North of Llanfarian village, the valley of the Afon Ystwyth winds in tight meanders between wooded hills, the river itself barely visible beneath the dense summer growth. Cloud shadows move across the landscape, allowing patches of sunshine to highlight individual trees and copses in sequence. Following the route of the long-departed railway that once ran between Aberystwyth and Carmarthen, the path still carries occasional reminders of the former role – a cutting colonised by trees and topped with an iron road bridge.
At Pont Tanycastell I turn to the west, cross the river and take the narrow path that follows the southern bank of the Ystwyth. Here in the shade of riverside trees there is some shelter from the growing heat of the day. Despite the recent rain, the undergrowth on this sandy soil is pale and crisped by the sun.
Even the blackberries are mostly shrunken and hard from the lack of moisture. Small white butterflies, blown chaotically by the rising breeze from the sea, perch momentarily on swaying flower heads before moving on.
Slowly, the valley opens out into flat grazing land dotted with cattle. At the field margins, grasses set seed among the brambles and gorse of the hedgerows. To the north, beyond the trees at the riverbank, the steep bulk of Pen Dinas topped with the remains of its iron age hill fort reinforces just how long this coast has been populated.
Across the pasture land, a solitary swallow skims and feeds before heading away towards the south. Minutes later, as I climb the pebble bank that protects the valley from the sea, three more slice past me a few feet above the ground and are quickly lost to view. The sea is an almost unmoving band of azure, mirroring the colour of a sky now almost empty of cloud.
I sit and rest my feet as the afternoon sun beats down around me. In another mile or so there is a pub – where the shade is deep and the beer is cold. I stir my reluctant legs and clamber north along the back of the beach towards Aberystwyth.
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