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Visited 21 April 2012. Tucked away in the outskirts of Inverness, this seems something of a well-kept secret. Situated immediately north of the city's Raigmore Hospital, in a small area of greenery next to a little babbling beck (or should that be babbling burn?), the cairn is not in its original position. Surrounded on all sides by buildings and tarmac, the ambience is lacking.
Despite all this, it's difficult not to be taken with this fine circle of stone. The stones appear to be graded, with the largest in the SW of the ring, very like the ruined near-neighbour at Culduthel. The largest stones have a lovely egg-shape, something they share with another nearby site, Torbreck. There are a few "loose" stones in the centre of the ring, which I can only assume were faithfully re-positioned in this way when the circle was moved wholesale from its original location. It definitely has what Burl might describe as "Clava affinities", although it lacks any outer free-standing stone circle.
I spend about 15 miuntes here, getting puzzled looks from the frequent passers-by on their way home from work. I imagine many people pass this way without giving any thought to what this circle is. As is often the case with an urban site, it's difficult to get much of a sense of place, especially knowing it's been moved, but nevertheless it retains a certain something, perhaps arising from its stubborn survival against pretty steep odds.
Definitely worth the (minimal) effort of a visit. Superb finds from the site, including a couple of welll-preserved urns, can be seen on display in Inverness' excellent Musuem.
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Directions, after reading Carl's notes:
The little rounded stone in the trees isn't the standing stone, it's probably a natural boulder.
To find the standing stone, there are two gates next to each other near the filter house, south of the reservoir. The right hand gate leads onto a narrow strip of land, where the stone Carl saw can be seen under the trees. The standing stone is through the left hand gate. Walk down the field, heading slightly SW and it's about half way down the slope between the gate and the fence at the bottom of the field - the OS 1/25000 is accurate in showing its position. The stone isn't very tall and may be hidden by reedy grasses.
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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?This post appears as part of the blog post " Gower Power I – Rhossili Down 20.3.2012" |
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.This post appears as part of the blog post " Gower Power I – Rhossili Down 20.3.2012" |
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.This post appears as part of the blog post " Gower Power I – Rhossili Down 20.3.2012" |
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!This post appears as part of the blog post " Gower Power I – Rhossili Down 20.3.2012" |
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.This post appears as part of the blog post " Gower Power I – Rhossili Down 20.3.2012" |
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.This post appears as part of the blog post " Gower Power I – Rhossili Down 20.3.2012" |
Fieldnotes with a changing heart (17.3.2012).
The 501 bus driver obligingly drops me off at the end of the Ivington Park drive, along which a metalled bridleway heads straight up to the fort. I don't really know what to expect from this, a supposedly fine hillfort with a farm in the middle of it. This obviously has the potential to make access a little tricksy.
So with some trepidation I head along the bridleway. Past Ivington Park, a couple of farmers are busy rounding up sheep in a nearby field. This approach affords a decent view of the hill, but trees cover the slopes and you can't see the fort. As I get closer, movement in the field immediately below the treeline catches my eye, and I realise I'm looking at a small group of deer, some in full antler. They look over in my direction (I'm a couple of fields away), then languidly turn and head back up into the trees.
Coming from this direction, the ground slopes gradually and it's worth pausing to look at the views behind and to the sides. To the northeast, the unmistakeable scarp profile of Titterstone Clee Hill can be seen, with the flatter - but higher - Brown Clee to the left. Over to the WNW, the view is of the hills of the Welsh border and Mid-Wales. I think Wapley Hill may be visible, as is the ridge that Offa's Dyke follows between Presteigne and Kington. Beyond, although it's an overcast day, I can make out the much higher Radnor Forest tops, Black Mixen, Bache Hill and the Whimble. To the north, the highest point is The High Vinnals.
Reaching the northwest corner of the trees, I momentarily size up the options for a scoot around the outside of the ramparts, but the fences are very barbed and the vegetation is very dense. Besides which, the right of way is going straight into the fort. I carry on up the bridleway, past a green sign telling me that entry is only permitted on foot and horseback and that there is to be no parking (Carl). Interestingly, a scratched-out part of the sign states "By order of English Heritage". I'm not aware that this fort has ever been in state care so presumably there may have been some kind of stewardship arrangement with the landowner.
To my left the hillside slopes steeply under cover of the trees and what appear to be ramparts become visible. There are lots of "no entry" type signs everywhere here. The bridleway, still metalled, now cuts through into the rampart. The banks on either side are steep and formidable, I'm not sure that this was an "orginal" entrance though (looking at plans later suggests not).
Once through the banks, the surreally manicured lawns of Carl's fieldnotes come into view. I'd seen aerial photos of the fort which show Camp Farm as a working farm with barns and so on. Now the farm buildings have been turned into rather nice stone-built cottages. But that's not why I'm here and I don't really want to intrude into the domestic scene.
Immediately to my left as I enter the fort, another decent rampart curves away past the houses. This was a fort of two very distinct phases, a smaller wedge-shaped promontory fort now inside the northwestern corner of the much larger camp. This bank on my left is the outer bank of the original camp, which I am outside of. Over to my right, the open interior of the later, larger camp stretches away to the trees. The inside of the rampart is clear to see and well-preserved, showing a decent amount of counterscarping.
The bridleway however follows the metalled driveway of the houses and I follow this round, feeling somewhat under scrutiny from the blank eyes of the house windows. Past the houses, the bridleway continues alongside the rampart of the earlier fort. A hedge has been planted on its top. At this point, I'm feeling quietly irked. I could go and ask at the houses for permission to explore more thoroughly, but something in my nature would prefer to miss out than have to ask. Typical bloody-minded Englishman probably. So I stick to the bridleway as it follows the rampart around. A gateway (possibly the original access) offers a sight of the grassy interior of the earlier fort.
At length I reach the northern edge of the fort. Here a choice of routes awaits. A footpath heads through the rampart before dropping away down the northern slopes, while the bridleway follows the northern rampart to the northeastern corner of the fort. I haven't entirely decided on my route away from the fort yet, so I start off by going through a gate onto the footpath. The gap here is another non-original access and reveals the steep slopes of the hill, as well as showing the stone-construction of the bank. There are more signs on either side indicating that there is no access but in any case the slopes are heavily overgrown and the ramparts not at all easy to see. I elect to return to the interior and take the bridleway, which passes some old quarry pits and then follows the inside of the northern rampart. The rampart itself is fenced off as a nature reserve.
Arriving at the northeastern corner, it's clear that I've found the original entrance at last. Impressive inturned banks flank a curving passageway, which the bridleway follows. This is the most impressive accessible bit of the fort. Passing through the banks reveals a deep ditch, with another lower bank thrown up on its outer side. The Malvern Hills come into view in the distance. It appears that a path runs south along the ditch, but again a number of signs indicate that this is not accessible. At this point, shooting starts up somewhere in the woods close by, just to reinforce the point. I hope it's not the deer that are copping for it.
However, reaching the northeast corner changed my view of this site rather. As well as the bridleway sign, a small white sign stating "permissive path" indicates that it is actually possible to walk all the way around the inside of the later fort. There's even a bench, which I take in the spirit in which it's presented and stop for my lunch. Although the shooting goes on, somewhat reducing the ambience!
Unobtrusive signs mark the permissive way around the inside of the rampart, allowing a good view of the counterscarping. Another access into the fort opens in the southeast side, possibly original but not entirely obvious. As I make my way back to the northwest, to rejoin the bridleway, noise overhead makes me look upward, to see the brilliant sight of five buzzards and a single red kite, all wheeling above me.
Sadly at this point it starts to rain, but I've come to appreciate this fort much more than I expected. The permissive path is a real breath of fresh air, after all this is essentially someone's garden (albeit the fort was here first!). So even the rain taking a turn for the heavy, just as I leave the cover of the trees and take a footpath across fields south-westwards, can't detract from the experience. There are some minor whines of course, not least that it would have been nice to see the impressive eastern bank and ditch from the outside. But a word at the houses might allow that too (possibly not while there's shooting going on though).
The footpath emerges onto another bridleway north of Gattertop, where another good general view of the hill can be had. A fine fort, well worth a visit (on foot or horseback, naturally).
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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?”
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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.
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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.
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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).
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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!
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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.
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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”.]
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Twin interests are music and prehistory - music obviously includes Mr Cope, but wide variety of other things including Durutti Column, New Order/Joy Division, Billy Bragg, Smiths, Chameleons, Cardiacs, 50s rock'n'roll, etc. Many hols (and every opportunity) spent dragging very patient girlfriend to see vaguely discernable stone lumps obscured by mud and vegetation, particularly in West Penwith, also the Peak District and Herefordshire/Shropshire. Used to live in Yorkshire (Blakey Topping and High Bridestones being favourites) now live in Gloucestershire and pining for stone circles. Also blaming TMA in general and Gladman in particular for increasing levels of obsession where Wales is concerned. And now also blaming Drewbhoy for the urge to move to Drewland, RSC Central. No car (and can't drive) so sites are visited by public transport and on foot, which is still just about possible, despite the efforts of our beloved government to reduce/stop less profitable services by cutting funding everywhere. Appreciate a nice pint after a hard day's stone spotting (particularly in the Tinners Arms at Zennor).
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