Offa's Dyke, Part II: Angles and Angels

This Welsh/English borderland is idyllic.  Literally bathed in copious amounts of rain, tempered by a relatively mild climate, rich in the diversity of plants and trees, and ideal for all manner of agricultural purposes, not the least of which is sheep and cows.  From a perspective of terrain, it is most like the Appalachians to me, or even the Berkshires in New England.  I can easily see why the English settlers could so readily identify with New England - rolling, green, lots of stone and timber - just like "home".

Typical Welsh scenery - Disgwylfa Ridge

Into this landscape we started walking - Wednesday August 24th.  Crossing fields of sheep (well fertilized, I might add, some of which we carried on our boots), hay, hedged verges, hardwood and coniferous forests, narrow lanes passing into small villages seems to define our walk.  But the big hills: Herrock, Rushock, Hergest Ridge, Disgwylfa presented their own challenges, steep up and down, largely bald on top with large, windy open spaces covered in bracken (fern fens easily 5' high) with great views. And then came Hay Bluff and Hatterrall ("Hattie") Ridge.

Hay-on-Wye is a small town known for its many bookshops - mostly antiquarian - started with an 11th century castle atop a short bluff with excellent visual angles up and down the Wye River.  Following a long day of hiking across these high hills, Hay was a welcome sight, a town of narrow twisted lanes surrounding the castle, and within the oldest structure in town, a "freehouse" (pub) called Three Tuns, we enjoyed a world class pub fare and a detailed introduction to how these old wattle and daub structures were built (note: people were much shorter than me!). Knowing we were at the low part of the valley, Hattie was calling just as the day slipped to nightfall.

We departed the B&B at our usual time - around 9:15 following a full English breakfast - and wandered back through town to find the trailhead south, and in so doing found ourselves in a public parking lot trying to locate where the trail started up.  We were not alone in the endeavor, for another hiker was also seeking the trailhead, and so, with a bit of guidance from a local who "thought" it lead in a certain direction we three headed for Hattie.

Enter Tracey Brittle.

Now it is customary to exchange the usual information about your trip, especially if headed in the same direction.  As we were walking across the field, such information was exchanged, but there occurs that awkward moment when a subtle agreement is silently made about walking together, at least for a short spell.  That moment was somewhere in this first field crossing, when you would like to say "please join us for a spell" but your polite gene instead says "please don't let me/us hold you up, with such a long climb ahead", stated under the near certain presumption that they must be faster, that they want their peace and quiet, and really are here to get away from it all, including me/us. Indeed, such was offered, vigorously, but Tracey and us, but we just kept walking, instead saying "no, its fine, we/I would love the company", at least for the next mile or so, as you are certain this cannot last, as the perfunctory questions are asked and answered - the who/what/where/why and when questions.

Tracey and Becky spurring each other on the way up.

But then the hill started to get a bit steep.  What we all discovered upon cresting the first shoulder of the climb, was that Becky and Tracey, in their near constant chatter, did not become immediately aware that they were actually making good progress, that they were both not fast, and that they both liked to "pause to take in the view" frequently and at the same time when none necessarily existed.  In that 2008 foot ascent from Hay-on-Wye to the crest of Hattie Ridge, they bonded pretty solidly  They were trail angels to each other, for they both dreaded the prospect of the long and steep climb ahead, but delighted in getting to the top together.  They broke the demons in their heads that always poke your mind trying to hold you back.

Cresting Hattie ridge - Becky and Tracey down there somewhere

And for me?  I too was delighted, for I could walk my walk, as I tend to be a bounder moving quickly, eager to get to the top where the views are, and navigating the twists and turns of the way forward.  When I knew the pathway was clear (for there were no trees), I said I would meet you at the top.  I found a perfect resting spot on a rock ledge overlooking the saddle we just summited, and took great delight to finally see them both, walking together, taking their time, and chattering away, for I could hear them easily across this great open expanse. 

Taking a break near the crest of Hattie ridge

The Hatterrsall ridge is simply amazing.  While overcast, it was not raining. I have never been on such a long continuous ridge, devoid of any trees, with sweeping views 360 degrees at all times.  And it was boggy on top, which seems to defy logic - the ground cover is expansive areas of grasses, heather and bracken, all of which thrive on moist soils that peat would provide.  So the crest was one long bog, with many areas having large stepping stones to walk upon.  There were sheep, but also small herds of wild ponies. I was moving excitedly across this space, leading and awaiting Tracey and Becky, as I could see them from a great distance ahead.  It was pure magic up there.

Long views over fields of heather

But alas, good things come to an end.  The ridge is so long that we could not complete it in a day, and so a trail crossing down each side of the ridge lead to Longtown where Becky and I were headed on the east side, and  the Priory where Tracey was headed on the west.  You know it is coming.  You think about it.  It comes.  You hug, thank each other for the great day, and wish good luck on the way ahead.  And then you head down, down, down, losing this valuable ground you worked so hard to gain, knowing (or dreading perhaps) that come morning, you would have to climb up to the ridge again.  

The morning of Thursday, August 25th was deeply overcast and damp, and Hattie's ridge, clearly visible in the evening sky last night, was shrouded in thick cloud cover, invisible. Into this cloud deck we started walking, slowly skirting the side of the ridge.  When I knew Becky's pathway was clear to the saddle, I told her I would meet her at the top, and proceeded to bound up, causing the sheep to skitter into the thick bracken, and disappear, white on white.  As soon as I crested, I noted a familiar figure taking a picture - Tracey coincidently arrived but a few moments before me, and so we cancelled our previous farewell, rehearsed the usual "are you sure you and Becky . . ." with animated protestations to the contrary, and sat awaiting Becky, commenting that the dense fog in this high place enables one to experience complete silence. As we sat quietly to test this theory, Tracey thought she heard footsteps, and so Becky arrived but 20 minutes behind us into this white fog, equally surprised and delighted to have her hiking angel back.  And so we began day two, hiking up to Hattie, only to hike down again!

Horses in heather and fog

Hattie was different this day - no view at all.  I stayed close by so we could be sure to navigate the correct trail in this fog.  It would probably not make most hikers happy but for us, it was a way to experience Hattie in quite a different mood.  The wild ponies seemed to appear out of the mist, as if in a Sherlock Holmes story - eerie, quiet, calm, moving quietly amidst the heather, muted in color yet glistening with dew.  Gradually we descended this long mountain, back into the valley of fields, vales and wood plots.  And it turns out, we were all headed to the same very small town - Llangattock Lingoed.  Following a long enjoyable dinner with an English ex-pat couple of walkers from Cyprus at the Hunters Moon Inn and freehouse, we again said our goodbyes, for Laura joined us from London, late and in from the rain to complete our trip.

Two Hikers Cowed

Friday, August 26th greeted us from our amazing picture window in the Old Rectory B&B with bright sunshine and a clear blue sky.  We departed, as was our custom, around 9:15 and visited the small, very old Norman era St. Cadoc's church across the way.  And once again, Tracey appeared, though perhaps the mutual trail angel characteristics that both Becky and Tracey exhibited are best displayed in just such a church, with mutual delight at having company yet a third, though known-to-be final day, for Tracey was hiking farther to Monmouth.  And so we enjoyed a beautifully clear day of relatively easy, pastoral walking, and the company of both Laura and Tracey, until the Old Hendre Farm where we were staying.  So with the practice of two previous evenings, we did finally part company, full of sincere warm feelings, and most especially between Becky and Tracey, for having shared this rich experience together.

Who knew it could be so fun!  And goofy . . .

In all of my travels, I have experienced similar situations, and have told Becky about them, but it is hard to comprehend the level of personal enrichment these sorts of interactions enable.  It does support the notion that people really do need people, and that you never know when that need will manifest itself and be answered in an unexpected way. 

Thank you Tracey, for enriching our lives and our wanderings, for though it was one stop on our longer journey, it is one we will remember and cherish.  Until we meet again . .