Wed. 14 August, 7.30pm. Llwynstyffilin Farm. Between the Brecon Beacons and the Black Mountains, this campsite nestles into low hills above the A40. It is a sloping field with a flat track at the bottom where I parked the campervan. Thirteen sheep are in the field too, nice examples of competition show animals. There is a considerable view Westward and over Mynydd Eppynt. The farmhouse is over the hedge from me. All is quiet now, but when I arrived about mid-afternoon, much bellowing came from the big barn. They were de-horning the calves, a practice that brought back memories of struggling beasts and the acrid smell of burnt horn.
It is a hill farm, stocked with Limousins and Charolais, sheep, chickens and ten geese. The geese are up on the back pasture, having an evening feed and drinking from a watering hole in the little stream that borders the field. A grey cat with white paws is mousing up and down the hedge, as it has been all afternoon. The stream runs sluggishly in a gully populated by blackthorn, elder, holly (non-prickly), ash and a stand of low spruce.
Low cloud is scudding on a brisk breeze from the West, grey and ominous, but the sun has just shone through, milky and setting. The tops of the Black Mountains are shrouded in mist, and martins are weaving about, very low on my field, a foot off the ground. As I sit here writing in the van, I can look up to a hedgeline and a gate, with two big ash trees dominating the skyline. Just protruding behind the hedge are the tops of a pine copse.. Down towards the yard is a magnificent ash tree, fifty or sixty feet tall, and ancient marker for the farm. When I arrived a wren was frantically chattering its alarm call from the tree, guarding its second brood.
There is some pink cloud now, and white, in the East, with blue sky peeping through, which bodes well. The inquisitive sheep have come down to the van, sniffing at the hook-up cable and trying to eat it!. Braised lamb if they succeed . . .
It has just sprinkled with rain: just a shower, but I feel there will be more in the night.
Thursday 15 August 10.15 am. Prolonged rain showers in the night. The cloud has lifted a little, just touching the highest mountains over towards Llandovery. At the moment the sun is filtering through, but the West wind is moving the cloud cover swiftly along to fill the gap. The sheep have congregated round the top gate to rest after a frenzied grazing spree. They seem to like that vantage point. I’ve heard and seen ravens, a buzzard, but as yet no red kites. There used to be curlews on the hill, the farmer told me, but not now.
1.00pm. The cloud is still lowering over the mountains, but there hasn’t been any rain this morning. There is a good view back to the entrance gate, along the track and over to hedged fields and finally to the long slope of the Black Mountains. I will draw it.
1.15pm. I have just watched a red kite over the sheep field, near to the camper, low, quite close, fanning its forked tail to twist and turn, quartering the ground in front of the farm, eventually dropping down the valley towards Defynnog.
The showery rain keeps falling and the far hills are misted, but the atmosphere is humid and close. All but the near foreground has disappeared into the rainfog. It is pelting down now, slanting Eastward in the wind. Now and then some of the hills are revealed again. The sheep look bedraggled, huddling under the big ash near the top gate. I can see the rim of a rainwall over Sennybridge, drifting this way, with somewhat lighter sky in its wake.
5.45pm. On the Libanus Road from Sennybridge. Heavy grey clouds are boiling over the Black Mountain tops like volcanic eruptions.
8.45pm. It is still pouring with rain and it appears to have set in for the night. I pulled the van back into the field beside the farm and the sheep have gone. It is almost dusk, strangely bleached by the colourless cloud.
Friday 16 August. After a blustery night and virtually continuous rain, the morning has brightened up considerably. It is dry and the wind has dropped. There is some grey cloud, but the mountain peaks are fringed with white, with blue sky beyond. There is much more colour on the land and the greens especially are brighter. A small white butterfly is searching the hedge – it would have been grounded in all that rain. The sheep are in the next top field, yet the road-gate was open when I arrived back last evening, probably in error, but none have escaped (the top gate was open, so they could have come down). The stillness is palpable. A few martins are chirping to each other as they fly over the grass, but a little higher.
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