Day 53
Newport to Rogiet: 16 miles
Welsh person of the day: The guy I saw chatting with a swan.
Reason: I'm not sure if they knew each other. But it seemed like it since swans are normally angry, and this one didn't seem to care at all when this guy approached it after taking the garbage out. Also this guy really seemed to be having a proper chat with the swan.
Now this is more like it
After two days of not-so-stunning walks in not-so-stunning weather between Cardiff and Newport the weather became lovely, and the walk - while by no means the absolute best walk I've had in Wales, was perfectly nice. In particular for birdwatching.
After getting past the power station in Nash, it felt like Newport was well behind me. And after entering the Newport Wetlands Center, it felt like I was in an entirely different world.
The Center was actually intentionally created in 2000. When the Cardiff Barrage was created, it destroyed a significant wetland area - and so the authorities decided to create a new wetland on what had been a fuel ash tip and a few farms south of Newport. And now, there are wetlands - and birds, birds, birds. Also sheep, because sheep are everywhere.
The reserve is host to rare species like . . . I'm sorry . . . the bearded tit and the shoveler. Now, I didn't see any . . . bearded tits . . . but according to the sign board I would have heard . . . a bearded tit . . . before I saw it. OK, ok, yes I thought that was hysterical. I'm five years old. I actually thought up some funny hipster-related bearded tit jokes, but I'll let it go now. Maybe. They involved tiny little eye glasses.
Anyway, as I walked the path to the East Usk lighthouse - the counterpart, of course, to the West Usk lighthouse that I saw yesterday, the whole area had a nice quiet feel. Despite being built on an ash heap (the lighthouse actually used to be on stilts - until the ash built up high enough below it that it didn't need them anymore) it felt very wetland and nature like and was positively green and blue and yellow all the way through. And I saw more grey herons and coots than I can count.
The path hugged the coast for a while after the lighthouse, and then scooted inland past farms, sheep, and many bird hides. Here I ran into an older man who stopped to talk to me about hiking the path - apparently over time he's hiked the whole thing and is on his last 50 miles. Also, he really, really, really wanted to tell me about the Green Man hostel in Chepstow. He actually really made me want to cancel the reservation that I already had, the way he was describing it - everything new, in a historic building, owned by a lovely couple, etc. But sadly I have some things to do (like get my computer fixed) that I can only do in Cardiff - so no Chepstow stay for me.
Walking on I passed Goldcliff and then Gold Cliff, which are listed as two different places and which I really wish someone would clarify why that is for me. In Gold Cliff, a man came out of his house to check out who was driving a lawnmower down the street. Instead he found me, and immediately started up a conversation with me like we were old friends. I don't believe he said hello.
That said, this guy was pretty great. A few choice quotes: 'Once you continue on up the path, you'll get to the water, and then when you look across the water it's beautiful - the only thing marring the view is England.' 'I used to work in England, I called it missionary work.' 'Oh, you walked the trail out of Cardiff? That's pronounced Cair-diff, not Cahr-diff by the way. But I'm surprised you did that, that path is like Beirut, that is.'
He was one of the most nationalist Welshmen I'd ever met. After getting about 15 more minutes of stories, he had to run and find the guy on the lawnmower because he needed a sucker to help him install his washing machine (and I guess that's what you have to do if you're seen outside on a riding lawnmower or something).
Testakles McRammenstein
Walking on, I worked my way out of the inland bit, and followed the path up on top of an embankment. The views to both sides were pleasant - mud flats and England to the right, and farms to the left - and didn't change much for the rest of the hike. With one notable exception.
As I got close to Porton House, a giant pink house with large windows, I saw a fence that went from the field, up the embankment, and hung over the edge of the embankment's water facing side. Behind the fence were two sheep, and beyond the sheep two cows. Of course first I focused on the cows, assuming the sheep would move - as they always do - when I made a noise opening the gate.
But as I got closer, they didn't budge. They just lay there and kept scratching themselves against the other side of the gate. I quietly tried to shoo them away, and one of them turned to look at me. I honestly think I might have jumped back a bit when I saw the animals eyes - they were yellow slashed with black and scary and mean and I swear to god I saw hatred and evil in them.
At the very least, my own eyes got wide, and I said 'Oh, ok'. Then I noticed that the sheep had had horns cut off. And that the top of it's head was raw. I wondered what that meant. Then the sheep stood up. And I realized very, very quickly - due to a particularly, shall we absolutely gigantic dangly part of the sheep's anatomy that this wasn't a sheep. It was a ram.
A mean, angry ram who was standing up and staring at me and seemed to be trying to find a way around the fence to get over to me. For what I hope are obvious reasons (because he was Greek, obviously) I named him Testakles (pronounced 'TEST-ah-kleez') McRammenstein, and when I realized what he was and what he was trying to do I walked right back to where I'd come from until I hit a curve and I hid and waited for him to lie back down and forget I existed.
Well, he didn't lie back down, but he did stop trying to get around to me. So I figured the best course of action for me was to try to climb down the rocky part of the embankment that faced the coast, where he probably couldn't follow me. This was after I tried to walk at the top of the embankment but still close to under the fence and he inched close enough to me that I thought he might actually try to bite me. So down I went.
Underneath was an interesting angle to view his particular anatomy, I must say. It wasn't any prettier from below. And he watched me the entire way as I scrambled among the rocks trying not to fall in the mud, with his face all twisted up like he was angry he couldn't get at me. I realized then why his head was all raw - he was probably head-butting things, as rams do.
After I was far enough away, he stopped paying attention, and lay back down on his giant cushions and went back to sleep, and I walked onward toward the Second Severn Bridge, growing closer every minute. Somehow it made the rest of the walk feel easier, knowing that tomorrow would be the day I passed under the bridge, and the last leg of southern section of the Wales Coast Path.
Also bearded tit. Hahaha.
