Day 18 - Llwyn-y-Celwn to Abercraf

The day began well but quickly turned into the second of my days thus far where the balance between enjoyable expedition and gruelling challenge swung firmly towards the latter!

We stated straight off by climbing Craig Cerrig-gleisiad, right across the road from the hostel. It was a deceptively tough climb that had 2 false summits to torment us with. My legs were still tired from yesterday and hadn't had the chance to warm up yet so it was a hard slog. Along the top we followed a ridge above cliffs with views North to the Usk valley.

That was the most difficult part of the day’s walk over already, and had the weather been less, um, Welsh, it would have been a fairly gentle and enjoyable day’s walking. But Welsh it turned, unabashedly Welsh, and it remained so all day!

For the rest of the day we were walking across Fforest Fawn, a genuine forest (i.e. an ancient risk hunting ground, like the Forest of Dean - the term forest is now misused to describe any woodland). Only almost all the trees in this forest had been cut down, leaving it the least forested forest I’ve ever seen. The resultant giant, empty moor grazed by sheep, is thus a permanent bog, especially so in the rain, with no shelter from the elements. And today it rained non-stop from mid morning right through til night, and was also very cold and misty.

By the time we’d drudged through lots of bog, Rory’s feet were saturated and he spent the rest of the day barefoot. My shoes held out a little longer, but soon joined his, though I chose to just squelch on in my boots, the squelching becoming gradually louder and more prounounced as the day went on until it was a full splash with every step.

We crossed the first misty bog then climbed Fan Lila, a long, broad, ridge-shaped hill. The camera is too good here in that it shows a lot brighter and dryer a scene than we were in!

Coming down the hill was made difficult by the fact that the Beacons Way, completely failed to actually exist at this point, whether as a path or by signs. There was instead a vast moor with sheep trails, and only by vigilantly rechecking the GPS every few minutes could I fathom which of these were “The Way” and which were only the way to a particularly tasty looking patch of grass.

By the time we reached the bottom we were completely soaked through and bedraggled, and so sick of the wind and rain we took shelter for half an hour under a small and pretended to be a couple of jakies.

From here the Way follows an old Roman road through a forestry plantation but we decided to detour through the nearby unpronouncable village of Ystradfellte where there was a pub caked The New Inn that was serving lunch. Being so cold and miserable, the thought of several more hours on the bleak moors with only some dates and figs for sustinance wasn’t that appealing.

On the way we walked along some lanes where it was pleasing to see the traditional and almost lost art of hedgerow laying and interweaving was still taking place. Soon we reached The New Inn which was particularly cosy and inviting. Rory had specified that his ideal place to go at this point would contain three things - a roaring fire, a resident dog and onion rings on the menu. The New Inn delivered on all three fronts! A fire was burning away merrily in the hearth, a friendly collie dog came to greet us, and soon a basket of homemade onion rings were delivered, as well as two pies that they made freshly for us. We took our shoes and socks off and put them on the radiator and enjoyed an hour of warmth and restoration.

On stepping outside of the building, we had a very rapid return to reality. The rain was still pelting down and within minutes we were soaked again. We joked that clothing manufacturers need a new standard… above water-resistant comes waterproof, and above that should come the ultimate, Welshproof. That Welsh rain is somehow lighter, it lingers in the air longer and thus gets blown horizontally right through all the weak points in one’s apparently waterproof clothes which quickly become useless!

We crossed an open area covered in the earthen remains of ancient forts and dwellings, then crossed a small wooded patch to rejoin the Beacons Way for the last slog.

And slog it was. Ogof Ffynnon Ddu Nature Reserve is named after the huge cave system (the deepest in Britain) that lies underneath it. The name means The Cave of the Black Spring. The website says it consisys of “rocky outcrops and tufty moorland with breathtaking views across South Wales and the Brecon Beacons.”

Whilst we were not lacking for want of rocky outcrops or tufty moorland, the views today were not exactly as advertised.

As the visibility reduced, it felt quite dangerous, especially as there were huge gaping holes in the ground, many of which lead right down to the cave system. Many are covered with planks to stop people falling in but these are often broken and rotted away.

We plodded on, cold and soaking wet for hours. There was nothing to do but laugh about it as the situation became so dire.

At long last a building appeared from the mist end we knew we had reached the end of the nature reserve. Here we bumped into a group of 4 Americans, with backpacks and tents in town, happily setting off for the day to walk and camp. They were dressed completely inappropriatly in trainers and light clothes - one was just wearing a t-shirt, and they were all completely soaked through. It was already mid afternoon and I tried to tell them that it was crazy and dangerous to keep going that way over the bleak moor but they insisted they were fine and set off with big grins on their face. They must have been gluttons for punishment to have even wanted to go camping there in that weather!

We contiuned past the ugly remains of a disused quarry. More interesting was the disused railway station at Craig-y-nos which is still sitting intact.

On reaching the road we continued another few miles to Abercraf, passing some nice and some thoroughly miserable little villages, Ynyswen falling firmly into the latter category. It seemed to be a thoroughly neglected and unloved place. The business were closed down, the houses and people looked depressed and even the church was boarded up and for sale. I can't think who’d want to convert and live in a church surrounded by a huge cemetary.

The Abercrave Inn was a welcome sight at this point as we were completely exhausted and worn down. The proprieters were friendly and welcoming and we had a fairly good meal there and went to our room and tried to dry our things as best we could on the radiator there. What a slog that was!