Day 45 At last, Offa’s Dyke

Today I spent a lot of time walking along the Dyke itself. As I reached Kington, I realised that apart from the failure to notice it on the way to Monmouth the Dyke hadn’t seemed to feature at all. Had I just failed to notice? Do I spend the whole time looking down at my feet so missing a massive earthwork?

I consulted my guidebook. It was quite clear that the Dyke had been missing from the Path for the last 50 miles or so. It was a relief to know the fault lay with the path designers rather than with me, the unobservant walker.

Today started off very misty. It was atmospheric and I stopped to watch a hare crossing Kington golf course, which claims to be the highest golf course in England. I also guided a couple of backpackers towards the right path.

And then, suddenly there was the Dyke. I had just slogged up a hill, turned a corner and there it was. It was great to see it after all this time.To cap it all the mist started to lift and the views appeared

It was very lovely, there were commons, woodlands and at last, a Welcome to Wales sign. I have to say that such signs have been conspicuous by their absence (particularly on crossing the Severn Bridge, which one feels, is a prime spot for a welcome sign).

The backpackers I had guided in the mist passed me whilst I was having lunch, and said that I had been like a mountain goat going uphill. I think that’s the last time anyone is going to say that about me but I accepted the compliment gracefully.

The only trouble with the day was the hills. There were three main ascents and the third one was a) after lunch b) in full sun and c) went on and on. However, eventually the top was reached and before long I was heading towards Knighton.

And what should I see but a picnic table. Hooray. Just in time for a spot of flapjack. I sat down, relaxed, and must have lent slightly backwards only to tumble into the grass behind me as the bench separated from the table. Oh well. I picked myself up, replaced the bench and sat astride it, leaning slightly forward this time. It worked.

By now I had entered dog-walking country. I stopped to chat to a couple of dog-walkers, passed a carving telling me this was Offa’s Dyke 757 AD which seemed very specific -all the other mentions have said 8th century. I could see that I was approaching Knighton. Firstly through fields of newly mown hay -soft on the feet but slow-going. Then around the edge of Knighton golf course where not only was a tractor mowing the grass but also some sheep were doing their bit by nibbling at it.

The descent into Knighton started pleasantly enough but then turned downhill more steeply. It carried on steeply, knee-judderingly, toenail-wreckingly down, and further down until suddenly, having been in woodland it spat me out at a row of garages in Knighton, from where I made my way to my accommodation.

I’m staying at the Horse and Jockey, a pretty pub in town. My friend Helen was due to meet me from the train at 7.15 and while I was waiting for her on the pavement outside the pub, who should turn up but Damian who had taken a day trip (on the train) to Shrewsbury. He had dinner with us but tomorrow is heading out on the Heart of Wales Way, taking a different route to the Pennines.