CROWD-FREE ESCAPES
It’s been a long winter, so why not cheer yourself up by dreaming of a tranquil break? Here are 18 sensational holidays to unsung but gorgeous countryside, far from the crowded honeypots. We start with a trek through the green hills of Wales, with a gaggl
From packhorse adventures to secluded retreats in woodland or on water, discover 18 marvellous ideas for a magical holiday in the country for 2021.
It’s always a bit awkward to disagree with a walking guide – especially one who was born among the hills on which you are strolling. I said nothing at first when Susie lead me, calf-deep, into a stream, and I politely refrained from judgement when she insisted on stopping to eat when we’d only been on the trail 10 minutes. But when she led me directly into an overgrown patch of ferns and thistles she left me no choice. “Susie,” I sighed, “it’s THIS way.”
Susie, I should clarify, is a Welsh mountain pony, one born into a semi-feral herd of quadrupeds said to have descended from the prehistoric Celtic breed that dates back to 1600BC. As such, her kind have roamed the rolling peaks around Powys for centuries, but that doesn’t mean Susie can tell a sheep path from a walking route. I was hiking alongside her on one of the many bridleways above Erwood (Erwyd), south of Builth Wells (LlanfairYm-Muallt) in Wales, to trial a new experience being trailblazed by 77-year-old Graham ‘Will’ Williams.
“These ponies were traditionally bred not to be ridden but to be used to transport goods, plough fields and work in the mines,” Will explained on the day I arrived at his farmhouse to learn how to handle my pony. “They are hardy enough to live on the hills yearround in all weathers without human intervention, but they were vital to life in Wales, and it’s because of them we have the thousands of miles of rights of way in the countryside. But they are in trouble. Their jobs have been replaced by machines and, coupled with the costs involved in having them chipped and registered, the group of farmers who traditionally manage and breed them struggle, as they’re not commercially viable anymore.”
Every year the ponies here would have been rounded up and counted, with colts removed to be sold to cover costs, and a stallion left to breed with the remaining mares. But with less demand for them, numbers have been steadily depleting. Where once there were thousands roaming the hills, there are now fewer than 500.
Being something of a pony whisperer, Will – who set up the UK’s first horseriding holiday company, Freerein (free-rein.co.uk) in Wales over 30 years ago – decided to do something to help. His plan? To introduce non-riders to the joys of hiking with horses. “I want to show people that the ponies have value,” he explained as he introduced me to Susie and took me through the basics of horsemanship – including loading the saddle and panniers so the pony is balanced, picking mud and stones from their hooves (the ponies are not shod), grooming their coat and tying them up securely. His idea is to offer hikers multi-day walking and camping trips in the Cambrian Mountains, without having to carry equipment – the ponies do it for you.
“I got the idea from across the water,” said Will, “in places such as France, Italy and Morocco, where they had a similar problem with their donkeys, whose jobs were mechanised. Locals there realised that they make great pack animals that could easily navigate mountain trails and carry equipment for people on expeditions. So they started mule-trekking, which is now a massive industry.”
Will plans to replicate that industry here. He has arranged with the farmers who manage the feral herd to take ownership of 16 ponies – among them many colts who would have been sold for food – so he can train them to use in his new company, Hooftrek (hooftrek.co.uk). They are all at various stages of learning how to walk with loads on their backs alongside human companions. And my steed Susie was one of the more experienced.
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
“If we train the older ones first – which we have done for the last couple of years – then the younger ones learn from them,” Will explained as I set off on a training stroll with one of his human guides, Lou, to see how I coped with the pony on the open hillside. The idea was to get me accustomed to handling Susie before heading out on a self-guided overnight adventure. Later we would be wild camping – with permission – on farmland where a paddock was available in which to leave the pony safely while I slept in my tent.
Will plans to offer a number of experiences such as this – from one
night to week-long escapades – including a fortnight experience that sees trekkers journey to the coast.
Having had only limited experience with horses and ponies (a handful of lessons as a child) initially I felt nervous as we set off on a grassy trail. But with Lou’s gentle encouragement, and Susie’s sturdy and surefooted gait, I soon forgot my concerns. The going was slow and steady: Susie set the pace. At first I found it sedate, being the kind of strider who storms ahead, but by the time I got back to the farmhouse I felt completely relaxed, as though I’d enjoyed a kind of meditation.
After some hearty food for both me and my pony, I bid Will and Lou farewell and set off with a small group of other hikers for our overnight foray, with only our four-legged friends for guidance. Each pony had a different personality. Susie, being the eldest, was strong and wilful. One of the younger ponies – a white colt called Woody – was calm and laid-back, but needed coaxing to cross a stream.
Over the next couple of hours – covering just under five kilometres but seeing not a single other walker – I noticed so many more things than I usually would when racing to a summit. I heard the chirp of a grasshopper loud and shrill, I looked up to the sky when Susie stopped to snack on some foliage and witnessed a circling pair of red kites, and as we followed the drystone wall that edged the boundary of a farm I noticed the intricate patches of lichen coating the wall. It was as if someone had suddenly taken a microscope to the countryside.
By the time we reached the campsite we handled our respective ponies like pros. We tied them up to remove their saddles and panniers, fed them their treats, brushed out their tails and manes, then set them loose to graze in the field. As they settled in to their overnight spot, we created ours, unpacking the tents, sleeping bags, stove and food the ponies had heroically carried. I’d never have been able to wild camp this far from any road with as much food and comfy kit as they’d enabled us to bring; it felt a little like glamping, but with the benefit of being miles from anyone else.
The night was spent listening to the occasional whinny of Susie, supping locally brewed ale and eating hot, homemade hearty stew while sitting around a glowing fire pit.
The next day the walk home would be a simple retracing of steps back to the farm. On the way Susie again set the pace. And while that once would have frustrated me, a moment came when she stopped for yet another snack. I sighed, but then turned to see she’d chosen a spot with a sweeping view of Pen Y Fan. The mountain appeared as a bluish haze on the horizon, its flattened edges sporting a blanket of cloud draped over it like silk.
I knew when I returned to my usual hikes my speed would naturally increase, but over those two days Susie taught me a great deal. She showed me that sometimes, just sometimes, it pays to take your time, and when out with a local guide you should definitely let them take the lead.
“My pony taught me that sometimes, just sometimes, it pays to take your time”