Last time I Tor Travel blogged, I had just left the fairy dell of Trewethett Mill.
From there, we trundled off in Anarchy Annie, our little travel bus, all of us already warm, and getting warmer, as the day heated around us. One whole mile down the road and we pulled onto the side of the road and walked up, turning onto the path that lead us to the glen. I had my white Cancer Council hat on, and wished I didn’t. I was sweating into the hatband, and when I sweat hard, I get a peculiar ache around the external occipital protruberance, both sides, right where my neck joins. My scalp gets wringing wet, and I truly ache from how much sweat is pouring out of me. This is no Fine Victorian Lady’s ‘glow’. This is working class sweat. It makes me want to scratch my scalp off, but madly going at my head is considered unpleasant for all around, so I confined myself to occasional pokes at the area.
Off we went. Narcissia kept up a strong pace. She walked far ahead of the rest of us as we strung out along the dappled dirt path. Ferned and mossed embankments rose on both sides for some of the path, and others, the creek was visible. No breeze at all.
I took plenty of photos, even as my energy plummeted, and I trudged along, knowing if I threw a hissy fit and quit, I’d still have the long walk back to the bus, and then have to hang around without lunch or cold drinks until everyone came back. Besides, I had my swimming togs in my backpack, and I was going into that water. I’d already said out loud I was doing it. I couldn’t back out.
Onwards.
Sometimes small insects hung in the air, and a few times, we walked through clouds of what I presume were thrips. Suicidal ones buzzed at me and stuck to my wet face and body. I no longer cared. Like a blown horse, my head hung, and I flopped one foot in front of the other.
Steep steps at times, like knee high. Good thing I’d not missed leg day at the gym, although we’d started calling every day leg day on this trip.
Once again, the younger members of the group were keeping an eye on old duck me, to make sure I didn’t keel over, or trip going up a step. Thankyou.
The air was syrupy, and it was hard to smell water through it. I’d had the luxury of being out in the countryside for a few days now, so the smells of nature were no longer new to my city nose. The greens were vibrant around me, and everything was growing and glowing strongly in the summer sun and heat.
The group reformed at three fallen logs that were covered in coins inserted into the wood. Offerings for the fae folk, I was told. I did want to scratch my head then. Was it all metal the fairies didn’t like, or just iron? Tolkein’s elves liked a bit of head bling, at least in the movies. Oh right, offerings for the spirits of this place. What they wanted with stacks of old mouldy coins, I didn’t know. There were so many coins pressed into the logs that I wasn’t surprised when I was told by staff at the cafe later that the logs were replaced every now and then, to provide space for a whole new gang of coin shovers.
We all inserted coins into the logs, like the good tourists and spiritual people we were, and off we went again, slogging along towards the cafe. All I could think of was sitting down, drinking about 50 litres of cold something, and perhaps having a little stressed cry.
Finally, up the last few steep steps, slippery from nearby water, and into the cafe. I could do little but just sit. I shook, trembling all over, and my vision was blurry. MidWife bought me cold elderflower lemonade, and I downed as quickly as the fizz would let me. And honestly, my mind will never let me just enjoy something. It has to keep up a running commentary of utter bullshit. “If you drink now before you eat, it lessens the digestive juices you’ll have to dissolve your food. You already suffer from reflux sometimes. Why are you doing this?” Shut up brain, I needed the fluid before I could even contemplate food.
The sugar and cold did me good, enough so that I reduced my trembling to occasional leg quakes, my heart rate went down, and I stopped feeling sick. I ordered food, and while I waited, scoffed a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. Justification: I’d sweated out salt too.
Next to our table was a wooden wishing tree, where people had written their wishes onto flimsy cardboard leaves and attached them to the tree with ribbon. “Happy, healthy, strong, creative, wild Satya” I wrote.
I sat long enough that I recovered my equilibrium, and ceased sweating enough to drown a buffalo. Let’s hear it for fizzy water, sugar, salt, air con, and food.
The next stop was, of course, the gift shop, where there was jewellery aplenty, and useful blue hand towels for those who decided to dip in the water but hadn’t brought a towel. Brilliant. I bought one, because we had more sitting on damp surfaces ahead of us on other days.
Then, down the walkways to the waterfall and creek itself. St Nectan of Hartland supposedly was a monk who moved from Ireland to Wales. He spent some time in Trevethy as a hermit, and it’s believed he carved his cave above the waterfall some time in the 6th century. According to legend, he rang a bell in times of stormy weather to warn people of danger in Rocky Valley.
Rushing water sounds grew as I descended the stairs(yep, moar stairs). The the bottom was the shallow run off from the waterfall, which poured through a circular hole in late Devonian slate(according to the website; according to me, black). Part of the Trewillett River.
MidWife, DansGirl, and I changed into our swimming togs, much to the surprise of people sitting around the edges of the water spill. No changerooms. Undies off under our skirts, bottom half of bathers on. Take arms out of sleeves, remove bras. Haul up bathers as best we can. Take off clothes. Ta dah – 3 women over 40 in their togs, ready to go wading. I noticed a few people with young children up and left.
The shallows tumble over many, many pebbles and stones, and plenty of loose shale. Which made stepping into the freezing water barefoot a challenge. MidWife and I hobbled our way through the water. My feet ached, stinging, and then going numb. Sometimes I couldn’t feel rocks under my feet, but certainly my instep sensed the hard shape of them.
Nearer the waterfall, the shale deepened and our steps were more unsteady, but we blundered on. We were going to get under that water, no matter what. The rest of the women on the tour, and a few onlookers(who may or may not have been stunned at our little white bodies) watched as we edged closer. MidWife held my hands as I dipped my shoulders under the cascade, and screamed from the cold, then emerged. We posed for photos, and then DansGirl waded out and MidWife held her hands as she leaned all the way back and stuck her head under.
Phones were out, and cameras. We were BRAVE women, or CRAZY, or something.
Oh, that freezing water was agony, and so welcome after that very long hot walk. And I’d done what I’d said I’d do – get under the waterfall. I was pleased with myself.
After a bit more wading, we gathered to far side of the creek, and did a meditation. I drifted in and out of focussing, as I took in the sounds, smells, and even the taste of the water on my lips.
In the middle of the water were a number of stone cairns, built by those who wanted to say “I was here” without graffiti. I’ve learned that, quite often, minute creatures live under the stones picked up to build a cairn, and it’s better to leave them where they are. But people want to leave something to say ‘was here’.
Clouties, or cluties, are ribbons or strings attached to trees and bushes at sacred sites, with a wish whispered into them. I’ve seen strips of lace, calico, cotton, thread, satin ribbon, silk, and once, even a baby shoe tied to a tree. However, many of these take a very long time to decay, and some not at all, and are not natural to the environment. So, raffia has become popular. Raffia fibre comes from raffia palms and will at least decay. Most raffia is dyed, so…questionable? Anyway, we each had a strip of raffia to tie to a tree or bush. Most of the cluties were tied to the bush nearest the steps, so I went a little further afield.
“Oh honey,” I said to a thin, unclutied bush, “let me tie this to you loosely, because I dig that you don’t like restriction any more than I do. Who needs lacing and corsets, right?”
And I left my strip of yellow raffia behind with a wish that mirrored the one I made upstairs on the wishing tree. Why do multiple wishes when one will do? Everything I want can stem from those thoughts. If I’m strong, healthy, have stamina, a good outlook, then the writing, the travel, the dance, and everything else will flow.
After walking back our bus, we got underway to Bath, which would be our home for the next 7 nights.
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