COUNTRY DIARY

AFON MAWDDACH

The rising sun is all but obscured by a raft of patchy high cloud, and the mist is slow to clear from the valley floor. North of the Afon Mawddach, almost at the coast, I take a lane that turns sharply uphill. The route follows a narrow valley lined with beech and oak trees, whose canopies weave together to create dank shade. The route seems unreasonably steep and, in my memory, the lane was much shorter.

The gated footpath drops away into the valley between dry stone walls, then climbs again. In the heat, the woodland is sullenly quiet – only a lone robin providing a vociferous challenge to my approach.

Half-buried by leaf litter, a few stone-bounded steps have been cut to help walkers over the steepest of the terrain, angular rock outcrops offering handholds. Below me, the estuary of the Mawddach lies grey and leaden, its surface almost unmarked by movement and reflecting the patterns of the sky.

Bees explore the heather flowers around my feet, while clouds of flies chase around me. I watch as the tide begins to ebb, unclenching pale fingers of water across the salt marsh below.