The Brecon Beacons beckon

This week, Eddy and I headed to the Brecon Beacons National Park in Wales. We had two days off work so we decided to walk along the 32km towpath that follows the Brecon canal between Abergavenny and Brecon. We wanted to get there nice and early so we worked out all the bus and train connections before we left. There was no bus that left Odd Down early enough so at 6:15am we set off to walk the few miles downhill to the train station. The morning light was gorgeous and it was wonderful to be up and out at that time when everything was still and peaceful.

We made it to the train station to find out that the 6:56 train to Wales had been cancelled. It was the start of a series of unexpected obstacles that continued to pop up all the way through this trip. When we eventually made it to Abergavenny, we found out that several large sections of the canal had been closed just two days earlier for maitenance work, and... well, the parts of the canal that were still open, didn't actually have any water in them. The lady at the tourist information centre looked at us anxiously, "Are you sure you still want to do the walk?" We smiled back at her and asked for directions to the canal.

So we set off, walking through the ridiculously green meadows that border the River Usk and climbing up the hill to where the canal winds its way through the national park. All the water had indeed gone elsewhere and there were flowers growing amongst the scallop shells resting in the mud. It didn't really matter, the rest of the view was stunning. A Welsh movie famously asked, how green was my valley? Pretty bloody green! And then there were the craggy-topped mountains and the pine forests and the beautiful old churches tucked away into the immense landscape. We took a big breath and started walking.

A few miles on, we reached our first path closure. We hadn't bought a map as we thought we would just be following the towpath, so we took a guess and followed a road that seemed to run roughly parallel with the canal. Well, it did for a while, but it took us progressively higher and higher up the hillside. Then the road started to become less of a road and more of a track covered in a bit of patchy tarmac. We were able to look down and see our midway destination of Crickhowell on the other side of the river but had no way of getting there except to retrace our steps and try another route. When we got back to the place of the original path closure, we considered our options. There weren't many and the next one we tried led us to the edge of a footpath-less motorway. No thanks.

It did lead us past a pub, however and I suggested we go in and ask for directions. As usual, Eddy was reluctant. I guess it could be said, as evidenced by previous blogs, that my map reading skills have room for improvement so at least we both fit into the stereotype. I went in, and Eddy followed, and everyone seemed to stop what they were doing and look at us. The locals were enjoying pints of Brain's bitter and after hearing our predicament, they all offered suggestions of what we could do, followed by (Welsh accent please), 'Oh no, that won't work'. Eventually, an older man had an idea, "Chase your kangaroo down this road here, and stay on it- stay on it until you cross an old metal bridge, then stay on it, mind, until you reach the Bluebell. Then go left, and keep on going and that road will eventually take you there." And it did, eventually.

Crickhowell is a lovely village where they try not to change anything. They have a famous pub called the Bear where we went for dinner. It was a night for superlatives and Eddy had his(second)best steak ever and I had an amazing lamb shank. The Usk valley is renowned for its meat. All that green grass I guess. Our Bed and Breakfast was friendly and cheap and the fry-up they served for breakfast kept us going all day- though I was glad we had 24km still to walk if only to burn it all off. I got through the sausages but couldn't bring myself to face the fried bread!

It being Wales, it rained all day the second day. We didn't mind too much- we had our rain jackets and the landscape looks like it's meant to be raining and misty- like it is taken out of a fantasy novel. The path got muddier and muddier until it was just puddles and we had to walk through the grass. We stopped to water ourselves (well, have a ginger-beer and ale) at a pub after 13km but were still too full from breakfast to eat anything. Later, there was another path closure, but with a road that actually did run parallel to it, and when we eventually were able to get back on the canal, we had a nice surprise. The last section was still filled with water and we were finally able to walk alongside it with it looking like a canal (rather than a muddy ditch!).

We reached Brecon after a solid six hours of walking. We were soaked and footsore, and in keeping with our luck on this trip, missed the bus back to Abergavenny by five minutes! We had two hours until the next one so we found a cafe to sit down in and dry off. By 9pm we were home, walking a bit strangely after stiffening up on the train and being laughed at by our flatmate, Tom, who never walks anywhere if he can help it. His loss though. I am convinced that a walker's pace is a good one to see the world by, especially if you're blessed with such good company.

Susie xoxo
PS. Eddy was so enthralled with taking photos on his new camera that we forgot to get some with him in them...he was there though. I promise.