A terrible night’s sleep courtesy of both my lack of mat, and the late arrival of a family at dusk. There seemed to be a lot of opening and closing of car doors throughout the night. I was up early, and they looked like they’d never actually been to bed (and it sounded like that too).
Once I made a move to get up, I just kept on going and found myself packed up fully pretty quickly. I didn’t even bother putting the stove on for breakfast or even a cup of tea. It was too slow a process when measured against my eagerness to get on my way.
I could have waited for the shop to open at 9am, but that too didn’t seem worth it compared with the inroads I could make on this last day. It wasn’t as if I had a shortage of food anyway.
Day 9: Meifod to Welshpool – 19.47km, 620m ascent / 621m descent
So I set off at 07:43, making this my earliest start of the trip, sans breakfast, but resolved to force cereal bars down my neck at least every hour.
A climb up through woods brought me to views over Llyn Du from multiple angles, as the path dog-legged around it. After this were some lanes. Stops at 3km and 6km duly dispatched two cereal bars.
It was all very farmlandy and uninteresting – there was nothing I hadn’t already seen on this walk. The climb up through Figyn Wood was even more torturous than the day before’s climb, but one field further on I could at least see the final hill of the walk: Y Golfa.
I guess keenness to get there saw me take my eye off the ball and have a few difficulties identifying the lines of some of the less distinct field paths, but eventually I was at the bottom of Y Golfa. The climb up was, fittingly, through bracken-lined corridors to the trig point. Each step felt like a lot of effort, and the warm day wasn’t helping.
Unsurprisingly, I took a big break at the trig point, and looked down on what I thought was Welshpool: the end was literally in sight.
The descent into Welshpool itself was a joy. There were good paths and tracks straight down the ridgeline and even better it was nice and gradual too. As track became tarmac and Welshpool itself drew near, I wasn’t too sure quite where the end was.
So I just kept walking through town towards the station, finally seeing it right next to the canal. I had time for a couple of pics and then had to hurry to get to the station to get my train to Shrewsbury – with trains only every 2 hours, it seemed silly to not try to catch this next one.
But at least it was done.