Day 3 (July 17): Over the Hills and Through the Woods

Today dawned hot and fair, the final day of a heat wave that has lingered over Britain. My back pain diminished, I slept in this morning and had to be awakened by Chris ten minutes after I was due down for breakfast. Jet lag is still operative; 8 a.m. UK time is 2 a.m. US time, so I find it difficult to wake bright-eyed. I’ll need to set my alarm after this.

At 11 a.m. I headed to Teresa’s, where we shouldered our packs and took off through the town and up into the wooded, hilly park that had originally been designed for the gentry’s use. We turned off into a lane and headed up a drover’s track—deep with old leaves and holly prickles, bordered on both sides by steep banks and overarching trees. It was easy to imagine the horse-drawn carts trundling down that track a century or two ago. England and Wales seem ageless, even with the new developments springing up.

The deep track of leaves soon turned into a jungle of brambles, wildflowers, grasses, and stinging nettle. Fighting our way through this, we decided that it would be wiser to walk in the grassy field above us. This entailed, however, climbing over a barbed wire fence, which Teresa did with ease and panache. It took me all of ten minutes, precariously wobbling on the wires and unsure how to move my feet or swing my leg over the barbed wire. Teresa was my coach and a shoulder to lean on, and eventually I gracelessly fell to a heap on the other side. I must say, Teresa is in much better shape than I am.

We eventually came out onto an open path and broad views of the hills—but still climbing. I asked for a photo break so that I could catch my breath. Here are the results:

At the top of the hill we sat in the shade (after brushing away sheep poop), enjoying the view and also Teresa’s really lovely date/oat confections, and a few swigs of water. The view was fabulous.

Then, as they say, it was all downhill from there. We passed a flock of sheep taking shelter in the shade of a forest (did I mention it was a HOT day?) 

and then walked through Paradise Farm, and thus down a lane in the broad sunshine until we came back to Presteigne, the Pink House, and glasses full of cold water. 

Teresa suggested a swim in the River Lugg, which I readily agreed to, not knowing what lay in store. I’d taken my suit along (we have a hot tub at our Scotland cottage!), so no need for skinny-dipping this time. The swimming hole was deserted when we arrived, and we had the pleasure of swimming in solitude while remarking in high, excited tones about how cold the water was. I kid you not, it was colder than Lake Tahoe, which is saying a lot. It’s a spring-fed river, and my arms were aching painfully, while my bottom half was numb. But my sore muscles loved it, and when I got out, I felt alive and well and happy. So thank you, Teresa, for yet another glorious experience in Wales.

On the way back to my car, I entered the ancient church nearby and sat and read (Trollope) while an organist practiced in the nave. So lovely and peaceful.

Then to the Spar store for yogurt and more apples, then home to chat with Chris and Jack and enjoy another hard cider and hopefully go to sleep.