Rugeley to Uttoxeter: LEJoG Day 27

A walk across Staffordshire's fields of wheat and hay.

As I walked through the pedestrian only streets at the centre of Rugeley this morning, activity was just beginning. Traders were setting up market stalls, a group of ladies were sitting outside the wool shop with tables of woollen goods in front of them looking ready to knit, and Costa coffee was just opening. After picking up a sausage roll and orange juice from Gregg's I joined the canal towpath. A few kilometres later I turned off, crossing the railway to join the guidebook's route. This took me to the town of Uttoxeter through fields of grass, some ablaze with yellow buttercups, wheat, a healthy green, and hay, freshly cut and left in heaped lines to dry in the sun. After a cold overcast start the sun obliged and dried both the hay and the paths so there was rather less mud today. A mixture of single track roads, farm tracks and paths across or around fields, occasionally overgrown and little used in places, but easily passable. Stinging nettles only managed to attack me when I mistakenly followed the edge of the wrong field. One field had a sign warning of a bull in the field. I was not sure what I was meant to do about it. Wave a red cape? Instead I walked across the field at a steady pace, exuding (I hope) confidence. The bull stood up and looked at me, a ring in his nose and his eyes popping as he watched me leave, but took no further action. A reservoir was close to the route but there was no "right of way" across the dam, instead my way followed a small, sweetly flowing river. 

Lines of hay drying in the sun.

Large field of some grain.

Stile into a meadow.

My day's highlight was eating a smoked salmon, cream cheese, pepper and lime "croque monsieur" at a café in the village of Abbots Bromley. Not a dish they would serve in France but most enjoyable with a small salad with a mustard dressing! A sign said I was in the "Best Kept Village in Staffordshire", it's the second such village I have walked through with such a claim! I am now in Uttoxeter, a town of red brick buildings with a few supermarkets where I have been stocking up with supplies.

Penkridge to Rugeley: LEJoG Day 26

Canals, Cannock Chase and Cooling towers were my highlights today, made vivid by the sunny weather. 

I left Penkridge this morning on the towpath of the Staffordshire and Worcestershire canal with a favourable forecast of fine weather. The bank was lined with fishermen with impressive collections of rods, long poles for depositing ground bait, maggots, equipment boxes and chairs. In response to my query one of them told me it was a competition and there were thirty of them. Barges were motoring up and down, which must have interfered with the fishing, especially as the competitors seemed focused on the opposite side of the canal, shaded by trees. Many of the barges were holiday hires. Men struggled with maneuvering while their wives' pushed open the lock gates, backside first. As the day went on, the men were increasingly taking off their shirts so their bellys could enjoy the sunshine. On the towpath families and couples were out with their dogs, and I had to be careful to avoid the bikes. Most cyclists were considerate saying "thank you" as I moved out the way, but one pair of youngsters raced past so fast and close I worried they would hit me with their handlebars, tearing off my arm muscles.

Staffordshire and Worcester Canal.

Leaving the first of today's two canals I crossed large fields of green wheat to reach Cannock Chase. Much of this area of hills is wooded. I walked on sandy, pebbly paths through birch trees, their delicate leaves obscuring little of the sun, and by hawthorn in blossom. Later a stand of pines was at my side, and I also crossed open moorland. As it was a sunny bank holiday Sunday, Cannock Chase was full of people ambling about with children and dogs. Stopping at a stream for some lunch I watched two young children paddle and splash in the stream, others were having fun crossing on stepping stones. 

Cannock Chase.

Leaving the woodland behind I crossed the River Trent and turned onto the Trent and Mersey Canal. It wound through farmland between the river and the main West Coast railway line on which "Avanti" trains raced by. Taking a slower trip, two people were floating down the River Trent wearing flotation devices similar to life jackets, not something I had seen before but maybe part of the recent wild swimming movement. 

Ahead I could see the cooling towers of Rugeley power station which is currently being demolished. These dominant features were once a common sight of the Midlands landscape, but are now disappearing as coal fired power stations are being closed. Rugeley's cooling towers will likely be flattened within the year.

Cooling towers of Rugeley's power station.

Ending a shorter walk today I turned into Rugeley where I am sleeping at the town's Travelodge hotel. After checking in I wandered into the centre. Being Sunday, shops were closed, but I managed to buy a Costa coffee and slice of cake, and even get a haircut. Maybe as I was the only customer the barber took a lot of time, including shaving the hair on the back of my neck, cleaning out the strands which now grow out of my ears and spraying his work with various lemon scented products. I was glad he will not discover that I then had a shower and washed them all out.

Dinner was at an old cinema, now the local Wetherspoons pub, where (after signing in with the NHS coronavirus app under a watchful security man's eye in his bright yellow gilet) I read of the owner's views on the Covid 19 restrictions in one of the magazines left on the tables.

Shifnal to Penkridge: LEJoG Day 25

A walk through farmland today and three historic sites.

The area through which I was walking today was almost flat, with only gentle undulations, farmland growing grain, rape or hay, a few cows. My route was along the edge of large fields, by farms, on quiet roads and some more busy ones with cars speeding by. Overcast early on, later the clouds broke up revealing patches of blue and the sun which lit up the pink campion on the roadside and brought my hat out.

The road verges were full of flowers.

Much of the path was at the edge of fields

My first historic site was the ruin of the White Ladies Priory. Dating from the 12th century the white ladies were the nuns who dedicated their lives to God here. A few walls and round Norman arches survive, the nuns are long since gone. I followed a grass path into my next site, Boscobel House. I entered via the back gate, a sign attached to it said a ticket was required, so I went to buy one. A man in period "yokel" costume told me I could not have one, all tickets must be pre booked, no doubt a Coronavirus measure to avoid overcrowding. After telling me I should not have entered he told me to leave. A lady confirmed that all pre-booked tickets had been sold as it was a bank holiday weekend. I exited a little sad that I had not visited the tea room before enquiring about purchasing a ticket.

White Ladies Priory.

My route since the Severn Gorge had been mainly on the Monarch's Way, a long distance path which follows the route taken by the future Charles II as he escaped after the final defeat of the Royalist cause in the English Civil War. He had many adventures and narrow escapes on his journey including hiding in an oak tree from parliamentary forces. Before being ejected from the grounds of Boscobel House I had a look at the oak tree. Not the original one which has long since died but a replacement, itself looking a bit decrepit. Later I crossed the Shropshire Union Canal and joined the Staffordshire Way, another long distance path. Shortly after the canal I looked in at the church at Lapley. Although not officially open the cleaners generously let me look inside and proudly told me its foundation predated the doomsday book. The present building dates from the 11th or 12th century, its decor is plain but with some large old wooden boards on which for example the ten commandments are written. One of the boards summarises the donations made by a Richard Willson of the parish in 1622. I gave thanks to God and the cleaners before leaving. A little way later I crossed the A5, the Roman Watling Street.

Arriving at the small town of Penkridge I headed for my hotel. I was surprised to hear a live band playing in the recreation ground next door given Covid restrictions. Taking a look there did not seem that many people around, maybe as this was a socially distanced event with limited ticket numbers (or else the cover versions being sung did not appeal). Thinking that on a bank holiday Saturday all the eating venues in town were likely to be full, I picked up some food at the Coop and ate it watching Michael Palin visiting places in Hungary I had visited on a earlier walk.

Much Wenlock to Shifnal: LEJoG Day 24

Highlights today were Ironbridge and the surrounding area with its heritage of the Industrial Revolution in the 18th century. 

Much Wenlock High Street was full of small shops, reminiscent of the days before big supermarkets. Despite the early hour a queue had formed outside the butchers and the market, with its flowers and fruit beneath the Guildhall, was also attracting customers as I walked through town this morning. Too early to visit the priory ruins (which also required pre booked tickets due to the Coronavirus) I headed towards Ironbridge via an abandoned railway, fields and woodland.

Reaching the deep valley created by the River Severn as it began its long journey through England, I followed the line of another old railway along the river, deviating to look at the remains of a lime kiln. The Iron bridge itself is impressive as it was the very first, cast iron bridge, built in 1781. It might have been tempting to create a crude, over designed structure as it had not previously been attempted, instead the bridge is light and elegant. 

The Iron bridge.

English Heritage, now a charity, look after the bridge. I chatted with one of their men, who was cleaning the iron work, about the casting and construction methods used (riveted or using joints typical of woodwork). He told me the current colour of the bridge, a sort of brownish red, was based on the original paintwork of the structure, and was a colour still in use for such structures today. He inspired me to make a detour up to Coalbrokedale to see the first coke fired blast furnace at the Museum of Iron. Dating from either 1638 or 1658 but later modified, the remains of this blast furnace has been excavated from below later rubble. On returning to the Severn Gorge I walked by the remains of the Bedlam blast furnace. The area was one of the first manufacturing centres of the industrial revolution, producing ceramics as well as iron, and iron goods. Once blast furnaces would have lit the sky at night with their flames, the hammering of forges would have mingled with the puffing of early steam trains, horses would have pulled carts of tiles, and the air would have been laden with sulphurous smoke. Now the limestone quarries of the Severn Gorge have been replaced  by woodland, and tourists visit pubs once frequented by boatmen and foundry workers. The old factories are now museums and the streets abound with tea rooms and little shops. 

The first coke fired blast furnace at the Museum of Iron.

Not all is well however, flooding of the River Severn seems very frequent based on the flood levels and dates marked on a door on the Boat Inn by Coalport. There were also signs describing work used to stabilise the riverside, which was prone to subsidence owing to mine working and spoil heaps.

My final sight of the Severn Gorge as I climbed out of the it was the Hay Inclined Plane, used to lift barges from one canal to a much higher one, avoiding the need for many locks. Obscured by fencing and trees I was disappointed not to see more of it. I climbed to the top to see where the vessels were lifted into a cradle but fencing and a private property sign stopped me from getting close. 

I tried to return to the route in my guidebook, following a path on my GPS. It started well but became overgrown, entering an area of tall stinging nettles. My gaiters protected my calves, but the stings penetrated my trousers at my knees. They are still painful hours later. I had to retrace my steps back to the path recommended by my guide. I then walked through woods in clouds of the white florets of cow parsley. Among them a man warned me that the golfers on the subsequent course, crossed by the path, could be aggressive. I took care to keep to the very edge of the fairways, even if the right of way crossed them.

The path goes through the middle of foam of white flowers.

Road walking, field crossing and woodland  paths followed. Deviating off the guidebook route I walked up a footpath through woodland centred on Wesley Brook to reach the village of Shifnal where there was accommodation. Not somewhere I had heard of before, it seems to be a large village of red brick houses, some in Georgian style, containing the busy Bell Inn and my bed for tonight.

Craven Arms to Much Wenlock: LEJoG Day 23

Today the sun chased away the gloomy clouds for a riverside walk and a hike along the wooded top of Wenlock Edge.

After a hearty breakfast I followed the River Onny and one of its tributaries to Strefford. The meadows were covered by buttercups, trees lined the river, people walked their dogs and squirrels ran across my path. Strefford had a some old buildings, one with a Queen Victoria red post box on the outside, which you do not see very often.

River Onny.

The route then climbed a sunken, muddy track up to the top of Wenlock Edge, and subsequently followed it for many miles. Wenlock Edge is formed by a layer of Silurian Limestone dipping gently to the east. The steep, westerly scarp slope strides across the landscape. Wooded along its length, my path, was splashed with sunlight sieved by the beech leaves above, and edged with bluebells and wild garlic. The pungent, smell of the garlic hung in the air. I also spotted an early purple orchid. A young deer briefly looked at me before bounding away into invisibility among the trees. Except on rare occasions woodland hid the views towards the west which I was hoping to admire, towards the Long Mynd and Church Stretton. In places the route followed the edge of large fields of wheat and grass, but with the woods close by, and views to the east as far as the Clee hills with their radio masts and radar domes. My boots squelched through mud in wetter lengths of path or tracts churned by horses and bikes, marked with the prints of humans, dogs and deer. To avoid such mess I followed a short section of an abandoned railway line that once served Much Wenlock, where the old ballast provided a firmer foundation.

The path through woods on Wenlock Edge.

Between the woods on Wenlock Edge and fields to the east.

Although Wenlock Edge is formed of limestone, outcrops are rarely seen. To find some I climbed up to Ippikins Rocks on a narrow path. The outcrop was a length of squat, weathered cliff of layered limestone above a steep tree and wild garlic coated slope. Later, above an extensive quarry, there was an exposure more convenient for viewing, with some fresh rubble in which I searched for fossils. Not terribly successful, I found a small section of bryozoan and some shell fragments.

Much Wenlock is a small town full of old buildings. I walked into it with two ladies and their dogs who I helped in a small way with a navigation issue. I am now at the Gaskell Arms, an old coaching Inn, freshly showered, fed and watered.

Much Wenlock.

Knighton to Craven Arms: LEJoG Day 22

An agreeable day walking over the hills and fields of Shropshire through woods and farmland. 

Woodland walk.

On Offa's Dyke, when asked by fellow walkers, I told them I was walking the Path as far as Knighton, which was true. I neglected to say I was then planning to continue to John o'Groats. Perhaps I thought it would be boasting, or maybe I was superstitious and thought it would show excessive hubris, and result in the Gods casting me down. However this morning I had to admit to a fellow camper and Offa's Dyke walker that I would be hiking to Craven Arms today with the aim of reaching John o'Groats, although I was careful to avoid committing to a time frame.

After a coffee in Knighton today's trip started by entering the county of Shropshire and a ramble through a verdant wood where a dog began barking furiously at me to the distress of his owner (fortunately he (the dog) was on a lead). A gentle climb over fields followed as a warm up for a steeper climb to the top of Stow Hill, passing a circular pool from where I disturbed a heron. More fields, woods and, inevitably, another hill followed. On coming down into a valley I saw Hopton Castle ahead of me. 

Hopton Castle.

A medieval fortified manor, it was saved from collapse by a public spirited preservation trust and is now open to the public. After a look around I sat on a bench and contemplated the ruin while eating a ham salad roll I had bought in Knighton (the traditional soft roll made a change from the more crusty baguette type sandwiches now popular).

Following a third hill, the footpath crossed fields of wheat, green but with the ears well formed. Unlike some farmers this one was a considerate person as the footpath had been marked by driving a tractor along it in two fields, and using weed killer to mark it in a third. Saves worrying about damaging crops or else trying to follow the edge of the field caught between crops and stingy nettles. Clungunford was a village with a mound or motte, the remains of a Medieval manor. Unfortunately part of it was dug up at some distant time, splitting it into two mounds. A nearby sign indicated it was now known as "bum" hill, due to the obvious similarity. Many of the villages today seemed to have old, half timbered buildings, many restored to perfect condition. 

After a section of road walking, albeit including a road dating from Roman times, my route turned off onto an overgrown path then a muddy track through woodland. My way down from my final hill was through glorious buttercup filled fields with a view of Stokesay Castle ahead of me. Its half timbered, projecting upper story, boarded up windows and half timbered gatehouse were intriguing. Unfortunately it was not due to open until two days hence.

Stokesay Castle.

After a final river section I reached the town of Craven Arms. From the window of my bedroom at the Inn I can see the Shropshire Hills Discovery Centre, were I paid to see an exhibition which included a film with excellent drone footage of the area and the sound made by woolly mammoths that once lived in the area (how do they know?).

Kington to Knighton: LEJoG Day 21

A change in the weather brought intermittent sun and no rain as the path followed the bank and ditch of Offa's Dyke.

After four days with significant rainfall, it was pleasant to wake up to sunshine which meant the tent was dry when I packed it away. Sunlight lights up the landscape. Today the new leaves of the trees shone lime green where the sun's rays penetrated them, rather than the drab colours of recent cloud filled days. The blues of the bluebells were brighter and fields of yellow buttercups shimmered in the breeze among the rich greens of the waving grass. However, the warmth of the sun soon disappeared as dark clouds crossed in front of it, fortunately none dropped any rain.

Field of buttercups.

A walk through sunlight woodland.

Much of today's trip was along the 7th century dyke itself, much of Offa's Dyke Path is not. This ancient construction, allegedly built by King Offa of Mercia (or at least his underlings) now consists of a rounded bank and shallow ditch which snakes across the countryside either covered with grass or topped by trees and bushes. In one place it looked like badgers were trying to excavate it. I wondered whether warriors were stationed on it ready to repel Welsh attacks, or if it was more to control trade and define boundaries, a more peaceful structure. 

The remains of Offa's Dyke.

Today I met a several hikers walking the trail heading south. The change in the weather was commented upon among other pleasantries. One fellow was walking with his dog, a three year old Spaniel. Others were in a group, doing one section of the path at a time, with cars positioned each end. Some had huge packs, others just day packs using a transport service to carry their bags each day.

Approaching Knighton I saw a red kite (as in the bird) being chased around by a group of crows. I cast the crows in the role of the bad guys chasing the poor kite but maybe the crows were protecting their young? The Offa's Dyke Centre in Knighton was sadly closed. Consequently I adjourned to the Clock Tower Tea Room for a pot of tea and a scone. Given I left muddy marks on their carpet I felt obliged to leave a good tip in the saucer left on the counter for the purpose. They did have a sticker in the window saying walkers welcome so I did not feel too bad. I am now at the campsite. A fairly basic affair with one toilet and shower. Check in was conducted by phone, I had already paid in advance. My tent is next to the Heart of Wales railway, a one carriage train has just passed, it is not a busy line. 

I dined out on fish and chips at one of the pubs in Knighton. It is very much a rural community and I noticed a sign on the pub wall designed to discourage the spread of Covid 19 with the message "Social Distance, Keep a cow length between you". Better than some of the signs in Cardiff showing a male and female figure separated by two metres which could send a different message. Most pubs and cafes are keeping some kind of "track and trace" system either taking a name and telephone number or using the NHS App to scan a QR code. With the number of places I am visiting on this trip I worry that due to one of these visits I will be in the same room with someone who tests positive for the virus. Then I could be asked to isolate. That would stop my trip.

 

Hay-on-Wye to Kington: LEJoG Day 20

Raining again as I crossed sheep pasture and Hergest Ridge to reach the border town of Kington.

Filled up by my full English  breakfast I left the streets and cute shops of Hay behind, crossing the River Wye a final time. Recent rains had swollen the river, standing waves swamped bankside trees. As I walked by a glamping site, a man suggested a swim, in jest I hope. Leaving the river behind it was a walk over grass fields, some with sheep and their suckling lambs, quiet roads lined with cow parsley and pink campion, and a path bordered each side by hedges, eventually reaching Newchurch. In the church there were the ingredients to make a cup of tea or coffee, for which a donation to church funds was requested. I helped myself to tea and biscuits with three others also hiking Offa's Dyke Path. We shared regrets about the weather. Showers periodically swept across the landscape beneath a sky which promised more to come. I was sad they were not seeing the borders in better weather.

The scenic highlight was Hergest Ridge (the name of Mike Oldfield's second album, but in my head I was playing "Tubular Bells", his first, an unexpected "hit" which in my university days was frequently heard from the windows of student accommodation). Even in today's poor weather conditions the vista was impressive with shapely hills one side and distant fields in another, the yellow rape fields adding colour highlights. Curiously at the top there was a collection of monkey puzzles trees, out of place among the surrounding moorland of cut bracken and gorse.

Hergest Ridge, monkey puzzle trees on the right.

On the way down from the ridge, I noticed signs for a tea room, part of Hergest Croft Gardens. I rarely miss an opportunity for a cup of tea or coffee and a slice of cake, so I enjoyed some Victoria sponge before continuing. The gardens looked attractive, bright green trees, pink flowering shrubs, but I left them for another time.

I am now pitched at Fleece Meadows campsite, conveniently located near the centre of Kington and hooray, the sun has broken through! The town itself has a high street of small shops, pubs and a red brick clock tower. A number of shops were permanently shut and the external paint of some pubs was faded and flaking, as if the town flourished some time ago, but that time had now passed. Only the chemist had much custom, a place which greatly assisted me on my first trek on Offa's Dyke, selling me a cream which cured my painfully chafed thighs. They were so bad I was walking like John Wayne!

Kington.

Pandy to Hay-on-Wye: LEJoG Day 19

A day walking the length of the Black Mountains in inclement weather.

Heavy rain was forecast for this afternoon, beginning with showers in the morning, so I started early, woken by chattering birds in the hedge behind me, and was off by 7:00 am, after packing away my tent, already thoroughly wet from early rain. Fortunately there was a gap between showers as I made my way over a railway line, up and down lanes, and then up the path to the first summit, Hatterall Hill. On the way was a hillfort where Iron Age inhabitants would have been able to view the countryside for many miles around. Contemplating their lives I did wonder whether the lower ground would then have been wooded at that time, rather than patterned into neat fields as they are now. If that was the case, an enemy would have been able to approach without being spotted...

Reaching the trig point on top of Hatterall Hill, I had a play with the "augmented reality" feature on the hiking app I had loaded on my phone. This showed the names of the peaks I could see and how far they were away, superimposed on the view seen by the phone's camera. Unfortunately the wind was causing my hand to move slightly causing the names of the distant summits to jump around, making it difficult to say which peaks the labels were referring to. The weather tried to make the walk unpleasant with wind, intermittent showers and relatively low temperatures for late May (six degrees Centigrade according to a Garmin temperature sensor I had acquired while idly surfing the net during one of the lockdowns). However I had on my waterproofs, including waterproof overmitts and relatively new boots, so I was comfortable, warm and dry, although it was a pain if I wanted a pee, or find my handkerchief in some inner pocket, necessitating much adjustment of clothes.

Today's route was along the length of the Black Mountains, along a ridge high up on the Welsh - English border. To the right were distant vistas of neat English farmland, to the left parallel ridges of brooding Welsh moorland. In today's weather the moors were very much in brooding mood, scraps of cloud scurrying across the ridge under an overcast sky of mottled greys. Although it was now late May, the drab, dry brown heather gave the common a winter coat, but if you looked there were signs of spring. Bright green whimberry sprigs were replacing last years growth, fresh grass was pushing through old bleached growth and being neatly cropped by the wandering horses and sheep, also still with their winter coats, although the bouncing lambs, already a good size, showed we were well into the year. Lemon green sphagnum moss, the new hero in the fight against climate change, was busy locking away carbon dioxide among clumps of other vegetation. 

Brooding Welsh mountains.

A pattern of English fields.

Offa's Dyke Path is well maintained on the ridge. I have walked it at least three times, but my memory was not so reliable. I remembered the section of path paved with thick slabs of rock being of greater length and starting earlier in my walk. I also forgot just how far it was from the ridge to Hay-in-Wye, crossing numerous fields in the approach to the town. Last time I crossed these fields in darkness due to early nightfall in November, using my head torch and GPS to find my way. Today it was easier but maybe not so exciting!

Hay-on-Wye is famous for its bookshops, but there are many other interesting shops. I sat in one with a café, eating hummus, coffee and cake (raspberry and mint?) while looking at Moorish lanterns and Montezuma's chocolates. As I contemplated the rain outside I was glad I had booked into the warmth of the "Old Black Lion" pub for the night. Another ancient but welcoming establishment. 

Monmouth to Pandy: LEJoG Day 18

Today was a walk across farmland, muddy in parts, on Offa's Dyke Path.

Over breakfast I discovered others at the Inn were attempting the Offa's Dyke Path, but with less success than me, gaining blisters after their first day's walk. People tend to underestimate the amount of climbing up and down the side of the valley on the Chepstow to Monmouth section. Today was less strenuous but also less scenic, crossing undulating agricultural land, mostly pasture. For much of the way I was close to another walker on the same route, who helpfully picked up my walking poles when I carelessly left then against a hedgerow.

Crossing fields looking back at another Offa's Dyke Path hiker.

Highlights included walking through an orchard of cider apple trees in blossom, a field of oilseed rape in yellow bloom, an unexpected cup of coffee and free entry into the White Castle. The coffee came from Treadam barn, a wedding venue. A sign said "Refreshments, ring bell loudly". A handbell was provided which I duly rang. My reward was a carafe of coffee and some Welsh cakes. In return a donation was requested for charity, in particular the Llantilio Crossenny Festival of Music and Drama. Llantilio Crossenny was a tiny village I had walked through so it did well to have a festival which duly received my donation. The White Castle consists of the ruins of a Norman motte and bailey fortification complete with a moat around the motte. When I previously walked Offa's Dyke Path, some nine years ago, I had to buy a ticket to gain entry but today it was free!

Entrance to the White Castle.

Currently I am pitched at the Rising Sun campsite, behind a pub of that name. The sun is shining periodically and there have only been a few showers today. Tomorrow's forecast is for rain.

Chepstow to Monmouth: LEJoG Day 17

I resumed my journey to John o'Groats with a day walking up the wooded valley of the River Wye.

After a dentist rebuilt my broken tooth, my second Astra Zeneca Covid vaccination, and voting in the Welsh Senedd elections I have resumed my trek to John o'Groats. Large blisters on my heels left by my fast amble from Land's End to Chepstow have not yet fully healed, with large patches of red skin. My wife has provided me with dressings to protect them so I am hoping they continue to improve. A result of walking too many miles, too quickly, I have resolved to be a little less ambitious for the next stage, following the alternate, slower schedule in the Cicerone guidebook rather than the "ironman" daily distances in the main text. Newspapers have warned that accommodation in the UK is rapidly becoming booked up, by people who would normally holiday overseas, but are staying in Britain this year due to all the tests required for international travel to prove you are not suffering from Covid 19 and the associated unpredictable and constantly changing regulations. On my trip up the Cambrian Way last September, between Covid lockdowns one and two, I found it difficult to find any lodgings with vacancies (and many were closed) and most campsites were not accepting tents to avoid sharing bathroom facilities, only caravans and motor homes with their own onboard toilets were allowed. Consequently, to make sure I had somewhere to sleep,  I have made reservations for the next 12 nights as far as the Pennine Way, after which wild camping should be fairly easy. I would not normally book so far ahead as it reduces flexibility and spontaneity. As well as booking guesthouses I also reserved pitches at campsites as some of these are "bookings only", and I needed to make sure they were accepting tents. 

My first day's walk from Chepstow follows the River Wye, its sylvan (i.e. wooded) valley much enjoyed by the poet Wordsworth. To reach the town of Monmouth I could either hike Offa's Dyke Path or the Wye Valley Walk, which follow different routes on opposite sides of the river valley for much of the way. I have hiked some of both routes over the years so today I decided to walk sections I have missed in the past.

I woke to the sound of heavy rain and strong winds. For my first night at Monmouth I had planned to stay at a campsite, however observing the weather as I waited for the train to take me back to Chepstow I had visions of water-logged fields and getting exceedingly muddy as I came and went from my tent, so I booked a Bed & Breakfast. I felt a bit of a "wimp" especially as the weather then improved. 

At Chepstow I went to the start of the Wye Valley Walk which was by the imposing Norman Castle ruins, which guarded the mouth of the river, once an important trade route serving long gone ironworks and other industries. Climbing up the valley side I joined a path through the trees. My route would follow the valley side through woodland for much of the day. Now a vivid green, the trees were dripping with water, carpeted beneath by bluebells and wild garlic, quite a contrast to my earlier trip from Cornwall. Scattered leaves and branches, torn off by high winds overnight, adorned the muddy path. In a few places gaps in the trees allowed picturesque views along the River Wye. A sign, by a short tunnel, informed me that such views had been enjoyed by visitors since the late 18th century.

Path through woods on the valley slopes of the River Wye.

View down to River Wye.

Tintern Abbey was the next ancient ruin I walked by, the outline of the elongated windows a sign of how fine a building it once was. Now a tourist attraction there were a number of places I could have stopped for lunch, but I continued on to the Old Railway Station. My wife and I had stopped there before, many years ago on a trip when we had canoed down the river. Today the river was muddy brown, swirling and swollen by recent rain, the concrete platforms used by fishermen submerged beneath the water.

After a walk through a grass meadow beside the water I crossed the river on a pedestrian bridge attached to the girders of a larger, rotting, old railway bridge and switched to Offa's Dyke Path. Nine years ago I hiked the length of Offa's Dyke Path, but took a shortcut avoiding the section of path just south of Monmouth. To make amends for this omission I decided to walk it today. A long climb up a road and through buttercup fields eventually led to the Kymin, where a monument celebrated naval victories in the period around 1800. I looked for Nelson's name but failed to find it. Then it was all downhill to the town of Monmouth and my rooms at the Queens Head Inn, which dates from the 16th century, although the black and white "tudor" finish on the outside is actually from the 20th century. Much of Monmouth seems pretty old, including the Monnow bridge and gate house over a tributary of the Wye, which has guarded the entrance to the town since the 13th century. 

Monnow Bridge.

Clevedon to Chepstow: LEJoG Day 16

A very long day with three big, bridges to see before taking a few weeks off walking for other things.

After leaving my chalet at a holiday camp south of Clevedon, today's trek began with a walk over flat fields of verdant pasture, edged by drainage channels with a swan and a family of ducks and ducklings. A herd of cows in one field were particularly attentive, closely surrounding me as I made my way across. Fortunately they let me through, with some frisky jumping as they moved out of my way, not for those of faint heart. Ahead of me lay the wooded ridge that runs eastward from the town of Clevedon. Soon I was climbing up it then followed the ridge on a quiet lane, lined with discrete and no doubt very expensive houses, a view I determined from the many, large "Private Road" signs (although as the signs acknowledged it was a public footpath). The lane reduced to a track which led up to the Cadbury Camp hill fort, an ancient system of banks and ditches within which the local people could defend themselves. This one was particularly well preserved.

Coming down off the ridge I crossed the M5 Motorway, something I repeated several times today. This giant artery of traffic delivers cars and lorries to the entire south west of England, I was to hear the noise of its presence many times today as I we followed a similar direction.

Needing to simplify my route as I had far to go today, after the village of Clapton-in-Gordano, I chose to follow the Avon Cycleway rather than the more complex route in the guidebook. This took me to my first big bridge by mostly quiet lanes and a cycle track, with only the occasional whizz of passing cyclists, and one not-very-nice section of busy road. On the way I passed a lot of parked cars where people were apparently gathering for a walk in a bluebell wood. My first big bridge, 1.4 kilometres long, carried the M5 over the River Avon. On the upstream side of the structure there was a pedestrian and cycle path. The nearest alternative river crossing was the graceful Clifton Suspension bridge, designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. I wondered what he would have thought of the M5 bridge using the brute strength of modern reinforced concrete rather than anything more elegant.

M5 Motorway Bridge at Avonmouth

After leaving the Avonmouth bridge I wished to join the Severn Way, a long distance path along the banks of the River Severn. To do so I followed National Cycle Route 41 through green spaces around the suburb of Lawrence Weston (a funny name for a suburb I thought) and beside a drainage channel passed industrial works, but surrounded by green vegetation nevertheless. Then it was a walk through the Cabot Park Industrial Estate passed a big Coop distribution centre to join up with the Severn Way. 

The entrance to the Severn Way footpath was not attractive, consisting of a pile of rubble, but a little progress over some old railway tracks and I was on a narrow green pathway, looking like it had some maintenance recently, with vegetation having been cut back. My walk proceeded well, initially behind industrial units, including a large Combined Cycle Gas Fired power station. In my younger days, power stations emitted a lot of steam from cooling towers, but in these modern, much more efficient plants none is visible. The heat from the gas turbines is used to generate steam to drive steam turbines, both the gas and steam turbines generate electricity, so the gas you burn works twice for you, I always thought this a neat trick. Later I followed the path in greenery beside a road, until I reached the first of multiple footpath closures. Closures had been effected for work on flood defences, such as banks of earth to stop water from the River Severn inundating the adjacent plain. They were also creating flooded areas behind the defences for wildlife. The first closure simply meant a move onto the cycle path beside the road until I reached the village of Severn Beach. The beach at Severn Beach is mud below a little shingle, not a place to build sand castles, but it had a promenade, popular with people out walking, an up-close view of the New Severn Bridge and, nearby, Shirley's café where I enjoyed a cheese and ham toastie and apple cake with a coffee with many others sitting at picnic tables in the sunshine.

As I was leaving Severn Beach I was hindered by my next footpath closure, however I saw people walking around it on the shingle and under the carriageway of the New Severn Bridge to re-join the promenade. I should not call it the New Severn Bridge, although that is the name I have always known it as, its correct name was the "Second Severn Crossing" however it has recently been rechristened the "Prince of Wales Bridge". Carrying the M4 motorway over the River Severn it is the second of my big bridges today, with a total length of five kilometres, the central, cable stayed span is just under a kilometre. There is no pedestrian or cycle access across the bridge, instead I was aiming for the old Severn Bridge, a white suspension bridge I could see upstream, not too far away. Reaching it proved difficult.

New Severn Bridge or more officially the Prince of Wales Bridge

The cycle and pedestrian route over the original Severn Bridge

At yet another footpath closure, a sign directed me on a diversion inland. I followed along a drainage channel to where a farmer was staking down a diversion sign. He complained bitterly about the number of walkers crossing his field and disturbing his cows because they were not following the diversion. However without his sign there was nothing to show where the diversion was meant to go. On reaching a road, and on the advice of the farmer, I decided to follow National Cycle Route number 4 to the Severn Bridge. Sadly I soon found a diversion sign for this route as well, but with no indication as to where the diversion might go. Being close to the route in the guidebook, I then decided to follow that, but alas, another diversion sign! Looking closely at the notice I saw that there were three aerial maps showing which footpaths were open and closed and where the diversions were, a complex web of open and closed paths in different colours. Taking a photo of the relevant aerial photograph I walked along the footpath and attempted to follow the diversion. There were no diversion signs and the aerial photograph was not that clear as to where field boundaries were, an Ordnance Survey map would have been much clearer. Exasperated I gave up, it was a Saturday, there were no workmen around so I decided to follow the footpath marked on the aerial photograph in red as "closed". It was not closed, it was open between barriers, the signs were useless!

Reaching the old Severn Bridge I retired to the nearby service station for a coffee, I remembered it from my youth when we visited to see the then recently completed Severn Bridge, a wonder at the time due to its aerofoil designed road deck that would keep it stable in high winds, and a central span of almost a kilometre. We were also astonished by the high price of the sausage rolls at the then newly opened service station. On proceeding across, I found some signs stating the cycleway across the bridge was closed, others that it was open. One was dated June - October 2006, 15 years ago. I just carried on, feeling sad that those responsible seemed to treat the users of such routes with such contempt, otherwise more precise information would be provided.

Crossing the Severn Bridge, from high above I looked down on the brown water of the River Severn, appearing to boil beneath me with its many eddies. The bridge continues across a stretch of land where I looked down onto the top of trees, then continued over the River Wye (the bridge crosses both the Severn and the Wye). I began to feel a sense of exhilaration that this part of my walk was nearing an end, yet there was still a long slog to up and down hills to reach the centre of Chepstow. There my wife and dogs greeted me and we celebrated with a glass of wine at a bar beside the sylvan Wye.

Having walked over 300 miles from Lands End to Chepstow, at an average of almost 20 miles a day it is time for a rest. This was too much, too quickly and my feet are badly blistered and I am stooping as I walk like an old man. On most of my long distance walks I cover an average of about 15 miles a day. I should have built up daily distances more slowly. I have a few things I need to do at home, such fix a broken tooth and receive my second vaccination for Covid 19. I hope to restart my walk sometime after May 17 when hotels and Bed & Breakfasts will hopefully be open, leading to a greater opportunity for accommodation. Only about 1000 miles left to walk.

Click here for the start of this section from Land's End.