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My ostensible purpose for starting the walk here is the “Standing Stone (recumbent)” marked on the OS 1/25000. Unfortunately, despite wandering back and forth across the general area for about 20 minutes, I find no stones. The vegetation makes it difficult to see and it could easily be hiding sneakily under a gorse bush. So reluctantly I give up and head on my way. There are good views of the prominent rocky ridge of Llandegley Rocks from here. The ridge is home to an Iron Age settlement, but it’s one for another day as I’ve got quite a walk to my next site.

First though, there’s the small matter of a ring cairn discovered on a late-night trawl of Coflein’s blue dots but not shown on the OS map. As I climb the hillside up towards the cairn, a red kite comes to check me out, swooping low above my head to display the characteristic forked tail of the species.

Nearing the hill top, a low mound appears on the right of the path, with a number of stones protruding from the top. Here it is! It’s a decent ring cairn, fairly well-preserved, nothing spectacular but nicely sited on a high-point, with good views of the surrounding hills. If you covered it in heather instead of grass, you could sneak it onto Stanton Moor as an embanked stone circle and you’d get away with it. Definitely worth the walk and shame on OS for missing it off the map (hooray for Coflein obviously). My newfound red kite friend comes back to see what’s occurring. Not much, actually.

One field on from the ring cairn, I leave the comfort of the broad byway and head uphill on a footpath that leads direct to the cairns on Gilwern Hill. At this point, the cloud and light drizzle turns inconveniently into a proper mid-Walian downpour. The top of the hill is cairn II itself, a large grassed-over mound the best part of 20m across and well over a metre high, with a little walkers’ addition on top that I didn’t expect to find in such a remote spot. Evidence of the mound’s stone construction is apparent from protruding stones, otherwise it could easily be taken for an earthen round barrow. A modern post-and-wire fence cuts across the southeastern side of the cairn. Aside from the lashing rain, this would be a fine spot with extensive views, particularly of the neighbouring Gelli Hill cairn.

Gilwern Hill cairn III is supposedly close by. I can’t see any sign of another cairn here. I head on down the hillside, southwest, hoping to find cairn I. This is shown on the map, but I fail to see any sign of it either, as it’s at this point that I begin to realise that the field patterns shown on the OS map have been altered and replaced by post-and-wire fence lines in other places, as well as a re-routed farm track. These re-arrangements will come back more strongly later in the walk, but here it conspires to confuse me and I fail to find cairn I. A pair of red kites hangs over cairn II on the hilltop behind me; this is obviously a little haven for these magnificent birds.

Despite the confusion of fences, the Gelli Hill cairn is a big bugger, so there’s no missing it. It helps greatly with orientation and perhaps it was always that way, helping visitors to find the diminutive stones of the nearby stone circle over the millennia. A proper, stone-built monster cairn this, damaged by digging and the addition of an OS trig pillar to the cairn’s top.There are big blocks amongst the smaller rubble, perhaps there was a central cist of some sort? It’s reminiscent of the cairn on Bache Hill not far away. To re-inforce the point, the top of the Whimble peeps into view briefly through the cloud.

There would be great views of the Radnor mountains from here, but sadly the tops are still enduring a deluge and are hidden within a curtain of grey. Luckily for me, the heavy rain that marred the visit to Gilwern Hill a short time earlier has mostly passed over, leaving behind light drizzle and a substantial drop in temperature.

The stone circle is close to the big cairn and should be really easy to find from it, look, just follow the fence northwest until it meets the bridleway, follow the bridleway along, job done. But it isn’t, because the ground is more up-and-down than you’d think and the fences have all moved! So it takes a while to locate the circle, Mr Burl’s description helps, although he doesn’t mention the big slab in the middle of the circle (off-centre). One of the new fences hems the circle in closely on its southwestern side, not like the open field shown on the current 1/25000 map.

The circle is a ruin, and even when it was brand-spanking new would have been a little underwhelming for anyone who’d been to any other stone circles anywhere. Perhaps they hadn’t though, or perhaps the ritual quality was so impressive that the circle was nothing more than a performance space. It was all about light and magic here, maybe. To be fair, the setting is fine, with nice views especially to the west where the ground drops down to the Wye valley.

The off-centre slab is intriguing, unsure whether it’s an original feature or a more recent interloper. Big though (see picture with map for scale). The other stones are pretty small, none more than a foot or so tall, some are buried – there are mole-hills inside the circle that are taller than some of the stones. Burl reckons it’s one for the “determined”, I won’t disagree as that should be enough to bring many TMAers anyway.

I spend a good while here, wandering around the perimeter rather than sitting as I’m feeling the cold a bit now - the sky has started to clear and blue patches have appeared but there’s a distinct chill in the air and my boots are squelching a bit from the earlier downpour.

I head on over to the outlying stone. It can be seen from the circle, so isn’t hard to find in clear weather. Wedge-shaped, is it fallen, was it always recumbent? There are various smaller stones scattered nearby which would make for promising packing material, but might equally just be random scatter. It has very decent views of the big cairn and over the valleys and hills to the west and northwest, I guess maybe towards Pumlumon and the major watersheds of mid Wales.

From the Gilwern Hill cairn I head back north to byway and past a scenic little lake at Ffrwd. A padlocked gate across the byway is accompanied by an chunky upright megalithic slab, spotted with yellow lichen and leaning against another smaller slab. Coflein places Ffwrd stone hereabouts, this fits the (limited) description, but is it “it”? The location is only approximately near the Coflein blue dot, so it’s not certain.

I skirt the hill below Carregwiber fort, I had tentatively hoped to get a visit in but I’m tiring and quite cold now, so decide to press on. Instead I manage a quick stop at Carregwiber stone, which is a small stone that in many places would be dismissed as a rubbing post, but here we seem to be surrounded on all sides by standing stones so it’s part of a complex. It’s a shapely, tapering stone, set above a slope to give greater prominence and a terrific view of the Radnor mountains. The ambience is rather spoiled by the carcasses of a rusting car, caravan and assorted junk in close proximity, but don’t let that put you off (too much).

The second trig-surmounted cairn of the day, The Beacon is less impressive than Gelli Hill cairn. It’s quite reduced and low, but it does boast similarly expansive views to many of today’s other sites, especially to the northwest where Llandrindod nestles in the valley below. Carregwiber fort can be seen, and the Radnor Mountains provide the backdrop to the northeast. It would have been a fair size, judging by the footprint and stonework protrudes here and there through the grass. Access is easy, a footpath leads straight to the cairn across a single field from the road. I don’t stay long, but head on to Little Hill VII.

Little Hill VII proves to be a rather uninspiring end to the day. A very overgrown cairn, on a golf course. Not one to make a special effort for, unless you like golf (I don’t). I always feel sorry for barrows on golf-courses though. If they manage to avoid being turned into a landscaping feature (like a couple of ones on Ludlow racecourse), they seem doomed to be “in the rough”, where vegetation is encouraged to smother them and legions of pringle-clad middle-aged men assiduously try to avoid them. Shame.

Holyrood Park stretches out before me, a relative wilderness at the heart of such a cosmopolitan city. I’m immediately glad to be wearing boots, for the paths are muddy and slippery. No gentle urban promenade then. I take a path marked “Dry Dam” on the Ordnance Survey map, skirting the southwestern end of St Margaret’s Loch and passing below the fragmentary remains of St Anthony’s Chapel, perched on a rocky shelf above the water. The whole of the park appears covered in archaeological remains of one sort or another.

Dry Dam becomes Long Row, a gently sloping climb up the valley between Whinny Hill and the higher Arthur’s Seat. Tiny figures surround the trig point on the summit, a popular walk even on this grey October evening. Whinny Hill, over to my left, looks the perfect spot for a hillfort, being encircled by a series of natural terraces, but the hill is actually bare of any remains. After a while, the view to the east reveals Dunsapie, where a kidney-shaped loch provides a natural moat on the north and west sides of the flat-topped hillfort. One for another day though.

My path continues to climb, before a fork offers a choice of the lower Crow Hill straight ahead or the steeper route to the main summit to my right. I take the latter, eager to get up to the top while the best of the light remains. It’s not the best of visibility either way, a misty grey cloud hanging low and blotting out anything much further away than the centre of the city, the Pentland Hills are little more than a blue smudge.

The climb steepens, providing a view down onto the flat plateau above the Salisbury Crags cliff tops. At the top, the path turns to bare rock and becomes a near-scramble. Being a volcanic hill, the rock is hard and glassy, making it very slippery in the slight damp of the evening. The summit is marked with a graffiti’d trig pillar showing, rather enterprisingly, a sword in a stone. There are also quite a few people (mainly tourists like me) who’ve made the walk up. Calton Hill looks a long way below and even the rocky promontory of Edinburgh Castle is dwarfed by this hill, despite its relatively modest height. There is an excellent view of neighbouring Crow Hill, but from this side no traces of the hillfort remain that I can see.

So I head off over there for a closer look. The summit of Crow Hill is lower and much flatter than that of Arthur’s Seat, more suited to enclosing for settlement or defensive purposes. However, there are no obvious remains that I could see on the hill, the possible exception being on the eastern slopes. Here, some bands of rock suggest the possible remains of a rampart, but these could equally be natural. Below these, a series of cultivation terraces cut across the hill as it slopes towards Dunsapie. I walk around the hilltop for a while, still finding nothing obvious, before heading back towards the path below Arthur’s Seat.

From the rocks below and to the north of the summit, I hope to be able to see a line of six (yes, SIX) hut circles shown on the Ordnance Survey map along a rocky ridge above the forbidding sounding Hunter’s Bog. But the aerial view offers nothing, so I head down the steep path to the ridge to investigate further. The location is great, with good views and a flat surface. But of hut circles I can find nothing. Not even one, let alone the six that the map promises. There are some stones scattered about, protruding through the grass, but that’s about it. I spend a while walking up and down, sure that either I’m not in the right place or that sooner or later I’ll find something, but still nothing. Failed notes it is for this one. [I’m slightly relieved when I get home to find that the RCAHMS 1998 visit was similarly unable to find any hut circles here. Perhaps we’re all looking in the wrong place?]

I head back to Long Row and down to the road again. Alongside the road, I stop for a quick look at St Margaret’s (or Margret’s, as Ordnance Survey have it) Well. The well is behind a grill set into a modern stone façade, topped off with railings. Sadly, it lacks any kind of ambience or even much in the way of interest, behind the dense grill. I don’t linger, but head off for a walk around the various monuments on Calton Hill, as the dusk closes in.

As soon as we’re under the trees the incredible atmosphere of this place hits home. Under a canopy of leaves turning slowly from green to autumn shades, the NE cairn is the nearest to us, surrounded by an impressive ring of upright stones. It’s almost too much for the brain to compute, the size of the cairn, the exquisite choice of stones for the circle. And then the eye relays the information that there’s two more of the damn things, right THERE. I’ll be honest – nothing I’d read about the site, no photos I’d seen, really prepared me for its raw, in the flesh, splendour. And it’s all ours for the moment, no coachloads of disinterested gawpers, just us in this magical glade. By now I’m wearing the stupidest grin ever.

Walking around the NE cairn reveals the deliberate grading of the stones, up to a slender monster all of 9 feet. Both of us walk around the circle for a while, neither somehow quite ready for the cairn itself yet. During our circuits, we admire the amazing cup-marked kerb stone. What a beautiful thing. At length we head into the chamber. It’s a little difficult to imagine this open passage as a low “creep”, in truth. But the stonework inside the chamber is wonderful and the feeling of seclusion, already heightened in the quiet of the glade, is complete in here. When we re-emerge we spend another 10 minutes or so re-circling the circle. I can’t get enough of this.

The central cairn is very different. The mound is lower and there is no passage into it (and apparently never was). Although its surrounding circle is similar to that around the NE cairn, it is connected to the cairn by a series of low rubble “spokes”, apparently at random but no doubt anything but. The effect is striking, if typically unfathomable, at least to me.

Tucked away on the edge of the site near the central cairn is a lovely kerb or ring cairn, consisting of an open ring of small boulders, one decorated with cup-marks and a cup and ring. I like this little ring very much, although it feels almost like a whimsy in the company of the three main cairns and circles.

The first thing that attracts my attention at the SW cairn is the rather unusual “double” stone in the surrounding circle. It looks like a single stone that has been split vertically and then prised apart, leaving an enigmatic upright V shape. There is so much to ponder over at this complex. The cairn itself is very fine, sitting on an even wider low mound. As well as the “double” stone, the uprights in the surrounding circle match the careful choice of those around the other two cairns. As with the NE cairn, we spend a while circling, taking in the stone over the road, sadly divorced from its family, and the couple built into the fence/wall.

While we are here a couple on bikes arrive at the other end of the site, the only people we’ve seen so far. We head into the interior of the SW cairn, noting both the lovely cup-marked stone just inside the chamber and another stone built into the walling that appears to have a single cup-mark (although I’m not aware of reading about that). I could sit and look at the different stone textures for hours, but at length we decide to head back around the site again before checking out some of the neighbouring monuments. Apart from the cyclists, we’ve had the whole place to ourselves for over an hour.

I can’t put into words how deeply this place has impressed me. I hope we can come back again, although perhaps the perfect visit won’t be easily repeated.

We head back to the Mains of Clava standing stone that we’d bypassed on our way earlier. It stands in a field right next to the road, so unless there are animals about, access is as straightforward as can be. The current OS 1/25000 shows a “Chambered Cairn” to the NE of the standing stone, but all we can see is an overgrown area with some possible field clearance. [Post-visit check of Canmore reveals nothing either.]

The stone itself is rather fine, at least six feet tall and very solid and chunky. It appears to serve as a rubbing stone, but there are no animals in the field today.

We have a quick look over the wall in the vicinity of the Mains of Clava SE site, but it all looks very overgrown and the wall in between isn’t particularly inviting for climbing, so we decline a closer look.

Instead we return along the road towards the main complex, where a gate leads into the field in which Mains of Clava SW can be found. Previously dismissed as a hut circle, this site has now been reinterpreted as a ring cairn after excavation. We find a decent sized but rather overgrown mound, with some exposed stonework. Obviously nowhere near as impressive as the main enclosure, but this is still a very decent addition to the group.

The site is a short stroll along the road from the main Clava Cairns, access is along a neat path from Milton of Clava, where the road bends sharply southeast.

The most obvious marker is the lovely “playing card” slab, all that remains of the circle that once surrounded the cairn here. The cairn itself is disturbed and much of the material has been rather scattered, but a low mound remains, still pretty substantial. It lacks the special atmosphere of its near neighbours, and the river is unseen and unheard in spite of its proximity. The valley location is very pleasant and peaceful though, and the site probably sees substantially fewer visitors than the more famous site so close by. Certainly worthy of the very minimal effort required.

Our route will decide itself as we go on, but the first bit of business is to gain some height, so we head north-west along a good track that takes us with a zig and a zag up the slopes of Clogwynyreryr. The Ordnance Survey have helpfully made this all onelongwordthewaythatGermansdo, but actually it ought to be Clogwyn-yr-Eryr (there, that’s better), which translates into English as “Cliff of the Eagle”. Nice. We don’t see any eagles, but Chris does point out the location of the Hafodygors Wen four poster and stone row. There’s a great view of Pen-y-Gaer hillfort too, a site Blossom and I have admired previously from the Tal y Fan area and must get better acquainted with one day.

As we round the rocky end of the ridge, a view of the high Carneddau main ridge unfolds, from be-cairned Drum and across to Foel-fras. It looks a long way up yet. Our path turns its face westwards and we pause to look at a couple of suspicious looking stones either side of the track. One is about six feet tall and has a hole drilled right through it, the other is about half the height. Not an obvious pair of gateposts, we joke that it must be a stone row. Then we spot a further six-foot plus stone lying prostrate in the grass and joking turns half serious. We take a couple of snaps and proceed. Perhaps we should trust our instincts more, Coflein has this down as a possible stone row indeed! We note a further upright further up the slope but don’t even give this the respect it perhaps deserved (I don’t even have a photo).

Before reaching the valley bottom, we angle our route to take in the small settlement shown on the map on the opposite slope to the larger Pant-y-Griafolen settlement. The map shows three circular features linked by a wall, with a further square feature close by. And this is exactly what we find. Three hut circles/round houses in a line, with the low remains of an enclosing wall around the northern side, with natural outcrops incorporated into the western end. There is a more substantial structure (probably the remains of a sheep fold) adjacent on the north side. It’s not the best-preserved of settlement sites, but the positioning is lovely, on the gently sloping valley side with the mountain ridges giving shelter on most sides. On a sunny day like today, I’d move here.

We carry on down the slope to the little river; the intervening ground requiring some bog-hopping. Lucky the weather has been dry, this could be a bit of a problem in wetter conditions. The eastern end of the Pant-y-Griafolen settlement can now be seen under a small stand of trees, from where it stretches away upstream towards Llyn Dulyn. The Afon Melyllyn is easily crossed on plentiful stones, even in spate I don’t think this would cause a well-balanced visitor (that’s us) too much trouble.

Like the nearby Clogwyn-yr-Eryr settlement, this is not well-preserved, little more than circular rubble rings remaining. It is however extensive and fantastically well-placed. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that the site is 530m above sea-level with the degree to which it feels sheltered from the elements. The surrounding Carneddau ridges are so much higher that we are completely out of the gale force winds that are blowing over the tops today. You can almost feel the presence of the people, or perhaps they can almost feel ours. I could happily stay for a while in the sunshine, but we have hardly begun the hard work of the day and so we press on.

We swing northwest towards the summit. As we come onto the top of the ridge, we get our first view of Carnedd Llewelyn, tantalisingly close and not much higher than we are. At the same time, we are hit by the full force of the wind. Bloody hell. The walk takes on an aspect of farce as the wind tries to tear the sunglasses off my face, while my trusty map-case becomes an evil monster, smashing me about the face and arms each time I try in vain to take a photo. Like two deep-sea divers in lead boots we crawl across the landscape of broken and shattered stone that forms the summit of Foel Grach. Certainly no shortage of cairn material, perhaps the biggest cairn on the planet stood here until the wind tore it down to teach the builders a lesson in humility. I’m certainly learning that lesson right now.

We spend some time taking pictures, with difficulty. When you look at our images, dear reader, try to forget the cloudless blue and apparently idyllic setting and imagine us being buffeted and bruised by a howling gale. The things we do to bring you these bloomin’ pictures.

I joke that at least no-one has turned this cairn into a shelter, not realising that they don’t need to as there’s a proper one just to the north of the summit. Proper as in roof and mortared walls. We take refuge from the winds for a lunch stop, enjoying the feeling and sound of being in the eye of a raging storm but safe and protected from it. Other pilgrims come to interrupt our reverie and so we head back out into it. Heading south we have the wind largely behind, to speed us on our way – don’t relax though, you’ll be over a cliff if you don’t keep planting the feet firmly.

The summit plateau, even more than Foel Grach’s, is a lunar landscape of shattered rock. Although it’s busy, there’s plenty of room to find a patch of solitude away from the cairn and wind shelter. On a day when Snowdon is doubtlessly teeming with hundreds of people, this lofty peak is a much better prospect. The views are simply staggering, from Carnedd Moel Siabod and Moelwyns, across to the Glyderau where Tryfan steals the show from the loftier Glyder Fawr and Glyder Fach. Directly ahead of us Carnedd Dafydd fills the foreground, while the Snowdon massif itself looms beyond. Y Garn and the conical summit of Elidir Fawr complete the vista of 3,000 foot peaks before us. I would defy anyone to come here and not be moved by such a scene. I resist the urge to fall to my knees in wonder (too many pointy rocks for genuflecting).

At a gap in the stream of people at the cairn, we make a break for it and snatch a few pictures before the next visitors arrive for their photo opportunity. Much as I like quiet and unfrequented tops, it’s difficult to complain about other people here, as every one of them has had to make an effort to reach this high spot. No rack and pinion railways up here.

Approaching the cairn from Carnedd Llewelyn, it looks like a nothing of a marker cairn. The cairn itself is very small, even a walker looking for a pile to drop a stone onto might turn their nose up. In fact, my eye is drawn far more to the amazing views, down to Cwm Eigiau and Ffynnon Llyfant far below to the left, Ffynnon Llugwy to the right. Not to mention the Bwlch Eryl Farchog ridge below Pen yr Helgi Du. And Tryfan.

However, as we draw near it becomes clear that the cairn is beautifully positioned on a natural knoll of rock, right above the cliffs that drop away to Cwm Eigiau. If you want a suitably awe-inspiring place to lay a heroic warrior to rest, you couldn’t imagine anywhere much better. Whether this really was the final resting place of a Bronze Age chieftain, or an Arthurian knight, I still couldn’t say. The sky gods certainly have this place in their eye-line whatever.

I leave not knowing any more about its prehistoric authenticity than I did when I came, but I’m glad we came to find out. If you want a high, lonely spot away from the crowds, with breathtaking views, this might do it for you too.

Luckily there’s a possible collapsed tomb to be seen at the bottom, which restores impetus and purpose to my aching legs. Next to a (medieval?) settlement, the positioning of the tomb, if that’s what it is, is perfect. It stands on a prominent little grassy knoll surrounded and enclosed by the cliffs that separate the Cwm from the Carneddau tops. The stone blocks involved are very large, well, they’re megaliths aren’t they? They are perched on top of each other in a way that doesn’t seem particularly probable as a natural landform but isn’t conclusively man-made either. But the spirit of the Carneddau is upon me and I give it the benefit of the doubt, someone can always “prove” it’s natural if they’d like to do so.

From Bwlch Penbarra we have another steep, steep climb to get up to the ramparts of Foel Fenlli. Like the opening ascent of the day some two hours earlier, this is short, sharp shock. Our legs are more tired now that they were then though, and the hundred metres of vertical ascent is harder work this time. However, the reward is utterly worthwhile. Foel Fenlli is multi-vallate, like the other Clwydian forts. It has the benefit of terrific natural defences by virtue of its positioning atop a hill with steep drops on three sides (only the eastern approach is anything but knackering for any would-be attacker). Iron Age status symbol? You bet. The Vale of Clwyd looks a looong way below us. There are good views of the nearest of the neighbouring forts, Moel y Gaer.

At the very highest point of the hill (511m), protected by the encircling ramparts, is a burial cairn of an earlier date. With views to die for, this was a fabulous resting place for someone. I can’t help but feel that Moel Famau to the north might have been similarly crowned, before the Jubilee Tower swept away any archaeology. As with many similar cairns, the visible stonework piled in a cone is a modern reconfiguration/addition. The mound proper sits below, with its much wider diameter covered by short turf.

We carry on around the eastern end of the fort’s circumference, until the ground drops sharply once again on the southern slopes. Steps have been built to minimise erosion from the fort’s many visitors. Although Offa’s Dyke Path skirts the western end of the fort, I imagine a lot of people make the short detour to have a look at this magnificent show of Iron Age strength. As we drop back to the path, we meet a group of teenage lads, shouldering enormous rucksacks as they climb the steeply sloping hillside. They are friendly, cheerful and polite, clearly happy to be out in the hills. Perhaps some of the TMAers of the future are in that group? It’s certainly the kind of place to inspire an interest.

This one had been bumping around the top of my list for ages, years, but seeing as it's so far away, at least a three to four hour drive and North Wales is so much closer, but i'm here now and i'm not going to waste the opportunity. I parked in the entrance to the Electricity sub station just to the west of the circle, reckoning that no-one would be coming this early in the morning, and they didn't. Then we rode the bikes down to the left hand gate , Eric's went under the gate mine over it then a one minute ride up to the medley of animal pens, curious young cows ran alongside the fence, Eric was more interested in them than the stones so I was able to have a quiet moment or ten with the stone circle.

For it must be a stone circle, the map says only cairn but what do maps know, bah, who makes cairns with stones this big. Each stone is of a singular shape meticulously chosen for it's odd shape, the corrugated stones are particularly interesting. One of the two tallest stones seems to have been cut in two the line of the cut so perfect it must have been a Sith lord up to mischief with his light saber. If a stone circle it be then it would have been the best stone circle in the whole of the Preselis, Gors Fawr could be walked through without noticing it by someone unused to such things, and Bedd Arthur isn't even a circle. If you know where to look Budloy standing stone can just be seen across the slight valley.

I really liked this place, it didn't disappoint at all, even the cows or the farming utensils did nothing to blunt my experience here, just imagine what it would be like if it was in pristine condition, mind blowing.

Seeing as it was so close to the Dyffryn stone circle ( I refuse to call it a cairn) we rode our bikes down the road, turning left immediately after going over the bridge over happy waters. Open and close gate, ride down track and umph, a farm, hmmm what to do, worse still the farm yard was full of sheep and lambs with the farmer and his wife. i didn't hold out much hope, the farmers wife saw us but didn't seem to mind. We opened and closed the next gate and we were in the farm yard, I went over to the farming couple and asked if it was okay if we went over to their stone, (they like that) she said it was alright as long as we left our bikes there. Okely Dokely said I and off down the track we went, passing some ruined Reliant Robins and an old boat, which is right next to the gate that leads into the stones field.

We entered the field, scaring off two geese and walked over to the well proportioned stone. Tall and pointy it be, if i had a standing stone it would be just like this one. If you know where to look you can just make out the Dyffryn stones. To the immediate north of the menhir is Budloy mountain but at only 287 meters it's hardly a tiring climb. En route back to the bikes which had moved when we got back, we noticed what an idyllic farm scene this was the sheep had gone but ducks were now quacking about the many streams that pass through there yard. If I had a farm I'd like it be this one.

I was looking for a way to get to the Yr Allor stones when I came across this site, I parked up outside it's field and inspected the map. Hmmm there are so many stones around here that your just falling over them, I get out and walk over, look at the information board and ohhhh it's Meini Gwyr, it wasn't high on the list due to it's ruination but it was there nonetheless .

There is still a slight circular bump to be seen, just, and the stones are still quite big, well one of them is, and they still have that inward lean that Merrick mentions in his notes. I can't quite make out Yr Allor from here, and that is where the attraction to the place comes in, not not making things out, but, in it's heyday this would have been a phenomenal place, so many closely fitting sites all seemingly linked together, like a mini Carnac, but it's all over now the crowd are on the pitch it is well and truly over.

Beware ! I will be talking enthusiastically about this place, what we are sometimes privy to is more than just a visit to some stones by someone, sometimes it's a window onto a love affair, for it sometimes feels more like i'm documenting a love story between myself and these ancient wild high places, if I sometimes sound like a giddy child it's because I feel like one, it's just the best feeling in the world.

We parked in the obvious place south east of the small mountain, and rediculously I let Eric talk me into taking the bikes up with us, it wasn't that hard going, it's not too steep. On the way up he would look back down the path and tell me how cool it will be to ride back down, pointing out dips and jumps he would go over, we're not mad, we had no intention to ride down from the top that would be suicide, however his second mountain lesson would be coming soon.
As we neared the top I could see what looked to be the first line of defences for the hill fort, crawling north around the side of the hill and curling west to keep those pesky invaders out.
We pass it by and reach the level ground at the top, lean our bikes against the rocks at the south east, and turn to look at the three ginormous cairns, if a mountain is lucky, no if i'm lucky a mountain will have a cairn on it, if i'm verrry verrry lucky it will have two decent cairns on it, but to get three cairns of such distinction you have to come to the magical playground of the stonehenge builders, the Preseli mountains.

I read with disappointment that Carl wasn't impressed with the hill fort, saying little to be seen, ?? the defences can be followed all around the north of the hill and even the entrance is deep and obvious on the south side where there are no defences because of the precipitous rocks , Iv'e seen worse, much worse and whats worse is iv'e driven miles to see them, here though it is an absolute delight, a cherry on the top, for the main gatteau is the three huge cairns perched on top, keeping watch over the whole of the eastern mountain range.
The cairns have been recently restored by army preparation students, whoever they are? but they have done a grand job. We could tell by the colouration of the stones where had been restored. But they either left a bit out or someones been at it already as there is a a small scoop in the western end of the western cairn, it's a comfy place to sit out of the wind and watch the clouds scudding over distant Carnmenyn. Carnmenyn, from here it hides from view the Carnmenyn burial chamber and the stone river, had I been alone I would go over there and introduce myself to the genius loci there. But not this time, they will have to wait till our next rendezvous. From up on top, on top of the trig point, we can see it all , west past Carnmenyn to Foal Feddau and Craig y cwm, Preseli's highest point. North is the coast, I can see Dinas head, and closer to somewhere before me is Beddyraffanc, east is Frenni Fawr and cairns and south is Carn Ferched and further off is the megalithic complex at Glandy cross.

But the best thing is just sitting up on the central cairn watching the clouds shadows moving across the ground below, the occupants of these cairns must have been important indeed.
But the worse thing is on our way back down, on the bikes, Eric went from lower than me, but no sooner had we got fifty yards he went tumbling head first over the handle bars, and I was unable to do a thing but watch it all happen, thankfully he wasn't hurt too much, mostly his pride, and with it comes a valueable mountain lesson, even if your thinking I can do that, it always pays to be conservative, no not them...ptui.

I can't believe I didn't add any field notes from my last visit six years ago, even though that was more than half a lifetime ago for Eric he still said "oh I remember this one" and that was before we even got to it.

Heading south out of Llanglydwen, take your first right turn, then turn right into the track that leads to Penbontbren cottage, they let me park there last time but this time I leave it further up the track in the corner to one side, then walk down to the house and pass it by on it's right hand side, through a red gate. Then take your left hand fork passing a standing stone/old gate post and in one minute the most beautiful of Preseli's chromlechs is revealed.
Looking down over the river but not in site of it, is the greyhounds lair, what is it with greyhounds lairs in Wales? there is at least three that i've been to, is it the ancient name for it or a modern thing?
I walk around and around it, taking pictures from strange angles that I didn't explore last time, but last time the whole family and the dog were here, this time it's just Eric and me, and he's got a new football, so i'm free to go this way and that. Some chalked/burnt stick graffiti is on the inside, including a spiral in black, it's all old stuff that's wearing away, it'll be gone by autumn.

On the edge of the Preseli mountains but not in site of it, this is a must see dolmen, so many pictures of Coaten Arthur and Carreg Samson, this place is well under used, and little visited. A secret little gem, if i'd come a few weeks later there would have been bluebells too, so much beauty and wonder in one place would have made me quiver. Then again at work a bonus is coming my way soon, so I may come back in a few weeks, and I will be a lucky boy.

Ps.... the walk back was timed to more or less fifteen minutes, so there's no excuses for not coming.

I e-mailed the new occupants living in the nearby house asking if my son and I could come and have a look at the stones but received no reply, so we went any way. It took two tries to get the right driveway down to the house (blurred house name on streetview says lots) but we got there eventually. I parked in the farm yard and knocked on the door, farmers wife came to the door so I asked if my son and I could have a look at the stones, using the exact words used in my e-mail, but it didn't seem to register, no matter, she didn't have a problem gave me some directions to the stones and off we went, would have been nice for the asked for e-mail to have made an impact though.

The stones are first seen over the wall, oooh said I they're big ones, then we get to the gate and enter the stones field. Immediately you can see that some work is being carried out here, new fence posts and new barbed wire, not into that, not at all. But also some gorse has been removed and piled up, I am into that though, but not too much mind.
These are a fine pair of stones, the smaller western stone is more rounded and blunter, female ? and the eastern stone is taller, sharp edged and pointy, male ? whether it is a gender issue that determines the stones shape I'm not overly convinced but there is a meaning to it i'm sure.
Standing south of the stones, they frame Carn Meini, 365 meters of up thrusting weather beaten rock, and next to it the Carn Menyn chambered tomb and coming from that the stone river a most singular natural feature. There's really a lot going on around here, I so wish it was the same in my almost local Snowdonia.
I'll have to put in for a transfer down here.

We parked west of the chambers in a small rough lay by, then rode our bikes back down the hill to the site.(weeee!!!)
And what a brilliant site it is, last time I came here the bracken was high and in full obscuring mode, but it was much better this time, no bracken growth at all, it was midday and all the dew and slugs had gone, and I had my inquisitive and questioning son with me. Couldn't be better.

I wish i'd read Carl's fieldnotes on this place as I now need to go back and find the big stone he describes a hundred paces away on the other side of the field. But I have read Moss's comment on the Needle rock lookalike stone and tried to recreate Robin Heath's photo without actually seeing it.
The two are remarkably similar and it can only be intentional, but when the capstone is in place and the I suppose there would have been a backstone to the chamber also in place and then a covering mound, the stone would be hidden. But I don't think that would matter, the builders would know it was there and the magic would carry on working. Any alignment between the two and the midsummer sun would have to be remembered and passed on verbally as it would be lost from view, and easily forgotten.

This was the only one out of the four I hadn't been to, Garn Wen trio....yes, Pen Rhiw wedge tomb....yes, even Carn Gilfach proved not difficult to find, but it took this my third visit to the area to find time enough for Garnwnda and it's shy outlying menhir.
It was well worth the wait. Finding this last one wasn't hard, once the proper place was found to leave the car, I left it next to the phone box more or less directly south of the chamber and the rocks it hides amongst. Once more upon the bikes it's fifty yards back down the road, turn north/right up the footpath that looks like it's going through someones back yard. The path is muddy, but it would be after all it chucked it down most of the way here, standing on tip toes looking over the wall to your right you can see the standing stone of Parc Hen. At the end of the muddy path a gate is reached, once on the other side the footpath diverges into a starburst of desire lines, the one that is in line with the footpath just traversed is the one you want, after a hundred yards look up to the rocks, a tall pointy rock on the highest part has the burial chamber under it. That said I didn't go that way I went straight to the top and just scrambled around until I came across the chamber. When ever I find something for the first time it is impossible not to emit some sort of jubilatory sound, this one was a cross between Yaaay, and woohoo, a Yaaywhoo.

The four chambers strung along the headland from Carn Gilfach to Garn Wen are within two hundred yards at most of the same latitude, hard to do if your trying, extremely difficult to do by accident. But the thing that struck me about another similarity between this one and Carn Gilach is that they are both very very close to the rock outcrop and both have a standing stone less than two hundred yards away. I love the mystery, that tantalising hint of something close to an explanation to what was going through the minds of these ancient ancestors, there has to be answer, and here it is close to the surface, luckily I didnt visit Garn Fawr hillfort or it's littler siblings so a return visit is assured.

Was the capstone moved to it's current position ? or was it always there and they just jacked up one side and then propped it up on a single stone, either way the single stone looks wholly inadequate for the job, all that weight pressing down on just one small stone, carefully we entered the chamber. Cosy, if you like creepy crawlies, I don't mind most of them, except the slimey ones, in the summer when it's been dry for ages I could imagine staying here all night, yeah all night long. Come to Pen Caer headland and see these four chambers, but clear your mind first
and put in some effort.

From the path to the burial chamber you can see the stone in the corner of the field , but the field is covered in brambles, and I mean covered, but there is a gate behind it so I hoped to come at it from that direction, we went back to the car parked at the phone box, then rode the bikes down the road north east. The first gate we came to a stone was in the field but it isn't the one we wanted, whether or not it's ancient I do not know it isn't on the map so must be a rubbing stone I guess set up by farmer.
We entered the field and rode over to it, then past it and left the bikes by a knackered old wall, then over that field to the gate, the one I could see from the path to the burial chamber, the stone is about twenty yards from the gate.

Tis a really good stone this one, as Merrick informs it is mainly triangular, changing shape as you walk round it and about seven feet tall.
A long haired kind of moss clings to it's upper parts, making it look proper ancient. A small stone gathering is apparent under it's northern face, presumably chock stones but they're not chocking, is that even a word.
Visited on Monday 9th April and by that I mean right up close and I touched it with my hands.

My first visit was hampered by deep impenetrable fog, thankfully I'd left Garnwnda and the Lady gate stone out so this was the return visit eighteen months in the making.
I parked in the same place as before, and walked through the same farm , barked at by the same dogs probably and walked up the same path, the sign pointing out the cromlech is still there but the abundant plant growth and slugs were absent, glee !

The giant capstone was easier to define from the ground without the high grasses, and the strange triangles on the upper surface of the capstone still look freaky, are they man made or natural, I don't know but they are stained reddish as though from iron or something. Once more I climb the rocks just a few feet from the chamber and look down upon the mighty stone, held only just aloft by its small orthostats. Then I let my gaze wander around, I can't see the Lady gate standing stone from here the crest of the hill hides it from view, just like Garnwnda does with Parc Hen standing stone, the rocks of Garn Folch hides Garnwnda and it's chamber from me too, a complicated game of hide and seek are afoot, but i'm not sure of it's rules or it's meaning, if there is one. But the forts around and on Garn Fawr are highly visible, but they're not playing the same game.
I bid the chamber adieu and set off for the elusive Lady stone, but i'll be back soon enough.

The path from Garn gifach burial chamber starts off easy to follow but when it crosses over a low old wall the gorse rather chokes the path impeding progress and the brambles arch over trying it's hardest to trip over the unwary walker, I got this far before, but turned back when the path just stops at a large boulder with fencing running off in two diections, knowing all this we stride forward using brute strength, what little I have, and steely determination which I have by the bucket load, Eric found it hard going so he sat on the big boulder and watched me descend onto the gorse ridden plateau, from the big boulder only one stone can be seen in more or less the right place, not knowing whether or not this was it I just gave it a go, and hey presto Lady gate standing stone revealed her self to me.

Though standing stone is a real misnomer, it's not totally prostrate, it still clings on to verticallity by it's finger tips. This almost fallen menhir gave me great joy, the usual triumphant sound was absent, just a quiet immense feeling of satisfaction, accompanied by goose bumps, I'd had the words Lady gate floating around my mind for ages, we would be together one day I knew for certain, very strange I know but this was one stone that would not escape my attentions.
I waited patiently for the other-wordly lady to make an appearance, but to no avail, I even poked around under the stone, in imitation of treasure seeking, but she must of known that her riches were not in peril from me, probably too much information but I could really do with an other-wordly lady right about now.
Eric reminds me of my other respsonsabilities with a shout, I wonder if that was his first call out to me, I bid her a fond farewell and take my leave.

I parked in the small layby off the A485 about fifty yards east from the hill fort, sadly it was persisting it down so we waterproofed ourselves and mozied on back up the road. Also after my directional cock up earlier I wasn't in the mood for niceties so I didn't ask for permission to get in, instead we gracefully leaped the barbed wire fence, well as graceful as wellied feet can any way, it's only a short stroll from the fence, in fact the forts most extreme northern defences seem to be cut into by the road side embankment....shocking.

I wondered, then doubted whether any Dutch speaking Belgians had ever lived here, surely they would have been native Welsh iron age folk like anywhere in the country.
We kicked a few lambs out of the way, they're only food after all, no, not really, I'm as soft as any vacant minded veggie. In fact it was the lambs that nearly made us turn back rather than any irate farmer, but we remained unchecked for the entire visit, it was early, raining and misty.

We started our circuit of the forts defences, noting at least two entrances east and southwest. As we passed by the southwestern gate I wondered if on a clear day we could see Sunnyhill camp the other side of Tregaron about three miles distant.
Eric leads the way round the perimeter, he knows we don't leave till we've seen the entire round, and he knows this is just the first of many sites to be got to in the two days we've given ourselves out in the comparative wilds of south Wales, in fact this one of three hill forts is just on the way to where we're going.
Just on the way, sadly, a longer visit with a football, kite or other child friendly activity would be better I know.

We parked in a passing place, naughty I know but I crammed the car into one end still leaving space for passing, then walked back down to a house whose name we couldn't make out from the road. Next to the house is a gate which we quietly crossed and made our way through another sheep and lamb infested field, why do we have so many sheep ? I don't eat mutton or wear woolen clothes and only eat lamb rarely, who is eating all these sheep?

We made our way up to the fort, it's quite steep but it only takes ten minutes to get to the top. This is one great hill fort, the map shows it as a spiral earthwork. The banks hiding the central summit are well over fifteen feet high, they don't really leave much room for habitation inside, maybe a hundred, no more. There was a digger in between the two high ramparts and it had scraped back the top layer of earth, exposing much stone and some bones (probably sheep), I'm no law student but that seems illegal to me, digging inside a scheduled ancient monument. Eric wondered if Time Team had been here and we'd come during they're tea break, he then set about trying to hot wire the digger, so I left him to it as I'd seen the battery not hooked up and the whole machine looked pretty knackered, but at least he wasn't asking if we can go now.

We then walked a little to the north west and up hill a bit to get a view down over the fort, it was an epic view, the fort really is very impressive, and the hills gain in height to the south west where Bryn Y Gorlan stone circle is. then as we walked back down to the fort a Red Kite flew by, it's fantastic they've made such a come back, and they're so willing to fly right over you're head instead of scarpering like a cowardly Buzzard.

The last of this mornings trio of hill forts on the way to somewhere else, and the only one that is actually on top of a hill.
We decided to stick to the footpath as much as possible, coming from the south west at a house/farm called Glan Tren, but alas we couldn't find hide nor hair of it, perhaps my powers were waining but me thinks it's been removed or hidden, not on.

So we went round the other side and parked by a playground, jumped an overly barbed wired fence and slipped and slided up the slippery slope in our well used wellies. This was another field full of sheep and lambs, I guess it's that time of year again, when a young mans fancy is easily diverted up a hill, is that right?
The best part of the fort is on the northern side, tall banks and silted up ditches, with sheep and lambs either running away bleeting or strangely following you round.
Other parts of the fort are fenced off, this is private property, and they really don't want you up here. I know it's lambing time but really I'm no threat I promise. Trees block the view down over Llanybydder, but south east is open and pretty.

Difficult to visit even for the most hardened traveller.

As previously promised a return trip in the spring for some better views, and man they were better, in fact I could have poked one eye out and still it would have been better than the icy fog last time almost two months ago. Seeing as it's considerably less than a million miles away it was always going to be sooner rather than later.

We parked in the same place, where the map indicates 316 meters, we jumped the fence at the same place, but trod a more direct route to the barrow, which was pleasantly in the same place.
Nothing more to add to the barrows discription, only that the views have changed since last time, back in February the fog curtailed the view to about fifty yards, today it was at least fifty miles.
To the north past the Bow stones (two early Christian sculptured stones) to Lyme Park, north east down to the Murder stone, west is the long barrow topped Spond's hill, east and south is the best view with the evocatively named Windgather rocks on Taxal edge, Cats tor (519m), Shining tor (559m Cheshire's highest point), and way off in the distance Shutlingsloe.
I'll be back soon ish to check out the barrows on Sponds hill, and survey the area from that different perspective.

Just a five minute drive from beside Reed hill with it's still impressive round barrow is this pretty little stone, murder stone or not it's a nice one.
The stone was just off the map so I was going on a vague memory from too many years ago, luckily Iv'e got the stone finding knack, I parked by the newly renovated farm house, just off the small lane and five minutes later we were at the pretty little stone.

The shape of the stone whilst not unique (superficially Maen Llia like) is undoubtedly intentional, they didn't just pick the nearest likely large stone, this one was special, how so I can not say. But what they couldn't have known (or perhaps they did) was how the colours would come out after being exposed to the elements for four thousand years or so, oranges, yellows, reddish browns, it was really quite beautiful.

The positioning was paramount too, very visible from a long way to the south and east and west but not north as there is a big hill behind it. It also has a tentative connection with the barrow on Reed hill, presumably of the same (ish) date, as the stone seems to sit in the lea of the great hill, maybe even saluting the hill and barrow.

On the way back to the car we saw two older gents out for a walk, one of them was of African descent, it's always nice to see a diverse mix of people out in the countryside, I hope they had a look at the stone.

On the B5470 three miles south of Whaley Bridge turn east off the main road. Park by the footpath sign. Walk up the track towards Charles Head farm then strike off to the right up hill following the wall. The Bowl barrow will come into view soon enough.

Mascots short and sweet field notes just aren't good enough, and because he hasn't included any Os ref there's no link to streetmap. That said at least he added it. (OS ref. added - TMA Ed.)
The barrow has been delved into, a pity as the barrow is only a couple of feet high, the wall running over it adds to the insult. But it's in a good place, views to the west are long and clear, Kerridge hill a hogs back of a hill dominates the fore ground. To the North the bulk of Reed hill with its large and impressive barrow, and beyond that the Murder stone sits on it's hillock below a higher hill. To the east is Taxal edge with Windgather rocks, which a previous visit to has taught me that they are more impressive close up.
Thirty meters south of the barrow is a two foot tall stone, with a sheep ground moat round it, is it a coincidental erratic or an outlying stone connected to the barrow.
PS, even in the afternoon sunshine the wind is strong and cold and not for the first time I wish I'd brought my coat.

We came down from the north past Lamaload reservoir and down the lovely Clough brook valley, passing the intriguingly named village of Bottom o' the oven.
Parking for the stone is at a one car place next to Allmeadows guest house, there is a footpath running through it. The footpath takes one down to where the River Dane joins up with the Clough Brook, a really pleasant place indeed, a Blue Tit let us get remarkably close before flying away.
As the path goes down the stone will appear large and obvious on the right, but unnervingly on the wrong side of the fence, we approached as far as the fence, Eric lay down for a while, whilst I went for a bit of a trespass on the other side of the fence.

The stone was apparently partially buried then dug up and re-erected by landowners at Burnt house farm. In shape it reminds me of Gardoms edge standing stone. The stone is on a gentle slope coming up from the river and has a different aspect as you walk round the stone, it's best side is seen whilst looking past it up to Shutlingsloe hill, the stone has a dimple with creases leading into it. It's a very nice looking stone.

Coming from Congleton to Buxton on the A54, turn left after Cluloe cross, well worth a visit in it's own right, as it stands on a natural knoll that has often been taken as a large barrow. A small area on the right side of the lane is good for one or two cars, from the fence/gate the Bullstones can be seen.

I'm walking about a hundred yards down to the stone amid the newest born lambs I've yet seen, keeping my distance the lambs and ewes don't seem to my mind my intrusion into their field.
It's sooo good to finally be here in good weather, it's been fog and icey fog the last two times, so the warm sun, expansive views and glut of ancient sites seen today have satiated my need to "get out", didnt much care for the cold wind though.

The profile of the central stone is almost exactly the same as that great big hill Shutlingsloe, not the highest point in Cheshire but certainly the most recognisable and with the most "I want to climb that" . Even though it is the most prominent landmark on all the horizon, we mustn't forget all the other sites seen from here, Luds church, The Bawd stone over by the Roaches and Hen cloud, The Allgreave stone and the Bosley Minn stones to name but a few.

When you do come to see the Bullstones please don't think they are all that's here, if you are able and willing, climb over the fence and have a look at the possible outlier then a bit further on there is the weird Longgutter circle and the strange semi circle of stones, I once thought the Bullstones was a lonely monument far from anything else but now it's getting possitively crowded up there.

It's been eleven months since our last visit, and seeing as we were unwilling to return home just yet, we nipped into Congleton for Tea and came up here for the sunset, damn good idea it was too.

Once again we had the place to ourselves for nearly two hours, even on a beautiful day like today, no dogs barking either.
In the field next door are two or three time team type trenches, I don't know if they're archaeological in nature or weather the farmer dude is going about his farming duties, which this day include perfectly square tidy trenches. Either way half the trench includes what looks like a low rubble wall running north/south, I wish i'd taken a photo now but was remiss at the time.

We sent monkey boys up a conifer in the stones compound to try and look down on the stones, not in a dismissive way you understand but just trying to see something new in a place that we've seen a dozen times. In the end something new did occur to me, but it wasn't found up a tree you wont be surprised to find. Nearly thirty miles away on the Cheshire plain is the Mid Cheshire ridge, part of this sandstone play ground contains Beeston Crag with it's famous castle, but less known is the neolithic enclosure, Bronze age settlement and Iron age hill fort. Well, the Bridestones chamber seems to be directly aligned on the distant crag. Trees and Rhododendrons are blocking any definitive proof but both are neolithic in date, both inter visible and (not related) I live between the two, for the first time ever Crewe isn't such a bad place to live after all.

On another tack the rhododendrons are too close to the chamber, we used to be able to walk right round the chamber but are now confined to the southern side, it's not on, this place is too cool to be swamped in vegatation.

Rhossili boasts some shops and a National Trust shop/info place (closed today), plus public toilets (handy). It also boasts a small cliff fort, a short, easy stroll from the village along the coast path leading to Worm’s Head.

Old Castle fort is a small, semi-circular earthwork perched above near vertical cliffs and occupying a small flat headland. The banks back onto the coastal path. At some point in the more recent past a building or structure was built inside the enclosure, all that’s left now is some rusting posts. Worm’s Head can be seen to the west, the wide sweep of Rhossili Bay to the north. The tide is out at present and in the distance the promontory fort of Burry Holms is currently attached to the shore, although it will sever its connection later as the tide comes in. As I walk along the cliff top inside the fort, a cloud of jackdaws explodes noisily from the cliff face below me, as wild and windswept a perch as you could find.

Along its western side, the rampart has been badly damaged by what appears to be quarrying, leaving a lumpy, bumpy area in place of the smooth banks surrounding the rest of the site.

Back in the village, a path leads round the back of the church, past a modern standing stone and upwards to the gorse-clad Down. It’s a pretty stiff pull upwards, but thankfully quite short. Worth pausing to look back at the excellent views of the peninsula’s south coast as well, where a number of small cliff forts cluster above the waves.

The main group of cairns clusters around the trig-topped Beacon. Some are difficult to make out under the prevailing heather, but this is nevertheless a terrific group with wonderful views.

The first cairn encountered (Cairn IV) lies to the right (east) of the path. Apart from a few stones protruding from the heather, it’s not obvious. Some of the stones in the centre are substantial, but it’s probably the least impressive of the group.

The next cairn however, you can’t miss. The Beacon is a large stony mound with a trig pillar mounted onto its top. It has a possible/probable kerb of large blocks, particularly apparent on the northern side. It sits on the highest point of the Down and in fact of the whole Gower peninsula, so inevitably it has terrific views. The sea lies below to the west, while to the north and east the other main hills of the peninsula are all laid out, Llanmadoc Hill to the NNE, the hillforted Hardings Down closer at hand, then across the centre of the peninsula to the Cefn Bryn ridge. But the views stretch much further, even on this overcast day. To the northwest the round tops of the Preseli Mountains can be made out across the bay, while to the northeast the familiar shapes of Y Mynydd Du are visible, from Garreg Lywd to Fan Foel, then the view stretches further to Fforest Fawr and the highest central Beacons, Corn Du and Pen y Fan. Wow. Another bit of the Wales jigsaw falls into place.

The path heads northwards, downhill. The next cairn – Cairn III - sits on the right-hand side of the path and is a fairly prominent mound, buried in heather. There is an obvious central crater to help ease any doubts of identification.

To find Cairn VII, I have to head off the path, eastwards across the thankfully low heather. This one is less impressive, not much more than a slight pile of stones. The blocks do have an attractive pink tinge though and are liberally studded with quartz pebbles. The Beacon and Cairn III are silhouetted prominently against the skyline from here.

Back up to the path and onwards to the most impressive cairn of the group. Much lower than the Beacon, what it lacks in views Cairn II makes up for in stony glory. An almost contiguous ring of stones, stood up on edge, marks the extent of the cairn. You can’t miss this one! It’s a bit battered and disturbed, but a fine example of a ring cairn nonetheless.

The path continues on to Cairn I, covered in heather and quite low. Underneath a wide spread of stones shows that this one would have been massive. On the north side there are the remains of a clear kerb, again using fairly substantial stones. The material of the mound itself has been spread outwards, some spilling over the kerb into the surrounding heather.

The OS map shows one last cairn in the group, the “Ring Cairn”. This one lies further down the slope than the others, off the ridge. It is still fairly easy to locate though, due to the light colour of the stones against the dark sea of heather. A number of orthostatic blocks protrude from a clear ring, reminding me very much of the embanked circles of the Peak District. I could almost be on Stanton Moor! From here, Sweyne’s Howes is clearly visible to the north and it’s in this direction that I head next.

As I continue down the slopes towards the burial chamber, I notice a suspiciously round shape in the heather to my right. There’s nothing shown on the OS map, but it’s definitely a manmade something or other. Closer inspection reveals what appears to be the low remains of a very large cairn. There’s not much of a mound and in fact it could easily be a platform cairn, or a larger embanked ring cairn, with a raised rim around a shallower interior. Post-visit investigation of Coflein reveals this to be Cairn V.

From here it’s an easy cut across the slopes to Sweyne’s Howes.

Sweyne’s Howes South is a right old state. A roughly circular or oval stone scatter surrounds a jumble of much larger slabs and blocks, some of which remain upright. This is an ikea flatpack of a site, but the assembly instructions were blown away and shredded by the wind long ago. Despite the slight melancholic air, it retains a powerful atmosphere, sat on its heathery slopes, with views of sea and mountain. The better-preserved northern chamber is close at hand and adds to the general feeling of a complex landscape, tantalisingly close yet just eluding the fingertips.

In my excitement, I utterly fail to see the ring cairn that lies to the south east of this megalithic puzzle, so a return trip is assured anyway.

Instead I turn my attentions northwards, to the sibling monument. This one is much more intact, the chamber almost complete but for the slipped capstone, recalling Mulfra Quoit (I get a very similar feeling here to being on the West Penwith moors). Its general shape and proximity to the wrecked southern chamber also brings to mind Dyffryn Adudwy in North Wales, although I’ve never been there. The capstone, in its semi-fallen state, is a heart-shaped block. The stony spread stretches away down the slope, so it appears that the chamber was at the end of an oval mound, rather than in its centre. There’s no indication of a kerb. A tranquil spot, no-one comes to disturb me here as I sit for a while, although now there are walkers about on the ridge above. No-one comes looking for the geocache in the chamber, either. Someone else’s hobby, that. I don’t need a geocache to get me here, the stones speak loudly enough to draw my attention.

Eventually I head on, with so much more to see. I head back up to the northern end of the ridge, called “Bessie’s Meadow” on the map. There is another cairn shown, as well as a burnt mound, an enigmatic type of site that I have yet to encounter.

I’m not sure if I find the cairn, although I think I have. I’ve certainly found a mound of stones, but it appears to be part of a much larger low bank of stones. Perhaps another very large platform or ring-cairn? I hunt about for anything else, but eventually give up. More post-visit Cofleining shows that the cairn is overlaid by the wall of Bessie’s Meadow. Perhaps this was the bank of stones I found?

I head north to look for the burnt mound, but in truth I haven’t got much hope of finding it. The heather is dense and I’m not sure there would be enough to make identification possible, so I don’t waste any more time. I’ve still yet to encounter one of these then!

The OS map shows the bridleway running right past a hut circle and what appears to be a semi-circular feature either side of it. Worth a look anyway. The bridleway crosses increasingly wet ground and it becomes apparent that these lower slopes are waterlogged and boggy, a complete contrast to the dry heather of the ridge above. But at length I reach the hut circle. It’s quite impressive, although wrecked; the walls appear to be made of double thickness of stones, almost creating a “cavity wall” effect. On either side, a low bank of stones stretches away, very like the robbed-down walls of a Dartmoor pound. The affinities between the sites on this peninsula and the southwest of England feel strong.

From here a footpath heads southeast across increasingly wet terrain, towards Sluxton farm. The map shows a “W” for a well here and sure enough, a small standing stone (maybe a metre tall) protrudes through the reedy grass to mark its position. There’s no mention of this on Coflein, and the stone could be relatively recent, but perhaps the builders of the hut circle on the slopes above knew this water source too?

There’s a handily placed (and free) carpark next to the picturesque Llynnau Cregennen. From here the hillfort takes on a daunting aspect, what Postie describes as a mini-Matterhorn. An obvious path winds up from the lakeshore, looking like a fairly straightforward ascent. And so it turns out to be, although steep enough to leave me puffing and panting as we get near to the summit ridge. The views are lovely, the twin lakes below us and the Mawddach estuary away to the west, crossed by its neat rail/foot bridge. The higher we climb the more we find ourselves entering the drizzly mist that clings to the much higher ground of the Cadair massif to our south. A choice of paths, little more than sheep tracks takes us up to the top of the ridge. The name of this hilltop, “the Wall of the Long Ridge” I think it translates roughly as, is certainly apt. There is little to show in the way of a fort, even the interior space is cramped and rocky. I get the impression this would a place of desperate refuge, somewhere to make a last stand after abandoning homesteads and farmland in the fertile valleys below.

For all its wild desolation, there is a compelling grandeur, even in the wind-lashed rain that prevents photography in most directions. The views on all sides are stunning, from the mountains, past lakes to the still-shining sea. To the east, serried ranks of lower hills, including Craig y Castell where we were earlier, march away into the gloom. The ground drops away vertiginously over slick black rocks.

We have a good nose about the interior, but at this western end of the ridge there are no signs of any ramparts. Postie suggests we make for the next mini-summit eastwards, for a retrospective of the fort. The path now takes us along a gully between rocky walls, slightly odd but at least sheltered from the rain and wind. Emerging from the other end we realise that we haven’t left the fort at all, as in front of us is the first tangible proof of manmade defences. A clear rampart of rubble cuts across the neck of the hill, with a gap in the centre, now partially choked with collapsed stones, indicating the (presumably) original entrance. Rather better than we had been expecting!

We decide to carry on eastwards along the ridge, as there is a cairn and hut circle shown on the map to look for below the hill’s slopes. As we turn away from the rampart, we are rewarded with a spectacular rainbow arcing over the eastern end of the hill, its pot of gold ending somewhere below us. A breathtaking display of nature. She comes in colours, indeed.

A final climb up to another mini-summit (this ridge sure ain’t level) gives us yet another perfect retrospective, the hill behind now a near-black mass before the bleached-out seaboard beyond.

We finally make our way down, as the clouds are lifting and the slopes below are lit up, revealing what appears to be the patterns of a small field system, very like the “British” fields you find in rural Cornwall. As we descend, we also come across the ruins of a circular structure, which could easily be a hut circle, or maybe it’s just a sheepfold. Neither of us can say for sure. There is no clear path down, or at least if there is we’re not on it, instead it’s a matter of cutting through knee-deep heather while trying not to fall flat over the slippery rock hidden beneath. I’m tired by the time I get to the bottom!

Our descent has been guided by an obvious bulge in the drystone wall below, as the map shows a cairn right next to it. At length we reach the bulge, but at first can see nothing of the cairn. Eventually it reveals itself as a barely visible bump in the heather, slightly lighter in colour than its surroundings. A bit of poking and prodding in the vegetation reveals about three stones, enough to convince us we’ve found the cairn, but not enough to get us overly excited. Anyone planning a visit should perhaps bring a flamethrower (not really).

On our way again, we stop briefly in the “fishermen only” parking area, where I get ready to pretend I’ve just misplaced my rod, so that I can have a quick scoot up to Carreg y Big. What a lovely stone, what Burl might describe as a playing card. I always like stones that present different aspects from each side, this is one of those. Squat and chunky looking from the south, it becomes thin and pointy from the west, looking along the valley. The mist-wreathed Tyrrau Mawr provides the unbeatable backdrop to the south. The view of Pared-y-Cefn-hir to the north is entirely blocked off by a little hillock that the stone seems to shelter beside.

The road winds ever on, passing through a series of tedious gates and below the lovely-looking Waen-Bant stone. After this we turn north, descending a steeply sloping lane to park up at the end of the Llys Bradwen track. Postie knows what’s in store, but I have no idea. The map is inscrutable, merely showing “stones” in non-antiquity script. A short walk along the track brings us to a lovely clapper bridge, which could happily grace chocolate boxes the world over. Over it we go, noting the square footprint of a (presumably medieval) building next to the path. We head straight up the hill, where the wrecked remains of a very large cairn come into view.

On reaching the cairn (definitely wrecked), Postie points towards the stones. And I’m hooked instantly by the huge blob of quartz, before I even see the other stones, arranged in a ring. Sorry, arranged in a line. No, it’s a ring. And a line. I have no idea what it is. Apart from the quartz block, none of the stones are anything special in themselves. But the arrangement is so weird and inexplicable that the site is a complete winner. My own view is that the locals decided to try something different, an abstract piece, modern art. They would have invited the neighbours round, to inspect this addition to the area’s megalithic creations. “Oh yes, I can see what you’ve done there, very thought-provoking (aside: what the hell is it meant to be?)”. I’m entranced. This is the highlight for me, today.

As we drag ourselves away, time is pressing on rapidly. We decide to make a final stop off at the two western Hafotty-fach cairns as the sun starts to sink. The overcast gloom that has dogged most of the afternoon has largely lifted, except on the highest slopes, and the light transforms into that beautiful evening glow that illuminates the best of winter evenings.

The cairns are in a field next to the road, access land with a ladder stile providing easy access. The field is very wet and boggy near to the gate, but relatively dry where the cairns themselves are. We make for the southwestern cairn first, as it’s the more obvious of the two on the ground. It turns out to be huge, but denuded to little more than a low ring of rubble. It may have been a ring-cairn in the first place, but equally the surrounding drystone walls may tell a tale of robbing out. The sun sinks lower, brushing the hilltops to the west and painting everything with a soft glow.

The northeastern cairn is even more robbed out than its companion, so it’s not easy to see until you’re practically on top of it. Stones protrude from the grass, but you could easily be forgiven for walking past without a glance unless you knew what to look for.

But who cares? The surrounding hills, the soft evening light, the end of a brilliant day out, all make such quibbles sound petty. I would like to think that the builders of these cairns would appreciate their purposeful, infrequent visitors, providing a continuity of interaction stretching back into the long distant past. As someone once said, “all those people, all those lives, where are they now?”

The ground climbs immediately, a mass of broken down walls and scrubby grass. A steep slope, liberally scattered with moss-covered blocks of scree, bars the approach to the fort from this side. This is a very organic feeling place. The whole site is surrounded by a ring of scree, which encircles the top of the hill on its southern side, but lies at the foot of the slopes on the steeper northern side. How much is natural and how much is the product of human endeavour is unclear, the distinction perhaps so blurred as to be unimportant.

We head on up to the top of the fort. Within the well defined rubble bank is a small grassy plateau, perfectly defensible but less attractive as a habitation. What it does boast, however, is a superb mountain panorama. The northern face of the Cadair Idris range is presented at is most intimidating to the south. To the west the darkly jagged ridge of another hillfort, Pared-y-Cefn-hir draws the eye. North the ground drops abruptly, giving way to the wilderness of outcrops and bogs that would be our next destination.

We wander about the interior, watching as the first signs of mist and rain appear on the summit of Cadair, the breath of the Brenin Llwyd coming down to keep his mysteries, well, mysterious. At the south-east corner there is an apparent entrance, now choked with rubble leaving the encircling ring unbroken. We head out through here, down towards the small stream that runs below the northern slopes of the fort’s outcrop. From this aspect the fort is at its most impressive, a near-vertical jumble of shattered stone jutting upwards from the little valley.

A single cairn lies to the southwest of the rest, separated from them by both a stream and a trackway running east-west between two tumbled stone walls. Tracing the field shapes on the OS map tells us where this cairn should be, but we can’t see it (or at least we can’t recognise it). There is no defined path down from the ridge, so we head straight down through the scrubby vegetation to where the cairn should be, next to a small triangular field.

And so it proves to be. The cairn is actually very large, at least its footprint is. But it is covered in grass and heather, seemingly set on blending into the landscape. It could be a ring cairn, as little remains beyond the circular bank of rubble that defines its outer edges. Perched on a little knoll, next to a clear-running stream, it positioning reminds me of the cairn across the stream from Maen Llia in the Brecon Beacons, far, far away to the south.

At length, having crossed the worst of the wetness we head for the first of the group, the cairn with kerb. This turns out to be a real beauty. The top has been scooped out, inevitably. But around its base, to my surprise and elation, is a wonderfully intact kerb of stones. Some are practically hidden by gorse, but can be seen after pushing the spiky shoots aside. The stones appear to be graded, with the larger blocks (and they are large) on the southwestern side, the smallest on the northeast. Postie comments that you don’t expect to find Clava cairns in North Wales, and indeed it is very reminiscent of such structures. Alternatively, with internal mound removed the stones would be sufficiently large and widely spaced to make for a very convincing freestanding stone circle.

The OS map shows another cairn in the group lying “in” the wall to the north of the kerbed effort, so we head off in search. But after a bit of walking up and down, along the wall, we have to admit defeat. There is however a lovely view northeast across the Afon Mawddach valley to the conical Rhobell Fawr and even further to the distant Arenigs. [A post-visit check of Coflein offers no additional help, the sum total of description is “round cairn”.]

We head back to the kerbed cairn, passing a small clearance cairn, then over to the cairn on the saddle. Like its kerbed sibling, it's been mutilated in the usual way, with a large scoop missing from its centre. It is another large cairn though, occupying a slightly more prominent position than the others in the group (and visible from the nearby trackway).

There is a final cairn shown on the OS map, at the southeastern end of the semicircular group. We head off for a look at this, but only find some apparent clearance cairns. One is slightly bigger than the rest, but we couldn’t hand on heart say that this was the one on the map.

Immediately beyond the house, the trees stop and here’s the rampart and the entrance. Wow! I was expecting the fort to be in the trees but it’s not (other than parts of the outermost ramparts that the forest seems keen to reclaim into its darkness). The entrance is very impressive, banks turning inwards to funnel the visitor into a perfect trap, if so wished. The route takes a sharp turn to the left and then comes out into the fort itself. To my right the bank heads away enticingly, but I want to investigate the multivallate defences in the southwest corner first and so I head down off the inner rampart into the first ditch on that side. Inside the ditch, there is rather more vegetation, self-seeded trees and shrubs and plenty of brambles. I think a summer visit might be more of a challenge.

The inner bank is very well-preserved and towers above my head to a height of about 5 metres I would think. At which point I startle a small deer very close by, which disappears off towards the tree line. I can’t help grinning now, as it’s apparent that this is an absolutely magnificent fort. And it just gets better.

Beyond the inner ditch is another rampart, lower but still very impressive. The ditch outside that is much more overgrown and I don’t investigate further although I know there are another two lines of defences beyond that. Instead I head back into the inner ditch and follow it along to the southwestern corner of the fort. The manpower that must have been needed to make these enormous earthworks, using available tools, beggars belief. I suspect that if you put the entire population living within five miles of this site in 2012 (including Presteigne’s residents) onto it, it would be an undertaking of years.

At the southwestern corner, the ground slopes steeply away to the west. Fleetingly through the trees the unmistakable cone of The Whimble appears. What a vista this place would have if the trees all went! Turning northeast (the fort is triangular in plan), the steep slopes provide the fort with a natural defence that doesn’t require the same augmentation as I’ve seen so far. The nearby valley of Hindwell Brook, on its way to its imminent confluence with the River Lugg, is 200 metres lower than the fort. Forestry works are underway on the northern slopes, although not actively today.

I follow the northern rampart round, until the most awesome part of the fort becomes visible. The northeastern rampart is as strong as that on the south side. A gap allows passage alongside the top end of the rampart, where another rampart lies beyond, then another. In total, there are five separate lines of defence here, making this one of the most strongly built forts I have ever seen. As impressive as Maiden Castle, but without any fanfare, I would say this little known fort is up in the front rank of Iron Age earthworks.

Outside the two innermost ramparts, the earthworks are more overgrown and once again a summer visit might well be a bit more of a challenge. The “entrance” at the southeast corner is apparently a modern incision into the banks. There is a signboard there, next to a kissing gate that gives access to the fort. Personally I would recommend not coming to the fort this way, as you see the ramparts straight away, whereas the approach through the southern entrance allows the wonders of the site to unfold bit by bit.

I have to applaud the Forestry Commission (and English Heritage, with whom they have a partnership relationship for this place). The fact that the majority of the fort is now cleared and has been made open-access land is a brilliant thing and it deserves to be much better known.

Standing on the northeastern rampart, the outstanding views just keep on coming. Rolling hills of Mid-Wales over to the northwest, then NNE you can see The Long Mynd and another of the Marches’ premier hillforts, Caer Caradoc near Church Stretton, with The Lawley beyond. Looking northeast, the unmistakable scarp profile of Titterstone Clee draws the eye. Then round to the east, where Herefordshire rolls away in a landscape of pathwork fields and wooded hills, one of which I think is Credenhill Camp. I suspect if the trees were cleared the ridge of Croft Ambrey would also be visible. And round to the south and the Forest of Dean, then the Black Mountains edge and over once more to the Central Beacons. Wow.

Walking back along the southern rampart affords a good view of the interior, where ridge and furrow marks show past cultivation and pillow mounds evidence medieval use of the site. Towards the western end, passing the entrance once more, there is a fenced-off well, capped with a concrete lid. This is “ritual shaft” that was uncovered during excavation of the site in the middle of the 20th century. Not much to see now, but an intriguing bonus.

At length I decide to head off, as I realise now that the bus times would allow me to fit in a visit to Credenhill Camp on the way home. I walk back to Titley along the Herefordshire Way footpath, itself a pleasant stroll on a lovely sunny day. I don’t often “recommend” TMAers to visit particular sites, but Wapley Hill has deeply impressed me and it deserves your attention. Visit.

The Kington bus deposits me near to Credenhill church. As this is an unprompted and unplanned visit, I don’t have a map (the horror), so I rely on the brown tourist sign pointing up a minor road (also signposted “Tillington”). I do at least have Children and Nash’s “Prehistoric Sites of Herefordshire” in my bag, so I have got a plan of the fort itself.

Reaching the parking area, there are a number of signboards about, including one with a picture of a rather stylised Iron Age warrior (nice blanket). Of more interest, given my maplessness, are the two trails shown on the plan. There’s a lower trail (red squares) and a higher “ramparts” trail (yellow triangles). Which proves to be invaluable and means that you can easily find your way around without a map.

The hilltop is managed by the Woodland Trust and they have allowed access to the whole site. There are quite a lot of cars parked up, so it looks like a popular spot.

The path climbs up through the trees, easy walking and not particularly steep. At length I come to a gate (yellow triangle painted on it) and the path curves round to the left. What appear to be earthworks, heavily tree-covered come into view on my left and then an enormous entrance looms. The forestry track cuts straight through and so do I. I don’t realise that I’ve missed a crucial yellow triangle, painted on a tree-trunk above the path to the right, just before it went through the rampart, so I’m actually walking onto the fort interior now. Signs warn me of forestry operations and eventually I emerge at the edge of trees onto a very large open space. Various forestry apparatus is about, but no people, so I carry on.

I’m now standing in the centre of the fort. The clearance extends for at least half of the site and a very big site it is too. The largest hillfort in Herefordshire by some distance, and bigger than Dorset’s Maiden Castle too. The views open out, the Black Mountains looking almost near enough to touch to the south, the Malverns more distant to the east. I cross the open and silent interior, heading for the far treeline. Here the vast rampart reveals itself, a tremendous earthen bank stretching away to my left and right around the northern end of the fort. Beyond there is a deep ditch, rather overgrown, and then the natural slope of the hill. I head westwards along the rampart, now back on the yellow triangles. At the northwestern corner I come across the “red squares” trail – it’s apparent that this gives a good view of the rampart from its outside.

I climb back up onto the inner trail and head south. The eastern rampart and ditch are strongly built and still rather awe-inspiring despite the covering vegetation. I think though that I’ve been rather spoiled by the earlier visit to Wapley Hill, as I’m not quite as blown away by this fort as I might otherwise have been.

The path re-enters the trees and once more I think of Gladman. I think you’d like it here Mr G. Unfortunately my camera battery is now almost dead, the sheer volume of earthworks seen today have been too much for it! I head around the southern rampart, back towards the entrance at the southeast corner where I first missed the yellow marker. Seen from above, the entrance is even more impressive, with massive inturned banks to daunt the visitor (friend or foe). I now carry on around the eastern side. The ditch is partly silted up here, a muddy plunge pool in one place. But the size of the earthwork is enough to make me stop and wonder, as I did at Wapley, the manpower that such an undertaking would have required.

Further along to the east is a second original entrance, again with inturned banks flanking it powerfully. I wonder why the two entrances are so close together? If, as has been speculated, this was a regional capital rather than a purely defensive site there must be some significance, but I have no idea what. Tradesmen’s entrance?

Back out of the trees, the light is now low and long shadows are cast. Sadly my camera gives up the ghost at this point. This turns out to be not all bad, as I spend a quiet time just sitting on the bank at the northeastern corner of the fort. It’s so quiet, the silence broken only when a woodpecker hammers away in the woods.

Eventually I head on, back along the northern rampart but this time head off the rampart onto the “red squares” trail. This gives a different perspective on the rampart from the outside, reinforcing its power. What a statement this place must have made.

A confused set of fences and gates at the edge of access land appears to bear no relationship to what the map is showing me and I emerge into an area of limestone outcrops and broken pavement, in which somewhere - so the map tells me - are two cairns, the first stop of the day. Rather overshadowing everything is the panoramic view to the northeast, sweeping across the reservoir to the central Beacons peaks.

I wander around amongst the limestone for a while, not really looking in the right place and finding nothing cairn-ish. Eventually I come across the northern cairn, a turfed-over mound with limestone blocks protruding here and there. The centre of the cairn has been scooped inevitably, but not recently if the covering turf is any indication. Treasure seekers rather than walkers have disturbed this one, it seems. The view of Pen y Fan is obscured by a small stand of trees, but would otherwise be the perfect backdrop. I fail to find the other cairn and eventually decide that bigger and better sites await.

To the north of here the map shows an enormous expanse of quarry, so my route cuts directly east up the slopes of Cefn yr Ystrad. This proves to be much harder going, the grass masking lumps and bumps of limestone and hollows that could turn an ankle with ease. I'm relieved to reach the ridge and even more relieved to see the day's main objective, the enormous bronze age cairn of Carn y Bugail ("Cairn of the Shepherd"). It's still some way off, and the intervening terrain is not the easiest to cross. What looks like a smooth grassy plateau actually takes a tiring 10 minutes of route-picking and step-watching even in this dry weather.

But the effort is entirely justified. The OS map shows two named cairns here, but our friends at Coflein are not content with that and have added another two. The named cairns are the real beauties, despite the efforts of many visitors to hollow out their interiors. Carn y Bugail has been moulded into a rather peculiar shape, two piles of stones heaped up on top of the mound giving it an oddly horned shape, like a toad or lizard. Despite this, it's a huge cairn, 3m high, as big as any I've visited and boasting terrific views to the central Beacons and across to the Black Mountains to the northeast. The view north is blocked by the equally massive Garn Felen. ("The Yellow Cairn") and the prominent mound that Garn Felen III sits atop, forming the end of the summit ridge. Beyond that Waun Rydd fades into the deepening haze as midday approaches. To the immediate northeast of Carn y Bugail are a collection of enormous (presumably natural) limestone blocks that form the outer extent of the cairn.

To the east of Garn Felen is a small pyramidal modern cairn, with a wooden cross set into its top. This monument to the crew of a Wellington bomber, marked in Gladman's fieldnotes, is indeed poignant. Even more so when you see that small fragments of twisted and melted aluminium surround the base of the cairn, the remains of the plane itself. Cause to stop a while. Despite the sadness of such a sight, there are worse places to be remembered. And remembered the fallen airmen obviously still are.

Garn Felen cairn is a match for Carn y Bugail in size. The top has been similarly scooped, but without the pointy rebuild. It remains a seriously impressive monument though, the plentiful limestone scattered all over the mountain's top being an easy source for such a monster. From here the obvious focal point is actually Garn Felen III and the Waun Rydd summit beyond, with a deep valley in between. So it's to Garn Felen III that I head next.

The obvious cairn here is a small, pointy, modern thing, but it sits on a great rounded mound of limestone blocks that forms the northern end of the long summit ridge. Coflein has recognised this for another bronze age cairn, although the OS don't mark it. Beyond, the ground falls steeply away, to a lower shelf where Garn Felen enclosure is visible. The landscape below the cairn is a weird, pock-marked sea of natural sink holes and possibly some human intrusion, like a turf-skinned holey cheese. The bigger scarring of the modern quarry is just visible over the ridge beyond.

I head back across to the SW to the summit trig point. I think this marks the highest point of the mountain, but the substantial nature of the main cairns means that they may rise above it. The trig has been well placed for the better sight-lines over to the west though. From here the three big cairns are laid out in profile, and what an impressive trio they make. Interestingly there is a flattened, circular patch of limestone blocks surrounding the trig. Could this be the remnants of yet another cairn? It certainly seems possible, although the Uplands Survey recorded the trig pillar but didn't comment on this in doing so.

Looking westwards, the ground drops away into a little cwm. On the slope opposite are the remains of Garn Felen II, a shattered cairn in a slightly odd situation. All that remains is a turfed over doughnut, with a scatter of exposed limestone blocks on the downslope side, the whole thing perched halfway down the slope. Compared to the other three cairns it is slight and has no impressive views either to or from it (although the prominent bump of Garn Felen III is in clear view). But it does make for a nice sheltered spot to sit and contemplate the minds of the people who came to this exposed, rugged mountain top millennia ago. They left behind monuments that survive so well and I'm sure they would be pleased to know that the places still exerts such a pull on this visitor.

I head across to the enclosure. Oblong in shape, the stonework of the walls still stands to a few courses high. Much more limestone lies around and about, so building material was certainly not an issue. What is rather less clear is why the structure has been built around a shake hole. I assume (geologists, please help) that the hole was already there when the walls were put up around it. It's not very big, so its mysterious portal-to-the-underworld qualities are fairly limited. Odd.