no Hoffman’s, just English muscle. Thank you stock photo.

                            
Incredible. It would only be 60 Smiths going to Magaluf to reach back to Offa’s Dyke building. Still make a mess though. 

I had fully hydrated before I left the campsite and took one and a half litres of water with me. I was pouring out sweat and was so focused on grinding up the steep hills without dying that I didn’t take many photos. Sorry. But it took me 11 hours to get to Llandegla. 

I managed around 30 steps up the steepest parts before resting, although further into the journey that was reducing to 20. The pain in my legs was harsh but you’ve got to keep going and ignore it if you can. I got a last few views towards the coast before I got too far inland.

The hilltops got higher and I got more tired and I’d run out of water. Luckily I found a couple of springs about five miles apart and stocked up, rehydrated and reinvigorated at each one of them. The next photo is Moel Arthur, another hillfort with the defensive wall clear as day.

The next drop and climb were very steep and difficult up to a Jubilee fort at the top of Moel Famau. The views from there were stunning, over to the east towards the Dee estuary which I had left two days ago. 

Eight miles to go, broken up by a tea wagon in a car park in the valley below the Jubilee Tower. A cup of tea and a seat in the wagon out of the sun. Great. I’d been playing with ideas of wild camping or finding a campsite down in the valley before Llandegla. But now I was going to push it to get to Llandegla. Looking forward the hills were smaller and less steep. 

And eventually I made it to Llandegla just before 8pm and 11 hours after I set off from Bodfari. 

The local pub wasn’t serving food. The shop was shut. But the campsite owner saw the state I was in, not having eaten since breakfast, and made me two ham sandwiches and a cooked sausage. Heavenly. I’ll sleep well.
Night night. 

In the last blog the first photo was a map of the area I was walking. This contained the hidden message. The map was from Google and there were two other tabs open at the top which, if you read them across, spelt ‘You can kiss my arse’. Funny that eh?

The first stage of the Offa’s Dyke Path today and it’s going to be a warm one. I upped tent, bought a sandwich at Tesco for later and found a great cafe for brunchfast. 

It’s difficult to imagine how you can beat chips with a full English, and two cups of tea. Full as a fat person might be I set off up into the hills with Offa’s Dyke badges cast into the pavement. 

Christ it was steep. And long. There was a fret over the sea but it was clearing in the sun. As I got higher the views became more spectacular. I’d never rated Prestatyn, with it being a seaside town for Scousers, but it was very pleasant. 

At the top of the first hill Snowdonia opened up to the west, still slightly shrouded in mist. Fabulous views in these hills.

And a 1920s sophisticated lady looks permanently out to sea, waiting for Freddy to come back on his yacht with a jaunty smile and a jug of Pimms. “Marry Freddy?” That’s what happens when you let a woman in your life and grow accustomed to her face. Aaah. The long ago miracles of vinyl. Other worlds leaping out of the Dansette and taking you away with the stars. My Nan singing along as she dusted her small terraced house with the voice of an angel. Well, she sang with the voice of an angel but dusted the house with a duster. Eliza, fetch my slippers. 

The path cut over the top and inland, revealing the Clwydian Range of hills. There was no-one else on the path and it was peaceful, but hot and rollercoastering over hill and down valley. 

Today was a 12 mile jaunt which I thought would take four hours. It took 7. I sweated like a pig lugging that rucksack around. I wondered if I was getting too old for this caper. But the views and the peacefulness were worth the effort. 

South Pacific. There was a film. There is nothing like a dame, nothing in the world. There is nothing you can name, that is anything like a dame. 

The A55 runs across North Wales joining northern and central England to Holyhead and ferries to Ireland. You can see it in the bottom of the valley in the photo above. The A55 not Holyhead.

The smells are amazing, much like the skylark songs and the vistas. There were huge banks of gorse in full bloom, identifying themselves to the sightless with fragrance. 

Ooooooh! To the sightless with fragrance sergeant-major. Getting all poetic are we, you orrible little man. Eventually the path ran down into Bodfari and the first house was Bellavista. Spanish for beautiful view; and it was. The owners were just getting in their car and pointed me in the direction of the Station Caravan site, which they thought was great and they hadn’t heard of the one I had earmarked. Not a good sign in a small village. 

So I went to the Station, they allowed tents as well as caravans, I pitched mine up and had a great ham sandwich in the local pub. A long and sweaty day but only 165 miles of Offa’s Dyke left. Sleep well my dears.

Night night. 

Today was a longer stage, around 19 miles, from Northop Hall, back down to the Dee estuary and round to Prestatyn. I woke at 5.30 and tried to get back to sleep but failed. I finally got up at 8.00 and dried my clothes, which I’d washed in the bath the night before, with a hair dryer. Only use I got out of it. I’d had my first wash in four days last night; well a bath actually but one of those tiny ones you can only get your legs in so you have to get the shower down and wave it around the rest of your anatomy. I shaved too. Bloody hell. I was a clean man for 12 hours. 

I set off at ten to nine in decent weather with a cooling wind.

From Northop I dropped down to Oakenholt and along the long coastal road to Prestatyn. As I got closer it was clear that the river was turning into an estuary, with the Wirral peninsular on the opposite side. 

I found a real good cafe in Flint, full of construction workers, and had a superb breakfast for a third of the price it would have cost me at the hotel. And I’d done 5 miles to get a twist on. Tomatoes or beans? Daft question really. Bring on the beans! And the bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, black pudding and cups of tea. With brown sauce! And mustard! Kismet Hardy!!!!!! Don’t you despise dipsticks who use a lot of exclamation and question marks?????? 

Down at valley level the farms took over. One ambitious farmer had started growing ships!!!!!!!

It was brightening and then clouding, getting warm and then cool. Make your mind up please Mester God. 

Some stupid idiot had grown a boat on a grass verge. Wtf as they say on Facebook. It means summat rude. Don’t ask. I said don’t ask. OK it means ‘what the frick’, like they say on Gold Rush. Brilliant programme. ‘Gaaad (that means God in the Klondike). Gaaad thank you for your bounty in releasing these treasures to us. In Gaaad we truss’. Then they take their safety helmets off, lift them up and bash them all together. Because they’re in a circle to pray. Brilliant innit!!!!!!

I was walking down the road and I saw these monkeys on a wall. They didn’t run off so I got close enough for a photo. Only kiddiiiing!!! They’re dead.

The road got closer to the coast and I got a good shot of the Wirral and two islands near Hoylake where Cheggers plays golf I think. Only there was a tree in the way.

It was turning warm to hot and this north coast was sheltered from the wind. I got my head down and cracked on. Sweating like a sweater. 

Cop this bank. How lovely.

And this was a recovered pit head winder from a local pit which was the last deep coal mine in Wales to close, in the 1990s. The mine itself was deep below the Irish Sea. 

When I eventually made it the campsite was bathed in sunshine and looked great. The Clwydian hills behind are my target for the morning. Yeeesss!!!!!!!!!

Did you spot the hidden message????? No!!!!!

Clue – first photo in this blog. 

Night night.