Day 26 - Bala to Cwnwyd

This was a real adventure and a very tough day, and for once it wasn't the weather to blame…

But before I set off I had a few things to explore around Bala first. First of all I wanted to see the former YHA hostel he stayed in, in a nearby hamlet. Here’s what he says about it:

I had a sad incident on the way there when a big male mallard duck was sitting in the road oblivious of incoming traffic. One car tooted its horn and swerved to avoid it but the lorry behind it ran it straight over, causing an explosion of feathers that covered me and the rest of the cars and road near it. I don't know how it had survived into adulthood living there with no fear of the traffic. I saw this all about to happen and just wanted to shake it and say come on you silly thing, move! But it was too late and the duck was already completely dead by the time I passed it seconds later.

It was about a mile to Rhod-y-Gwaliau where I found the driveway to Rhiwedog Farm easily enough and followed it to the end where I was surprised to still see the green YHA sign on the wall of the small building.

The hostel had comprised the small entrance house and the main mansion behind it. On closer inspection I found to my dismay that the entirety of both buildings had been abandoned and left to rot and ruin. The main mansion behind I couldn’t get near as there was no access and a high wall although I stung and scratched the hell out of my legs by wading through a thick jungle of nettles and brambles in order to get a side view of it.

It was sad to see a historic building be completely neglected like that. The farmer lives in a modern bungalow opposite and clearly just leaves it to rot. Quite why he didn't sell or lease it out rather than abandon it I don't know. I guess he just didn't need it and can't be arsed looking after the land he is supposed to care for, like so many of the “thug life” farmers I’ve already encountered on this trip.

Back in Bala and here's how my dad spent his second day there after getting a bus up and down the lakeside, which I didn't feel I needed to do having already caught the steam train alongside it.

First of all I found the same café and had tea and scones there. I’d have had more but they were frankly a little grotty looking and the lady couldn't have cared less for my story or the free publicity I was offering her.

The White Lion was still there with its golden lions guarding the entrance. It was too early for a drink though but I’m sure its much the same now. The couple I met last night were staying there and said it was perfectly nice. For some reason I didn't take any other pics of Bala town although I liked it and wished I too, like my dad, had stayed a second day there.

I then took a walk to the lake, via the rugby club. Access to the lake was compromised by huge building works to provide flood barriers after recent bad floods. Many boats were still out on the lake despite the choppy weather, and a few windsurfers were making the most of it. I saw the sluice gates with the river Dee leaving, and from here I left too.

Beginning my walk for the day and things got rapidly hairy. Here's the route I was following:

All sounds easy enough and the old Barmouth - Ruabon railway track was clearly marked on the map although like the Craven Arms - Wellington line I walked along last week, was also not a public footpath but a line across farmland. But that one had been easy enough to follow as it was a still used as an access road, so I wasn't too worried about this.

The beginning was along a driveway leading to a metal recycling centre, just opposite where the newly reopened Bala station is. I walked along past the factory…

Just after this building I met a man operating a digger who said I shouldn't be there, so I had to backtrack to the road. Unperturbed I walked up the main road, then followed the driveway to a nearby farm and cut over a field, climbing a fence to rejoin the railway line at the remains of what I took to be Bala Junction station.

After some unused and overgrown sections following the river Dee, the line went down a stretch where it served as a farm access track and was a pleasant and easy walk with nice views acroas the valley.

The going got a little rouger and more tresspassey before I stumbled upon the first minor problem, a bridge or rather the place where there was once a bridge across a small river, easily overcome by a nearby road bridge then cut back along a footpath over a heath to find the railway again.

Back on track as it were, my heckles were quickly raised, firstly by a number of shabby caravans half hidden by the trees, secondly a large amount of litter, old furniture etc, and then, most alarmingly, a number of dead rabbits, too many to be accidental, most likely shot from the long range leading to the caravans in which I was now walking. I realised I had stumbled upon either an encampment of (possibly nefarious) gypspies or, worse, the domain of gun-toting hillbilly farmers’ sons, the likes of which I had seen and heard tearing around on quad bikes, frightening sheep. Either of these could’ve been friendly and welcoming or dangerously bored and hostile but either way they were armed, enjoyed murdering little creatures for fun and I was tresspassing over their land, so not wishing to find myself the unwitting star of a Welsh version of Deliverance, I decided to take a circuitous route around the area and rejoin at a safer place.

The next section of the track was along a high embankment over farmland, with fields either side but the railway line disused lying and still with its original trackbed as a sort of wall in the middle. It made for a very enjoyable stretch.

Soon I spotted the ominous void that is Llandderfel tunnel. It was a bright sunny day so the other end was clear but the tunnel pitch black. I used a torch and cautiously walked through it, glad to reach the other side.

Down some more tracks and then an overgrown bridge to walk around and then one of the only very short sections where the bank had collapsed and I had to walk 20 metres or so around it. Then for toughest part yet, a completely overthrown jungle to fight my way though. My poor legs got stung and jabbed all over by the time I had fought my way through it! The river was at times visible through the trees.

Thankfully an easier section followed, with the strange sight of a tiny frying pan dangling decoratively from a tree.

When I reached Llandderfel Station I was looking forward to sitting down and eating my packed lunch there as my dad had done 50 years ago, so was dismayed to find that none of the station buildings or platform remain whatsoever, except for the staircase leading down from the road, and a concrete wall that belonged to a more recent ruined building. There was nowhere to sit down and it wasn't an inviting place to eat lunch anyway so I stayed hungry and soldiered on.

Another battle with nettled commenced through a disused part of the line where a different thug life farmer had discarded rusty old oil barrels.

After this the track crossed a field, the only time this happened the whole way. As there were cows there and I was already wary of cows, I walked around the edge to the side of the river and followed it to the end of the field. Here I had to jump over a small drainage channel. Alas I didn't quite make the gap and one leg plunged into a stinky mix of foetid water, manure and farm runoff that splashed all over me! I was forced to sit down on a rock, use all my remaining water cleaning my shoes and change my clothes for clean ones, putting the stinky things in a waterproof kit bag. It was a nice spot so when I’d finally finished sorting myself out I had my lunch there too.

After this the going was much easier for a while, with clear tracks and the first of the two bridges over the Dee. At the point where the remains of a little used station called Crogen Hall Halt could just be made out, the track was impassibly overgrown so I had to walk around a field overlooking the river to region it.

I took a short detour to see what looked like an ancient monument, which the OS map confirmed to be a chambered cairn. I walked around the small wooded mound and lay in the grave, wondering what sort of leader of old would have once been laid to rest there.

The rest of the line was straightforward enough, even if a few small bridges had lost their tops

A larger obstacle presented itself in the form of the Dee, the second of the bridges my dad crossed having now been dismantled. This lead to a detour over fields to a nearby road bridge. I attempted to see the old station at Llandrillo but it is part of a factory now so I could’t access it (lower pic).

And at last I’d reached Llanddrillo, exhausted and covered in stings, scratches and manure! I late discovered that there is a local action group dedicated to reopening that section of the railway track as a greenway, and I hope they do. Except for one single field it is entirely disused, and hasn't been built on anywhere. It is also intact except for the large bridge, which could be avoided, and some minor repairs elsewhere. It seems a shame to let it go unused as it’s a lovely route so I hope in future others will be able to walk it with the ease my dad did!

Llandrillo is a nice wee place, and the pub kindly let me refill my water bottle. And from here I walked along the main road. It wasn’t particularly fun as there was a lot of traffic and no pavement so I was constantly having to squeeze into hedges to avoid passing cars. I looked at the buildings I passed but missed the three with the inscriptions my dad saw. I was secretly sad that I wasn't still battling my way though the next section of the old railway track, and wondered why my dad had taken the road here (probably it was much quieter then), but I was also tired and the day was getting late so I was happy to be moving much faster. I don't however recommend walking up this road.

I arrived in Cwnwyd, indeed a picturesque little village (I’ll explore it tomorrow) and checked into the only accommodation in town, a 1-bed house managed by The Blue Lion pub.

I went for a very good meal at said establishment (the only place to eat in the village). The food and ales were superb, and it was a great Friday night atmosphere with lots of locals including families, young and old and all sorts there. There was however some drama when a bare-chested Liverpudlian started a fight with a friend which erupted into full-on fisticuffs outside with everyone looking on, and a friend of one of them shouting, “For fooks sake mate there's fooking bairns here”. The friend had good intentions but it only made the poor young boy and his dad more awkward as the man shouted and swore in their defence. Eventually the fight got so bad with that everyone sat outside was moved indoors and the doors locked until the police arrived and the bare chested man ended his Friday evening in the back of a police van being escorted back to a night in the cells.

Despite that episode, it was not otherwise a rough place, and everyone else I spoke to there was lovely, so I couldn't fault the place! I went to bed early after an exhausting and eventful day!