Country diary: take me to the river where Cambria looks like Cumbria

The Afon Wnion near Dolgellau: ‘The flow was sluggish, the water dark, and swirls of foam moved idly with the current.’ Photograph: John Gilbey

The path by the Afon Wnion was liberally scattered with small branches and twigs still carrying tattered leaves, the debris of the storm the previous night. The wind had moderated slightly but the flag on St Mary’s church still stood out strongly from the pole on the tower. Beyond it, the severe northern flanks of Cadair Idris slid in and out of focus as clouds swept across the mountain, their speed reinforcing my doubts about taking a high-level route alone. Today, I decided, was one for the lowlands – a decision that, coincidentally, allowed time for a cooked breakfast.

‘These craggy remnants left after the glaciation of the valley, their close-cropped pasture topped by tight groups of trees, sit hard against the water just like those at the northern end of Windermere.’ Photograph: John Gilbey

I followed the river westward, the sound of wind in the oak trees merging with that of water moving past the rounded cobbles of the streambed. As in the other rivers I had crossed that morning, the water level was low, after a period without serious rainfall. The flow was sluggish, the water dark, and swirls of foam moved idly with the current. Tall, mature grasses – heads robust with seed – pressed in from the edges of the path, and foxglove spikes, their open flowers haunted by bees, swung heavily in the breeze. The deep scent of the honeysuckle, tendrils tangled around the low oak foliage, lay in heady swathes across the trail as the heat of the sun began to warm the air. In the tumbledown pasture, wet and stalked by little egrets, flag iris blooms added stabs of bright yellow, while arcs of dog rose carved sharp trajectories up from the overgrown hedges.

The tide was high when I reached the narrow wooden toll bridge at Penmaenpool. As the wind-driven water moved impatiently against the stone bluffs to the west of the bridge I was struck by the similarity of this corner of Wales to the landscape of the southern Lake District. These craggy remnants left after the glaciation of the valley, their close-cropped pasture topped by tight groups of trees, sit hard against the water just like those at the northern end of Windermere. As muddled memories of Cumbria and Cambria flooded in, I enjoyed a satisfying moment of dappled sunshine and warm breeze before heading on towards the coast.

‘The wind had moderated slightly but the flag on St Mary’s church still stood out strongly from the pole on the tower. Beyond it, the severe northern flanks of Cadair Idris slid in and out of focus as clouds swept across the mountain.’ Photograph: John Gilbey