Wednesday, 1 August 2012
I watched the sun making its way into the Grwyne and Usk valleys, eventually lighting up Crickhowell church, though Llanbedr was still in shadow when I went down again. I remembered the night I spent on Crug Mawr over there behind the sheep; the coldest night's camping I've ever had; we just huddled together, people, dogs (the dogs' own tent had blown down) and waited for morning, which took a long long time to arrive....
But that was then, and this is now. Or at least, Sunday. I drank the half bottle of Coca Cola I'd brought up for sustenance, and cooled down from the ascent. The sheep thought about it, and decided to ignore me. A buzzard called in the distance.
Heading home, I went up the side of Mynydd Llangatwg, on the steepest lane the Trav's ever been up. The engine temperature behaved itself. At the top, there's White Walls, a caving cottage where I got snowed in with the Portsmouth Poly Caving Club in 1980 (or thereabouts). We spent three days digging the minibus along the narrow mountain track, then dropping down to the pub in Llangattock in the evenings. As being snowed-in goes, it was pretty civilised.
Today I had the place to myself. The lane steamed in the after-rain sun. Somewhere out of sight a tractor was rumbling. I dropped down into Llanfach, past Llew Taylor's, where a jay flapped up from the gatepost and a three legged squirrel hobbled into the hedge. Heading for home.