As I navigate through the treetops, the silhouette of a far-off castle enveloped in mist comes into view. Could it be that I might encounter the spirit of the legendary Welsh figure Owain Glyndŵr right at the outset of my hike? We haven’t even set foot on Glyndŵr’s Way yet; I’ve had to make a slight detour to secure dog-friendly lodging for my terrier, Stevie. The Castle Inn in Knucklas is located a mile off the official trail and about two miles from the charming border town of Knighton, where the 135-mile (217 km) Glyndŵr’s Way officially commences.
As the towers fade from sight, a railway viaduct comes into focus. It’s believed that the ruins of the medieval castle were scavenged to construct this viaduct in the 1860s, with builders incorporating a couple of crenelated towers as a nod to the origins of the stone. This might serve as an early sign: capturing the essence of Glyndŵr could prove as challenging as it was for him during his lifetime.
After leading a significant rebellion in 1400 that evolved into a violent guerrilla campaign, the last prince of Wales vanished without a trace. His English rivals suspected he possessed otherworldly abilities. In Shakespeare’s writings, two centuries later, Glyndŵr—referred to as Owen Glendower—proclaims in Henry IV: Part I that “the earth did shake when I was born” and that “I can call spirits from the vasty deep.” The last documented sighting of him was around 1819, when William Blake envisioned him and sketched his emaciated visage. Since then, there has been silence. If he has eluded capture for six centuries, what hope is there now?
I intend to traverse the southern stretch of this national trail, a 75-mile loop across mid-Wales, commencing with a gentle two-mile warm-up from Knighton station to Knucklas. On our first full day of hiking, we head south out of Knucklas and soon rejoin the main pathway. The hills lie parched and lifeless, like fallen giants, guarded by flocks of sheep. Stevie remains unperturbed; having been born near Rhayader, he’s familiar with a ram named Patrick. Still, I keep him securely leashed.
The uprising began with a property dispute, as an English lord encroached on Glyndŵr’s land, igniting a broader sense of Welsh discontent. Many men returned from England to rally behind Glyndŵr. They successfully captured Edward I’s formidable fortress at Conwy and won a battle near Knighton. However, fortunes shifted when the young son of Henry IV, who would later become Henry V, was appointed to lead the English forces. History pivoted once again when an arrow struck the young Henry during the Battle of Shrewsbury, embedding itself six inches into his skull. Although he survived, the rebellion began to falter.
As we ascend Bailey Hill, Stevie senses the first hint of trouble. A group of sturdy ewes notices him and forms a tight cluster, advancing cautiously. Stevie leaps back in surprise, while the ewes stomp their feet defiantly. He manages to hide behind a tussock, and as I guide him through a gate, he remains calm and does not bark at them, showing restraint. We soon arrive in the hamlet of Llangunllo, which features a pub that, as a local woman informs us, is closed in the evenings and weekends, only serving drinks. The lack of amenities along Glyndŵr’s Way, recognized as the most secluded of all 17 national trails in England and Wales, prompts me to bring a stove and tea bags—a wise choice. We proceed up the lane and into the hills, where the silence is profound, disturbed only by the distant hum of wind turbines.
Rebellion seems to be a recurring theme in contemporary culture. A film titled The Uprising, depicting the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt and directed by Paul Greengrass, is set to debut in the UK on October 9. Additionally, a new play by Gary Owen, Owain & Henry, will premiere in Cardiff on November 5, featuring Michael Sheen in the lead role. In a conversation prior to my journey, I asked Sheen why Glyndŵr remains such a compelling figure. “His vision for a Welsh nation included a Welsh parliament, universities, religion, and the laws of Hywel Dda,” he remarked. “It’s a vision that resonates. The play feels like a dialogue between past and present.” Sheen has also walked segments of Glyndŵr’s Way, noting that “Owain could only undertake the uprising because of that landscape; it facilitated a guerrilla war, a feeling that persists even today.”
Stevie and I take a moment to rest in the Llangunllo bus shelter. Although there are no refreshments available, I discover a collection of discarded books. Among them is Francis Kilvert’s Diary, penned by a Victorian curate who vividly chronicled life in the Welsh borders. One entry features a wild child from a remote farm responding to the question, “Who died on the cross to save us all?” with a cheeky, “Lord Chesterfield.” I decide to tuck the book into my pocket.
Before long, we find ourselves climbing hills adorned with flourishing heather and gorse, where only droving tracks exist. These paths were once used to drive cattle and sheep across the borders, a tough life reflected in Kilvert’s writings. However, the arrival of railways spelled the end for the traditional droving lifestyle.
As we encounter our first herd of cattle, Stevie opts to be carried. We quickly learn that different breeds present varying levels of threat: large cows tend to be indifferent, while smaller, more aggressive ones should be avoided. Consequently, we take several lengthy detours.
Our second night is spent at Brandy House farm, a friendly establishment offering various accommodations. We select a vintage caravan for our stay. Nearby, Felindre features a simple pub, the Wharf Inn, serving one of my favorite beers, Butty Bach from Wye Valley Brewery.
Now, the journey truly begins to unfold. We traverse magnificent upland sections, passing notable landmarks such as Castell y Blaidd, the castle of the wolf, before making our way to Abbeycwmhir, the abbey that Glyndŵr once knew.
