Walked through a big wheat(?) field, happy to have my silly orange gaiters on because otherwise you get all manner of prickly morsels in your socks:

Walked through an endless corn field whose path was the space between two rows of corn, and the corn was over six feet tall.  That segment was a bit disconcerting:

They must have a lot of competition!

 Lest you think this is a pharmacy with many different coloured pills and capsules, think no longer.  It is a candy shoppe in Cardigan.  Aside from many sweets in display cases and packages of candy and all sorts of fun candy items, they have between 600-700 jars of candy.  I asked the lady how they categorize them and she said by type. So all the fudge is together and all the hard candies, all the caramels, all the toffees, and so on.  Unfortunately, the store was busy, no surprise there, so I could query the lady no longer.

Tonight’s stay in St Dogmaels marks the end of the Ceredigion Path and tomorrow, the start of the Pembrokeshire path.  A long hard day awaits; the weather predicted to be cranky.

Can you see the bridge that will have to be crossed?

Love the rockage:

Moss or grass covering the rocks making them look soft as a pillow:

You know, I bet there are people who would contemplate diving into that inlet.

The rain came at noon and then it stopped and started again and so it went for the rest of the day.  You put on your rain pants and poncho and get the pack cover on the pack, then you are hot and you roll up the rain pants, maybe a fashion statement on the right person, and throw back the poncho, not a fashion statement on anyone, and one and a half miles before the end of the route, you buy an ice cream (white chocolate raspberry ripple; not bad, not the best).  This is a mistake because for some reason it disorients you and you do not go towards the steps you are to mount to continue on your way, no, you and the rolled up pants and the thrown back poncho and the not bad ice cream cone march up the wrong set of steps, only to have to descend to turn and direct yourself towards Aberporth where the people walk, but the cars do not go. You are relieved that no one knows you.  At last, you arrive only to discover that your luggage has not.  Eventually, it arrives, too.

Then off it all went, except for the meringue, rushing to the sea:

And the little wooden bridge that allows one to safely cross:

A few days ago, as I was coming down a steep, stony hill, a cyclist, riding up the hill, dismounted and was pushing his velo, tires full of cow dung and he full of sweat, up the hill with as much vigour as he could muster, which was a lot.  Unable to restrain myself, I blurted out, “Why would anyone want to ride a bicycle up here?”  Reply, “I have problems.”

Does the picture need a better comment?  Well, I can hardly wait!

After it finally stopped raining, the humidity came out just as it was time to walk through this nature reserve.  I always get excited when I see nature reserve signs, only I think I don’t stick around long enough to catch the surprises.  All I see is a lot of this:

It rained a lot yesterday and there were lots of boggy patches and tricky directional changes.  Mileage was up at about 18 partly because I “had to” go to the grocery store, which I thought would be 1/3 mile from the B and B, but it was almost in the next town.

Today was another 18 mile day or maybe more, I forget, in the P O U R I N G rain, some of it like icicles, and mucho mucho viento.  After about five hours of this punishment, it actually stopped raining for a few minutes, but then it began again.  It was relentless.  I think the scenery was supposed to have been quite spectacular, but I cannot affirm that.

Finally, in the last hour of the walk, just when I am enjoying the thought of actually arriving at B&B and having a peanut butter and jam sandwich after a hot shower, I turn to go on the muddy as all get out narrow path framed by thick gorse, but who got there first?  A heard of cows.  There they were, so many of them, huddled together against the bloody rain, cows up ahead as far as the eye could see, which, granted was not very far, but still, there was not an inch of space to pass.  As I got very close, one bossy tried to push her way ahead, but her bovine companions would not budge, so rather than risk getting kicked in the face by a big muddy hoof, I turned back, chagrined, to search for another way to pick u the path. Fortunately, after a few tries, I found one, and, after almost nine hours of what has become a daily endurance contest, arrived at the Penrhos Golf and Country Club (yes!).  THERE IS A TOASTER in the room, so the long desired sandwich was all the more satisfying and delicious for its being made on crisp, hot toast.  It is the little things that make life sweet!

It rained, but that did not affect the day very much. In the morning went to MoMA!  Not related to the New York original, but it did have a small exhibit featuring local artists.  My favourite was this piece made out of fine jewellery wire.  Since a title had not been given it, I am calling it Uncontainable Woman:

This watercolour(?) was done by a nine-year old girl.  Would you believe?

The one piece of embroidery was charming:

A detail:

This is Barry with a bigger fellow:

And with a bald eagle.  Isn’t he majestic?

You really can’t.  (You have to stay just like that to have your silhouette drawn for the USPS logo):

This is a brother and sister pair of Barn Owls from South Africa.  They have the softest little feathers:

Part of the “experience” is putting on a leather glove and letting the birds land on you as they swoop in to get their little bit of raw chicken.  It is amazing how delicately they alight. When they do, they land with a talon over the bit of food to secure it, then dig it out.

Although I could not absorb the myriad facts I was told, I did get a thrill seeing the birds so close up. You get to see the the makeup of the feathers, the little pads on the bottoms of their feet, so many details normally too far away to be seen.

I am not going to tell you what these birds eat as a main course!  You will have to spend a few hours with Barry and Luce to find out!

From Tywyn one starts out with a 4+ mile beach walk.  I hit it at low tide, the best time to see this huge beach in its vast stunningness:

Blob with blobby finger-lik eprojections:

Yet something else one had not previously thought about:

By and by this morning I heard the sound of hundreds of bleating sheep.  Glancing off to the left, I saw hundreds of sheep being herded by a couple of border collies, and a couple of “shepherds” seated atop small tractors, and those shepherds where a whooping and a hollering, just like you think they would.  The whole scene was out of view very quickly as sheep, dogs, and men on tractors disappeared over the brow of the hill.

Pretty view:

Just-about-to-be-consumed nectarine, on top of memorial stone to Arthur:

Everything Old Bought And Sold read the sign:

A neat and tidy little place it was.  Why it has not kept its rating, who knows:

Sort of like not abseiling in the quarry, except there were no timber stacks to be seen:

Tonight, in Machynlleth,  I am staying at a hotel that was built in 1870, well, not as a hotel then, but as a private residence.  There are remnants of its history.  The floors slant at such a tilt that I wondered briefly if I should use my poles whilst navigating the hallways.  To get wi-fi, the computer has to be stuck out the window.  The second option for wi-fi is to come to the lounge, where I am now.  But I am getting ahead of the story.

Yesterday started out with a super walk across the old Barmouth bridge.

A view, maybe from the bridge, but does it matter?

I was up in them there hills (looks a lot like Two Bosom Peaks):

But decided to forgo the experience.  Besides, I do do not think that this pile of slate was the quarry exactly.

Speaking of the quarry, though, brings to mind an encounter with man taking a morning walk. Learning that I was walking the WCP, he offered some advice.  “When you get to the WCP sign just ahead, ignore its telling you to turn left.  Stay on this path instead.  It is much nicer.”  Got to sign, took advice, and the recommended path was quite lovely, as promised, then after about twenty minutes, I met the WCP in exactly the place he told me not to turn left.  It was a pretty detour, however.

Walk to Tywyn, though stunning,  was L O N G as in 19 miles (counting navigational issues and detour), and I would have liked to checked into the B and B before 4:00, but the somewhat unpleasant host of Preswylfya Guest House would have nothing to do with my request, nor would he allow me to drop off my pack.  So, on arrival, desperately wanting to doff the boots, and with an hour and half to check in time, I took the little Talyllyn train to wherever and back.  It was a sweet, slow, but not spectacular journey, and sitting down, drinking a bottle of sparkling water, while looking at the countryside was quite pleasant.

The claim to fame of said train is that it was the inspiration for Thomas the Train, as you can see:

Originally the tracks were laid to transport slate from mine to port, but then it was decided to add a passenger train for families and others in the area, so around 1865 Thomas was born!

This is where they get to cavort:

One may wonder whether the prosecution for overstepping the boundary is the same or different from that for not shutting a gate.

There was an optional mountain route today between Tal Y Bont and Barmouth.  I was kind of scared to take it because the last optional route I took way back at Mostyn was a nightmare.  But took it I did and it was just gorgeous, way more gorgeous than the photo would lead you to believe:

A sweet little waterfall en route:

Stone walls snaking through the countryside:

I don’t have Ruth’s name-the-mountain app, but I will call these hills Twin-Bosom-Peaks:

Now here is a structure waiting to serve as a sukkah:

I really liked my hotel, The Tilman, in Barmouth.  It didn’t look at all like the sukkah.  Even though it was rooms over a bar-restaurant, not my favourite genre, everything worked so well, especially the shower, which, in these parts, tends to offer a different surprise every night.  And the wi-fi was state of the art!

The walk today was easy and gorgeous:

Made a stop at Harlech Castle

So now I have seen the four big ones in Wales:  Beaumaris, Caernarfon, Criccieth, and Harlech.  As it is said, that and $5.00 will get you a latte grande.  Speaking of food, I did have a delicious Welsh fudge ice cream cone, a new flavour for me, keeping with my commitment to try a new flavour whenever possible

Looking down at some artifacts(?) neatly arranged:

The walking is becoming more beautiful by the day.

Arrived at Porthmadog to find my new poles waiting, as poles can do nothing else, at Tudor Lodge, Carl and Anja, the kind proprietors, having received them on my behalf.  I rejoiced to see them, you can be sure.

Later in the afternoon, Ruth and Paul, my dear walking friends arrived, and after a cup of tea we ambled over to a neighbouring town to have dinner at a most fine restaurant, where, whilst dining, we plotted out our activity for the next day.  Since we were likely to be treated to fine weather, a rarity in these parts and in these times, and since Ruth and Paul drove here, we took advantage of all options and decided to tackle the terrain around Beddgelert where I had been rained out a week or so ago.  But before getting to the adventure of the day, and a glorious adventure it was, AND only doable with companions who have the skills of Ruth and Paul, you must become acquainted with the sad story that gave the town its name—which means, alas and alack, The Grave of Gelert.

Gelert was a dog who belonged to Llywelyn the Great, Prince of Gwynedd.  One fine, or not so fine, afternoon, Llywelyn returns from hunting to find his baby missing, the cradle overturned, and Gelert with a blood-smeared mouth running to meet him. Believing the dog had savaged (savaged, I tell you) the child, Llywelyn draws his sword and kills Gelert. After the dog’s dying yelp Llywelyn hears the cries of the baby, unharmed under the cradle, along with a dead wolf which had attacked the child and been killed by Gelert.  Llywelyn is overcome with remorse and buries the dog with great ceremony, but can still hear its dying yelp. After that day Llywelyn never smiles again. (Narrative adapted from a website, maybe Wikepedia.)

And a good thing, too, because…..

Yes, the walk certainly had its adventurous bits.  But we all survived.  Ruth and I:

And Paul and I, as well:

Then, under the protection of the local dragon….

We returned to Porthmadog, went to another fine restaurant where we enjoyed another superb meal. This establishment requires you to sign a form if you want to take your delicious leftover cod in a fishy bag.  I signed!

 It is one of the highlights of my walks to spend time with Ruth and Paul, but today our adventures went in different directions.  Ruth and Paul dropped me off at a slate mine where I had an underground tour and then took the Belineau Festiniog RR back to Porthmadog, and they went to meet a group of friends to walk the Pilgrim Trail, all in the POURING rain.  Tomorrow, the walk south along the coast continues, most likely in the rain, again.