Managed to arrange some respite this week so took the solo tent from North Wales down through Gwynedd and Shrops these past 4 days.
Every single stop I’ve been mobbed by the silent bitey bastards. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, and I thought I ‘hated’ mozzies until the Horsefly Plague of 2018 made me ruefully wish for mozzies instead. Actually had blood running down my fingers from the wrist-shots. Elbows and insides of knees are no-win scratch-cards and the red bites now have little yellow pustules. Death to them all. I now look worse in shorts than before and that is saying something (blue-white with red and yellow polka dots is not a good look)
Tried climbing Cader Idris to escape the onslaught, the last one I saw was approx 2500ft, then a mercuful peaceful night on the summit.
The return journey down through the Gwynant Valley was World War Z recast with horseflies in place of zombies.
Clun is no better. Maybe it’s my part-Welsh blood that is attractive, but **** them very much anyway.