Going Downstream, Going Upstream

In which The Author fills in the gaps

This entry connects a few previous entries, so I won’t bother retracing old ground. Check out (in order) Going Down the River, Further Up the River and Two More Waterfalls for the full geographical details.

Once again, please do not attempt to explore the Waterfall Country without suitable footwear. Sturdy trainers are (just about) okay – sandals, espadrilles, platforms, heels, ballet shoes and so forth are entirely out of the question! I really do not want to see the air ambulance flying over my house on its way to Penderyn as a result of somebody’s reading my blog.

I met Rhian this morning at Aberdare Bus Station. Rhian hates being late, so she was there a good five minutes before me. She was also prepared for a small-scale expedition in the Himalayas. After my last two trips to Waterfall Country, I know how to travel fairly light. I’d had a decent breakfast before I left the house. I was carrying only my wallet, my phone, my camera, and the clothes I was wearing. The BBC forecast was for ‘occasional light showers’. I hadn’t even bothered packing OS map OL12 (Brecon Beacons Central and East), because I knew I’d be on familiar territory.

Rhian had gone to the opposite extreme.

You know that scene in The Fellowship of the Ring, where Gandalf realises they should take Samwise on their quest, and then makes him carry all their crap?

Call me Gandalf.

Rhian is the girl who came to London with me in September, thinking we’d be able to grab a reasonably-priced pub lunch, and who laughed she found when I’d made sandwiches. She stopped laughing when the fish and chips in the pub cost nearly fifteen quid; she then spent a small fortune on snacks throughout the day.

She’s obviously has learned from her mistakes. She’d brought a packed lunch, a bottle of water which had been in the freezer all night, two packets of crisps, a pair of trainers (because the ones she normally wears are more fashionable, apparently), a lightweight jacket, her phone, her purse, and had only left the kitchen sink at home because we’d have had to pay extra for it on the bus.

And she’d laughed at me in London.

At about 11.30 we arrived at the Angel Inn in Pontneddfechan. It’s in danger of becoming yet another of my locals. We decided to walk past and head straight for the waterfalls. On the bus into Glynneath I’d managed to talk Rhian out of Sgwd Gwladus (which is really a beginners’ walk) and persuaded her to make for Sgwd Clun-Gwyn. We climbed the steps out of the village and emerged onto Millionaires’ Row, just below the old school.

We crossed the road and started to observe basic Highway Code protocols: walk on the right, facing oncoming traffic, and walk in single file when a vehicle approaches. A month ago, hardly anything had passed me. It was a different story this afternoon. You can tell the tourist season is getting under way from the amount of traffic on the road.

We’d only just reached the end of the golf course when the first fat drops of rain started to fall. There’d been a negligible shower when we were walking into the village, but it stopped as soon as it started. Rhian and I looked at each other, and then at the sky. I had a flashback to my excursion to Littledean in 2013, when I got soaked and dried out in the space of ten minutes. We had a choice: should we carry on, or turn back and seek shelter in the Angel Inn?

We decided to press on. The shower didn’t look as though it would come to anything. If we were going to get drenched, we’d be drenched when we got back to the pub. If it cleared up, we’d have wasted an afternoon. We’re used to four seasons in one day; we went on a very short pub crawl in Aberaman a while ago, and when we left the pub it was chucking it down with snow. By the time we arrived back in Aberdare the snow had gone and we were back to rain. What could happen in July (apart from snow, of course)?

It took us about another half an hour to reach the layby where the path descends to Sgwd Clun-Gwyn. Here’s where the confusion sets in. I haven’t got my map with me, so I apologise in advance. I found out (after last time) that there are two waterfalls called Sgwd Clun-Gwyn: Uchaf (which means ‘higher’) and Isaf (‘lower’) – and I’m not sure which one I photographed a month ago.

There was a party of hardy souls in wetsuits making their down to the Mellte at the same time. When we arrived at the fall, about half a dozen suitably kitted people were already diving into the Mellte just above the lip of the fall. We stood and admired the scene for a couple of minutes, before I persuaded Rhian to scramble down the slope and stand on the shelf which forms the mid-point of the cataract.

If you’ve only got little Hobbit-sized legs, it’s not the easiest place to get to. Even so, Rhian followed me to the ledge and took a couple of photos before we headed back up to the riverbank. We followed the path back along the Mellte, heading for the bridge.

It was just about one o’clock, so we sat and ate our lunch, listening to the bird song and watching an extraordinarily large dragonfly zigzag across the water. Then the bellow of Valleys laughter broke the silence, and I looked instinctively towards the bridge.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, it can’t be!’

Yesterday, scrolling through Facebook, I’d seen that a few friends of ours were planning a camping trip to Ystradfellte. Now, Ystradfellte is a small village – but it’s in the middle of 640 square miles of Brecon Beacons National Park. Chances of meeting a random Aberdare piss-artist? Vanishingly small…

Heading across the bridge towards us were Geraint B., Chris D. and Dai T.

We chatted for a few minutes, and exchanged notes on the territory. The boys had come from the Blue Pool, following the Mellte southwards. They were intending to camp near Ystradfellte, some way to the north. We were heading (more or less) towards the Blue Pool, but were going to cross the river and then go downstream towards the confluence with the Hepste. None of us had a map, but at least I had a vague idea where we were.

We pointed them towards Sgwd Clun-gwyn, wished them well, and crossed to the other bank. We climbed a steep slope above the river and dropped down to the observation point above the waterfall. Far below us, the boys were sliding along the slippery stones at the river’s edge. I picked up a fairly stout stick and hurled it in their direction, but it hit the water some distance away.

I popped my head out of the trees, bellowed, ‘Geraint B—!’, and ducked back out of sight. Unfortunately Dai caught sight of me, and the boys looked up at us in surprise.

Useful tip: If you have a friend who is scared of heights, don’t let her go near the edge of the gorge.

We climbed back up to the main path and picked up the route towards Sgwd-yr-Eira. If you’re planning on following in our footsteps, bear in mind that the path is very well waymarked, but some of the waymarkers aren’t necessarily where you’d expect to find them. Keep scanning through the full 180° in case you miss one. (For example,the post just above the fall is off to the left, about 60 yards away from the obvious route.)

The path weaves in and out of the forestry commission land. It’s an odd mixture of broad-leaved woodland and conifer plantations, and must be a rich wildlife habitat. I’d love to go there in the middle of the night and record the sounds around me. That’s an adventure for braver souls than I, though. It has foxgloves which are bigger than Rhian, for Goddess’ sake! Who knows what else lurks in these uncharted woods?

Far below us we could hear the rushing of water. I knew from the map (and my previous visits, both blogged and unblogged) that there’s another waterfall on the Mellte. I tried to remember its name, but it didn’t come to mind. I was fairly sure that Phil, Jason and I had encountered it during our expedition years ago. I was reassured when Rhian and I found a signpost to Sgwd y Pannwr. The path led down a steep slope, with an estimated walking time of fifteen minutes. We decided it could wait for another day and pressed on towards Sgwd yr Eira.

It’s a bit easier to get to it from this side of the Hepste than it is from the Penderyn side. Not a lot, though. From the junction of the path, the signpost estimated a walking time of eight minutes. It took Samwise Rhian and me just over five minutes to reach the bottom of the gorge, down some inconveniently deep steps. But at least they were steps. Unlike the climb up on the other side.

Rhian broke her Sgwd yr Eira duck this afternoon, when we crossed behind the curtain of water and emerged unscathed on the other bank. It’s hard to believe that some people from Aberdare still haven’t done it. It’s a half-hour journey on the bus, another half-hour (if that) through spectacular scenery, and then a rapid drop to one of the most memorable sights (and experiences) in South Wales. If you’re adequately equipped, then please go and see it for yourself. You won’t regret it.

Whether by accident or design, we arrived at Penderyn just in time to miss the bus. That gave us an hour in the Lamb Inn. Again, I’m in danger of becoming a regular.

That might happen, actually. I’ve outlined an idea of going to the waterfalls once a month, whatever the weather, and photographing them in every mood that Mother Nature has to throw at them.

As usual – watch this space…

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Two More Waterfalls

In which The Author covers more ground

My previous advice about exploring the waterfall country goes double here: Please don’t attempt this walk (especially the second part) without suitable footwear and a properly detailed map of the area (1:25,000 or similar).

On Thurday it looked as though it would stay fine all day. I took a chance mid-morning and jumped on the bus towards Glynneath. By about 1130 I was in the village of Pontneddfechan again.

The Angel Inn was open, so I had a glass of Coke and studied the walking guide displayed just inside the door. I had the OS map with me, of course, but the guide is more visual. I decided to head for Sgwd Gwladus first, and see how the time went before making any further plans.

The path to the waterfall originates just behind the pub, just above one of the two bridges connecting the two halves of the village.

Just inside the gate there’s a large outcrop known as the Farewell Rock. The river Nedd Fechan is some distance below the path, and over the millennia it’s carved quite a substantial cleft into the surrounding rock. The area around Pontneddfechan and Ystradfellte is full of geological curiosities, including the famous cave at Porth yr Ogof (see Further Up the River), and it’s now part of the Fforest Fawr Geopark.

Beside the river I spotted part of a fallen tree, and went down the bank to have a closer look. I was surprised to see that it had somehow surrounded some fairly large stones while it was growing, and brought them down when it gave way.

A few minutes later I arrived at a tranquil reach of the water. A large smooth rock slopes gently down from the path, and it’s a real sun trap in the early afternoon. I sat there for a while, listening to the gentle rushing of the water over the rocks further downstream. I threw a small stick into the stream, reflecting that Stella would have been soaked to the skin already if she’d come with me.

Then I saw something slowly making its way across the river. At first I thought it was a small fish, but as it got closer I realised that it was swimming across the surface of the water. Intrigued, I watched until it came closer. It turned out to be a yellow-brown newt, about four inches from head to tail. It stopped a couple of inches short of the water’s edge, then hauled itself onto the nearby rock and started sunbathing. It wasn’t at all camera shy, either, as it took me several attempts to get a decent photo from above.

I made my way back to the path and carried on upstream. The ground was a bit muddy in places, but the path is well-made and fairly easy to negotiate. I still wouldn’t advocate wearing flip-flops, but a decent pair of trainers would probably be suitable for this part of the walk. You don’t exactly hug the riverbank, but you rise above it a lot of the time, giving you some great views of the surrounding gorge.

There’s a bridge not far south of the waterfall. You can cross the river here and make your way up along the east bank, or stay on the west side (as I did) and approach the waterfall that way. There’s a small waterfall nearby, but don’t get too disheartened – that’s just a taste of what lies ahead.

You hear Sgwd Gwladus a minute of so before you see it. Actually, after this prolonged spell of (mostly) dry weather, it wasn’t too impressive. I’ve seen it in all seasons, and in the winter it’s spectacular, crashing over the whole wide lip of the overhang. It’s still a thrilling sight, though, and the photos don’t give you a sense of scale. The chap with the camera was standing about twelve feet away from the base of the fall, if that’s any help.

There’s a little observation platform at the end of the path, which is a good vantage point for photographing the fall. It gives you an idea of how deep the gorge is, too.

From here I made my way to the bridge and crossed onto the opposite bank. There are paths leading to Sgwd Gwladus, Pont Melinfach, and back into Pontneddfechan. I decided to keep Pont Melinfach for another excursion (maybe including a detour along the Pyrddin to Sgwd Einion Gam, too) and took the path towards Pontneddfechan.

Back when I started seriously thinking about the Vanishing Valleys Project, I wondered whether I’d have to include the southern edges of the Brecon Beacons National Park. I was, after all, trying to record the industrial heritage of the South Wales Valleys, and not venture too far into the agricultural heartland (see Where Do We Draw The Line?). Even here, though, at the upper end of the Vale of Neath, there are industrial relics to be discovered. I think this might be part of the old silica mine. (I’m sure someone will tell me if I’m wrong.)

There are a couple of small caves on this side, too, but I doubt if they go very far underground. I didn’t have a torch with me, so I stayed on the path until it curved sharply around and went steeply uphill. I climbed high above the river and up into thick woodland, with knee-high ferns lining the path. I’d taken this path on a previous walk, some years ago, but I’d come at it from the other end.

I had a vague idea where it came out, but I’d forgotten how long it takes to walk across this high ground. I crossed a few stiles (one of which was in quite poor condition) before reaching the summit and dropping gradually towards some big houses. I emerged onto a minor road, and realised that I was more or less next to Pontneddfechan School. Since the village had now earned its place in the Vanishing Valleys Hall of Fame, I took a couple of photos before heading back down the hill.

There was another relic of the past some distance away: a bus stop. I wonder when the last bus came to this part of Wales. I’m thinking October 1986, probably, just before deregulation. Again, if you know different, please let me know…

A public footpath beside the bus stop runs quite steeply down into Pontneddfechan, and emerges near the other side of the stone bridge. I walked back to the Angel Inn, which was now quite busy with people sitting at the tables outside, or having lunch inside. I had another glass of Coke and studied my map for a few minutes, in between talking to a group of older people from Abercrave. They’d also been to Sgwd Gwladus, and were wondering where to go next. (Unlike the couple I met in Penderyn last year, at least they were dressed for gorge walking.)

I already had the next part of the journey in mind, so I drank up and walked through the village, following the line of the Mellte roughly east. When the houses end, the road leads across a narrow bridge to a small car park, and the mighty outcrop of Craig y Ddinas.

There’s a rough steep track beside the outcrop which goes high above the river. At the top, the narrow path opens into a small clearing in thick woodland, with incredible views for miles around.

Incidentally, there aren’t many photos from this stage, because (surprisingly) my camera batteries were running on fumes. I wanted to make sure I had enough juice for my next stopover. I did find an intriguing tree which was worth a picture, though. Actually, I’m not sure whether it’s a tree or an Ent, straight out of The Lord of the Rings. Have a look and see what you think.

There are signposts and waymarkers all along the route here, so it would be difficult to lose your way. The path is quite well-worn, too; it leads across small patches of marshy ground, skirts conifer plantations, and dips uphill and downhill until you arrive at the high point. There’s a seat here, and I had a breather and took another couple of photos. (I still need to get a new tripod, so I can make the most of the panoramic feature on my camera.)

The path took me through more high woodland, and far below I could hear the river Hepste as it rushes towards the Mellte. (There was a horse running at Royal Ascot yesterday named Watersmeet. If I’d seen the list earlier, I might have been tempted to back it.) The sound of water grew louder, and before long I came to a fork in the path. The right-hand fork leads to Penderyn; the left-hand fork leads to Sgwd yr Eira.

Sgwd yr Eira was where a middle-aged couple were aiming for when I met them in Penderyn last year. I took one look at what their footwear (he was in trainers, she was in sandals), and the not-very-detailed road atlas he was carrying, and managed to talk them out of breaking their necks on the approach to the waterfall. Instead, I directed them to Pontneddfechan, where they could at least attempt Sgwd Gwladus without involving the Mountain Rescue team and/or the air ambulance. Have a look at the ‘path’ leading down the hillside, and you’ll see why I was concerned for their welfare.

Mind you, they were missing out on a real treat. It’s one of the wonders of the area, and a tremendous draw for outdoors enthusiasts of all ages.

Sgwd yr Eira means ‘fall of snow’, and it’s worth visiting at any time of year. Even after the dry spell we’ve been enjoying, it’s still an amazing sight. I was there at the right time of the day, too; the sun was shining directly onto the plunge pool, and the fine spray from the fall had created a mini-rainbow above the water.

A gang of about a dozen older teenagers, presumably relaxing after their exams, had set up their gear on the other bank. A few of the boys were wading in the water, and as they got closer, I called out to them.

‘Is it as cold as it looks?’

One of them grinned and said, ‘It’s even colder than that!’

I didn’t venture in myself, but I took a few more photos before crossing to the other bank. Apart from wading across, there’s only way of getting there.

Surprisingly, the shelf of rock behind the curtain of water isn’t as slippery as you might think. You still need to keep your wits about you, as there probably isn’t room for two people to pass each other. Last time I was here was with Stella, and the spray killed my old camera. I was understandably wary about trying to photograph it this time, but I took a risk and it paid off.

On the opposite bank I found a large rock just downstream from the youngsters, and sat down to listen to the thundering water a few yards away. I estimated that I was about thirty feet from the fall, but every so often the breeze blew some of the fine mist in my direction. A little way down from the plunge pool, the Hepste turns back into a gentle upland river and flows on down towards the Mellte.

After enjoying the scene for a while, I decided to head for civilisation again. I made my way back behind the fall and climbed the ‘path’ to the top of the slope. From there I picked up the track to Penderyn.

The track has been improved greatly since our first expedition there, many years ago. It’s properly waymarked and provided with stiles and gates for easier access. It leads you over high ground and through a couple of marshy patches before descending gradually into the village. Again, the views from here are worth making the effort for. You’ve got the curving mound of Moel Penderyn to the south, and rolling farmland to the north and east, running away into the foothills of the Brecon Beacons.

I walked past some intriguing patches of exposed stone, which might be the remnants of early quarrying activity. Hanson operates a large limestone quarry on the east side of the village, and also account for a tremendous amount of heavy lorries thundering along the road between Brecon and Hirwaun.

I went through a gate and along a well-made gravel path crossing through some farmland. There were geese and chickens roaming around in the fields on either side of the path, and some sheep were wandering around on the scrubby moorland. I emerged by some quaint cottages and walked as far as the main road. Less than a minute later, I saw a building which is always a welcome sight at the end of a day’s walking.

It would have been rude to pass without calling in, so I did. As it turned out, I’d got to Penderyn just in time to miss the 1605 bus back to Aberdare; the next one was an hour later. It was a good excuse to have a pint and a chat with Philip, the landlord. In the event I had two pints, and chatted to Philip and his son until just before six o’clock. I didn’t have to make my excuses and leave, though – the 1805 departure is the last one. Welcome to the world of semi-rural public transport in Wales.

I might attempt to find the River Pyrddin next time, or even strike out for Pont Melinfach. (I’ve no idea what I’ll find there, but it’s signposted from a few places and marked on the map, so it must be something interesting.) With three decent pubs on the radar (two of which serve food), I might even make a whole day of it and treat myself to lunch somewhere. Watch this space…