After the trauma of Saturday’s ferns and stupidity, Sunday’s walk has been a blessing of basic, old-school British trail work. It was cool and overcast all day, and it misted and rained for several hours, but for the most part my spirits were good, the walking was pleasant, and the path was mostly easier to find.

I started the day with a quick stop at Spar (a chain sort of like 7-Eleven) to pick up some baking soda, which I am testing as a possible relief from the sting of stinging nettles (the local pharmacy is closed on Sunday morning or I would have tried for calamine lotion). The idea is that the nettles release formic acid, so one way to ease the pain is by neutralizing it with an alkaline substance.

Then I bid farewell to pretty Hay-on-Wye in the early morning mist and headed on my way.

The trail crosses the Wye again, and then goes up a road for a hundred yards or so, with the directions and local signage suggesting that there’s been some confusion by walkers here.

With the gentle mist, light breeze, and generally easy going on the path, this was a day I would call uneventful, the sort when I took a lot of photographs, didn’t think about much of anything, and just walked as slow as I wanted, in no hurry.

I did become a bit obsessed with path signage and road signs.

Yes, this is where I turned for Offa’s Dyke years ago. And yes, there’s a moment when the path splits in two and offers you a high route that is more scenic and a low route by the river that’s shorter. On some days, I’d have gone high and scenic, but today I am being kind to myself, and the view beyond that sign suggested that the scenic was going to be a bit of a trudge up a hill.

Much of the walk was near the river, with the path fairly clear and the plants very pretty even if some of them are sharp and pointy.

The going was easy enough that I found myself humming and singing, just enjoying the day. Even when the mist turned to a brief downpour, I was in a good mood.

That rain and the wet path got my boots and socks wet enough that I stopped at a bus stop, enjoying a second use as a local free library, to change to dry socks.

The path had a good variety, with stretches at the edges of fields of crops, some bits along rutted farm tracks, a bit of road walking, some time in the woods.

And today I pieced together something someone said days ago when I stopped to ask about the fishing. He said that the Wye used to be one of the biggest salmon rivers in Wales. Today, looking at the Wye Valley Walk sign, I finally registered that the logo of the trail is a salmon.

It was a solitary day, and I only saw a few people out walking dogs on the trail. The most people I saw all day (before dinner at the Griffin Inn, where I stayed the night) was at a campground where people launch kayaks and other watercraft. Otherwise, this was a perfect recovery day.

I was amusing myself quite nicely, and the trail offered it’s own entertainment, like this friendly cow.

The other day, someone I was chatting with speculated that, because of Covid, cows have not been socialized to people walking on the paths, and that’s a problem, because they don’t get out of the way and then the cows get frightened when you are right up on them. A frightened cow or cows can be dangerous. But I’ve go barbed wire between me and this herd.

And this business name cracked me up.

The Griffin Inn, my stopping point after about nine miles, is half a mile off the path itself. It’s a nice place, and clearly the only place for miles to eat. I had to wait until 7:30 for dinner because they were booked up until then. I ate in the bar rather than the actual restaurant, because there was a big table of perhaps 16 people in the dining room, and the bar area seemed much more welcoming.

Why, yes, that second photo is chicken liver pate, which came with toast and chutney, and which I dispatched with only a few indiscreet moans of pleasure. The main course, a hamburger, was also good, but once again I’ve found that the starters are my favorites. I should learn my lesson and just order two or three starters.

Two final images, one for my sister and one for my friend Rob.

Check out that fungus. In case you can’t get the scale, it’s about two feet across. And yes, Tracy, that’s foxglove.

Tomorrow, thirteen miles with more hills (1000 feet of elevation change). I’m surprised to see that I am closing in on the end of the trail. I’ll be done with the Wye on Thursday, which seems all too soon.