Trails of gold
Revel in every show of this year’s autumn carnival, as we lead the way on a Welsh weekend exploring forests, hills and seaside.
AUTUMN IS THE season that shouts seize the day. It’s changeable, fleeting, hard to pin down. One day it’s all golden gorgeousness; the next it’s gone, and the sunlight thins into the starker, darker world of winter. So why not grab it by the scruff this year with a long weekend that explores autumn in all its guises? We think we’ve found the perfect place. First, there are walks through stately and ancient woodlands as the trees put on their flamboyant farewell hurrah. Next there’s a climb up into the hills on a Golden Road, with misty vistas and russet bracken. Then a leg-stretching yomp along the coast, with bracing winds and wild waves, or perhaps a still day of silver seas. Along the way you’ll find cosy pubs for dark evenings, gripping tales spun beside ancient firesides, and a puzzle that has foxed people for millennia. Where? Well, thanks to a very special bit of topography, you’ll find forest, moors and cliffs all crowd together in one compact patch of north Pembrokeshire.
IN NEW ENGLAND they call it leaf peeping and in Japan momijigari. We might not have a word for it, but we all know the longing to be out in the forest kicking through fallen leaves like a six-year-old, looking up to a canopy that’s a sunlit kaleidoscope of autumn golds. And there are few finer woods to crunch through than those in Cwm Gwaun. This valley curves 10 miles through north Pembrokeshire, from the windswept peat of the Preseli Hills west to the sea at Fishguard. Cut deep by torrents of glacial meltwater and now floored by the River Gwaun, its steep sides are almost entirely covered with trees.
As I set out on a loop from Pontfaen at the valley’s midpoint, I can see trunks raking up the slopes like a crowd in a theatre. The top of each one cranes a little higher than the one in front, as if jostling for a view of the green fields that edge the river. A recent storm has ripped the highest branches clean and tossed a thick quilt of leaves underfoot. The top crust is a mosaic of copper, gold, and tan with a fresh crunch. Below that lies a mahogany mulch of older leaves. Under that, and well-hidden until my boots squelch into it, is proper autumnal mud.
A walk in these woods has the perfect mix of micro and macro views. The first miles are tucked deep among the trees, within earshot of the River Gwaun as it skitters gold leaves downstream. Every breeze tumbles a bit more foliage from the canopy; it’s like being in a fall-themed snow-globe. Then the path hits the valley rim with sweeping glimpses across the forest-top, daubed an Impressionistpainting blur of autumn hues. A gang of small birds flicks across the sky with a staccato flap like drawings in a flip-book. A raven cronks over a filigree of bare branches; it sounds like a flying pig. A heron idles in the fields below, and a buzzard gets buzzed by seagulls – a reminder the coast is close.
It’s a view that has looked this way for centuries. This valley of ancient forest and farms is like a place lost in time; in fact, it’s a place that still runs to an ancient calendar. In 1752 Britain adopted the Gregorian calendar which more precisely matched the length of Earth’s orbit than the Julian one we’d used since Roman times. The switch involved a reset of dates and Wednesday 2nd September 1752 was immediately followed by Thursday 14th September, but not for the people of Cwm Gwaun. To this day they celebrate New Year – or Hen Galan – not on the first of January, but on the 13th in accordance with that older calendar.
Time travel aside, I’m soon swallowed back into the forest, touring above a high waterfall and down leafy slopes, immersed in the colours of oak, beech, ash, hazel, sycamore, birch, hawthorn, hornbeam and sweet chestnut leaves, with holly providing its eternal accent of racing green, relaxing its prickles as it climbs above grazing height. Many of the golden pigments have been in the leaves all summer, outgunned by the green chlorophyll essential for photosynthesis. As the daylight fades so does that chlorophyll, giving the carotenoids their moment to shine: the beta-carotene that turns carrots orange; the lutein that makes egg yolks yellow; the lycopene that tints tomatoes red. Take a closer look at a single beech leaf, and you’ll see it streaked gold, copper and lime by this battle of the pigments. Autumn also kick starts the production of anthocyanin – responsible for the colour of raspberries and cherries – particularly when days are sunny. The brightest autumn skies lead to the brightest leaves.
WALK HERE: Turn to Walk 20 in this issue.
“Every breeze tumbles a bit more foliage from the canopy; it’s like being in a fall-themed snow globe.”