It's my fault entirely....
This is my own view of our walks and completely unofficial.
So any complaints - send them to me, the webmaster, not the poor old committee.
Obviously any praise, glory or hero-worship should come to me, too....
just drop me an e-mail to :- contact@islwyn-ramblers.co.uk
To see the super, enlarged version of any photo, just click on it!

It all started so promisingly, early drizzle, sunshine at lunchtime, according to both the weather forecast and the rainbow. But having struggled up the hillside, the wind rose, the rain teemed down and we got closer to that so very exposed ridge. Cwmbran disappeared in the gloom of the downpour and the ground got muddier and more slippery. It was up to me to make the executive decision to turn around, defeated. Funnily enough there were no objections. Needless to say, as we started to get lower the weather got less ferocious. It's not just the weather, our ladies are in a strange mood today too. Before we start, one such lady asks us to show her our lunchboxes! It seems it's how you sort out trainee Ramblers into those having school dinners and those with sandwiches! And on meeting the hairy young gentleman below I'm asked 'Is it a bull?' I reply 'Yes, have a look down there' which results in all sorts of riband comments. I don't think they'd noticed his little blue bootees at all!

A picture paints a thousand words..... which is just as well as there aren't any words.
Not usually tongue-tied is the young lady who took the photos but today only the photos tell the story.

Up the mystical and magical Gray Hill today, through unrelenting and unending mud, but we did it! . Excellent views out over the channel and a touching memorial to another lover of the great outdoors overlooking a very interesting place - The Monmouthshire Fault - responsible for all the little earth-tremors we getnow and again. It doesn't look too impressive, just a slight drop in the land but there's a seismometer that sends info directly to the Royal Geological Society. All very comforting when the big one comes... Up on top we are shown the standing stones which line up with the sun at the Winter Solstice, but not today, obviously. And where's a druid when you need one? So it's not quite Stonehenge but at least it's ours. The descent is through the worst of the mud, past some bikes struggling uphill, then down through the valley, spurred on by the baying of hounds in the hills behind us.. We decided not to cross the rickety bridge but used the shiny, new one next door, probably a very wise decision. Soon the welcome sight of the Woodlands Tavern came into view, now you come to mention it I do have a bit of a thirst....

New Year's Day conveniently falls on the 1st of January this year so we head for the hills as usual, at least it's dry-ish. We successfully negotiate the free-ranging chickens and struggle up the hill, defying gravity to haul all that turkey and stuffing to the top. There's rain in them there hills so we hurry through the swamp and marsh before it catches us. At least the wind drops as we head down to the 'Goose' for 'three-bean soup' and a pint. Now the trouble starts as we can't get past a broken-down wheelbarrow. The driver's nowhere to be seen so we get our Top Brain onto the problem. It seems our Top Brain thinks better when sitting down with his eyes shut! By the way, Jill's not smiling, that's agony, the wheelbarrow is on her foot! Luckily we can just squeeze past and leave them there for the recovery barrow to turn up. Just round the corner, another problem, a sheep heap. Not wanting to upset their game of 'King of the Castle', we tiptoe past just as it starts to rain. Hoods up, umbrellas up, but it soon eases off. All the same we stick to the lane rather than cross that very muddy field again. Just in time, as we reach the carpark, it tips down !!

The mildest christmas since the last time it was this mild, unlike last year's extremes, and I'm trying to lose about 8 lbs. It'll never happen! It's rather drizzly as we climb up the lanes through Ochrwyth past the damp donkey sanctuary and the steep bit past the quarry. All that turkey is taking it's toll now, even the sprightly one's are down to a crawl. Never mind, we'll have a breather at the top. Mynydd Machen is out of sight in the cloud and two cyclists stop to consider the wisdom of going on to the top. Wisdom prevails and they soon pass on the way back down. We plough on through pools of dirty water and mud, clinging to the undergrowth at the side of the track. Do we cross the fields to the Rhiwderin or go round the lane? We're already wet and muddy so through the fields it is. Refreshment at the Rhiwderin over, we drop down to the riverbank at the vast, open spaces where the Alcan factory was, housing? supermarket? perhaps we'll see what's happened next year.

I know where we started - Hollybush - it's just where we went next that gets difficult. Strangely it seemed to be uphill past a coalmine, then uphill past an airshaft, then uphill past a touching memorial to Ronald Hawkins, someone who enjoyed this wonderful country as we do now and is still remembered..... and then we went uphill. And then it got cold. It's a beautiful, sunny day but there's a raw, North wind and up on top don't we know it. We head downwards just for a change to reach the curious village of Troedrhiwgwair, partly abandoned due to the unsafe mountainside. A few homes are still occupied despite the looming danger. Lunchtime and Maggie slips, Maggie slides, will she go? Yes, but luckily for our insurance the vibrations don't dislodge another landslide. The path back up to the ridge is challenging, fallen trees across a narrow, muddy path, but we come sailing through. Thankfully it's an easy, flat walk back along the ridge and down through the woods back to Hollybush.

Typically November - dull, damp and dreary - but with the promise of lunch who cares about the weather? It should have been an easy pre-lunch Ramble but the wet conditions made it rather testing in places. Off past the limekilns onto the canal bank and rows of moored-up narrow boats, forlorn but waiting for the Spring to, well, spring! Down the lane and the first church. Derelict for many years but now a restored as a religious retreat, this was Lady Llanover's Welsh chapel. Past my Father's house, the garden's so different now, over the bridge and a quick chat with an old friend. Past 'Y Gwesty' - the tearooms, long closed, Llanover Post Office, closed, and Llanover School, recently closed, back up to the canal bank and boathouse, disused, across a muddy field to another lane. We cross another muddy field to St Bartholemew's Church. Here lies Lord Llanover of Abercarn and elsewhere, who, as Sir Benjamin Hall, gave his name to 'Big Ben', a rather well known bell. Lady Llanover, the fearsome Matriarch of the Llanover Estate lies peacefully beside him. Across the fields and Mandy's 'Best Stile in the Whole, Wide World'. Hanover Chapel is open and the Minister, Steve Price, relates the story of it's original Preacher and the Korea connection. Lunch time and we enjoy a well-deserved drink and Venison Casserole at the Goytre Wharf cafe. Excellent. Well done, Mandy.

A beautiful Autumn day and the Ramblers and the Twmbarlwm Society combine their forces for a full-frontal assault on the hidden depths of the Gwyddon. We started up the top, missing out the Distillery Pond, famous for its midnight Viking funeral ceremonies, loved-one's ashes put in a little matchstick boat, set alight and launched across the pond, a midnight dip, anyone? First port-of-call is the site of Brook Bungalow, just above the site of the sawmill, and another tale of the macabre, the last elderly occupant hadn't been seen for a few days so when the police called in to check.... A little further and we come across some mysterious stone walls, could be charcoal burners, could be aliens. Quickly followed by an equally mysterious hole-in-the-wall, didn't go back very far but what was it for? answers on a postcard to Rob, pleae. Trywyn is next after a fair bit of uphill scrambling, just ruins but Rob had some great photos of a very attractive house. Over the moors past a well-inscribed boundary stone, lunch, and down to Hafod Owen. A few outhouses, a pigsty and stable possibly, and a waterpipe remain, sad testimony to it's former occupants. Then the long trek down the valley and home.

from our foreign correspondent

It pains me to admit it, but Simon and Nina organised the best weekend away ever. I had my doubts. Yes, it was November and it could have gone horribly wrong. Do you know what? It can go horribly wrong in any month in this country of ours. Not only did it not go horribly wrong, it was sublime - perfect! The days were not too short. The weather was ( sorry to use the same word twice) perfect, but that's just luck. In addition the accommodation, food and entertainment were very good. I cannot believe that we took part in all those games and nearly wet ourselves with laughter. La di dah is something to be believed. I was cautious. Especially when so few people signed up for the trip, but we really had a wonderful time. Watch out for trips to the Lake District The New Forest There are plans afoot. Mind you .... I'm only going if Simon is in charge of the evening entertainment!

Photos on their way as I write....

... but first catch your Ramblers. "I'm at Llanhilleth but there's no-one here", says the phone. "Cross the bridge and turn Left", says I. "I've turned Left but there's still no-one", says the phone again. "Can you see a scruffy old man waving at you from across the bridge?". "Yes, Yeukk, dirty old man!!". "Hello, you've found me". And so to Ebbw Vale with a bunch of fare-dodgers. And then the problems really start, this pretty brown cow is right in the middle of the narrow path. Maggie shoos it away very politely, the cow downs horns and advances, stamping its hooves. Maggie very wisely jumps sideways into a hawthorn bush. I exert my magnetic personality with all things female and sweet-talk the cow. She immediately charges me - so I burst into tears! Her maternal instincts for helpless creatures duly aroused she shuffles off through the bracken and we attend to Maggie's injuries. One of us has enough unguents, potions, poultices and embrocations to make me vrry concerned for the 31st but Maggie's repaired and off we go again... The going gets a bit tough too, brambles and nettles have sprung up where they didn't exist a few weeks ago and getting down from a disused station platform produces some very curious contortions from our ladies. Sadly it's all rather tame from now on, just as well really as being alone with 8 lovely ladies is just too much.....

It was almost 'Ramblers 13' as one of us sat in her car waiting for the rest to arrive and then suddenly recognised the other cars in the carpark and that odd group of people disappearing over the horizon. It's so hard running in walking boots! But it was worth the effort to walk along the Sirhowy Tramroad in the footsteps of the Chartists all those years ago. Hard to imagine now in the shadows of St Davids Woods and the Chartists Bridge soaring high above them. We pass the memorial to the protests over the building of the bridge and the path gets wilder and narrower. Lunch is taken beside the river, the site of two collieries but it's more like North Wales now than South Wales! An impressive and very new flight of steps takes us up to the old railway footpath back to the bridge. This was unexplored territory for me but well worth the visit and there's more to see.

A nice gentle re-introduction to the ancient art of Rambling - advertised as a 'figure of 8' but in fact a 'figure of 9' - but that's inflation for you. It's like mid-summer today and our October 1st dress code of shorts and T-shirt is most unusual - don't suppose it will ever be repeated. Actually it was new territory for me on this side of the valley, many times down the other side but not this side. Being a select little band on home ground we can pick and choose our route as we go along, true democracy in action, up over Mynydd Islwyn and back down the narrow zig-zag path through Hafod Tudor - and the only one who missed their footing was the poor old dog.

There's me recovering from jetlag and this lot go to the end of the world. Well, Paul does as you can see. Linda, dedicated as ever, goes just past the end of the world to take the photos. I'm told they walked from the waterfalls at Blaen y Glyn, ascending approx 245 mtrs to ridge, and onto Fan y Big, returning via the Roman Road, and passing the Neuadd reservoir on the way. 245 mtrs? What's that when it's at home? Actually 804 feet, which sounds very much more impressive. Well done, you lot.

.... we seem to have been strolling around Penallta, wandering up The Gwyddon and then off for a quick shower at Parc Cwm Dare. And the intrepid Linda was right there to record the goings-on and getting soaked into the bargain. What a girl!

The Teddy Bears Picnic had nothing on this. A couple of weeks ago we ventured into darkest Dean and luckily Linda was on hand to record some of the best (or worst) moments. It was the usual August day of complete contrasts, sunny spells and sudden showers..... and Ramblers playing up to the camera as usual.

and just a couple of photos from 3rd September's saunter around the Maen Llwyd. I'm not sure about the excuse of running out of film - it's a digital camera!

as if we would...... A lovely stroll along the beach and back through the dunes. What could be nicer - or simpler. It always starts so well, along the river, along the beach and time for lunch on the sands. That's the easy bit over, now comes the tricky bit. There are dozens of tracks through the dunes and we've taken a different one every time we've been here. Last time we ended up on a housing estate by turning left when we should have turned right. We're more than equal to that now.... And end up on top of an unknown dune with beautiful views over Porthcawl and Ogmore, all quite deliberate of course. So back down to the junction and we turn left onto the right path (if you see what I mean). Never did see the wrong path we took last time... spooky. Those wearing shorts see the error of their ways while crossing an overgrown patch with hidden nettles, still a little sting won't hurt, just don't mention the snakes. Never a bunch to turn down the opportunity to horse around, this lot rise to the occasion like thoroughbreds across an eventing course. It's a nice day so a diversion across the stepping stones for some refreshment ends our day. Nobody obliged me by falling in though - and I thought they were game for a laugh! Party-poopers!

as it says......

First, prepare all surfaces by brushing with a good, stiff brush. The first of the 78 posts took a couple of minutes as creepies, crawlies, spiders, slugs, snails and puppy dog tails were evicted. Profs Thomas and Holland will tell you therefore that 78 posts will take a few hours. However they have forgotten about negative logrithmic progression which states that from posts 10 onwards the good, stiff brush flashes by each post in seconds!

Next acquire three pots of paint in three shades of dark blue and, right on cue, three bears appear. Father Bear says 'this shade of blue is too dark'. Mother Bear says 'this shade of blue is too light' and Baby Bear hasn't read the story properly by saying 'This shade of blue is minging'. 'Minging' is New English speak for 'I find my aesthetic sensibilities are seriously offended by that object'. So take a large vessel and tip all three pots into it and stir vigorously. Funnily, the one thing most Ramblers say I'm good at, is stirring...

Apply the resultant, gooey mess to the patio, to the plants, to the dog, to yourself. Eventually some splashes may actually get on the the fence. Keep practising. You will find about half way through the process the phone will ring. Answer it, it's a important cold call. 30 minutes later you will come back and look for your brush. You will find it by following the blue footprints in ever decreasing circles that lead to your foot - and you thought you'd developed a limp!

At last you've finished and lean against your newly-painted fence wondering how the Ramblers got on at Rhosilli - don't worry - it was probably minging anyway.

I was supposed to go to Flatholm and that fell Flat again so I stayed at Holm. Wish I'd gone on this one now.......
But I didn't and Linda did - so this is all hers.....

We started our walk in Nantybwch and past some cottages that used to be the 'station houses', no chance of a train now. And now a viaduct with 9 arches over the Sirhowy River. Some excellent views - Penyfan and Corn Ddu? and another mountain I can't remember name of. Picked up a stray dog on the way! Took a liking to Maggie (or was it the sandwich)? However, this did turn out to be a bit of a blight on the walk. The dog had been injured (looked like a pellet gun wound) and this seemed more likely as the dog was running after the sheep and he did take a nip at a lamb (glad i didn't see that) so Rob and Ken spent the rest of the walk trying to keep the dog 'at heel'. We could not go to Llangunnidwr (Can't be bothered to check the correct spelling!) because we had to go back the same route to offload the dog where we picked him up - a farmhouse at the beginning the walk! Found the Chartist Cave and then on to the Reservoir - sion sienffre? (pronounced Shaun Sheffrey), English name John Jeffrey. Very near to where Rob's parents live and where he was brought up. Down memory lane........

I know I said that I might start this walk from the top but I fibbed. Just round the corner from the carpark the 1 in 3 starts and soon sorts the fit from the rambling. Paul goes storming off ahead at a great rate of knots but the wrong way, come back, Paul, don't leave us now. An easy bit is quickly followed by a very rough bit is quickly followed by an easy bit is quickly followed by a - you get the idea. The brighter sparks realize that we've been this way before and they're right but we came from the other direction last time. Just a few more hills and we're there - we've reached the ridge. The weather is very indifferent today so the panoramic views have been switched off, a shame 'cause they're great. Another time, perhaps. But, yes, we can just see Twmbarlwm....

The ridge is easy walking all the way to the trig point where a stick, a bottle and a willing volunteer provide the mid-walk cabaret. A little further on was a tavern called the Travellers Rest, not even a pile of bricks remain to provide shelter now. And it starts drizzling just in time for lunch.... We're on a Roman Road called Rhiw Frank - I think that means 'French Road' but our learned experts are checking - and we even find a small section of paving still in place - amazing! Now we're coming off the ridge the sun comes out along with the humidity, not so good. We always seem to find cute creatures on our rambles and these foals are no exception. Ahh, how cute and that's just me.

Something a little different this weekend - We team up with the Twmbarlwm Society (both of them smartly turned out in their t-shirts) to search out the lost farmsteads of the Nant Carn valley. First on the list is Hollybush Cottage, found after snaking our way up the hillside, hidden away off the beaten track. But not so hidden that the local children hadn't found it and built their own den there. Next is the Cnwc (pronouced Genook, so it seems), a much more extensive premises altogether. Once again it's been re-cycled as someone has installed a stainless steel barbecue in a suitable-sized slot. A beautiful stroll through a tunnel of gnarled, old beech trees dripping with moss, an ancient field boundary way before the conifers, brings us to a mystery, Pen-y-pant. Virtually nothing remains here but nettles and an old iron tank, not even clear foundations. But the mystery is that the ground seems to be colliery waste but no evidence of mining. Just next door is Rhyswg Fach, proper walls and a friendly lizard, home from home.

A quick coffee and a long, hot walk up the valley past boundary stones ending the dispute between the Hanburys and the Llanovers, What goes up, comes down, only to go up again steeper than ever. We need a break but we have to suffer Rob's recitation of the legend of Pwll Tra before he'll let us rest. After lunch we find a modern hidey-hole from the 1970s, an eco-house complete with campbed and fireplace. Alright in the summer, I suppose, but those Cwmcarn winters??? Pant Gwyn is the last lost farmstead, a mix of old and not-so-old with the stark chimney still standing. Now we're on the downward trail past the only inhabited and working farm in the valley. So despite the modern forestry and leisure industries the much older traditions still survive - just!

Today we're off to see Flatholm and no-one can complain that we failed. We did see it, look, there it is six miles offshore, appearing and disappearing in the clouds as the freezing mid-summer wind howled around. The captain of the boat took one look at us lot and decided not to risk his licence. He was quite happy to take some of us on Sunday with one proviso, the boat was booked by a naturist group...... There was a very strange smile on some faces when he announced that, but I know who you are, CQ of Risca, MT of Crosskeys and JZ of Abercarn. So we'll have have another crack at that one. The day wasn't wasted as many of us decided to walk along the coast to Sully Island. Fortified with chips at the Captain's Wife, they walked back too! On the other hand I was reminded of a kitchen wall that needed painting.......

Well, I promised you mud if it was wet and, boy, did you get some, at lease, the six brave souls that came with me did. And surprisingly we had a nice day out. The rain fizzled out as we set off and it stayed dry as we headed to the mouths of the River Ebbw and River Usk. The tide was in so Newport's tiny beach was hidden, not a problem as no-one had their bucket and spade. Off past the lighthouse and lunch was taken looking out over Clevedon. A bit of a shower and tragedy in St Brides! The Church House pub has closed down! Someone should do something!!! Then we reached the farm and the cows had been out early to churn up the footpath. Those that hadn't experienced the awesome power of the Newport Levels mud found out now. Terrifying stuff. Luckily the long grass at the other end cleaned our boots off in seconds flat. A mud-free stroll to the carpark was our just reward for our efforts.

I would like to thank everyone who turned up for my circular guided walk from Pontymister on Saturday 11th June. We did an easy 4-mile walk starting at Fields Road, Pontymister in glorious sunshine walking along the riverbank to Rogerstone Welfare Grounds. We had a tea break there and then onwards around the lanes of Ochrwyth and then over the footbridge back to the start of the walk. Not long after the walk had finished the heavens opened and we had a thunderstorm and hailstones - we were very lucky to finish in the dry. We had 31 walkers and a very nice happy crowd who we hope enjoyed the walk. We also had donations from a number of people who were unable to join us on the day. You will all be pleased to know we raised a total of £245.55 for Cancer Research UK. Thank you once again for your support.

Mary Hill (photos courtesy of Sue Powell, from Howards Butchers, Risca)

The ups and downs of being a Rambler, first the long, long drag from Full Moon up past Ynys Howell, up past the aerial and up to the top of Mynydd-y-grug, pronounced rather like 'Grieg' and it means 'heather', so 'Heather Mountain' then. Having got to the top of Mont Bruyere, as the French would say, we promptly skittle down a long zig-zag path to the bottom again and find we're almost in Llanbradach. Actually we've arrived at a listed building called Ty Isaf, a malthouse built in 1798, in the shadow of Mynydd Dimlaith (wonder what 'Dimlaith' means?). A coffee break has been promised and everybody hurries past, missing this beautiful little pond and its resident goslings

A gentle stroll for a mile or so along the valley and the path begins to rise - and rise - and then really rise to the aerial almost on top of Heideberg again, as they would say if it was German. A different route down takes us past a house where, once upon a time, Maggie had to resort to vocal gymnastics to get past the rather unusual resident. We tiptoe past so as not to disturb anyone today and be forced to break into song to quell any tirade. Just before we settle down to lunch we pass some litter which includes a full bottle of pop and a mobile phone. We retrieve the phone to hand it in only to find a distressed young mountain biker looking for his phone. As we return Prof. Holland admits she's never heard of Wentlooge Colliery, let alone seen it, and she's lived here since time began!!! A short diversion takes us past the sad remnants of 30 mens labours and so back Full Circle to Full Moon.

One year ago and a select party of 16 followed me to Twmbarlwm, seven weeks ago and there was I leading 57 good souls up Twmbarlwm and today I'm doing it again, except that no-one actually turned up! I'd look pretty stupid (nothing unusual there, then) if it hadn't been for seven of my very good rambling friends. (the cheque's in the post). So I'm officially 'Leader' but this is more of an afternoon stroll for us lot. Up to the top (cold and windy, only stopped long enough to check that Pete's birthday flask was in perfect working order) and down to Cwmcarn where we watched the heroics of the bikers before the ladies were overcome with an urgent desire to look at the Goshawk chicks on the live webcam at the Visitor Centre, well that's what they said, anyway! Back to Crosskeys RFC where more of our ladies have the catering under complete control, just need some survivors from the 14 and 22 mile walks.....

So I've been very busy playing Thomas The Tank Engine with my 2-year-old grandson and I'm shattered. Us Grampa's are a much undervalued and exhausted section of the community. And now I need a rest - and there's no better way than climbing up The Medart with a bunch of very strange people indeed. But today is also very special - Pete has now been walking for 80 years (well, crawling for the first year or so, but we won't split hairs). We've organised our most devious and subversive members to arrange a little surprise barbecue after the walk. But first we have to walk and a good turnout (perhaps they've smelt the sausages) set off up the very steep path at Cwmcarn. A bit of puffing and panting and climbing steps gets us to Pigyn and its decision time! Left to Twmbarlwm or right to The Medart. The ayes on the right have it which is good because it's years since I've walked round The Medart.

Time for a pretend lunch break, I don't think we're very good at keeping secrets as no-one's brought any food, which rather gives it away really. But then it's off through the bluebells and down a seemingly endless forest road back to the Visitor Centre. A change of footwear and Surprise! Surprise! - it's a party!!! Even the sun comes out (and in and out and in) and the burgers and sausages sizzle. We dust down and scrub up the Chairman and he says a few well-chosen words (I wonder who chose them?) and produces some goodies. And then he absconds with the garden chairs!!! Not quite what we had in mind for a chairman. At least Pete is looking very comfortable between the Western Mail Molls.........

So many thanks to all concerned, our Leader, our Chairman, our Chief Cooks and Bottlewashers and of course our members for rising to a real occasion, and of course huge congratulations to Pete ........ but a final special treat - a movie (and its a talkie!) (and it takes a very long time to load, so go and make a cup of tea) ..... just click, play and enjoy.....

What a change in 6 days, rainy and muddy to sunny and muddy, and from me being under-dressed to over-dressed, one young lady was even in her bikini, I tried to take photo to prove it but the auto-shake just couldn't cope.... but to start at the beginning, Kenfig Pool, where this stately swan set the pace for a feast of wild creatures and wild flowers - lizards, orchids, cowslips and lambs amongst others. But first we have to get through the mud, our leader was up all night watering this particular patch just for us to squelch through, But soon enough we reach the beach and I only mentioned that I dropped a Pound last time we were here and their eyes don't leave the ground for a moment....

We send our leader in to test the water but sadly the aroma of Ramblers socks turns even the hardest hound away. Another hound seems to have found my missing Pound (does that make it a dog Pound now?) but I'm not sticking my hand in that pool - there may be crabs in there.... Lunchtime is hectic as more and more people pile onto the beach near Pyle, fair enough, I suppose. Jetskis shoot past from the right and canoeists paddle past from the left and we circumnavigate the rest of Rest Bay after our rest before the rest of our walk.(Oy, give it a rest, will you!) OK, then, I could do with a rest.....

Maggie said she'd invited a few others to join us today so 7 of us waited for her to come round the corner ...... followed by 49 others, yes, 49 !!! So these 57 varieties set off for Twmbarlwm, not much chance of having a chat on the way, I'd need a full sound system to keep in touch. In fact we had to have back markers and middle markers just to keep the herd together. I learned something at Cwm Byr, my Blasted Oak may well be a Blasted Beech. but I was right about one thing, it is a tree...(ps. the photo is from 2007, one of the troubles with leading is you can't stop to take pictures.) At the end of Cwm Byr there's one difficult stile and if you've ever tried to get 57 people over a difficult stile.....

We have a break just below Twmbarlwm and the heavens open, everyone covers up with gaiters, trousers, hats, jackets, gloves, hoods, crampons, pitons, inflatable rescue helicopters, you'd think we were going up a real mountain! Which clever clogs puts his umbrella up and stays cool, dry and handsome in his t-shirt? Why, me, of course, as the other 56 perspire their heavily-dressed way up to the top. The views aren't too bad considering the raincloud is hovering right over us, the rest of the world of course is dry. The cloud moves off to Wentwood as the crocodile files it's way off the top, just in time for lunch. All down hill to Cwmcarn Visitor Centre where the appeal of the facilities is overwhelming. We take our leave here as I don't know where Maggie found them all and only she knows where they all came from .....

Honestly! What is wrong with today's youngsters? It's pretty obvious that if we're going to Blaenavon there are going to be mountains, mud and water involved. Well, if it's one of my walks, it's guaranteed. So why does some who should know better turn up in flip-flops? Yes, flip-flops!!! And don't give me excuses such as you're boots are in the wash (or in the boot-bag you're carrying). You can't fool me! But it's a nice day and I'll let our illustrious Secretary off this time. Mind you there are others who haven't maintained their footwear properly and quickly find that Blaenavon mud and water are pretty muddy and wet, left her gaiters in the car, huh! The loneliness of high command, nobody loves me, not even the pony as I've not got a carrot anywhere......

Our coffee stop seems to have been decorated with fresh flowers and garden candles - not by me, I hasten to add - I'm still not friends with this lot. When I checked the route earlier, our lunch spot was an oasis of calm, sunny and sheltered. Today, of course, the North wind is blowing straight at us and even the frogs in the ponds think we're mad. But there is a highlight - a magnificent Red Kite soars over us, wings outstretched, and we watch it glide effortlessly through the sky. Guess where my camera is - in my bag at the top of the bank. Think I'll give up today, they can find their own way back......

.....pronounced Slim-ay and it's in the mountains of Croatia. So imagine climbing from Risca, up Darren Lane, to the top of Twmbarlwm and than deciding to climb a mountain. You've got it - that's just what it's like, a 1500 ft climb in less than a mile to start the climb proper. So I didn't!! I stayed at the 1500 ft mark and took the donkey tracks from village to abandoned village, sheer drops and sheer cliffs, sunsets and views to die for, just avoid the thunderstorms, the blizzards and the 100 mph wind, oh, and the waterspouts out to sea, otherwise a doddle. I got the lot but like I say, absolutely awesome. I know you only want to see the pictures so here they are.

The official footpaths are quite well marked but the Croatians don't believe in fences so you can wander pretty much where you want. The coast path is very scenic but runs from marina to marina. In the mountains you are alone at 5000 ft, the villages boarded up until the summer, the odd goat or cow wandering with you between the potato patches (world famous, apparently). It's not fair to mention the fabulous hotel, the all-inclusive all day buffet, the free bar from 11:00 to 11:00 etc, etc, that goes with the walks, so I won't.

It was very dull, almost drizzling when I left, so I cleared the windscreen and then had to do it again after a mile. But by the time I got to Basseleg the wipers had to be on intermittent. And by the time I got to Risca they were on full stop and I couldn't see Mynydd Islwyn at all. So working on the reverse logic that if I couldn't see it, it couldn't see me and no-one would see anything, anywhere, anyway. Didn't sound like fun at all - so I chickened out, turned around and went home for a nice, hot coffee and some toast. Needless to say, within a couple of hours it had stopped so, needing the excursive, the dog and I went down to the railway line to watch the trains go by. They are few and far between on Sundays and we were there just when they were fewest and farest. So no trains, no mountain, no company (other than the dog, and he's deaf, love him). Ah well, can't win them all.

And now my bucket and spade is packed and I'm off for a few weeks to Croatia (turn right at Rogerstone and second left at Italy) so unless someone is brave enough to put pen to paper, digit to keyboard or mouse to computer........

Well, they're pretty flowers and that's as much as I know and the same goes for poetry, but Ena's equal to the occasion and recites Wordsworth perfectly when we come across the budding bluebells. There's even a cloud floating high o'er somewhere or other. We're all feeling rather 'chipper' today, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the bride is getting to the church on time and we're knee-deep in mud. So across the fields and into the woods, the mud gets deeper and legs are not as reliable as they might be, a couple of tumbles but only pride is hurt. Ruperra Castle is still slowly crumbling away, more has fallen from the one tower, I still can't believe that people would rather it collapse than be used to good purpose.

We play leap-frog with some energetic youngsters who eventually shoot off ahead as we take the mud-slide down to the Draethen. The lower end is being repaired with a covering of quarry ballast which will be a considerable improvement. Well done, those volunteers, whoever you are.... The energetic youngsters have reached the Hollybush - and stopped! So that's why they were rushing ahead. They haven't got a round in for us so we press on to the river for our coffee-break in the sun. There was a Kingfisher here on our last visit but not today. It's a long riverside walk back to the car park, past the rather dull back of the very historic Plas Machen. It was built in 1490 for the Morgans, much more attractive from the front and up for sale if you've got a couple of million. Back at the Cefn Mably, the wedding party are just arriving so it would be rude not to sit outside (for the first time this year) to toast their health - at least that's our excuse.

It's bitterly cold and the wind brings it's own chill factor so there's a brisk horse-trading in gloves, hats and scarves. I'm surprised that an enterprising entrepreneur hasn't opened up a mobile warm clothing van that follows us about. And talking about horse-trading the poor mountain ponies are standing around their frozen waterhole licking the ice. Our efforts to break it are in vain. What we want is something heavy and expendable to throw into the middle,,,, Why are you all looking at me? But round the corner - Ramblers on Ice, the track is completely covered with a smooth sheet of ice but no-one's brought their skates. The Judges scores are surprisingly disappointing - we're out of the competition for good. Another corner - another sport, one we can have a go at - tree-swinging for the swinging sixties. Our resident expert demonstrates with elegance and grace how it should be done - easy-peasy....

And just for the record only one of the contestants is a 'sixty+' but I've promised not to identify him. The first contestant seems to have suffered a gravity reversal ( or is she just following the Aussie Rules?). Getting on is fine, getting off again is much harder, at least with any sense of decorum. The resident expert seems to be suffering from sudden tummy pains, certainly not doubled-up with laughter. And now the true swinging sixty has a go but can't handle the steering arrangements and ends up going round and round in circles, a born Ramblers leader I would say. After all that exertion we lunch beside the placid waters of the reservoir, the shoal of big fish refuses to appear to entertain us. Back up the hill and across the bleak, freezing and totally exposed moor, at least we've got our backs to the wind.

They never learn, and blindly let me lead them again across exposed moors, fast-flowing streams and muddy farmyards. Don't they ever learn? No ! This week we're up at Cefn Golau pond and have some rough and trackless moorland to cross before reaching a green lane down the hillside. We pass the time of day with the local farmer, with attendant dogs checking on his stock, no horse for him these days, he's on a quad bike. Now we're down, the only way is up, but only after we've crossed a deep stream and an awkward stile. Being kind-hearted, I let them have a break before we race the Shetland pony up the hill, awww. The views on top are excellent but this crafty bunch of Ramblers have noticed we're heading downhill again and, at the bottom, there's a sit-down protest. I threaten to turn the protester into a leprechaun for ever and ever so reluctantly he jumps off his perch to follow us up the hill.

Lunch time brings it's own problems, a non-member gatecrashes the picnic. We offer him membership forms and a programme but it seems he's only after us for apples and carrots. Eventually he realises that we have little to offer in the fruit and veg department so sidles off in search of pastures new. Another corner, another farm, another farmer, who very kindly opens the gate out of the farmyard for us. I know the farm lane leads directly up to the road but he makes a point of pointing out that the right of way is across the fields, but parallel with the lane. No problem at all, and he's quite right of course, but I would have thought he would be happier for people to use the lane rather than tramp across his fields and gates. Wickedly, I wonder whether they may have been his next-door neighbours fields, not his! Fifteen out, fifteen back again, and no rain, success!

What a change in the weather, still cold and icy but there's this strange yellow thing in the sky.... Certainly icy - even with a full car we struggle on the hairpin bends on the lane up. But we make it and set off around the foothills. Not being used to such good weather we become somewhat light-hearted so completely miss our turning. No problem - a quick tramp through the bracken puts matters right. The streams are running strongly and take a bit of crossing safely but we succeed in keeping our feet dry and start the climb back up. The wind is strong and cold as we approach the summit but the views are worth it. On top, we lunch on the lee-side until the dreaded apparition of 'The Black Ramblers' looms over the skyline - time to hurry on down.

I'm being moaned at by our ladies who complain that they appear too frequently in my photos (can't see the problem myself) and rarely our stalwart gentlemen, so there you are, Ladies, the scrubbed and polished massed ranks. Not content with one complaint, they go on to point out that I never appear in in 'the flesh' either. Pretty obvious I would have thought as I'm the one taking the photos. My camera is removed, I'm thrown into a passing snowdrift and preserved for posterity. Not sure it's my best profile but still..... But my problems aren't over - I'm wandering along at the back chatting away (I know that's unusual for me, must be something about Blondes) when I get shooed away by the Ladies so we hurry round the corner for my companion to be shooed away by the Gentlemen! Oh dear, wrong place, wrong time. I think I've got into enough trouble for one day so I'm grateful to follow this babbling brook back up to the finish line.

First, the good news, the carpark which used to be £1 is now free, the bad news is that its firmly padlocked shut! So we organise cars as best we can and are about to set off when the cafe owner arrives with the key. Our Chairman entrusts his rucksack to Mrs Chairman, who wonders what it is and how it works, as we re-arrange the cars. Mrs Chairman and a rucksack are such an unusual combination that I'm asked to record the event for posterity. Sloshing through the mud and up the hill someone finds a water-bottle. No, we've all got ours safe in our rucksacks..... So, at the top of the hill Mrs Chairman realises she's still carrying the rucksack and instantly demands that Mr Chairman frees her from its strange embrace. "Where's my water-bottle, beloved", inquires Mr Chairman. "Was it a water-bottle-shaped water-bottle with water in it? We passed it's identical twin at the bottom of the hill". "Golly gosh" says Mr Chairman, "how awfully inconvenient. I'll have to run to the bottom of the hill and back to retrieve it." That boy with the camera - stop sniggering!!

After normality returns we carry on but this years walk is all rather dull and lifeless compared with the amazing wintry scenes we've had on the previous two years. Just to show the difference, here's the pond this year - and last year, complete with skating sheep. It's all very wet up on top from the melted snow but pleasant enough. A lot of forestry has been going on and its very hard to imagine what it looked like in places. Soon we're thundering downhill towards the Goose and Cuckoo. No barred doors here, a warm welcome for bean soup, a crusty roll and a pint, and Mr Chairman quickly forgets any unfortunate diversions concerning water-bottles. Now this is the way to welcome in a New Year.

Twelve Pints a-pouring....
Eleven chimneys smoking....
Ten children sledging....
Nine trees a-glistening....
Eight stiles a-sliding....
Seven hills a-soaring....
Six ducks a-skating
Five Snow Drifts
Four icicles hanging
Three paths uphill
Two routes to follow
and old bridge over the River Ebbw.

I'm strolling over the frozen wastes of Hyde Park beside the Serpentine, along with the Wives Club and other members of the family, towards a Winter Wonderland, a pretty good carnival that serves up a pleasant mulled wine....

Back home, the snow is deeper, crisper and even evener which accounts for a select turn-out for the Mince Pie Walk. But Twmbarlwm is there to be conquered.... The canal is frozen, feet, hands, noses and ears are frozen, trees are frozen in a natural version of the London extravaganza. The route varies as paths are tested. rejected or grudgingly crept up to make certain the precious Mince Pies reach their destination unbroken. And they do !!! Terry reaches the Tump first, only to find it occupied already, and we did put 'Reserved' signs on it. So the Mince Pies were shared, pictures taken and our trio of Ramblers slithered, slid and skidded back down to Blackvein Road, roll on, Boxing Day !!

I know it's our Christmas Lunch Walk but it's not even December and the snow lays round about. deep and crisp and even - and the ice - and the freezing weather. But the sun shone bravely as we set off up Gray Hill in Wentwood, passing a 15 inch icicle on a drainpipe. It's a long plod uphill until we reach a modern medieval hamlet, complete with farmhouse, outbuildings and a thatched outside toilet - well, daub my wattle! bet there's no Andrex for miles! Around the corner we collide with another group of walkers, time for one-way paths on these congested routes. But finally, glorious views over the channel from the top and - YES!!! - you can see Twmbarlwm from here! What goes up must come down and that even applies to Ramblers. Some cool but pleasant paths past ice-covered puddles that just cry out for something heavy and worthless to be dropped on them, by the way, anyone seen Mandy? The woods fizzle out and bring us to somewhere we weren't quite expecting..... a quick conflab agrees that we're at 449946 (according to the GPS), or NP16 6LN (according to the local postman) but Cribau Mill on Castrogi Brook sounds so much better (according to the trusty OS map). So all we have to do is follow the brook past some rather valuable properties back to the Woodlands Tavern just in time for a rather good lunch if it is in a rather cool room - it's my radiator, I saw it first..... .....And this report is so late because I caught Man Flu......

as Clive Revel Horwood would say, and definitely not 'Seven!!!'. So after three weeks of not getting a ramble I was really looking forward to going to Trefil and the Chartist Cave on Sunday. I've got a new camera to replace the one stolen in Amsterdam (I'll never trust that lady sitting in the window again, that bright, red light must have dazzled me!). I'd bought crisps, an apple, banana and a hi-energy chewy bar. My boots were both Nikked and Waxed. The weather forecast was good, my bag was packed and I was ready. By Midday on Saturday I was all of a quiver !!! And then I wondered why we had two Sunday walks, one after the other. OH, HORSE MANURE !!!! But it was raining in Newport so I probably wouldn't have gone anyway (that's my excuse, anyway). However I was surprised to hear later that, in the course of the ramble, they found that the Chartist Cave has actually been demolished and replaced by Llangynidr Reservoir. You just can't trust the Council these days, can you?.

Is the Fwrrwm Ishta Inn a Forum Seat? or just a rustic bench? And Bovil Farm? Where did that come from? There's some funny names in Machen, not to mention Machen itself, But we aren't too bothered with linguistic gymnastics as we take in the stunning views from Bovil up the Rhymney Valley. Its amazing that someone hasn't restored it. Talking of old ruins, The Royal Oak is boarded up, Machen corn mill is tumble-down and Machen woollen mill has lost it's roof, it's a restoration project and a half, this place! Across the river bridge and no walk would be complete without some mud, so here it is. And now the only way is up....

but at the top it's lunchtime, sitting amongst the Roman lead mines above the Draethen, though I doubt if the Romans did any mining themselves. On through the maze of little, twisty tracks over another tongue-twister - Coed Cefn-pwll-du or 'Wood at the back of the black pool' - so we've been to Blackpool, then? Don't think much of the illuminations. We're almost back at the start when we swerve to the left for another loop through the fields and down to an old railway line. Easy walking past a grand old viaduct and along the river. The end is in sight but I've got this horrid Halloween weekend feeling that we're being watched........

Have a look in the dungeon for all the talk, the walks and the photos from 2009 and 2010...