Going for another walk

The day stared brightly enough, pale sunshine and a keen Westerly full on for most of the walk between Newport and the unfortunately named Fishguard. Progress proved tortuous. Paths echoed the terrain, steep narrow paths often steeply stepped up and down; narrow and too close to the edge for my liking much of the time.. I resolved to keep my eyes firmly fixed on the path, ignoring the booming mad crashing of the sea, colliding with the land hundreds of feet below. I have to force my thoughts not to go there or else my knees begin to tremble, inside.

I had not expected such a challenge. Total concentration was called for. Progress was halved, whittled to 2 miles per hour rather than the expected 4 MPH. Apart from the effort required to maintain progress there were but a few diversions.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I reached the top of one particular incline to be greeted with a bazaar scene. Often the vegetation is shaped by the prevailing wind in such a way that blackthorn sweeps over narrow paths creating a tunnel over the footpath, the floor often covered white like snow from the fallen tiny white spring flowers.
Here I encountered Bilbo Baggins, Frodo and his chums about to have a spot of lunch. A family of 5 or 6 had encamped in this particular tunnel and were preparing a pot of soup with a little stove, several French sticks salads and sundries. We were equally surprised by each other and profuse apologies were offered for the taking up of the whole narrow width of the path. Pots, pans and plates were removed to make stepping stones for me to continue of my way. And On I went.

Next, at the right angle corner of a field fence I looked up from my preoccupation of watching the path to see coming towards me a large woman walking alone wearing a blue trouser suit, and a tee shirt emblazoned with the word 'Wales' across her ample chest. She wore white trainers, spoke with a strong German accent, walked with a pronounced limp and carried a single Norwegian Walking Pole. In a brief conversation she informed me that she didn't much like the 'vind' particularly when it gusted and didn't get on with cliffs. Strange I thought, here in this particular location. I was keen to be off incase I was needed. I told her of my own fears and suggested she might pretend to look for Roman coins along the way to detract from her aversion to the frequent sheer drops of several hundred metres. she oped her purse and showed me a battered 1946 George VI halfpenny she picked up on a footpath in Siberia. She set off with her wonky gait dressed as if she was on the staff of the glove department in some Munich super store chuntering about looking for Roman coins. Very strange.

It didn't get any better.

Not too far from the previous encounter, I came upon a man and his unleashed dog up ahead where the path widened. He was deeply preoccupied with his mobile phone. I thought perhaps he was texting his lover to come to his side before it all got too much for him and he jumped off the cliff.
'If you really really loved me Gwendoline (Welsh) you'd leave your stupid job at the call centre and come to save me!'

As I passed, the dog, a kind of golden retriever/greyhound cross, gave me a wide berth; the man and I exchanged 'Or right then,' and I went on my way.
I recalled that the man had no backpack, didn't look like he should be out in the wilderness taking on nature. Very strange this man with a phone, locks of premature greyness, scruffy clothes and I demanding agenda. I began to mistrust him; he entered my thoughts. The click of a gate I had recently passed through caused me to stop and look back. There he was. Just metres behind me. How had he travelled so fast? I'm no spring chicken but I do walk with a purpose.

My mind ran amok. The dog passed very close to me this time, close enough for me to feel the brush of its coat on my shorted legs. It stopped ahead of me turned and stared at me. I turned and found the man was there right behind me. I jumped with fright.

'Give me your money,' he asked menacingly. 'Give me your wallet and anything valuable, now,' he demanded.
'I'll give you everything apart from my Swiss Army Penknife, with the clock,' I answered firmly. His small black eyed drilled into me. I remember the wise thing to do in these circumstances is to give stuff to prevent a worse outcome.

I burrowed in my backpack, handed over my wallet, my Tesco phone (what a cheap scape I am) my new binoculars, my trusty Panasonic camera and my moisturiser.

'The knife too,' he demanded, his hand thrust out in front of him. I handed him my knife.

To my horror he threw everything but the Swiss Army knife over the cliff. Noise from the crashing waves below absorbed the sound of breaking glass.

'Now the boots.' I swallowed hard. 'Now given me your boots and socks.' There was nothing i could do, so I unlaced and took off my beloved Salomon boots which held countless memories and watched with horror as he tossed these over the cliff into the abyss.

I felt the full horror of my circumstances. No money, no bank cards, no driving licence, no moisturiser, nothing. I looked down at my feet. I had at least 2 hours of clambering over sharp rocks to arrive in the town of Fishguard, unable to confirm my identity blooded and exhausted from my ordeal and a long way from home.

'Turned out fine didn't it,' the man said almost matter-of-factly as he passed me standing rooted to the spot for the brief moment I heard the click of the gate behind me.

The man disappeared from view. I turned, pulled myself together and resumed my purposeful gait.
Funny the sort of things that flash past in your mind.

It comes from having a fertile imagination.

Going for a walk

I cast the heavy bow howser out over the widening gap between the departing boat and the quay, so-to-speak and wave goodbye as my wife Lynne drives away in our car waving furiously, her eyes not on the road but in the rear view mirror until turning a corner and disappearing from my view. I heard no sound of collision!

Im aware I stand alone in a strange place, white cottages tumble down to huddle along the shore of an snaking estuary; muddy banks bared at low tide.
I hitch up the unaccustomed weight of my rucksack to get comfortable. Gone are the lazy, hot sunny days of the past few weeks; here on the coast the wind whips people brave enough to venture, just now licking the back of my knees; perhaps I shouldn't have chosen to wear shorts. Patches of blue in the sky came and went. My grandmother would have said ' there's enough blue up there to patch a Dutchman's trousers'. Without the wind it would be a fine day to begin a long walk along the coast of West Wales. But first i need to find my bed for the night.

I feel like John Bunyan's Pilgrim about to embark on a journey into the unknown. In my backpack the bare essentials for protection against the elements and a few nut bars and a bottle of water to quell the munches. I realise I have with me items from every room in our house: windup torch from the garage, my Swiss Army knife note book and pencils from my work work room, from the bathroom electric tooth brush and razor, even from the toilet, a few sheets, and all the rest. I strode purposely into the unknown, carrying my house on my back.

Looming sinister rain-bearing clouds begin to gather as I find an easy rhythm climbing gently up the gradient away from St Dogmaels to follow a lane carved out by a babbling brook, upward and onward. People unloading shopping, trimming hedges and walking dogs welcomed me with a cheerful hellos. Two ruff looking handlers of Engish bull terriers looked like they might bar my way so I tipped my hat and bid them,
'Ello, Bon jour.' I thought a spot of French might dissuade them from roughing me up and pinching my penknife.

The shaded dingle dell, over which trees, displaying the first vigorous growth of spring, spread across the lane throwing shadow patterns and allowing floating glimpses of blue sky, mercifully providing shelter from the increasingly strong westerlies.

Out in the open upland I stop to lean on a gate to take in the scenery; wind swept pastures and coppices nestling in the folds of vigorous rolling landscape. I knew then I had got away, i was reduced, subservient to a greater whole, one small part of many. I began to look forward to tomorrow.

B&B at a farmhouse tucked into high bank, a beech stand holding on for dear life in the gale took me into its cosy embrace; provided every creature comfort.The outdoor pool however continued to wear an overcoat. Tomorrow after breakfast my walk will begin in earnest.

I'm woken by bright sunshine at 5 am but by 7 the sky begins to grumble and by the time I'm waving goodby to my hosts the lashing begins and doesnt let up for 6 hours. The cliff-top walk was no fun in the driving rain, mist obscured much of the dramatic views; there were no birds and i was in no mood to take photographs; i just wanted to get to my destination. By the time I finally reached Newport, Pembrokeshire i was freezing, my teeth chattered, everything including my underpants where soaked; only the pilot light of optimism remained alight.

I'm now in room at the Golden Lion in Newport. My wet stuff snuggles up to the radiators and heated towel rail. I read for an hour or so this afternoon while nature continued to take its revenge upon west Wales....then suddenly the clouds disappeared, to be replaced by blue skies and a warm buffeting wind. Been out to see where I came from out of the mist and gales just hours ago. I've given up the idea of getting the bus to Fishguard tomorrow for now. I get the feeling I'm being given a lesson...

At least the forecast for Friday looks more positive.