DAY 9 - Beacon Ring to Porth-y-Waen
Friday 26th August 1983
miles/ hours mins
Up at six and a away by 7:15 - up on to the top which I reached in a few minutes. The Ring was completely occupied by close, bushy trees and the track had to go round. Then down, through Hope and Buttington into the Severn Valley. A mile alongside the Severn, a mile of canal and then three very pleasant easy miles along a flood bank adjacent to the river. The day was fine and walking thus, absolutely flat, was extremely pleasant. I paused, stripped off and had a most refreshing wash in the river watched by a group of five adult swans. Then back on to the Dyke to Four Crosses where I was once again lucky enough to find an inn open. One-and-a-half pints of really delicious liquid and a plate of sausages and chips felt like luxury indeed. I tried to ring Marjorie here but failed. A mile of busy road, taken at a good speed to get it over quickly, brought me to Llanymynech - a very small town at most - where I did succeed in contacting Marjorie. The limestone cliffs ahead were clearly visible. The way marking here was poor and I had a few problems, but I got down to Porth-y-Waen more by luck than judgement, and climbed up to Cefn Farm where I asked permission to camp. George, the farmer was most anxious to oblige, but the only fields he had contained animals. He was a round rubicund Welshman assisted by a 16 year old, slim young lad. I accepted the field across the way - sheep and all, and the lad was instructed to supply me with water. When I got into the field their were not only sheep but eight bullocks. However, I found a flat spot near the style into the woods and began erecting the tent. The bullocks were immediately interested and came nearer and nearer and nearer. They examined and licked the guy ropes, they muzzled and licked the tent, and only a determined foray by me with a few bangs with the stick drove them away - and even then not far. I began if to wonder what sort of a night I was in for! The day had been hot and sunny after a misty start. I had walked a long way and was glad to lie in the tent with the sun still shining in, write up my notes and do a Times crossword. It was not long before the bullocks came back and one of them managed to foul a guy rope and almost bring the tent down. Shot out, swearing and whacking of course and drove them well away. This activity was repeated about an hour later, but after dark all seemed well and I fell comfortably asleep. I woke at 1:20 am to a sound of munching which seemed to be in the tent! They had arrived again and were munching the grass right up to the tent walls. I eased myself half out of my sleeping bag, located my stick and held my breath. Gradually they moved off, except one who moved along the side towards the front where the guys were and it was quite a time fraught with dire anticipation, before his munching became fainter and fainter and I could breathe again. And that was the last of them. In spite of traffic noise from an invisible road, bellowings, beatings and hootings, I slept well.
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