To go forwards, first I had to go backwards, retrace the two day walk from Aberdyfi to Borth.....all the way back to Aberdyfi.  Following the panorama walk, along the hillsides between the Dyfi estuary and Happy Valley, the names' origin long lost but the valley no more beautiful than any other in Wales, that is to say I'd be happy to live there for the rest of my days.  I came to know this route pretty well as I'd actually walk it three times.  Once to Borth, once in reverse to Aberdyfi again and then a third time under a different name - no longer the Welsh Coastal Path, this time the Dyfi Valley Way. 
Here's the farm where I cut through a field to the road, here's the house where the road runs out, here's the horseshoe mark cut deep into the boulder, here's the double locked gate, here's where that dog barked at me, here's where the beautiful flowers are, here's where I cut through the woodland; on again, for the third time, all the way to Pennal and that's where the Dyfi Valley Way took a left, heading up the valley away from the coast and through the forest, down to Pantperthog. 
I gave Polly a ring and stayed with her family for one last night; I'd had three nights in a bell tent as she ferried me between my treking points, gave me the rest I needed and generally mixed me into the chaos of a house containing young, adorable children. 
Pantperthog to Dinas Mawddwy.  I'd been picked up by Matt, on his way to a decorating job in Corris, he dropped my bag at the hospital and dropped me by the side of the road.  I'd walk to Dinas Mawddwy and my bag would join me the next morning, coming home with Jackie from her night shift.  It was a peaceful day heading up into the Dyfi forest, padding along through closely planted pine trees, along dry dusty packed rock roads, finding a path between the isolated farms and houses which had survived the compulsory land purchases that led to create these huge areas of forest.  I passed Capel Soar, slate slabs slowly being pushed from the roofless walls by the trees now growing there in place of congregation.  Once this valley would have held farms, workers huts, a school, now just silent, peaceful ranks of pine, bird calls echoing through the trees. 
I can't remember the time I reached Dinas, just a few more miles along the side of a valley, the main road winding below me, I got frustrated, the unwalked path running out in a sea of brambles, impossible to push through, I had to retrace my steps and cut along the side of the pine forest, stopping every so often to watch the fighter jets flit alongside me, their shadows racing to catch them up the steep hillsides.
I didn't last long in the company of kindly Kim and his two friendly dogs.  Despite the dogs insistently pushing their noses into the crook of my elbow, I fell asleep on the sofa by 8, sun blasted, mile weakened.
The next day I set out to walk across a mountain; the route took me to Llanwchllyn and back again, first up and over Aran Fawddwy and then around the base of it from the opposite side of the river, coming around Creiglyn Dyfi lake where it curled into the craterside of the mountain.  Thirty miles in two days, a tough journey, my feet normally don't let me walk so far. 
Oh, the bed was so comfortable, some kind of mattress covering I could just sink into and spend the day with but no, not yet.  I got up, met Jackie as she came home, bleary eyed from the night shift, saw her off to bed and set out, my rucksack carrying the bare minimum for an overnight camp. 
I met Clara at first, she came to accompany me for the first few miles towards the base of the hillclimb.  We walked in the sunshine, promising a hot day ahead up the back roads, passing small farms, sheep roaming, lambs calling for their mothers.  Clara turned back eventually, going to pick her daughter up from nursery and I climbed on, coming to the steep beginning of the mountain, up a few hundred metres, stopping at a water trickle to wash off my sweat and suncream, applying again, how grown up I am these days.  I climbed and climbed, frequent pauses, excuses to admire the view, tracing back how far I'd come.  Eventually I was at the cairn marking the top, there was a white heat haze covering the far distance but I could make out the distinctive lumps of the Rhinog range, tracing in my mind my couple of days climbing up and down them with Stu; closer to Aran Fawddwy there was Dduallt, the mountain I'd walked to in search of the source of the river Wye and away down to Chester; there were the Arenigs, I'd chosen to walk around them, dropped off near Llyn Conwy by Alun, the friendly farmer; then coming down to Bala there was the blue puddle of Llyn Tegid, I'd walked around this lake twice; below me was the valley I'd walked alongside last week, tracing the path of Mary Jones.  So many paths I've taken across this landscape, tracing my footsteps back in time, back across the 2500 miles I've walked through Wales, criss crossing, tiny steps.
I walked slowly down the ridges towards Llanuwchllyn, my knees aching on the downhills, getting overtaken by a friendly set of blokes on their regular walking holiday, discussing the benefits of retirement.  I tried to estimate the time I would arrive there; 7pm I wanted.  Enough time to rest a bit and then try for another few miles before sunset, the next day would be an eighteen miler unless I knocked another couple off tonight.  It was 7.10pm when I staggered towards the carpark by the bridge, too tired to walk the extra quarter mile towards the pub, no time anyway.  Enough time to take off my shoes, sit on a rock, make my evening meal and wiggle my toes.  Then, it was time.  Shoulder my bag once again and walk slowly, aching feet towards the valley at the base of the Aran ridge, looking for a place to sleep.
I found it after a couple of miles, a perfect piece of old, ungrazed land, crumbled stone wall near a stream, oak tree canopy and a flat piece of ground.  I kicked the small branches to the side and settled to rest, watching the stars come out between the tree branches.
Early start the next morning, a good idea anyway when wild camping but essential when there are sixteen miles to walk that day.  I paused for breakfast once my stomach started rumbling and looked up at the ridgeline of the Arans above me.  The outline was familiar and I realised that I was heading towards Nant-Y-Barcut, the farm I'd been taken to when I was offered a bed in Llanuwchllyn by Heledd, the sister of Non, married to Gareth who farmed the land around the house I used to live in (and that glorious set of connections is Wales all over).  She called the outline of Aran Benllyn above the farm the old man, saying he had his hat on when the clouds covered the peak.  Should I say hello?  My path would take me right past her front door.  I thought it over as I walked up the lane towards the farm.  Perhaps she wouldn't remember me, it had been almost a year, perhaps she'd think I was crazy, some smelly hobo with an equally odorous rucksack turning up again like a bad penny.  Maybe she'd think I was ridiculous for still walking, plodding on like Don Quixote, endlessly in search of this 3000 miles.  I came closer and decided to put these foolish thoughts to one side. I had to knock, just to say hello at least.  Of course Heledd recognised me, she was following me on Facebook!  It all worked out, nice cup of tea and a chat and I was on my way - without rucksack!  Heledd offered to take it to the other side of the hill, a steep climb for me, a detour around the mountain pass for her.  She kept asking me if I wanted a sandwich; I kept saying no, being proud, being independent but at the last minute I relented, said yes.  It would be nice, I only had sugary treats to last me until i reached Dinas and a solid meal that night.
It took three hours to reach the church porch where Heledd agreed to drop my bag.  I passed Cwm-fynnon at the head of Cwm Croes, a small, low farmworkers cottage, the shabby door held closed with orange twine.  Three butterflies battered desperately at the cobwebbed window, their wings worn thin in their torment.  I tried to open the window and help them but it was no good, I unwound the door handle and went inside.  Broken red rose china on a table, ancient ashes in an open grate, a wooden pew against the wall, the fluttering of the butterflies against the window was loud in the sleeping cottage.  I closed my hands around each butterfly in turn, raising them to the open window and freedom, then left the cottage, rewinding the twine around the doorknob, looking around furtively as I walked away.
I walked crabwise up the steep valley head and down the other side, joining the small Dyfi stream where it wound and tumbled down from the Creiglyn Dyfi lake.  Eventually, after a steep descent and a road walk in burning sunshine I reached the shade of the church porch, my rucksack and the packed lunch Heledd had left for me.  Deep delight as I lowered myself onto the cool stone seat to enjoy this unexpected feast.  Such a small thing for her, such a joy for me.
Just another six miles, up, over and around a few hills.  An old barn caught my eye, open to the side of the road it was full to the brim with discarded plastic, car tyres and at the bottom of the pile sat a wooden wheel.  I moved closer. The wheel was attached to a cart, metal rims on large wooden spokes, paint flecked and faded, a metal plate with the name and village still screwed to the side.  All directly there as put away when.....40, 50, 60 years ago?  When was the last time this man harnessed his pony to take this sturdy cart to market? 
I walked on, just a few miles more.  I could see the valley split where I'd walked with Clara the previous day, I could see the head of Aran Fawddwy receding behind me, I could see the conjoining of valleys ahead of me where Dinas Mawddwy would nestle into the dip, the settlement at the crossing of routes. 
Made it.  7pm, just in time to see Jackie before she disappeared for the night shift, inhale a big plate of spaghetti and salad, stroke the dogs for a while, chat to Kim, shower, bed.

I've finished the Mary Jones Walk!
A really nice experience, the route follows ancient trackways and drovers roads, mostly high above the valley bottoms where the marshes or toll roads would have been, many years ago.  I followed the path of Mary Jones, the girl who saved for six years to buy a book and walked 28 barefoot miles to the seller.  Thinking about her life back then, her experiences, the most I could do was stare at the view and imagine what wasn't there.

I've done well with my own body too, not the level of Mary herself, 28 barefoot miles overnight.  No, it took me three days.  But that's good, for me.  I've managed sixty miles in the last five days, av 12 miles a day which, for me, is flying.  My body feels full of power, my legs are strong with muscle, it's just my feet that hold me back, my poor strained plantar tendons, so overstretched they're ripping away from the bone.  I do what I can, I have a rhythym, walk, rest, walk, rest, boots off, rub feet, walk, rest, walk, rest, boots off, rub feet, sleep.  That's pretty much my day, every day I'm walking.

I arrived in Bryncrug yesterday, soaking wet, sodden from a surprise rain storm.  It wasn't really a surprise, I was just too lazy to put my waterprooof trousers on, as usual, so got soaking wet, as usual.  I'm no kind of survivalist.  I'd spent the previous night in a barn, no shelter out on the open moorland and I didn't fancy crawling into a soggy, windblown tent so I found the shelter of a wooden bench in a quiet barn.  Remove the sack of lime and the empty sheep drench tin and bingo, there's my bed for the night.  The farmer came in at dusk.  "I'm sorry", I said.  "No problem", he said, more concerned about the dead lamb in the pen in the corner.  The mother ran out, I saw her the next morning, head drooping, limping.  Do sheep grieve?

I meant to camp, in the wet again but there was Sarah again, five miles away, over the hill.  "I'll pick you up", she said, like the big hearted nurturer she is.  No signal until Bryncrug but there she was, "yeah, no worries love, I'll be there in half an hour".  I had a bath, rubbed my feet, bedded down on her sofa.

Today, Aberdyfi.  Sarah took my bag ahead so I could walk freely, down along the beach, sun reddening my face, sand soft under my boots, treating myself to a cream tea when I reached my destination.  Now I'm in a holiday apartment, thanks to Paul at The Old Stables.  It's lush, it's luxurious and it's all mine for the night.  What generosity, from so many people I meet.

I'll have a couple of days of beaches, walking to Borth and then it's back to Aberdyfi again to start the Dyfi Valley Way - up one side of the Dyfi valley to the source of the river north of Dinas Mawddwy and back the other side.  This is my home valley so I'm looking forward to bettering the knowledge of my own land, plus the chance to catch up with long neglected friendships.

Wednesday 8th
I set off from Abergynolwen at 11am, spinning out the last few moments of chat at Sarah's breakfast table before I put my boots on and headed out to walk.  Again.  Across the valley and up to a back road that led into the forestry and high up to the farms that border Tal-y-Llyn.  I'd not seen this side of the lake before, the road I'd normally drive curls alongside it, low down on the opposite side.  I walked along, enjoying the sunshine and fresh green countryside.  Just half an hours walk and I was already far away from roads and buildings, high up on the side of a hill.  Away from everything except nature.  Perfect.

The path wriggled up and down above the lake, descending into small gorges to cross streams and crossing ancient abandoned farmyards, trees growing out of crumbled ruins.  I walked through fields full of brand new lambs, napping in the sun, struggling to co-ordinate legs and brain.  One particularly brave lamb didn't run away with its mother, stood, stared, came over and smelt my legs then curled up beside my foot.  I couldn't resist crouching down and taking a few photos.  A lamb close up!

I dropped down at the end of the lake to the road and passed the foot of Cader Idris.  There came a short period of road walking, pretty dangerous on this busy A road but finally I reached the peak of the mountain pass, the road opened up into the wide valley and I could head left to walk over the reedy moorlands before Cross Foxes.  A short stop at some sheep pens to rescue some stranded tadpoles in a fast drying puddle (save the tads!) but eventually I reached Cross Foxes.  There was time for a quick pint at the hotel, put my feet up on the sofa before I was ready to walk around the small hill before Brithdir and look for somewhere to sleep.  I got distracted by an old barn, walking into the field, entranced by the view of Cader Idris to the left and layers of blueing hills but couldn't find anywhere that felt right.  Ground too lumpy, stones scattered near to the barn walls.  I get really picky about where I sleep, it needs to feel right and so I end up walking on and on when I'm tired, looking for the right spot.

Eventually I left the road, came to a cycle track that led over open farmland, sheep grazing the grass close cropped, the track led over the hill and down to Brithdir, here was my last chance.  The flattest spot was on the path itself, another place I wouldn't normally sleep but I decided to chance it.  Laid out my bed, ate my evening meal (flavoured couscous, mackerel, grated carrot, mayonaise, loads better than it sounds!!), read a book until it got too dark then laid down.  I love sleeping without a tent, no barriers between you and the world.  It was cold, I had to put a scarf over my head and face and my nose was definitely freezing but when your eyes flicker open as you turn over to catch sight of the moon rising silently over the hillside, it's all worth it.

Thursday 9th April
Another thing about sleeping outside, you wake up early.  As the sun lightens the sky, so do your eyes flicker open.  I sat up to watch the pre dawn light flood the view below me, eyes taking a while to focus, gluey from the cold night air.  Around me the dew beaded every grass blade, a fresh morning, just a little bit too cold for me to jump out of bed.  I should have done though, about half an hour later came the buzz of a farmer's golf buggy.  Oops!  I wrestled out of the sleeping bag and quickly packed it away before he came into view.  He had to make a detour around my patch but just nodded to me.  Morning.  Morning.

Phew!  I made a quick move, heading down the hill to Brithdir and then along the valley side towards Bala.  It was ten miles to Llanuwchllyn and another beautiful warm day.  Summer warm, too early for me still with my white winter skin and thick clothing.  I went a few miles to the edge of a forest, stopping for breakfast on some tussocky tree roots, sitting and admiring the thick mosses and fallen leaves, so comfortable.  But I must continue, I must always continue.  The path took me along quiet tracks, above the modern road down in the valley bottom, it would have been a toll road two hundred years ago, Mary Jones couldn't afford that.  So instead I experienced old tracks, tree lined, winding, the ways to travel before tarmac and engines came into being.  Up and down went the day, from farm to farm towards Llanuwchllyn.  I stopped for lunch,  a carrot and a stray chocolate bar from the bottom of my rucksack, I'd run out of real food. I trudged on, feeling suprisingly tired and rubbish.  A row of four excited pensioners perked me up; sitting outside their caravans enjoying the sunshine, they gave me a fillip of validation, a water top up and 30 pounds for my donation tin.  I'll probably see them on my way back to the coast, in exactly the same place.  I went on a bit further but was struggling and it wasn't long before I gave up, at a flat patch of grass beside a stream.  Boots off, feet propped up in the air, scoured my rucksack for remaining scraps of food, read my book and tried not to fall asleep....even though I really wanted to.  Eventually I felt good enough to carry on, although my head started to hurt.  If I could get past Llanuwchllyn there was a woman living near Bala who would come and pick me up.  But as I carried on my head ached more and more; I think it was the hazy light.  My feet hurt, as they always do.  I know that my feet will continue to cause me significant pain until the end of the walk (another thousand miles), it's a question of managing it in order to carry on walking without long term injury, which is why I stick to about ten or twelve miles a day. I phoned Fiona to see if she'd pick me up, pressing a little upon her good nature but I felt pretty rubbish, sitting in the Eagle Inn with my head in my hands.  She took me home and made me comfortable in the caravan.  I tucked up with a meat pie, woolly blankets and the radio, bed by nine thirty.

Friday
Today I feel better.  Washed, rested.  I'm in a cafe in Bala now, having walked the final five miles around the lake.  It's a beautiful beautiful day, I'm so glad I'm here doing this, it's a fantastic experience, even though I'm skint, achy and tired.  I've reached Bala, following the likely path that Mary Jones came to buy a bible, two hundred years ago.  How different my life is to hers, my needs fulfilled with a press of a button.  What kind of money would I raise if I saved for six years?  How many books could I buy?  She bought one.
My only job today is to walk to Bala and back again and I'm halfway through already.  This meant I could pop into the Eagles in Llanuwchllyn and ask to leave my bag there, I'll return later in time for an afternoon pint before I head away to find somewhere to camp.