A few months ago, in the naive cosiness of the end of the Christmas vac, I decided it would be a good idea to hike a long route in Britain. I’ve done numerous long-distance paths in the warmer clime of Spain, my country of origin, but have never attempted similar walks elsewhere, and decided it would be a nice way to end my second term at Oxford.
Armed with rucksack, one-man tent and sleeping bag, I arranged to walk 285 kilometers along Offa’s Dyke Path in Wales, a route which follows the 8th Century Dyke erected by King Offa of Mercia, roughly mirroring the current Anglo-Welsh border.
I set off from the northern Welsh seaside town of Prestatyn accompanied by three American visiting students, oblivious to what the weather held in store for us over the next few days. We ascended the steep, grassy incline into the Welsh wilderness, and spent our first day walking along the Clwydian Hills, following green and white acorns marking the way, surrounded by stunning rolling green hills.
By the time we found somewhere to pitch our tents, we were soaked, and as nightfall approached, the temperature steadily declined, leaving us frozen in our tents, wide awake and numbed with cold. We awoke, shivering, to find the hills and our tents covered in a generous veil of snow. The psychological effect of having slept through a snow blizzard on our first day was considerable; we had expected gentle spring temperatures with plenty of rain, but seemed to be greeted by a second winter.
As we walked among enveloping, sheep-cropped green hills, we discussed how short human memory of cold can be. Walking at a steady pace among beautiful surroundings, we had warmed up by now, and the cold shivers of the previous night seemed a long way away.
However, by the end of the day, with the cold night closing in once again, we couldn’t face the prospect of another night in the cold. We were lucky to be invited by a local ex-hippie vicar to stay in his warm house nearby. Incidentally, he had walked the dyke various times himself and was an outdoor enthusiast. Over home brewed beer and pasta that night, we decided that the poor weather meant that we would have to cut our journey short, and decided to travel further south.
Revitalised by a warm dinner and bed, we set out with good hopes along the Dyke again from Kington, and were met by a bitterly cold snow blizzard which clung to our clothes and froze fingers and noses as we crossed the Hergest ridge. There was something eerie about that day, walking on a knife-edge of cold and sunny spells, juxtaposed with an intense feeling of beauty.
However, when we reached the bookish haven of Hay on Wye a couple of days later, with no shelter to stay, and a 28 kilometre hike along an exposed ridge with very poor weather conditions the next day, we resolved to return to Oxford.
Having travelled only a fraction of what we had hoped, without even catching a glimpse of the dyke itself, we vowed eventually to return to complete what is said to be one of the most enthralling walks in Britain.
