A secluded river valley, a bounty of birdsong, a sun drenched spring woodland, and a place of watery magic…
Monday 27th April 2026
Walk start time: 9.01am
Walk finish time: 10.55am
Walk area: Shoni’s Pond and waterfalls, woodland and streamside pathways
Miles walked: 3.1
Today brings the fifth day in a row of brilliant spring sunshine.
It also brings Monday, off the back of a weekend tied up in various stressors of family, illness and injury, and as such, I am tired this morning – my energy at a low ebb.
I advise myself in a stern voice that this is all the more reason to go for a walk – it will make me feel better.
Surprisingly, I actually respond to my authoritative talking to, put on my invisible Elvin adventure hat, and venture forth.
I make my way past the various engine, machinery and van reversing noises on the main road of Maritime industrial estate, heading swiftly for the recreation ground and the pathway into the woods.
I am very lucky to have so many beautiful places to access from my doorstep, and each direction offers a different form of refuge or escape.
Today’s direction is less hilly than almost anywhere else I could go – but offers the powerful incentive of running water, and a fresh rushing babble accompanies my strides up the road.
The culvert beside me descends neatly and purposefully to the town below, as trees with still infant leaves filter morning sun in wild sparkles across its surface.
The pools of shadier air release the rich earthy smells of a woodland waking from its slumber, and bluebells dot their colours randomly through the banks.
As the pathway leaves the roadside, and turns to mud track, the road noise recedes further, and a lightly arching canopy of new growth deepens the shade.
The pungent dampness in the air becomes sharper and fresher – the landscape here is yet to fully greet the morning – and the rambling dandelions are still tightly closed – awaiting the first rays.
As always, my eye roves the verges, looking for wildlife or unusual flowers. I spy a lone cuckoo flower, or lady’s smock, (or milk maids – a flower of many names ) beside the path, a white or lilac bloom I have always loved for its delicacy.
Close by, a purple flower I don’t know, but am delighted to find out could be a wood violet, a sweet violet, or a hairy violet, no less.
The path crosses the waterway at a little wooden bridge here, and a blackbird eyes me impassively for a moment before hopping off into a patch of open sunlight beyond.
The track rises and widens as it moves further again from the sounds of the town. The gravel provides a soothing rhythmic crackle underfoot, and the songs of blackbirds, wrens and blackcaps surround me.
The stream now runs more naturally beside me, its rushing becoming a tranquil gurgle. I stop to listen to its music, enjoying the reflected sun and shadows as the waters bubble gently over the rocks.
A little further on, the path suddenly narrows into mud track once more, a route which has become waterlogged and difficult to pass due to treefall in recent years.
At the beginning of this very wet section, where Nant Gelliwion ebbs and flows with ever changing banks, a thick growth of yellow flag iris, not yet in bloom, rises from the ground.
I take a narrow alternative path, bypassing the boggy section. It can be tricky and slippery after rain, but is not too difficult a course today.
As it descends back to the stream’s bank, I reach Shoni’s pond – a local nature spot renowned for its secluded beauty.
Historic pictures of Pontypridd reveal it being once a wide and impressive stretch of water, covering a much bigger area, and I have met many locals who have told me of the pools depth in their youth, and of adventurous days lost in the pleasures of its surrounds.
I have seen the pond at different levels, and today it is particularly low, little more than a few widened pools in the river. A tyre swing hangs hopefully above, awaiting takers on a hot summers day.
As I continue on the path, the woodland deepens around me, trees on the banks of the river gaining in height, but their leaves are still young, and streams of sunlight sift through their luminescent greens onto the pooling waters below.
As the water wends, the valley narrows, and perhaps over romantically, I feel like there are echoes of Frenchman’s creek here.
I haven’t seen another soul on my walk so far, my only company is the birdsong echoing from one side of the river valley to the other.
As I reach the apex of the open pond section, traversing a few more fallen trees, I see that the lower water level makes a river crossing possible today.
The path here used to continue on both sides of the water, but the side I am on has disappeared in treefall and undergrowth, and a clearer, wider path is visible on the other side.
I have never had the opportunity or the weather before to continue this way, and it’s high time I find these oft talked of waterfalls that lie further up the river.
The pathways around Shoni’s pond are not prominent on footpath maps, and those that are shown tend to disappear shortly after the pond.
I trust local knowledge more than maps though, and after a tentative stepping stone crossing of the waters, I start following the path on the other bank.
It is wide, bright with sunshine, and open for a little way ahead. The birdsong around me becomes a positive throng, with Great tits, coal tits, chiff chaffs and song thrushes joining the blackbirds and wrens.
Away to my right, a bird of prey adds wild calls high over the farm fields, and the exuberant spring soundscape feels like a well-kept secret in this remote valley.
I take a brief side quest up a steep bank next to a steam tributary. It yields amazing views back up over the fields of Penycoedcae, and I find tenuous evidence of a path heading back in the direction of the dingle and Gelliwion mountain – for future exploration.
(See also my last Spring Walking Diariy – The Sunlit Moutain)
Back at the main waterside, the path seems to terminate abruptly in fallen trees and undergrowth, but a narrow track heads up and away to the right, so I follow its undulations through young tree growth and holly bushes, sparkling in the sunshine.
There is still not another soul in sight, only birds flitting from tree to tree on the path ahead of me, offering me tiny glimpses of nest building industry.
The pathway has taken me away from the river, but I can hear a steady rushing that now sounds more like a torrent, and my hopes are raised.
After some distance more, the landscape opens before me, and I am presented with a magnificent plateau – a central oak tree flanked by smaller specimens, the lush grass below them strewn with bluebells.
Cabbage white butterflies are dancing between the flowers, and a pathway of dry leaf mulch skirts the edge, leading back toward the river.
I descend the slope to find the waterfalls, a place of magic where time could happily disappear.
A central fall gushes into a deep pool, which cascades and winds through further shallow falls – little lagoon pools lacing between them – momentarily stilling the water’s immense energy as it rests in the sun’s heat.
The place is idyllic, mesmerising.
I ponder the unique feel created by the landscape of a waterfall – the simultaneous sense of magical energy and utter tranquility.
Waterside environments have a reputation for their rejuvenating powers.
Well here is a place you could disappear for a day with glee. And possibly come back about five years younger.
I sit for a while in the welcoming nook of a tree trunk, upholstered in delicious sun warmed moss, and I soak up the gentle thunder of the falls beside me, breathing the fresh intensity of the water laden air.
When I eventually move from my spot, back into the sun-bathed plateau, I can feel that shift and lightening inside me. Nature’s unpretentious, ever generous gift.
As I start my return path, the sun’s heat is lifting the scents of budding greenery into the air, and two brimstone butterflies dance and whirl for a moment beside me.
A pair of Canada geese squawk loudly, calls echoing around the valley as they fly by only metres overhead.
Looking up, the finely laced canopy of new oak leaves now seems like a mystical portal to the blue skies beyond.
Back on the path by the main pond, a high-speed squirrel performs a series of acrobatic stunts as he makes his way stalwartly across the fallen trunks of the river – for a moment – it feels like he is showing me the way, accompanying me on the last stretch of my walk.
I smile broadly in thanks for his exploits, and for the walk itself.
I will surely, I think, be at least two months younger by the time I get home…
bewilderbrain 
Thoughts or ramblings welcome here…