Nov. 22, 2002
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Brecon Beacons Nov. 22, 2002 |
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| The hills are alive with the sound of can we stop for a breather | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Lots of words go with the word hill or hills. Mole hills, ant hills, Heather on the Hills� you get the idea. Some words are not so pleasant with the word hill, Jack and Jill falling down the hill, etcetera. Walking. When you are on two hours of sleep and open your door to swirling, gray mass of liquid drops pegging you in the face, the word Walking isn�t the most pleasant thing to associate with Hill. Nevertheless you psych yourself out for a good day, no matter what, and lace up you boots, lash on your waterproofs and prepare yourself for hill-walking, whatever that means. The bus ride out the Black Mountains, part of Brecon Beacons National Park in southeast Wales was never-ending, and the twisting, winding and narrow road in those vans had the lot of our group five seconds short of a nauseous-disaster. We spilled out of the vans into the rain quite happily; glad to be on a solid ground and breathing fresh air. We began our ascent up a wide, gradual incline to a mist shrouded something and once again I found myself asking what the hell I was under the influence of when I signed my Fridays away in favour of steep, muddy inclines in the mist. Fortunately this path was wide enough to accommodate the entire | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| These are hills.... Below, that's a ridge.... bit of huffing and puffing... | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| group and offered more time for camaraderie and a more leisurely pace, though we wondered as to when this stretch of up would give way to something a bit easier on the knees and prayed the mist would lift in honor of Brecon scenic splendour. We stopped for a snack at a shelter at the edge of a large reservoir surrounded by cliffs, which we promptly learned, formed the ridge we would climb. Enter the hill. The incline before was a nice little jaunt of walking up hills, but doesn�t actually fall under the category of Hill Walking� No, Hill Walking is a lesser version of Mountain Climbing, only for clumps of dirt and rock that are just under 3,000 feet in elevation (the official height to be classified as a mountain). Off we went tramping through the marsh, shivering when the first icy surge of swamp water leaked through my now dilapidated boots (they were new when I started this course!) | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| We made our way up another gradual shift and then began a series of bright red muddy switchbacks, getting a good ten feet higher for every ten feet we walked, on a path growing every so narrow that a single one of my boots barely fit the trail, and as we rose the cliffs did too, until below us was a sea of misty nothingness. Then without any warning the cliff gave way to a very large, very wide dome-ish hill we couldn�t see the top of, nor the path leading up (yet it was wide enough now that we could link arms and climb �off-to-see-the-wizard� style if we wanted). It�s these stretches that kill me. I huff and puff and force my knees to go just a little further, take tiny steps and just keep moving, knowing I'll savour in the delights at the top. Here, though there was really nothing to tell us we had made it, no peak or apex, just a flattened ground and a few feet to our right, a major drop off which we guessed must have been the ridge. With no view to relish in and a strong wind blowing us every closer to the ridge, we didn�t stick around long and began our amble down the path, wincing in the wind and trying not to step in pools of rainwater. Then just randomly the rain stopped and the clouds began to lift and we could see the rolling hills that surrounded us. It was a bit unique, first a dull brown treeless series of grassy mounds then like magic, when we turned a corner, it was splendid green vales cut right down the middle with a clear babbling stream and cottages you knew contained some fairytale figure busy living happily ever after. And so I grinned at the late autumn landscape and appreciated hill-walking, especially when we reached the broad stretch we had begun the journey on � on either side (who would have known) a number of small waterfalls and a series of openings in the trees with views to sheep-dotted fields. Muddy and content, we climbed back in the van and hoped we could sleep for the journey back to the college. But the very full busses and the steep, leaf-strewn roads were too much than the poor motors could handle. The smell of burning rubber and the smoke spewing from the back, we elected to get out and push � after about ten minutes it finally made it up the road and we had to run up and chase it and jump in before it lost momentum. So out of breath I was when I clamoured into my seat and a few minutes later fell into a deep slumber, happy with the world and the days events. This is why we doe these things, see. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| A beautiful day in Brecon Beacons National Park. Best viewed when it's not foggy, rainy, slippery and muddy.... | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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