Day 33 - Ffestiniog to Beddgelert

I awoke in Blaen-y-Cwm, washed with a basin of hot water and breakfasted.

Then when it was time to leave, I said goodbye to Judith and the cottage and caught a lift from Tony down the long drive to Dolgellau.

The last morning of my dad's walk went like this:

After this he hitch-hiked back to Shrewsbury then returned to Wales a few days later for a weekend in a caravan in Borth. As the final section of my trip is in a different order from his, I still have a few days left to walk earlier parts of his adventure. Today I’m catching a bus to Ffestiniog and walking to Beddgelert, a route he did in reverse. But first a brief visit to Dollgellau. Tony drove me there, crossing the 300 year old bridge, then drove me round the town to have a look about before dropping me by the bus stop in the main square.

Dollgellau was a pleasant and busy little town - Judith thought Dad’s comparison to Llangollen unfounded, and whilst I found it nice enough, I did prefer the latter.

At the bus stop was a scruffy looking man drinking a can of beer. He came to talk to me as I was the only other person there and within minutes I’d found out that he was ethnically Turkish, had been brought up in Russia, had served as a Russian soldier in various conflicts and had lived and worked in construction in Wales for several years now. He didn't like being thought of as Russian, especially during the current conflict with Ukraine, and didn’t see any way out of the war other than a long and bloody conflict. He said he drank everyday to forget the things he'd done as a soldier. I left this short encounter rather pensive.

My bus arrived, and the journey took me on a long road through woodlands until the scenery opened up and Llyn Trawafynydd reservoir came into sight, then we passed through the small town of Trawsfynydd.

I soon reached Ffestiniog, where I began my dad's day at the end. Here is his journal entry for the day that I followed in reverse as far as Beddgelert (I will go to Snowdon Ranger in a few days time)…

I alighted the bus in Ffestiniog village, which is now known as Llan Ffestiniog to differentiate it from Blenau-Ffestiniog.

First port of call was the former Youth Hostel. I followed the lane Dad described, and enjoyed grand views over the surrounding hills, with the columns of Llyn Stwlan reservoir in the distance standing up like some lost ruined city.

It’s still possible to stay in Cae’r Blaidd Country House, the former YHA hostel that Dad stayed in, but it’ll set you back a little more than he paid as it’s now an 8 bedroom holiday house hired out for groups. The door was guarded by 2 bronze hounds and a live goat wandered freely in the grounds.

I returned to Ffestiniog and had a brief wander through the churchyard, whose residents at least get to enjoy eternity with a picturesque outlook.

Finding the footpath, I began to retrace Dad’s steps in the opposite direction, through the farms and wood to the old Tal-y-Bont bridge then along a small lane that followed the valley. I didn't pass a single other person the entire way.

Throughout most of the morning it rained softly, with occasional breaks where it rained heavily and less frequent breaks where it didn't rain at all. I spend most of the day damp throughout but the weather only added to the enchantment it in a strange sort of way, the light mist giving a dreamlike haziness to the already Tolkienesque sounding Vale of Ffestiniog.

The Oakley Arms pub and bus stop marked the turning point where I left the Vale and began climbing through the wooded hillside and past Llyn Mair.

At Tan-y-Bwlch station an unmistakable noise heralded a fortuitous piece of timing on my part. Just like my dad 50 years ago, I also happened to have arrived at exactly the right time to see a steam train puff into the station, though this was the 12:00 from Ddualt to Porthmadoc.

The next long section of my walk followed a deserted road through the Coedydd Maentwrog Nature Reserve. After a short ugly section of scarred land ravaged by timber felling, the scenery turned into some of the wildest and most stunning yet, Tramadoc Bay visible to West and Snowdon to the North. Only a few purple foxglives and the bright red of a passing post office van punctuated the thousand shades of greens and greys.

In that last picture above, Croesor is visible as a smattering of houses in the distance. On the way there I stopped three times to save the lives of slugs who were sluggishly sliming their way across the road and in danger of being run over - I rolled them each onto a leaf and carried them to their destinations.

Croesor was a very sleepy little place, literally the end of the road, set amongst beautiful mountains. It was deathly quiet, sheep the only things to break the silence. The post office has closed down and the methodist chapel was in the process of being converted into houses but there is a school and a cafe. The fourth picture below shows a primary school installation with drawings carved into slates by the local children, and the fifth shows these same upright slates used as fencing, which I've never seen before. The final pic is the line of the old Croesor tramway, which I wouldn’t have spotted unless I knew exactly where it was from the map.

I sat on a bench next to a car park, one of the only covered spots I could find in the rain, and ate a packed lunch that I’d bought in Dollgellau. There I befriended a robin who came and sat next to me. I shared my lunch with it and it happily nibbled my sandwich crusts.

After Croesor I followed the hillside track, likely an old drovers’ road. It’s comforting to know that whilst so much has changed in the world since my dad was a teenager, some things remain constant. This quiet little path in Wales over the mountain moors, right down to the driving rain, appears to be one of them!

At Nantmor, a hamlet of about 5 houses, the rain was pelting down so hard I stopped to take shelter in the station building.

The rain didn't exactly stop but it lightened up so I continued on. Just outside Namtmor I was surprised to spot this bamboo lined Buddist shrine by a small stream.

For the next section I will refer to part of a different entry from my dad's journal from the day where he walks from Beddgelert to Aberglaslyn and back.

I will only walk this in one direction, but that's okay because I couldn't have walked along the WHR trackbed as it is of course now a working train line again. I began at Aberglaslyn Bridge where I stopped to admire the same view.

The adventurous and at times precarious path that my dad took is known as the Fisherman's Path. It is indeed hairy in places, at times requiring ladders and handrails hammered into the rock to get over the steeper parts. Halfway along was a completely unsealed mine tunnel that I cautiously investigated, stopping when it turned a corner into pitch darkness. I wanted to see where it went but the desire not to spend the next week starving to death with a broken leg at the bottom of an abandoned mine shaft with nobody knowing I was there overpowered my curiosity.

At the Northern end of the gorge the valley opened out and I crossed the railway close to the girder bridge. Before long Beddgelert came into view. An iron footbridge took me over the river and into the town itself. I was immediately impressed by how neat and pretty a village it is, by far the nicest of those I’d seen recently.

The blue building with outside tables in the picture above is The Saracen’s Head, the inn in which I was to stay the night. On arrival I was so wet throughout I resembled a bedraggled dog, so I checked into my room, showered and put on dry clothes. For dinner I stayed in the hotel and decided to break my usual veggie-ism by trying some of the famous Welsh lamb, which I had avoided thus far as I rarely ever eat meat but tonight I decided '“when in Wales” and it was well sourced so I tried lamb caul - a traditional watery stew with potatoes, vegetables and curd cheese sprinkled over the top. It tasted healthy and nourishing, if not particulary interesting, which is what I was needing at that point, so I'm glad I tried it but I wouldn’t be queuing up again for it.

One look at the pouring rain outside cemented the decision I’d already reached - as nice as Beddgelert is I returned to my room, wrote a little of my blog and lay down for a long and much needed sleep!