A narrow-gauge steam railway winds across the steep southern side of the Rheidol valley, slowly climbing the route from Aberystwyth to Devil’s Bridge. While walking deep in the valley beside the river, I was convinced I could hear the train coming and hurried out of the trees to see it pass. The noise persisted, drifting in and out of my hearing as though the engine were rounding the rocky spurs and disappearing into wooded side valleys, yet no train appeared.
Slowly, awkwardly, I realised that the sound was that of the low set of waterfalls further up the valley, distorted and modulated by the strong east wind that was straining the still bare branches of the trees. When I reached the Rheidol falls, having taken the sloping path from just beyond the old chapel, it was clear that the river was in spate from the recent rains, with substantial volumes of water pouring over and between the rocks.
From the footbridge in front of the falls, the sound of falling water was even more impressive, with a strange pulse that added to the almost hypnotic random noise. In midstream, a series of deep bowl-shaped pits in a rock outcrop showed the true erosive power of this water. Small imperfections in the stone have been worn deeper, creating voids within which pebbles swirl and scour at times of high flow.
The sun was still high, but the shadow of the valley side already reached out over the narrow fields of lowland pasture. As sheep enthusiastically grazed the tender grass of early spring, a group of six red kites squabbled overhead, pitching and stooping over the conifers nearby. After an extended dispute, all but two moved off, leaving the apparent victors to dive abruptly and perch in one especially tall tree, perhaps a high-status nesting site.
I made a note to return here later in the season and see how they are getting on, but the chill of the wind was becoming insistent and I was keen to get moving again – further inspired by thoughts of tea and cake.
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