bewilderbrain

MORE lost footpaths, more fallen trees, an idyllic hidden oasis, fluffy signets and skylarks, getting lost again, and local tales of hidden treasure….

Wednesday 2nd July 2025
Walk start time: 8.59am
Walk finish time: 11.36am
Walk area: Graig mountain path, Coedberthlwyd, Treforest
Miles walked: 4.1

Treasure tales from the Welsh valleys…

Today I’m heading for a path that I’ve seen, but never walked.

Of course I first have to find it. I am heading for the pathways on Graig mountain. I know approximately where they start from, so I think, but in the neatly lined rows of streets heading up the mountain, I soon realise that I am on a different road to the one I am supposed to be on.

My required street has the entrance to the main mountain path at its terminus, this one has a big fence, a lovely splodgy patterned cat sunbathing, and several men moving boxes from a van into a house.

One of them hails me.

I have never known such a genuinely helpful, friendly folk as those of the Welsh valleys, and I continue to delight in and appreciate them every day.

The man wonders where i’m trying to get to. I know I just need to go up one road, but I tell him anyway that i’m heading to the mountain paths, and he gives me detailed explanations of the various different entrance points.

There is one which goes through a person’s driveway, I know the path, and we both talk in a disgruntled manner about places where people try to vaguely hide or obscure the presence of a footpath if it might inconvenience them.

He tells me that he helps to manage some of the land on the mountain, and that he is often up there with his metal detector. ( I manage to hold off from mentioning The Detectorist’s, which is one of the loveliest rural, folky and funny TV series I have seen for a long time, it’s beautifully filmed, and very uplifting)

He says it in passing, expecting me to be on my way, but he doesn’t look currently busy, perching on his doorstep, and I am in no hurry, so I ask him for details, what has he found, up on the mountain?

He regales me with a list of many wondrous treasures from different ages he has found, right there on the mountain, including bronze age daggers, various coins, jewellery. Then he tells me that the real treasure is to be found at another location nearby, somewhere else that I have walked, although never explored to its fullest.

Obviously I can’t divulge this location, lest I send all of my several readers Indiana Jones style up there with maps and grappling hooks.

Apparently, the Royal Mint, now located at Llantrisant, used to be in another location. He reckons he once found a 3.5 oz gold nugget, as well as many other coins in this place, as well as a huge rock with residual carving on, amongst the obscured lettering “Rex” still being visible.

It all sounds tremendously exciting – how much is exaggerated or embellished I can’t be sure, but he seems a steadfast in good faith kind of a chap, and actually, even if it is embellished, I don’t think I really care.

I am positively hankering to re-visit the destination, not really because I’m hoping to find treasure there – more that it has lent the whole expedition to this out of the way spot an even more adventurous and exotic spirit.

I talk about getting a metal detector, whereupon he lets me know that he has just sold four, and that if I ever want to go metal detecting on the mountain he’ll happily come. His name is Graham – if you ever read this Graham – it was lovely to meet you. I tell him that I am often to be seen out walking in the area, and that hopefully we’ll bump into each other again.

Feeling buoyant already, I ignore the fact that my back and knees are aching a bit today, and make my way up to the correct road and onto the mountain path. I have walked this way out onto the main promontory of the Graig before, but a short distance onto the main path there is a sharp turn off, to an inviting cobbledly looking track that I have never walked down – all I know is that it heads vaguely in the direction of Treforest. I do so love not really knowing where I’m going, so off I set.

Grumpy cows and gorgeous pathways

I am grateful for the shade afforded by the trees beside me, after the heatwave of the last few days, today was supposed to be a bit cooler, but the temperature appears to be rapidly rising already.

After a short distance, I see a sign for yet another footpath, that is closed for grazing, which heads intriguingly straight into a dense thicket of woodland. I have since checked and this path is nowhere on a map… I make a mental note to go back…

A little further on, I see a shape amongst the grasses, neck stretched up, eating the leaves from a tree. It looks like a highland cow, though I can’t see it too closely. As I continue up the path trying to get closer I spy a smaller beast (its calf maybe) staring belligerently at me, motionless from the corner of the field. I decide to keep moving.

The path is my favourite type of path, not too open, or concrete, but not a fight through long grass and brambles, where you have to concentrate on every step. It’s wide enough to pick up a steady walking pace, but its earthy and uneven still.

The pale trunks of birches stand out in contrast to the many shades of green either side, and its edges are flanked with gorgeous moss covered stone walls and sun-drenched ivy.

The path climbs slowly upwards, and as I round the corner the views over the valley are incredible.

I can really feel the sun beating down on me now I appear to be emerging from the woodland, and as I continue to walk the landscape suddenly and unexpectedly completely opens out in front of me.

Mountain top ponds, posing sheep, skylarks and herons…

Before me lies a stone stile into an area of open heath or grassland, with incredible views in every direction. Better still, there is clear and openly marked footpath across the grassland ahead of me. How on earth have I never been here before, how did I not know?

As I step over the stile onto the path proper, I feel like I am in wonderland.

There is not another soul in sight, butterflies are darting back and forth all around me amongst the long grass, and skylarks are rising from the ground and whirling overhead.

Ahead I can see a large pond or pool, with sheep clustered in shade under the trees.

Further on, I find sheep sheltering under a wooden shelter, and in the shade of an old stone wall. They look startled to see me, as sheep so often do.

The breeze is swaying the grasses before me, the only sound other than the ethereal song of the skylarks, and then I hear a distinct cough from behind the wall.

I am somewhat startled to learn of a persons presence, out here on this heathland all alone, but looking around I still can’t see a soul in sight. The sound seemed to emanate from behind a wall, and I wonder if a drunk farmer has fallen asleep there or something, which would be a little concerning at 9.45 in the morning, but you never know.

Hearing the sound again, I realise that it was actually one of the sheep.

What..?

For anyone who may be concerned on a future walk, please be warned that by some bizarre fluke of nature sheep have exactly the same cough as human beings…

This sheep I think is hoping to enter herself for rural idyll photo of the month, posing in front of a tumble down building with hilly backdrop as she was. Clear ideas above her station.

As I walk along this path, I feel suddenly a lot like I am on a Cornish cliff top. Ahead of me, two huge shapes suddenly arise from beside the water, Herons, flying magnificently directly overhead.

Further on, I get a better view of the beautiful pool stretching out in the landscape below me, and another smaller pool up ahead on the path, looking like something from a Constable painting.

As I walk beside this glorious little pond, a goose comes hurtling towards me full pelt down the path (which startles me a bit- one once bit me on the ankle for no reason when I was but a wee teenager) But he veers off and plops with astounding lack of grace into the pond beside some buddies.

As I am about to pass the pond, some swans and impossibly cute fluffy goslings sail casually into view, as if to say, yeah, highland cows, butterflies, skylarks, sheep, geese, herons…we get it, its been a good walk, but have you seen us yet? I mean check it out, could we be any fluffier..

The walk goes pear…or somewhat more accurately, bramble shaped…

Still somewhat reeling from all the nature encounters crammed into such a short stretch, I am beaming when I clamber over the stile ahead and arrive in the yard of a farmhouse.

Farms are often difficult. Many footpaths pass through them, and many are excellently signposted, with often helpful farmers, but not all are so easy.

A family is coming outside as I descend from the stile and the woman offers a bright and friendly good morning. I have already looked ahead and seen that there is no obvious indicator as to where the footpath continues, so I seize my opportunity, and politely ask if she could point me in the direction of the footpath.

She is happy to help, and rather than heading up the nice clear road ahead, it seems I am to head down a muddy track to the left and then bear right after the old barn to find the stile.

I thank her politely and head off. As soon as the barn comes into sight I start to question if I have understood her correctly.

The area to the immediate right of the building appears to be nothing more than a mass of undergrowth, and I have to clamber over some large pieces of fallen timber to get to it.

This can’t be right… can it? I make my way steadfastly through the greenery, deciding to go a little further before turning back, and spot what does indeed appear to be a stile up ahead.

This doesn’t look terribly auspicious. I plough onwards and clamber onto the first rung. Oh dear, it was all going so well, here we go again with an apparently forgotten pathway…

I sigh as I survey the thick banks of greenery representing the “path” ahead of me. For some insane reason, probably the heat, I have come out in walking sandals, as well as paper thin floaty trousers. On closer inspection the greenery of this particular forgotten path is full of nettles and brambles.

It’s been an amazing walk, and I’ve seen so much stunning scenery and wildlife. Turning back now will just mean that I can enjoy a beautiful return journey.

But this is supposed to be a footpath my brain screams quietly.

In addition to:

But you’ve come so far…

And finally…

If you could just get past this one stretch…the path might be better beyond…

So over I go.

I make my way gingerly down a narrow slope with the fence to my left, trying my best to avoid to worst of the nettles but getting liberally stung knees regardless. I ignore the buzzing warmth of the stings and pull some brambles out of the way, emerging after a short stretch onto a slightly more open piece of land. I look left, right, and straight down the slope in front of me, I can hear a river up ahead, but there is nothing resembling a real path in any direction.

I decide to try going further regardless, and settle upon straight ahead, which is down the slope, and towards the sound of the running water.

The slight indent in the ground which could be considered a possible path requires me to crouch down low under some tree branches, and I inadvertently attach my rucksack to a branch while clambering, meaning that for the briefest moment I am hanging suspended from the tree. Dignified. Though looking around me I think the chances of anyone spotting me are slim to none.

I think I am following some kind of small track down towards the water, but when my whole sandalled foot disappears into wet mud, I realise that I am in fact walking down a little waterway. I am determined though to at least get to the stream and see how the land lies.

I arrive beside a beautiful coppery stream, filled with boulders. A blackcap sings somewhere nearby, as the water trickles peacefully and the sun dapples across the rocks in this hidden place.

There is still no sign whatsoever of a path, so I decide to try and make my way beside the stream for a bit, and am quickly presented with another obstacle.

I climb awkwardly through the branches strewn on the ground, but the other side yields no further sign of a path. Still reluctant to give up, I pull out my phone and look at the RCT definitive map for footpaths. I manage to trace the way I must have walked across the mountain, the ponds, and the footpath descending from behind the farmhouse.

I look at it more closely, one of the branches of the footpath, which goes in a couple of directions apparently, does actually appear to descend the valley adjacent to the little river. I try to work out the angles in my head, and where I am, something I find infinitely difficult, but I realise that the footpath indicated is on the other side of the river, and looking over, I can see that the ground on that side looks a little more open. I find an easy crossing point.

I continue to make my way alongside the stream. The place feels absolutely magical, sunlight drizzling lazily through canopies of ancient trees.

I am completely alone here, with just the birdsong and the gentle gurgle of the stream for company, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised to round a corner and discover a wood nymph reclining enticingly on a boulder. This place somehow whispers quietly of ancient things, mystery and folklore.

The reality of turning the next corner is slightly less romantic. A fence, barbed wire sitting on top looking all efficient and pleased with itself. On the other side of which, a very obvious nice wide woodland path. Bugger. I am on the wrong side of the fence.

Lost in the woods to finding the path…

I am so close… and the path exists!

But I’m not sure about attempting to get over this fence, I don’t think my flimsy trousers can take many more insults. A short way further down, another fallen tree comes fortuitously to my rescue, and I climb triumphantly onto the main path, feeling smug.

Ah, the joy of the lovely wide path. I wonder where on earth it actually started from? that will have to be investigated on a further expedition. Where I will bring a bramble thwacking stick.

The path is beautiful, lots of mature deciduous trees in a wonderful sun dappled section of woodland. As I progress, other pathways diverge off invitingly to one side – even having consulted the footpath map later, I am still not entirely sure which direction some of them are heading in – yet more future explorations.

I start to descend downhill into Treforest, eventually arriving at a gate out onto the road beside the university buildings. Stepping out into now very hot sunshine, I realise how far I have actually walked, and that I need to get home.

I think of the return path, still unknown in its exact course. It would have plenty of woodland cover, but there would be a lot of steep uphill climbing, finding my way again, and topping up my crop of nettle stings in the overgrown farmland.

I eventually decide that I will be safer to come back via the roads and lower pathways today, and settle into a steady stomp down the roads with the sun beating down on me, and sweating in places that shouldn’t be possible to sweat in. Like elbows.

It’s a couple of miles trek back now, and it is hot, hot, hot. I put one foot in front of the other and let my senses dwell in the heavy scent of the buddleia overhanging the steep roadside walls.

Today’s walk has taken me much further off the beaten track than I had planned, and has been another unexpected, and wonderful, but undeniably tiring adventure.

It is important at this point to keep the vision of a well deserved cup of tea at the forefront of my mind, and I plough home towards it like an oasis in the desert.