A Secret Valley in South Wales

After weeks of constant rain, the sun shone today and we walked.

We tried to visit a beautiful secret valley before, according to rumour, it possibly disappears forever under quarrying.   Unfortunately, the footpath had become part of a mountain stream, the trickles glistening amongst the long grass and a large tree blocked our way.  

An alternative approach took us along the rim of the valley through a wood of decaying pines.  Sheep tracks ran between fallen trees and hanging branches.   Fragments of fleece hung from sharp twigs, tweeked from the sheep's back as it scurried along.   The ground is soft and brown with fallen pine needles, but where the funlight reaches in, small tufts of grass and the stray foxglove appear.   Patches of bright green moss shroud dead stumps and the south facing bark of stoic trunks.

We peered down into the valley, tempted to make our way along the steep bank of shale and grass, but the ground was waterlogged and loose under foot.   This is no place to rick and ankle, and at the least a fall could ensure a copious covering of mud.   No way would my husband allow me back into the car in that state.

Clambering dejectedly over dead logs, we make our way reluctantly back to the car.   As we climb the stile, we meet three eager fishermen, planning to spend the day in this lush sunsoaked valley.   They will need waders, rather than trainers to reach their goal.



We promise ourselves to return to this beautiful
spot created by quarrying and adorned by nature,
before the bulldozers and six-foot fencing
reclaim their territory.