BEE HAPPY
Join the Pollenation project and do your bit to keep Britain’s bees buzzing
This year, snack bar producer Eat Natural, working in collaboration with the British Beekeepers Association, is stepping up its campaign to support the nation’s beekeeping heritage and create a new generation of beekeepers.
Building on the success of last year’s Pollenation project, which saw 25 ‘newbees’ trained and equipped, Eat Natural is searching for 50 more would-be beekeepers.
It’s all part of Eat Natural’s commitment to help Britain’s honey bees. Almost every nut and piece of fruit that goes into its cereal bars wouldn’t exist without the help of honey bees and other pollinators.
Now, you too have the chance to join the Pollenation project, as Eat Natural is recruiting another 50 beekeepers this year. You’ll be given everything you need to get going, from protective clothing to a state-of-the-art Eat Natural beehive kitted out with clever technology that monitors hive activity. The data collected is used to inform scientists involved in bee research, so you’ll be doing your bit to aid the survival of future bee generations.
This is your chance to make a difference to Britain’s countryside. So, if you fancy becoming a beekeeper, sign up at the address below and do your part.
The next day, we reached Rhayader, the first of several small towns en route – so there’s no need to carry huge amounts of supplies or water (my pack weighed a very manageable 14kg).
On day three we reached Builth Wells. The damp drizzle of the first two days had lifted, the sun was out and we came down from the hills to rejoin the river for one of the loveliest sections of the walk so far. Gaggles of Canada geese and pairs of swans with their cygnets floated serenely on the sun-dappled water and further downstream, where the river starts to rush and tumble over stones, we were accompanied by dippers and grey wagtails.
GREAT VIEWS AND WET SHOES
After a late breakfast in a café in Builth we pressed on, up and away from the river, where our efforts were rewarded with expansive, glorious views of the Black Mountains. We dropped down again to cross the river at Erwood and it was here that I realised all was not well.
The wet conditions of the first couple of days had meant my boots, and therefore my socks, had been sodden pretty much from the outset. The climbs and descents, along with the added weight of the pack, had taken their toll on my feet – I had developed severe blisters. The last couple of miles from Erwood to our campsite were agony.
Despite draining them and covering them with blister plasters, the next day’s short walk to Hay-on-Wye was torturous; it felt as though someone had filled my boots with ground glass. Even the sight of a perky little kingfisher and a song thrush singing its heart out as I limped over the bridge into Hay couldn’t diminish the awful realisation that I simply couldn’t go on.
I woke the next day at 6am. I’d spent the night in a B&B and Teg had rather enjoyed the unfamiliar luxury of sleeping indoors. I hobbled to the bathroom and although I’d resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be carrying on, Teg still needed to go out.
My friend Polly, who had come to join me for a day’s walking, had spent the previous night buying almost every blister plaster available in Hay. My husband had also driven up with dry boots and the B&B’s owner had given me a pan of hot water and salt to soak my sorry feet in. As for my part, I’d bought three pairs of padded socks in the hope of alleviating the pain.
It took a couple of tentative steps for me to realise that in my new socks and dry boots my freshly plastered feet didn’t hurt. I did an experimental bounce. No pain... and so a jump for sheer joy. Teg wagged her great plume of a tail. We were back on the road.
CLOSING IN ON HOME
We were now in Herefordshire, walking through fields of barley and potatoes, beautifully regimented apple orchards, views of Lord Hereford’s Knob, May Hill and the Forest of Dean, over which buzzards soared. On day six we followed the river with the spire of the church in Ross-on-Wye as our goal. There were fishermen on the bank, excited children in canoes and mallards with their ducklings.
From Ross we climbed away from the river before descending at Kerne Bridge. On a day of sunshine and uninterrupted blue skies, the ruins of Goodrich Castle looked magnificent and, later, the towering
Symonds Yat rock proved, should anyone doubt it, that Mother Nature can do magnificent, too.
Our final day began in Monmouth, on home turf. Friends joined us and we meandered, enjoying the sunshine, paddling in the river and then stopping for a pint. At the majestic remains of Tintern Abbey, Teg and I turned away from the river and climbed a familiar path through the woods into a neighbour’s field, and then through the gate into our field. Our sheep looked up briefly, baa-ed a greeting and went back to their grazing as Teg and I sat side-by-side on the grass, looking out at the view that greets me everyday, over the beautiful valley that I’m lucky enough to call home.
“WE WERE WALKING THROUGH BEAUTIFULLY REGIMENTED ORCHARDS”