The End of Offa

 

As all you keen students of Saxon history will know, Offa was a powerful King of Mercia ( the kingdom which was the 'middle bit' of what is now England) who lived from 730AD to 796AD. It seems he was a fairly ruthless bugger who conquered a large part of the surrounding countryside to establish himself as the most powerful monarch of his time (in the British Isles at least.) But he had a bit of a problem to the west of him where resided the British people. They were still a bit pissed off with the Saxons, who had recently stolen all the good ground to the east, and their occasional raids the rustle cattle, horses or daughters was something that irritated King Offa considerably.

Legends (and a few contemporary sources) state that Offa built himself a long dyke as a defensive boundary between his conquered lands and the lands of the people he called 'foreigners' in the west: the Saxon word for foreigner is 'Wealh', and so the country became known to them as Wales, and the British people who lived there became the Welsh; but Cymru is what the folk who lived there called their country and Cymraeg was their language! The dyke is quite a feat of engineering with some estimates saying it would have taken a 1,000 labourers about 5 years to build. Large stretches of it remain to this day, approximately following the border between England and Cymru.

But I digress! When Offa reached his end in 796AD, he left the dyke behind and as regular readers of this column will know I have been walking along its length at various intervals over the last few years. And so the time had come: there was a strong possibility that if I headed north again, I could complete the walk in a couple of days and finally be able to claim that I had walked its entire 177miles (285 Km). 

But there was a problem : transportation! There had been some sad news the week before:  unsurprisingly to my mate at the garage, Trusty Rusty failed his MOT (NZ=WOF) and was judged to be no longer roadworthy. There were only about 14 faults, including the fact that the front wheel subframe was held together by rust but it was a sad day to condemn my old mate to a short term future as a boat launcher before he finally hit the scrap yard! But I still had Sticky McSticky to rely on : he wouldn't let me down! Eventually, I managed to persuade Fran that N.E. Wales was particularly beautiful in June and we set off, having arranged some strategically placed accommodation; there was no way she was sleeping in my cramped tent!

We drove for about 4 hours across Cymru, up to Trefonen, as I had a little gap of 20Km or so to fill in before starting the final section of the walk. I was dropped off in the village and walked the 1.5Km to the Old Mill B&B, near Candy Woods, which is where we were staying that night. It provided an excellent evening meal, friendly hospitality and a hearty breakfast before I set off north about 8.30am, leaving Fran relaxing with the car. 

The route headed north through some beautiful woodland with the yellow stars of fallen honeysuckle flowers guiding the way; I recalled sucking on these as a child and the sweet taste of their nectar gave me a much needed boost as it was initially quite a steep climb: I began to regret that extra rasher of bacon! Towards the end of the woods I stumbled upon a clearing; the pine trees had been recently felled and it looked like a bomb site. But a few deciduous trees had been spared and nearby I could see an area that had been planted with native species. So come back in 30 years to see an established native forest.

The track cut along an old racecourse before heading steadily north to Selattyn Hill and descending to Craignant. Just beyond here I crossed the modern border back in to Cymru and the mighty fortress of Chirk Castle loomed high on the horizon.  This was one of many castles built by the Normans along the borders not long after their invasion of 1066. The castle stood proudly, high on a hill which meant I had to descend and then drag myself back up to the castle car park for it was here that I had arranged to meet Fran for lunch. The valley below was the sight of a major battle between Welsh and English; the Battle of Crogen which was fought in 1165. It was a particularly brutal affair with the Welsh archers ambushing the English as they attempted to breach Offas Dyke. The air hung heavy in the valley .... or maybe I was just gasping as I climbed the steep hill towards the castle itself. Fran was late for lunch, having failed to find the biggest landmark for miles around! She blamed the GPS - I blamed her eyesight! After a civilised lunch we walked around the castle which was very well maintained. It had swapped sides once or twice in the Civil War but was now maintained by the National Trust. 

 

CHIRK CASTLE AND PONTCYSLLTE AQUADUCT

It was a long walk on hard roads out of the castle grounds as I headed north towards the end of my day's walking, the famous Pontcysyllte Aqueduct which was some 6 Km away. This was a gentler walk compared to my morning's efforts and I was confident Fran could navigate her way there, forgetting that it was possible to confuse it with the nearer Chirk Aqueduct! Both form part of the Shropshire Union Canal, formerly an important artery of the Industrial Revolution but now used mainly for pleasure cruises. The Pontcysyllte AquAduct is an amazing piece of civil engineering, build by Telford and opened in 1805 it is, says Wikipedia, the longest canal aqueduct in Britain and the highest in the world. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pontcysyllte_Aqueduct

  

            THE SHEPHERDS HUT                                             MEET ON THE LEDGE?

You do need to possess a good head for heights to walk across it but I had no option because the car park was to the north. Fran phoned as the battery failed on my phone: I gathered she had made it to the car park but couldn't find the aqueduct, which was some 100 meters beyond! We were eventually reunited and set off for our shepherd's hut, near the village of Llanbedr Dyffryn-Clwyd (Better known as Lanbedr DC!) The meal at the Griffn Inn was excellent: I had steak to strengthen me for the long day that loomed. As I looked out from the shepherds hut, the western sky was streaked in orange and pink with a young moon, cwtched in close to the bright diamond of Venus. 

Would I finally finish the Offas Dyke Trail tomorrow? Would the next day bring the End of Offa?

 

I was up at seven and pestering Fran to drive the few miles along narrow country roads to Moel Arthur, which was where I needed to start the day. Setting off by 8, she walked the first part of the path with me before returning to our base to eat croissants and drink coffee with an old school friend. "See you in Prestatyn" I shouted hopefully after her.

As I climbed around the back of Moel Arthur and up to Penycloddiau Hill Fort, which has been partly restored to reflect its origin as an Iron Age Hill Fort, skylarks were in full voice around me. There was a fantastic view from the fort - looking south along the range of hills that lined the eastern side of the Vale of Clwyd, while to the north lay the distant coastline, which I planned to reach by evening. I would have liked to explore the area further but the Iron Age would have to wait: I was on a mission to reach the seaside town of Prestatyn where lay the end of the trail.

 

The route took me down through farm lands and through old holloway lanes, flanked by stone walls, towards the village of Bodari. Near here I found a bench, upon which I rested, and read the inscribed the words:

 "Bless the Weather that brought you to me."

"Always take the weather with you." I sang my reply, channelling NZ's Crowded House. 

That tune set the rhythm of my next few steps until they slowly morphed into "You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows!" There was a little road work through the village - "I'm on the pavement!" I sniggered as I began chanting Subterranean Homesick Blues! I was talking to myself again; this was a very quiet section of the trail.

There were several descents with short climbs beyond. In places I could see the north Wales coastline, girded by windmills that beckoned me forwards. To my left let the mountain ranges of Eriri, including the sharp triangle of Tryfan at one spot.

 THE BUSY A55 - LUNCHTIME FRIDAY!

Not long after I crossed the busy A55, the main route into north Wales, I settled on a bench in the village Rhuallt and consumed my lunch. It was 1pm, I was making good progress but still had about 8  miles left (13.5 km). The village notice board indicated that Rhuallt was in something of a NIMBY crisis. Opposition was being agitated to an air ambulance helicopter base. Apparently the noise of the helicopters taking off would be deafening for the residents and cause much distress - unless of course it was taking your relative to an emergency hospital department. Ans as I sat on my bench, the roar of the traffic on the nearby A55 was building, as the Friday pm migration to north Wales holiday homes steadily increased! 

It was warm and as I set off again, I wondered if I had enough water. A little further down the trail I found a rainwater tank and topped up, dehydration would not now stop me from getting Offa finished. The water looked clear ut I did add iodine tablets, just to be sure.

There were a few more ups and downs that afternoon than a casual glance at the map indicated and the route remained quite rural, despite the fact that I was approaching Prestatyn. Finally I emerged onto a limestone cliff with the suburban hinterland of Prestatyn town stretched before me. Fran phoned at that point and I was able to tell her, thanks to a nearby sign that there was only a mile left to do. But what a mile! That sign lied!

  

Firstly came and inland turn and a climb up and around Prestatyn Hill, a real sting in the tail! Then a steep descent and onto that hard pavements for, I must confess, after 27 or so Kilometres my feet were getting a little sore. The unmistakable scent of fish and chips and stale beer wafted up towards me; Prestatyn asks the classier reputation of some other seaside resorts. I was tempted to paise for a quick pint as I was beginning to taste the beer I was so sure Fran would have waiting for me. Gamely I walked on past several pubs!

As I navigated my way along unfamiliar streets towards the surprisingly distant shoreline, I missed a turn near the station and set off down a street that felt like the right direction.... but wasn't! My only navigational error of the day! It took me too long to discover this and as I resorted to Satellite Navigation the battery went flat on my phone! I trudged up the street, retracing my steps and eventually correcting the route and briskly walked the final half mile towards the end of the trail. Well I thought I was brisk until a lady leading a five year old girl by the hand walked past me!  Emotion was welling in my heart, I held sticky aloft and waved him in the direction of the beach. "We are almost there Sticky!" I told him.

A local kid screeched past me on a mountain bike and shouted "That's  a f----king crap stick mate!"

I spun around angrily, how dare he insult Sticky!

"This stick has covered more miles with me than you've had hot dinners!" I shouted after him; but he was long gone, probably collecting his latest hot dinner from the nearby McDonalds!

That's the trouble with this generation, no respect for their elders!

A low rock lay ahead of me. 

"Start and End of Offa's trail." said a faded sign. That was it! I tapped the rock with Sticky and looked around me.

I found Fran around the corner with her friend drinking coke. To be fair, there was another sculpture nearby also linked to Offa's trail and I was dutifully photographed next to it.

"We didn't get you a beer because we thought it might get warm!" she told me.

I didn't like to tell her I would have drunk it boiling hot! 

She set off to find one for me but the bar had closed.

   

I walked out onto the beach to paddle in the water but hit a bank of slimy brown mud: at least I hope it was mud! The sewerage systems of this country are falling apart after years of underinvestment!

Ahead of me, strings of windmills were slowly turning, generating green energy for people to waste. To my hazy right lay the Wirral and eventually Liverpool. To my left lay the cliffs of Llandudno's Great Orme and the mountains of north Wales. But behind me, as I stood, wriggling my toes in the slimy sand; behind me lay the trail that led south, eventually ending on the banks of the River Severn. 177 miles of trail, 285 kilometres. Sometimes hilly, never boring. And I had walked every bloody step of it.

Like my feet, I felt a bit numb. The water was bloody cold!

Floating in a muddy puddle nearby was a golf ball - almost new! I pocketed it - Offa's ball! It was a long way to walk to get a free golf ball!

If you ever get the chance - don't hesitate, just walk this path. I can honestly say that I would love to do it all over again. 

But for me, new routes lie ahead. In my challenge to walk around Wales, I need to work out which bit I should tackle next.

Watch this space!

I didn't meet many people on this walk but somewhere near Moel Arthur a young man walked towards me. He didn't look like a typical hiker; he carried a small rucksack and a plastic bag. We exchanged brief nodded glances.

He looked troubled and I spent the next few miles thinking about him, wondering about his past, until these words appeared from somewhere:

As I was walking to Prestatyn,

I met a man who'd thrown his hat in,

Into a ring of dark despair;

He's running now- he doesn't care.

His face was gaunt, his eyes held tears.

Will Offa help him lose his fears?

I wonder what became of him?

  

Thanks Fran for letting me escape to do this and helping with transport logistics.. 

And thanks Claire for walking some of it with me and rescuing me once or twice!

More soon! I will be posting more regularly on this blog. If you are interested, become a follower and you will be notified about new posts. Just click on the button top left of this blog, to follow me and be informed of future posts. And tell your friends!