Firstly, I know that days 4 and 5 have got muddled up. So please use your skill and judgement to work out which one to read first.
Secondly, thanks to everyone who has sent me a text, for whatever reason. Be it to let me know that you're reading the blog (which is nice), tell me what the weather forecast is (which isn't always nice) or even let me know the football scores, it's been good to hear from you. For those who mentioned it I think the reason comments won't upload is because the all powerful Google require you to have a googlemail account first.
Thirdly, what a night! I left the pub when the locals began to get aggressive with each other (well it was a Saturday night in Wales), having decided to watch Match of the Day at home after the walk. As I wandered back to the site I could hear Metronomy playing at the festival incredibly clearly, enough to make me a bit envious in fact. As I approached the tent the sound was gradually drowned out by the party taking place at the campsite farm. Unfortunately the quality here was lacking, as dodgy 80s tunes followed even dodgier 90s ones ('Fairground' by Simply Red anyone?). I went to the loos next door and while I was washing a lad came out of a cubicle, no flush, then another went in, then came out, no flush, then about 5 minutes later a man who looked like Burt Reynolds came out carrying a shoulder bag. I went to bed.
By three o'clock the entire campsite and caravan site (and it's big!) was awake, either listening to or taking part in the fight taking place outside one of the caravans, about 100 yards from me. It had started with an incredibly loud swearing match between an Irish father and son, and escalated beyond belief. My favourite bit went "Go to bed" "No you go to bed" "No you go to bed" "No you go to bed", though to be honest it was a bit scary.
In the middle of all the thumping and smashing a police car trundled in, then another, then another. The next hour was calm followed by bedlam as negotiations continued, following which the police took the pair of them away. We all sighed with relief. Then the sobbing and wailing started, really loud sobbing and wailing. It was to this, and probably the distant accompanying wails of Van Morrison, well into the fourth hour of his set, that I finally drifted off.
It's hard to say how well I sleep in a tent (on a normal night!). My thin inflatable mat is great, the sleeping bag comfy, the tent waterproof. But if it rains I wake up, at least to begin with. Then I think I haven't slept at all when I have. So probably ok on the whole, though I haven't mentioned the pillow, because I haven't got one. I use my fleece jacket and I reckon I lose a good hour each night trying and failing to form it into a non-lumpy shape.
So I was tired when I woke up, but I had a plan and it worked. The forecast had said rain at about 10am which would gradually clear, and it was spot on. So I was up early munching mmmmmmmmmmmmmmuesli, packed and ready to go by 9:30, and in Crickhowell tourist information by 10. It had a coffee machine and free wifi, so I spent an hour in there while it poured down outside. The rain eased off and off I went. Within half an hour it had stopped and that was it. The downside was the path itself during the first half of the day. Fighting my way through head high bracken was no fun and the path went most of the way up a hill, then just traversed it for a good few miles. I was though now directly above the Green Man Festival, and felt like I was almost there, listening to bog standard indie in a wet field (I think it might have been The Guillemots, but I'm not sure). At about this point I also reached the half way mark of the walk, so I celebrated with a nearby slug and many horseflies before delving back into the bracken. I was relieved when a road appeared.
As has been the norm on this walk, the weather took an upturn and the afternoon's walking was glorious. I headed up another stunning valley at the end of which stood just two houses. The first was beautiful, like a National Trust property. The second wasn't. And as I got nearer I heard the sound of a generator. It was creepily like the start of the Texas Chain Massacre (the classic 1972 version obviously). I could even hear a chainsaw. I passed by quickly, ignoring the two small children who said hello and the cheery lady. It was definitely a plot to lure me in.
"Ah, roast walker for Sunday lunch. Who's going to carve?" Vrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Secretly disappointed that the chainsaw was actually an angle grinder, I climbed steeply uphill and was on ftop of the world again at 400m. The Sun was baking and my watch recorded 30.4 degrees at one point (and no it wasn't on my wrist, pedants, it was strapped to the rucksack), but there was a decent breeze the views were tremendous. And this was my last walk in the Black Mountains, before the Beacons proper.
Make a scale model of a Black Mountain and amaze your friends:
1. Take a Swiss roll and cut it in half lengthways.
2. Arrange the two halves end to end.
3. Paint it green.
4. Insert sprigs of parsley to represent bracken, but leave a path along the top.
5. Sprinkle with raisins to represent sheep poo.
The best thing about them is that once you're up you can walk for miles (11 on Hatterall Ridge!) on the flat, so it's great for, say, old people. If you can airlift them in first.
The path descended slowly to Bwlch, then soon after Llangynidr, where for the first time I joined a canal towpath, on the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal. Within 5 minutes of joining it I came across two women and two young girls who had steered their holiday narrow boat into the bank. Once back on track one of the women looked ahead and said "Bloody hell, what's that?". It was a lock.
A canal-side pub was just up ahead so I stopped for a drink. The pub was showing the City match but I could see they were losing 2-1, which meant they would win, so I sat in the garden. The all female crew soon went past having negotiated the lock well, but shortly after setting off on my final leg I came across them again. They were being told off by a man in another narrow boat for leaving the lower lock gates shut or something like that, and were getting a bit flustered. One of the girls said "Mum, I'm not sleeping in this, it's brown and there's loads of poo." She had a point, the canal was very, very brown.
Reflections in a brown canal. Poo not pictured.
There was still one ascent to go and it was hard work after the pub stop. I've left the Beacons way for the night to stay in the youth hostel next to Talybont Reservoir. I got there at 7:30, my latest finish yet, but I've always enjoyed walking till late when it's sunny. So what can I say about youth hostels today? Well if this one is anything to go by they're fantastic. It's remote, it doubles as an education centre and last night there was a wedding here! This is fairly obvious because a fair few of the guests haven't left yet (the ones who were camping), including the bride and groom who are in a camper van in the car park.
The girl running the place tonight is really laid back and a group of teenagers cooked my dinner, which was lovely. There is a bar, a coffee machine and I have my own room. Oh and they seem to have left me to serve myself!
It's a youth hostel dining room Jim, but not as we know it.
-- Posted from Kev's iPhone
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