I’ve been having mostly very good luck in terms of weather, so it was about time for a real rain. Dedicated readers will recall that day 9 had a good long morning stretch of rain, but today’s extended morning slog made that look like a brief shower.

As I was finishing my breakfast, I chatted with my B&B host, who looked out the window and said “well, at least it’s not a wet rain.” I gave him a look, and we both laughed. Yes, this is a dry rain.

The thing about rainy hill-hiking is that it doesn’t just make you wet. That’s fine, with the exception of having wet feet, which in addition to being unpleasant also makes blisters more likely. But on a hill country trail, rain means you have to watch where you are walking for the slippery rock, the huge mud puddle that has to be navigated, the hidden bit of slippery ground.

I was well aware of all this, and after about an hour of walking, while descending a hill, I came to a patch of pine trees, and while going under them I actually said aloud “Now I am going to slip and fall here.” Before the last r was fully out of my mouth, down I went, feet going forward, backside and hands going down into the pine-needle-concealed mud. Got up, but still had ten or twelve feet of this to get through, and as often happens, slipped again and went down on my bum again.

Further down the hill, in a sheep free patch of grass, I actually sat down and scooted forward to get some of the mud off my butt and the bottom of my daypack. I still ended up dirty, as this cleverly taken photo shows (I held the camera behind me and shot blind, so  it isn’t exactly a Stieglitz image…)

The rain continued all morning, and I had reached a point at which I needed some good experience to re-energize me. The trail gods heard my plea. About three hours into this wet slog, I came upon men herding semi-wild horses (I’m sure they’re not technically wild, but I bet they’re left in these high hilltop pastures without human meddling for long stretches) on foot and using a jeep. I’ll let the photos tell the story.

That’s a guy behind a fence just behind the horses. There are two fields divided by a fence, but one of the horses had gotten into that further field through the gateway at a path junction. They’ll get these horses rounded up, but still have one in that far field.

Okay, this is pretty cool, though I bet the two guys on foot don’t think so. As I approached (the horses are in a field with a fence between it and the path I am on), the herders got them into the fenced lane ahead, and went after the lone rogue horse still in the adjoining field. Good news for the herders, not so much for me.

Here’s the part where I lecture on the dangers of walking in agricultural areas. That’s a parked second jeep. The guys herding are off in the field on the right (out of shot) chasing a horse. I have to go forward. Based on the time it took to get these three into the fenced lane, this could be a while. It’s raining. I don’t want to spend a half an hour or more standing in the rain looking at horses while these guys round up Flicka and move them down the lane.

So I have to now walk past these three, who have just been herded into the lane and so are still agitated. I walked slowly, moving as far to the right as possible, so the horses could have clear options. First they went forward toward the jeep. That wouldn’t help in the long run—I’d end up herding them forward and eventually we’d hit another gate (these paths have gates every so often). But they seemed to see the problem themselves, and with some rather unnerving shaking of their heads and flicking around of their manes, they turned around and moved past on the far left side of this fenced lane. This whole thing required caution, and I was frankly very relieved when I’d gotten well past them. And more relieved when, in a few hundred yards, I went through a gate, leaving them on the other side of it. And I was right about not waiting. I was on that path for another fifteen minutes and never saw the herders bringing the horses up behind me.

Okay, so a day with rain, a fall and a slightly scary passage near horses (honestly, watching the herding was neat, and though the path navigation was a bit unnerving, seeing the horses being herded was a highlight of the morning). What more could this day offer?

Well, there’s this. My accommodation for the night is not near a town, so the notes say that either they’ll make dinner for a bit extra, or you can plan for yourself and all ahead to let them know you don’t need dinner. I had called ahead, and planned my day’s walk to include a slight diversion in the middle to Newcastle, about .75 miles off the trail, where the guide said there are “Accommodations, inn, shops.” Um, kinda. After .75 miles of walking, I discovered that the inn is only open in the evenings, the accommodations look nice but don’t help me with getting food, and the ‘shops’ may refer to the claim, on a sign at the Offa’s Dyke Path crossing where you turn down the road to get to Newcastle, that the Community Center does teas. It may do tea and snacks some days, but it looked closed when I was there. So, an extra 1.5 miles for going off and back on the trail, and my dinner will be energy bars.

ell, a few treats. First, as I have noted before, the season is changing, and the colors along the trail are great.

Second, this is another day during which I am almost always near or on the dyke.

And third, as the skies were finally starting to give some relief, I hit this:

Yes, I am halfway along the Offa’s Dyke Path (and though I’ve been calling it 175 miles, I love that this sign and some accounts call it 177. It’s those last two miles that will kill me…) That’s where I stopped for lunch, sitting in the grass (using my rain jacket as a blanket on the wet grass).

The afternoon still held some spitting rain, but not very often, and the skies showed some patches of blue. And I reached some amazing views, as promised in the guidebook, at the Kerry Ridgeway, a trail that goes east to west which the OD Path crosses.

I arrived at my B&B a bit before 5, to find a note on the mat telling me to let myself in (key under the mat for me), and was also welcomed by a very sweet little dog, who seemed delighted to know me. I took a shower (glorious) with my shorts to rinse out the dirt, hung them up to dry, and went downstairs to the ‘lounge’ to pet the dog, just in time to say hello to my arriving hostess and another dog, this one a big chocolate lab. I then spent about half an hour petting the dogs, who were competing for my affection. A cozy end to a day that, while satisfying, wasn’t as pleasurable as most. My pride too stubborn to admit my strategic food error, I retired to my room and a dinner of an energy bar (I am sure my hosts would have made me something, but such is ego that I didn’t want to admit to having trusted in the guidebook when planning my dinner). Frankly, I was so tired from all that rain walking that I wasn’t hungry anyway.

That sounds rather grumpy, so let me end by assuring you, gentle readers, that in fact I feel pretty good, having conquered a bad day. As I write this, it’s about 6:30am, and I feel ready for a new day, whatever it may offer.

Miles walked: 15 official, but I took a diversion trying to find a shop in Newcastle. So, 16.5.