Country Diary: N Pembrokeshire

The National Park erected a bridle path post. I saw they had cut broad tracks over the common and assumed that the long-awaited path reconnecting the village to Water Lane was open.

I was wrong, but what a glorious mistake. I followed one of the new tracks and quickly found myself going downhill in a stream. On each side of the path was an old wall topped by various trees - one stretch had a row of mature beeches surrounded by a litter of multicoloured leaves. The stream had been swollen by rain. The steps I took had to be carefully rehearsed.

I was alone and on an adventure. Birds sang. The sun caught a piece of water in front of me and I saw a grey wagtail. It had not heard me and was busily investigating the stones. The quick tail movements were so much like runnels of water in the sunshine that I almost doubted the sighting. It was sun-haloed and looking for food.

When the rain burst down I stood underneath a holly tree. By this time returning would have been as tedious as continuing so I splashed on. Luckily, towards the bottom you come to the section where machines have cleared a proper bridle path and movement becomes easier. The ground down here is always wet once you walk into it.

The hills are full of springs, but wherever you look you can see the remains of careful hand labour. The farmers needed these lanes for horses and carts so they constructed walls whose beauty lies in their utility. Moss grows over them, tree roots butt them, but they are still standing to give the traveller pleasure.