Nine hundred years in the past, the Lord Rhys, ruler of the traditional Deheubarth kingdom, established an awesome seat of spiritual studying within the coronary heart of mid-Wales. The abbey was referred to as Ystrad Fflur (Strata Florida within the Latin spoken by the Cistercian monks who ran it). It means Vale of the Flowers in English.

Today, a lot of Ystrad Fflur is only a reminiscence save for a grand stone Romanesque arch almost 25 toes tall, the inspiration define of the abbey and the graves of 11 Welsh princes laid to relaxation subsequent to 1 one other. Nevertheless, once you stand within the grounds of the abbey and forged your eye across the broad, stunning Tywi River valley that envelops it, it’s simple to think about simply how influential this place as soon as was.

It was right here, someday round 1350, that the monks acquired a fee from a rich native man to create a written document of the Welsh legends and folklore that had been handed down by poets, going again maybe so far as the sixth century.

The tales that the monks wrote down conjured up a magical post-Roman age the place legendary kings, noblemen, magicians, witches and giants got here collectively in a land that’s unmistakably Wales. Today, these tales are recognized globally due to a Nineteenth-century English translation of the traditional textual content. The characters, together with Arthur, Merlin, Pryderi, Gwydion and Rhiannon, have turn out to be mainstays in trendy literature whilst their tales have been tailored to swimsuit many alternative narratives.

By the time I reached Ystrad Fflur, located on the sting of what now’s the village of Pontrhydfendigaid, I used to be almost midway by means of a 300-mile strolling journey and, I assume, meditation by means of Wales. Ostensibly, I used to be exploring a possible path for the brand new National Forest for Wales, an bold Welsh authorities plan to sort out local weather change, increase biodiversity and promote nature tourism. But I additionally had a better motivation — I wished to know how the National Forest would possibly assist us reconnect and restore stability with nature.

I’d began strolling a few months earlier than — partly to alleviate the nervousness I (and so many people) felt through the pandemic. The extra I walked within the woodlands of Wales, the extra at peace I felt on this unsure world. Now, I’d made it to the area of Ceredigion. For the subsequent two days, I’d be following the 36-mile Borth-to-Pontrhydfendigaid Trail by means of the mountains to the coast at Cardigan Bay. The path had been devised by a storied native walker named Mal Evans. His route ran from north to south, however I meant to stroll it in reverse and to cowl the gap in simply two days — an bold however achievable endeavor.

In search of the picturesque

I had an ear worm of Fleetwood Mac’s personal homage to Rhiannon enjoying in my head as I left Ystrad Fflur and began strolling north by means of the Cambrian Mountains. It was a cool summer time morning, and a light-weight mist hung low over the encircling hills.

I trekked up a tough stone and dirt observe over the northern fringe of the Elenydd — essentially the most desolate a part of the Cambrian Mountains. So a lot water from the hillsides ran down the trail that it resembled a minor torrent. Still, my solely actual impediment was a big flock of sheep. There will need to have been greater than 200 of them ambling in entrance of me, their legs and lengthy white tails stained muddy brown.

At final, a thick tract of woodland got here into view within the valley under. At factors, daylight broke by means of the cloud cowl, casting mild on sections of conifer and creating what regarded like a grand inexperienced patchwork quilt from afar. I adopted the observe previous a herd of reddish brown, shaggy longhorn cows. They regarded very overdressed for what was turning into an unseasonably heat day.

I had arrived on the Hafod Estate. Five hundred years earlier than, this had been the summer time grange farmland of the Ystrad Fflur abbey. In the late 18th century, Hafod was inherited by a younger nobleman named Thomas Johnes. He fell in love with its rugged magnificence and, impressed by the English priest and journey author William Gilpin, noticed the potential to create one thing particular.

Gilpin was a champion of what he termed the “picturesque,” an aesthetic growth of the Romantic Movement that inspired individuals to find magnificence created solely by nature. He was significantly enamored with Wales, and impressed by his philosophy, many rich English vacationers began to enterprise right here for the primary time.

Johnes set about modeling Hafod on Gilpin’s philosophy. Gilpin featured the property in his journey writing, and by the top of the 18th century, Hafod’s picturesque charms have been attracting a whole lot of well-to-do guests annually. It’s been claimed that the composer George Frideric Handel was impressed to put in writing the Hallelujah Chorus after visiting Hafod. And no less than one tutorial has claimed the property was the muse for Samuel Coleridge’s celebrated Romantic poem “Kubla Khan.”

Today, the mansion is gone, however the 494-acre Hafod Estate stays a mixture of wild and nurtured areas which might be open to the general public. I adopted the Gentleman’s Walk, a six-mile path that rises excessive into the thick, steep woodland hillsides working alongside the valley. I climbed into the tall forest and wandered the tight dust path because it hugged the mountainside, previous a collection of mini waterfalls and thru tunnels carved out of the facet of the rock. At some factors I had a hen’s-eye view of the Hafod Estate, whereas at different instances it was as if I’d been swallowed up by the forest.

Tricking the Devil?

The path headed east out of Hafod on the south facet of the Ystwyth River and wove north by means of Coed yr Arch and Coed y Ceuleth woodlands. It regarded like an awesome stroll, nevertheless it was almost 3 p.m. and I needed to make up time if I used to be going to make it to Devil’s Bridge, a village a number of miles north. After consulting my map, I made a decision to take a extra direct route by following a highway that led from Hafod up towards the Arch, a stone construction in-built 1810 that had served because the northern gateway to the Hafod Estate.

As I walked up the facet of the highway, a convoy of automobiles racing previous me, I made a decision I’d be finest sticking to established strolling paths sooner or later reasonably than making up my route. Luckily, I reached one other marked strolling path unscathed. To my reduction, it led immediately into Devil’s Bridge.

There’s a purpose this village within the coronary heart of mid-Wales has such an eye catching English title: good old school advertising. Its unique Welsh title, Pontarfynach, means Bridge on the River Mynach (Monk). It’s thought that the monks of Ystrad Fflur have been the primary to assemble a stone bridge that linked each side of the deep gorge that runs by means of the village.

In the 18th century, as growing numbers of rich English vacationers began to go to the Hafod Estate, Johnes determined to construct a searching lodge for guests overlooking the gorge and the spectacular waterfalls that cascade into it. Today, that lodge has been reimagined because the glossy, boutique Hafod Hotel, which might make cease for the night time in Devil’s Bridge.

To add to the attract and mystique of his new lodge, Johnes resurrected an area legend about how the bridge throughout the Mynach was constructed. It recounted how the Devil had made a pact with an area girl, promising to construct an awesome bridge in only one night time so she might get throughout. In return he demanded the soul of the primary residing factor to cross the bridge. In the morning the girl arrived on the bridge together with her canine and was met by the Devil. He anticipated her to stroll throughout and forfeit her soul, however as an alternative, she threw a loaf of bread she was carrying throughout the bridge and her canine sprinted after it. Outwitted, the Devil disappeared in a huff.

In the footsteps of the fairies

The subsequent a part of the path would take me on a 17-mile stroll from Devil’s Bridge to the seaside city of Borth. It first crossed the Vale of Rheidol vacationer steam railway, opened in 1902, that ran from close by Aberystwyth to Devil’s Bridge. From there the path hugged the facet of the valley till it reached Coed Rheidol, a comparatively younger forest; the unique bushes have been felled within the First World War to supply timber for the South Wales coal mines. The woodland was a jumbled, contorted playground of younger sessile oaks, their trunks and branches unfold in any respect angles as if the whole forest have been collaborating in a sport of Twister.

It was a cool, overcast morning, and I used to be decided to make good time. The climate forecast urged (you may by no means make sure of any Welsh climate prediction) that heavy rain was approaching from the Celtic Sea. Above me, 4 elegant pink kites circled on the hunt for breakfast.

The path climbed towards Bwlch Nant yr Arian Forest, which is a core a part of the deliberate National Forest for Wales. The forest park is already well-known for its biking and strolling trails. On one, the Elenydd Trail, wood sculptures rejoice native folklore and legends together with the Knockers of Cwmsymlog — the title given to the fairies who have been stated to assist miners find seams of lead by making knocking noises.

Half a mile into Bwlch Nant yr Arian, I reached an oversize wood chair looking towards Cardigan Bay and the Irish Sea within the distance. As I paused, I believed concerning the Romantic writers, poets and artists like William Wordsworth, J.M.W. Turner and Coleridge who had been lured to Wales and the way their travels by means of stunning landscapes had formed their appreciation of the significance of connecting with nature — and the way their inventive expression of that connection continues to affect tens of millions everywhere in the world.

Toward the Welsh Atlantis

I finished within the village of Talybont for a swift pint of beer and a ham-and-cheese sandwich on the White Lion pub on the primary sq.. Inside the bar space, a younger couple snacked on a bowl of chips whereas their golden retriever sprawled throughout the wood ground.

Refreshed, I began out on the final a part of the path, strolling slowly however steadily by means of the woods on the north facet of the River Leri till it emerged into an open subject full not simply of sheep but additionally of herring gulls. A great signal! I had reached the shoreline of Cardigan Bay and will see Borth off within the distance. I skipped my means down by means of the fields and onto the lane that might result in the ultimate footpath of the day — a straight, flat shot throughout the coastal plain into city.

At first look, Borth would possibly seem a wierd vacation spot for a strolling route exploring the woodlands of Wales. But this nondescript, barely downtrodden vacationer city has a secret historical past — a petrified forest buried within the seashore sands that exhibits itself solely at very low tides. Hard-nosed, unromantic scientists will let you know it’s a part of a collection of Mesolithic-era forests positioned off the coast of Wales however, in Welsh mythology, it’s proof of our personal Atlantis often called Cantre’r Gwaelod — the Sunken Hundred.

Here’s how the story goes. A very long time in the past, there was a wealthy and fertile kingdom so valued that one acre there was value 4 elsewhere. It was dominated by King Gwyddno Garanhir. The land lay under sea degree however was protected by a posh system of sea partitions. The guardian of those defenses was a buddy of the king, a prince named Seithennyn. Every night time he shut the gates to maintain the ocean from flooding into Cantre’r Gwaelod. But one night time, Seithennyn obtained drunk at a feast and forgot to shut the gates. It was a stormy night, and the spring excessive tides flooded the land and the 16 villages inside it. Cantre’r Gwaelod was misplaced.

My path got here to an finish close to the practice line in Borth. I crossed the tracks and walked the brief distance to the seafront. The tide was in, so there was no likelihood of seeing the remnants of the traditional forest. Over the course of my tramping through the earlier two days, I had encountered slices of historical past, legend and pure magnificence that bolstered in my thoughts simply how necessary it’s for our society and we as people to respect and reconnect with nature. None extra so, although, than right here on the seashore in Borth — an embodiment of the idea (whether or not or not you imagine the legend) that nature at all times has the ultimate say.

Matthew Yeomans is the writer of “Return to My Trees — Notes From the Welsh Woodlands.”

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