Mrs and I have hiked longer distances as multi-day hikes more than once. Indeed, it seems to be a theme in our marriage-- we first hiked the West Highland Way before we were married, and have done a number of longer distance multi-day paths over the years, both in the UK and elsewhere. Some had pleasant dining experiences, too: doing a stretch of the South West Coast Path through Cornwall allowed for a rest day in St. Ives, and a break in Edinburgh before going up to the Great Glen Way was excellent (and a post for another day).
But we've also been a few times to the Welsh borderlands, and were well aware of both the good hiking there and the good restaurants, but had only done day-hiking, sometimes added to other things (eg. hiking weekend attached to tickets to the Rugby World Cup game where Canada frustratingly lost to Fiji in RWC2007). And of the longer hikes on the list, the Offa's Dyke path was always there, albeit higher on my list than Mrs' list.
Making it happen, however, was a more serious undertaking. The obvious practical bits required were in place: there's a train station very near the start of the path at Chepstow on the Severn (change at Newport) and if we follow our noses to Ludlow then a train back. There's well-marked trails in the middle and some lovely places to eat. And baggage transfer is available (albeit expensive and we found we didn't need it so didn't use it) from point to point. But the bare bones of a practical trip aren't the same as a completely formed one, and looking through the OS maps for the stretch we were looking at, Mrs had some reservations about the length of the segments... we wouldn't just be hungry at the end, we'd be flattened. And I suppose (with ill grace on my part) fair enough, a twenty mile stretch might be on the far side of the point when it stops being fun. If you haven't done twelve or fourteen you don't feel like you've earned it, of course, but once past twenty miles you don't care that you've earned it and just want to lie down.
Well, fair enough-- and we did spend several evenings poring over the maps (I do hope less time than we actually spent hiking) to plot out a few shortcuts, detours, and other options. And we had two things that made the shortcutting all OK. The more direct one is that Mrs replaced her boots with some fitted by professionals--this was almost accidental, but we wandered in to Altimus in Kensington for what we thought would be something easy, and wandered out again with something life-changing in terms of boot-fitting and orthotics. The life in question being mostly Mrs' as it did wonders for her posture and stamina hiking, but also mine as she's now much faster than me. So would probably have had no difficulty with 20-mile sections if pressed...but after all that discussion, I didn't dare press.
We also were joined by an old friend, the Bon Vivant. He's a little older than us, and with young child at home, he has not been hiking as much as we have recently and was (at the beginning) not entirely on form, but years gone by he had done harder-core hiking than we've done, including a circuit of Mont Blanc... something we're now playing with doing, since there's also good restaurants in Chamonix town (and the Vielles Luges). He had found child-minding for a few days, and we were certainly glad of the company, and after the first day or two found his form again.
Planning survived the failure of one of our intended stops--we had been looking forward to a starred first stop at the Crown at Whitebrook, when it suddenly announced it was just giving up. Thank you and goodbye. This was at a ticklish phase of the planning, but fortunately there is a place that won "pub of the year" recently only another mile or two up the road, that swapped in nicely. As a side note... writing this some time after the fact, there are suggestions it might re-open...
Day 1 ~~~ Paddington to Chepstow to the Inn at Penallt
We now know Paddington well, and our second breakfast order is settled and automatic. Since we were booking well in advance (and this was in the lead-up to a long weekend) we splashed a remarkably small amount of cash to get first class tickets on the train. While this is a relative bargain if booked a long way in advance, there's first class and there's first class: Mrs commented, looking around Paddington, "it's not exactly the Concorde Room". Train took us to the carpark at Chepstow, where I had to do one last work conference call (getting some strange looks from the staff of the caf, who were hanging around outside smoking: the finer points of Italian securitisation law are apparently not everyday conversation in their caf) while we waited a few minutes for Bon Vivant's slightly later train.
Although the path skirts that selfsame carpark, the first couple of miles didn't look like much fun, and as the first of several compromises we picked up a taxi to a lookout point, Wintour's Leap. The taxi was £6 (slightly more than the flag fall in London) and dropped us off in excellent time, excellent spirits and even in excellent sunshine. The lookout area was a wonderful place to lounge and relace boots, with a great overlook of a bend in the river and hills off into the distance (if Wintour did leap, he certainly wouldn't have survived it).
After a first little bit along the road, the Offa's Dyke path ducks into the wood, following closely to the ridgeline of a cliff overlooking the river, in a wood with a very well-made trail, and apparently following very closely to some visible remains of the actual earthwork itself... and though I thought I had spotted parts of it, it's not obvious. On the right as we walked, were cow fields, and in one, two young bulls facing off against each other and clicking horns (this was springtime, so we can guess what they were fighting about). After a good bit of up and down--and a magnificent view of Tintern Abbey from the ridge down to the romantic ruins on the far bank of the river--and after only five miles feeling that second breakfast at Paddington was quite some time ago now, just as we walk down off the ridge into Brockweir.
As the first bite on a gastroramble, this is not unpromising: the pub claims (and looks) to be a 14th century monks' house (presumably the overspill annexe for spare monks from Tintern?). The menu at the pub is of old standards, chili con carne and sausage sandwiches but comes with the first of many lovely local pints, this one local-ish from Wiltshire called Tunnel Vision with enough heft to feel warming and not a bad match to the mildish spice in the chili.
At this point we changed banks of the Wye river, crossing to the west side and picking up the Wye Valley Walk that took us up the opposite bluffs and back into the woods. I think we'd cheerfully have stayed for another pint and snooze, but it seemed too early to knock off and take another taxi... though the path became less well made and it was a bit of a long walk through the forest... parts of which, it would appear we did not just share with horses but also Amish-style wagon trains, to judge from the signs. We kept hearing but never saw woodpeckers in the woods. With a good lunch and pint and a good dinner to look forward to and a soft bed, well, someone said, it's active and good exercise but not very Bear Grylls, and nicer for it...which sparked discussion of an idea Mrs. had been kicking around and elaborating for some time: that there are hard-charging type A personalities and introspective laid-back type B personalities, but there should be something in the middle for those who have done enough type-A to have gotten somewhere in the professional world and know they should be pushing harder but it's all just so much work and we're not sure we can be bothered... the "type A minus". This wandered through a discussion of the mastery of strategic sloth (exemplified in the Dilbert world) as a corporate tactic... and a lengthy riff on type A- in action = type A- inaction. This seemed to fit the day's gentle pace.
We wended through Whitebrook, thinking that really this would have been the better place to knock off, but with dinner booked further on, we descended to the riverside for a last couple of miles along what felt like dismantled railway path, past river birds and even a few fishers in the late afternoon sun. After some debate--since it all looked a bit similar--we did find the right path up to take us to Long Lane, the road into Pent-Twyn. For complex reasons of their own, the Inn at Penallt is not in fact at Penallt but about a mile south... as that's a mile we weren't going to have to hike this particular afternoon, we weren't complaining, but it did feel a bit lacking in the "truth in advertising" department. The last stretch of inclined climb up Long Lane was where we all were feeling our long-neglected boots, though Bon Vivant more than the rest of us since he might have neglected his boots for longer, but there were enough things to take the mind off, as it was a postcard lovely village lane, with goats in some front yards and a garden party at one house. Over the fields on the far side a hawk was being mobbed by some crows in mid-air.
The Inn took us in immediately, and we showered happily. Our rooms overlooked a long lawn that descended into the valley and the hills rolled away in the distance. Birds still chirped as the first hint of sunset blushed. And the bar would be open in just about the time it'd take to shower and change.
We reconvened at the patio near the bar-- benches faced the glorious view, and a pint of local (Wye Valley brewery) helped. We went though to a dining area, more formal than the pub. The menu listed "posh chips" and these, taken as a side to the starter, or perhaps as a starter itself with a side of starter, turned out to be very nicely done chips with truffle oil, that had a wonderful high note on the nose and filled your mouth with truffle earthiness. There was a somewhat eccentric-sounding blue cheese donut starter which Bon Vivant ordered and ate with enthusiasm. Mains were more main-stream: tagliatelle with crustaceans, cod with chorizo, and a dish called chicken faggots which was the meat stacked as a bundle (similar to firewood, a now archaic use of the word faggot, I believe). This probably makes it sound like they gave us turkey twizzlers, but if they did there was something in the prep because they were lovely. The wine list included a crispy Spanish white (which we drank) and a Brazilian wine (which we did not). Lovely end to a lovely day... we drifted off to bed well fed and happy.
[more pictures and map to be added]
