The Beasts of the Brecon Beacons by Geoffrey Peyton (good books for high schoolers TXT) 📖

and other heat deterrents. The site was taken over in 1862 by an explosive company called, Curtis & Harvey. When Harvey had had a quarrel too many with Curtis he merged with Nobel’s Explosive Company which eventually became ‘Imperial Chemical Industries Ltd’. In 1926 the works finally closed for good and is now named, for nostalgic reasons, the Gunpowder Works. The site is now cared for by the National Park Authority. Oh, the famous Welsh poet Evan Bevan died here at Pontneddfechan in 1866. No, I ain’t heard of him either.

 

I managed to do a little climbing up hillsides and navigate difficult obstacles for half hour or so but I was becoming weaker by the minute due to my cancer recovery program. This forced me to take a rest on a vacant felled tree where I greedily gulped down a can of orange pop and then puffed away on my E-Cigarette. I was interrupted by only one passer by in the ten minutes that I sat enjoying the peacefulness and tranquillity of being alone amongst the wild of this brilliant country.

 

“It’s a wonderful place this, isn’t it?” said an elderly man, who along with his wife, had all the rambling necessities that must have set them back a small fortune, and who were also negotiating the hills and other obstacles with relative ease.

 

“It is” I answered.

 

The chaps wife, who boasted a beautiful length of greyish-blond hair and still extremely pretty for her advancing years, seemed to take pity on my being totally out of breath.

 

“You look as if you’ve just climbed Snowdon” she said, with plenty of sympathetic looks.

 

Trying not to come across as a novice to her and her husband I decided to just come clean about my illness. This was, unfortunately, a big mistake, as I had just pulled myself into an unwanted, and lengthy, conversation.

 

Pointing towards her husband, she told me, “Ooh, Howard has just finished his treatment for bowel cancer, and after two years of therapy, is only now starting to get his real health back.”

 

Howard gleamed with pride as his wife explained what I needed to do in order to become, once more, a fully fledged rambler like Howard. Eventually I was left alone to wonder why people don’t just don’t mind their own business, which, I have to say, was really my own doing. If I didn’t mention that I had the big C, then they would have left me alone to rest in peace.

 

It was getting rather late in the day when I had decided that once you’ve seen one Welsh waterfall you have seen them all. I was really hungry and needed a meal of some sorts. There was a shop close by but it sold nothing in the way of warm food, and a pork pie wasn’t really wetting the taste buds right now.

 

Stepping inside ‘The Angel’ for a hopefully good meal, I was surprised at the amount of people who were either waiting at their tables for food or hopefully were just about to leave after their fill. The bar, however, was thankfully empty, and so I moved in for the kill. I was immediately met by Maggie, a very pretty long dark haired young Welsh lass who was wearing a red pinafore apron and a John McEnroe headband. She gave me the customary smile before asking me of my desire. Looking directly at her, my desire was to become thirty years younger and sweep her off her feet, but I know that those days are well gone and I am now an old pervert who needs serious help. I looked at the plethora of ales on tap before deciding on what o gathered was a local brew.

 

“ Could I have a pint of ‘Rhymney’s Bitter’ please.” I asked.

 

“Yes of course. Will you be dining as well?”

 

“I will.”

 

I took a quick glimpse at the menu and immediately ordered the rump steak and chips with salad. Rather than pay after your meal I was asked to hand over my cash right away, as I no doubt looked like a dodgy character from the city, possibly Birmingham. My knees buckled momentarily when Maggie demanded the sum of £12. I handed over £15 and demanded that she keep the change because I enjoy being swindled and used as an idiot.

 

As I was moving towards the front window of the inn I noticed that someone else had also ordered the rump steak. Now I realised why the bill was so large. The steak was about the same size as a small bull. In fact, I believe that they shot the bull, wiped its arse and nose and placed in on a large plate. I dearly hoped that my steak is the size of the one on that gentleman’s plate.

 

Maggie, who was now my personal waitress, delivered my food within twenty minutes of me ordering it.

 

“Hi there” she said, once again accompanied with the customary smile. “I hope you enjoy your meal.”

 

I gave the customary customer smirk and thanked her loads.

 

The steak was as I had anticipated - flipping large. Far too large for me to handle at this one sitting. And one thing was for sure, and that was: it was not going in the bin. I carefully lacerated it into three individual thirds, and when nobody was looking I placed one of them into a napkin for later devouring. In fact, when I had ate all of the large-cut chips and side salad, I was too full to eat the remaining third, which meant placing that one into the napkin as well. Supper was sorted.

 

After I had finished my food I returned to the bar and ordered another pint of ‘Rhymneys Bitter. Maggie was once again at my service and asked if I had enjoyed the meal.

 

“Oh yes” I replied. “That has to be the biggest helping of steak that I have ever seen served in any establishment. Ever.”

 

“Ooh, I’m glad you were pleased with it” she said, in a deep Welsh accent.

She then looked at the table that I had been dining at and noticed that my plate was bare.

 

“Wow, you must have been hungry. You’ve eaten it all.”

 

I let out a short chuckle before owning up to wrapping it up for later.

 

“ I know,” she replied. “I seen you putting them into into a serviette. Don’t blame you like. Pointless wasting them, innit?

 

“Oh it is.”

 

I was pretty tired after my beef fill, and the Rhymney’s Bitter had certainly hit the spot. Nevertheless, I need to decide on my resting quarters for this evening. I popped into the local stores and purchased a couple of cans of beer just in case I need help sleeping. I had already decided that a nice woodland area in the south of the Brecon would probably be ideal for a night of solo camping. Now in my advancing years, I am a little more nervous about camping out alone out in the wilds. Twenty plus years ago it wouldn’t have bothered me but as one gets on a bit in years the fear of being struck down by the ‘Beast of the Brecon’ does give one the jitters somewhat.

 

A mile or so back in the direction of Swansea, I seen a sign for Pen-y-cae. Once I had made the tiring ascent to the top of a narrow road I was met with a quite magnificent vista of what could only be described as, well, magnificent. It seemed that I could see the whole of Wales, as the views of many, many rolling hills, woodland pines, lonely lakes of all sizes, several streams and mini rivers, some minor waterfalls, thousands of acres of varied coloured grasslands: oh God, it was all there.

 

As the night was less that a couple of hours away I needed to select a decent woodland area that wasn’t too far from the main road (the A465). But my quintessential brain took me a lot further inside the Brecon Beacons that I had anticipated. An hour after entering this massive national park, I at last chose what I believed to be the perfect spot. Not only did I select a small coppice next to a rapid flowing stream, but also one that gave the perfect sunset view for this mild and sunny evening. The main road, or any road for that matter, had long disappeared from my well selected view. I had also lost my bearings slightly, and wasn’t totally sure in which direction I had entered the small woods. But I don’t worry about things like that, as when the morning comes I shall simply head for the way of the sunrise, and that will take me to the main road - eventually.

 

Electing to start a fire for what would no doubt be a dark night shouldn’t be a problem. But I was a little worried that it may be seen from a distance. But if I head for the dead centre of the coppice then that would be a better option, as it would be less likely to be seen at all. It was also very doubtful that any human or animal would come this way, as there is nothing here for man nor beast, except for the idiotic camper. Or so I thought.

 

I had collected plenty of small sticks to larger timber, just in case a fire becomes essential. With that task completed I moved back outside and into the open to settle down to a spectacular sunset. I sat down on a meteor type rock, waited and watched as the sun began to dip itself from my view and beyond the mountains to the west. Moments later the orange ball in the sky was no more. Looking in a circle from my lonesome point of view, it finally hit me that it wasn’t only going to get dark, but possibly pitch black. To calm my nerves a little I cracked open one of my cans of Budweiser. I also had a small bottle of whiskey that had been in my holdall for many months. As I hadn’t drank much alcohol for quite a long time, it shouldn’t take too long for it to hit my brain cells and send me to a long, long sleep, at least that was my hope.

 

Within the hour the dark had become completely worrying. Clouds had formed from nowhere and visibility was absolutely zero. With my torch I made my way back into the woods with a certain amount of thoughtful nerves. I sat down next to a tree where my unlit fire was and pulled out my small stove. I placed my saucepan and water that I gathered from a spring earlier on upon the stove and waited until it boiled so that I could have a water bottle in my bag. The blue flame from the stove did little to help towards any light, forcing me to ignite the fire for needed assurance for the dark hours ahead. With my radio now fully charged with new batteries I tuned in to Talk-Sport for some much needed company. The fire was burning perfectly and it seemed that it wouldn’t cause any impediment to the outside world. What it may also do in my favour, and that is warn off any curious creatures that may want to invade my privacy. Mind you, isn’t it me who is invading their privacy. After all, it is their home, not mine.

 

The alcohol had certainly calmed my nerves a lot, and I realised now, that I do not have the courage that I had when I was young. Twenty or so years ago, sleeping out in the wilds was my preference, but as I have grown older, the worry of being hacked to death in the middle of absolutely nowhere, where nobody knows where I am, and no one will be any the wiser of my whereabouts if I was killed , eaten, and my bones buried beyond ever being found.….Shit, I’ll stop there.

 

I downed the last can of