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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.
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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.
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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.
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Heading downhill from Corringdon Ball stone row (30.8.2010), East Glaze Brook proves to be narrower and faster flowing than its western namesake, the water forced into a little fall by the granite rocks on its sides. Luckily it's not wide enough to cause any real obstacle to progress. The long barrow, a skyline landmark for some time, has now disappeared beyond the brow of the hill.
There is apparently another stone row between brook and barrow, but my cursory look doesn't reveal it and by now I am quite tired and hot, and still not quite at the furthest point out of the day, so I don't press the point as much as perhaps I should.
Cresting the ridge, the slumped shape of the long barrow comes back into view. A real rarity on Dartmoor, this wrecked chambered long mound would readily recognise its Cotswold cousins, the principal difference being the much harder granite of its construction. Unfortunately, like many of its family it has been trashed. The chamber is now reduced to a collection of scattered stones, leaning and fallen uprights and a dismounted slab that was presumably the capstone. Cattle clearly trample around the remains, probably making rubbing stones from the uprights. The earth around the stones is being very badly eroded by these visitations. The mound itself is low and stands to a height of less than a metre. An even more trashed and reduced round barrow, cut across by a wall, sits quietly to the southeast. Despite all of this, the long barrow remains surprisingly impressive, partly due to its positioning against the skyline when seen from both east and west. The endless skies of Dartmoor and the solitude of this spot, far away from roads or houses, contribute to a strong sense of timeless place that many barrows in better states of preservation elsewhere lack. As ever on Dartmoor, I find it very difficult to imagine a woodland landscape in place of the wide open spaces of the moor. What change this mound has seen over the ages!
I spend a while here, in silence and solitude, but it's a long, hot walk ahead and at length I return over East Glaze Brook to collect G/F. We head back to the old tramway bed at Glasscombe Ball, which as part of the Two Moors Way will take us all the way back to Ivybridge. It's been a terrific day out, the Neolithic survivors at Cuckoo Ball, Butterdon Hill and Corringdon Ball, although less celebrated and visited than the numerous Bronze Age sites, remain an important and rewarding collection of Dartmoor sites to visit.
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(30.8.2010) After leaving Glasscombe Corner stone row, with its ruined terminal cairn, we take a trackless route northeast, roughly following the alignment of the row. The hillside slopes downwards, towards the little valley of West Glaze Brook.
Even in this hot, dry weather the approach to the brook is muddy and damp - in winter this is probably a quagmire. The brook itself runs clear and quick, crossing it is a balancing act across uneven, slippery stones. Luckily it's narrow and we make it across without incident. The hillside then climbs again, to a broad neck of land separating West Glaze Brook from its eastern counterpart. Over to the ESE is the rounded bulk of Corringdon Ball hill, while the slumped lines of the attendant long barrow, our ultimate goal for the day, are now silhouetted against the skyline to the east.
On this neck of land is Corringdon Ball stone row, one of the more well-known of the rows of Dartmoor on account of the multiplicity of its rows. It lies amongst scattered clumps of gorse, vibrantly flowered with yellow at this time of year, and the stones are very small, easily hidden in the short grass. In truth I find myself rather underwhelmed by this site, for reasons I'm not really sure of. Perhaps it's the diminutive size of the stones, or the fact that the overall pattern is quite difficult to ascertain amongst the grass. Maybe it's simply the heat of the Bank Holiday sun overhead. The terminal cairn circle at the eastern end seems strangely resistant to easy plotting by eye, with only an arc of stones cutting across the end of the rows to mark its existence at all.
From this end of the rows, the contours drop steeply again to East Glaze Brook and G/F decides she doesn't want to make the final crossing, electing to stay under the welcome shade of some trees near to the row while I go on to visit Corringdon Ball long barrow.
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We leave the southern cairn at Glasscombe Ball and head off across the tussocky grass eastwards (30.8.2010). In the process we fail to find the Glasscombe Ball North stone row (all of which is fallen).
There is no obvious path and navigation relies on heading towards the corner of a field to the NE (or in mist relying on a compass, which thankfully the glorious weather today renders entirely unnecessary). This takes us into the general vicinity, after which it's a matter of hoping for the best. As it turns out, we overshoot slightly before seeing the row, which we spot halfway down its length as it heads downhill towards West Glaze Brook. A couple of the larger stones protruding from reedy grass give its position away.
The row is interesting, one of those fairly rare Dartmoor rows that start as a single row then turn into a double row partway along their length. This appears to be entirely deliberate, as the stones of the single row continue from the centre of the double row, rather than being a continuation of one side of the double row or the other. The double row forms the SW section, up the slope, the single row is the NE section, heading downhill to a completely ruined terminal cairn. The single row consists of slightly larger stones (although none are very big).
There are a couple of small, ruined cairns lying to the east of the row, near its NE end. Definitely worthy of a visit, especially as its on the way to the multiple rows of Corringdon Ball, which is where we head next.
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A fleeting visit to the southern of the two cairns (30.8.2011) on the way from Spurrell's Cross stone row to another row at Glasscombe Corner. The cairn is a very large size, damaged by the construction of the now-dismantled tramway. The cairn is in use today as a lunch spot, so we don't linger.
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We pass the eastern end of the row (30.8.2010) on our way from Butterdon Hill long barrow. The route here has crossed some very soggy ground and only the relatively dry weather we've had recently has stopped this area from being an outright bog.
By now it's 1 o'clock and becoming very hot. A family are sitting atop the eastern cairn, eating lunch, so we don't really get close enough to take pictures. Instead we have a look at the broken remains of the medieval Spurrell's Cross itself.
Heading north from here the path joins the old tramway that now forms part of the Two Moors Way long distance path. This takes us easily to Glasscombe Ball.
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A summer visit (30.8.2010) is probably not the time to see the best of this long barrow. After leaving Cuckoo Ball we head north along further sheep tracks, not entirely sure that we would find this in the thick bracken. However, the low mound is still apparent and a bit of poking and prodding around in the coverung vegetation reveals the presence of a number of in-situ slabs, which Jeremy Butler has suggested may represent remains of a gallery grave.
In truth this is not the most impressive of monuments, and its main attraction is the scarcity of such Neolithic relics on Dartmoor. We continue north, towards Spurrell's Cross stone row, en route to the furthest and final Neolithic site of the day, the chambered long barrow at Corringdon Ball.
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After leaving Western Beacon (30.8.2010), we head generally northeast, following whatever sheep tracks we can. There is no particular path heading towards Cuckoo Ball and the bracken is at its highest at this time of year. Eventually we reach a post and wire fence, itself almost hidden beneath the summer vegetation. We follow it along for a while, in the knowledge that the tomb is close to it. However, after a short while the fence turns due east and I realise we had gone in the wrong direction. Turning back, we follow the fence southwest for a while, doubling back over the route we had come. At another turn, this time to face south, a bit of rock breaks the surface of the green sea of bracken. We've found it!
Luckily the two surviving (leaning) uprights are very substantial and big enough to be seen even at this time of year. In fact, once located, the bracken immediately around the wrecked chamber was much more patchy and we are able to have a decent poke about. It's difficult to get a sense of what used to be here, the two uprights could have supported a capstone to rival the Cornish quoits. A real rarity on Dartmoor (Spinster's Rock excepted), even in its ruined state this is definitely worth a visit. It's also off the tops and tors, so little visited I suspect - we don't see anyone in the vicinity while we're here. The ground slopes away to the south, towards the fertile farmland of the South Hams. The slopes of Ugborough Beacon fill the view to the east. A pleasant place to spend some time on a sunny day.
But, as ever, we have places to be. We head off roughly north along another sheep track, hoping to find the remains of Butterdon Hill long cairn, another of Dartmoor's rare Neolithic survivors.
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Second visit (30.8.2010), after a quick stop-off at the remains of Cantrell stone row. The walk up from the row through deep bracken is hot under a blazing Bank Holiday sun. Visibility is much better than my previous trip back in June and there are plenty of folk up here enjoying the weather.
We stop for a while to take in the views south off the moor, where patchwork fields eventually give way to sea and sea meets sky. Beautiful.
But we have a long way to go, if we're to make it to Corringdon Ball today. The main aim of the trip is to visit a few of Dartmoor's (comparatively rare) Neolithic monuments. It's with this in mind that we head off north-eastwards, to find the Cuckoo Ball chambered tomb.
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Visited 30 August 2010.
This was our first stop on a hot August Bank Holiday, walking up from Ivybridge railway station. I'd failed to find the row on my previous visit to Western Beacon, having been looking in the wrong place in truth.
It turns out to be heavily obscured by bracken, the diminuitive stones barely tall enough to make their presence known. The terminal cairn is a badly ruined thing. Probably one that would reward a winter visit rather than one in the height of the growing season, but worth a stop on the way up to the cairns on Western Beacon, which is where we headed next.
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Visited today (5 November 2011), after a bus trip to Harold's Stones. The decision to get off the bus at Chepstow Racecourse is a spontaneous and unplanned one, but I added this site a few years ago and have failed to ever visit it. As the experience turned out rather strangely, fieldnotes are uncharateristically prompt.
A pleasant footpath runs through autumnal woods off the busy B4293 near the Racecourse roundabout, which gets me in the mood for a gentle stroll to the fort. My legs still ache somewhat from Thursday's epic, Postman-sponsored walk up Cadair Idris.
The path emerges from woods to run alongside the racecourse, and the masts on nearby Gaer Hill are visible from here. This is a nice path to take, as there are views down to the Severn Bridge. Also providing interest are the ruins of the grand palladian mansion of Piercefield Park. This is worth noting, as the two little forts are within the grounds of the house and there are traces of landscaping features in and around the fort and riverside walk.
The path enters the trees and heads towards the cliffs hanging above the Wye. The first trace of the fort comes in the shape of an odd little standing stone, next to an apparently man-made pit. Not shown on the map, I don't know if this is something associated with the fort or a piece of landscaping artifice associated with the big house. The southwestern fort is small and circular in plan and I intend to visit it more fully after seeing the larger northeastern promontory fort. From the standing stone, the path curves round the northeastern corner of the fort, where it emerges next to the remains of "The Grotto", a now-ruined artificial cave that used to be studded with minerals and inhabited by gay ladies and gentlemen, according to the information board. The ground drops away quite steeply to the southeast and across the path from the Grotto the rampart, constructed of fist-sized rocks, can be seen in the undergrowth.
I head back northeastwards, off the footpath, to where the ground slopes down into the trees towards the main fort. At which point it starts to get a bit surreal. It's probably worth mentioning that the other day Postie asked me if I'd had any weird (non-paranormal) experiences at sites, to which I had said no. Perhaps this is playing at the back of my mind as I head further into the trees. A helicopter flies low overhead as I press on further into the wood. It circles directly overhead and then starts to pass and re-pass where I'm walking. I'm hidden under dense canopy, but I'm transported back to childhood games of soldiers, crack units operating covertly behind enemy lines, that kind of thing. The helicopter carries on its passing and my imagination is in overdrive. Before long an impressive defensive bank comes into view ahead of me and I climb this into the fort interior as the aerial hunt continues. Along the northwestern edge of the fort the grounds drops near-vertically to the cliffs over the Wye. Without the dense tree cover it would be possible to see both Gaer Hill and Spital Meend hillforts, forming an impressive set of control points along the river.
I follow the northwestern edge and finally the helicopter flies off, presumably satisfied. As I approach the northeastern end of the promontory, a white animal shape appears through the trees. At first I think it's a pony, and my now-fevered mind is thinking of unicorns by this point. As I get nearer it becomes apparent that it's a sheep. Which is nearly as unlikely as a unicorn, in this heavily wooded, cliff top hillfort. It notices me and stares. I get nearer and realise the sheep is standing on the rampart, a green bank of moss-covered boulders. Without the tree cover, I imagine it would be very similar to the ramparts of forts like Titterstone Clee. The sheep continues to stare at me. It appears to be healthy, but what on earth it's doing here escapes me. As I follow the rampart along, it turns to face me at each step. Every picture I take has this weird, staring sheep in it. By now I am started to get a bit unnerved by the solitary sheep of the woods and I follow the rampart round to the south and then the SSW, while it continues to stare at me. I head off, feeling quietly spooked. It doesn't follow, but carries on staring.
All this oddness shouldn't detract from a lovely woodland fort. My camera doesn't like woods, finding it difficult to focus through the trees and green-on-green. I follow the rampart along its southeastern length, until it gets higher at the southern end and I stumble across a small circular feature apparently built into the inside of the rampart, possibly a hut circle? By now I wouldn't be particularly surprised if a lost tribe of cannibal pygmies appeared to fire poison darts at me. Just after the "hut circle" is the main entrance into the fort, then I'm back to the most impressive section of rampart, where there are two rows of banks rather than the one that encircles the rest of the fort.
Still glancing behind, expecting to the see the weird sheep floating along behind me, Woman In Black style, I climb back up to the smaller southwestern fort. I follow the rampart round its southwestern side to the Wye Valley Walk path, but by now every falling leaf is making me jumpy. Good grief.
Folllowing the path south, the slope is steep and the approach from this direction would make for tired attackers. Evertually the path emeges at a viewpoint, where Chepstow Castle can be seen and an elderly couple are discussing a lost knife or something. By now it's all feeling a bit too Wicker Man and I am glad to flee back to town, where the sight of a nice pavement and some shops (as well as my sandwiches) finally brings a sense of normality. What was that all about? Who knows.
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Castlerigg visit #3 (21.10.2011)
The final day of our week is a grey, drizzly thing. We head to Maryport aquarium rather than into the hills. But I can't leave Keswick without a final trip to Castlerigg, seeing as it's so close. Waterproofs donned, I head out into blustery, wet gloom as the light starts to fail.
Once again, there's a car parked when I arrive, but its occupant is leaving as I cross the field. A stark contrast to the sunkissed dusk and dawn visits earlier in the week, but there's much to be enjoyed about Castlerigg in an autumn downpour. Firstly, there's no-one else here. Secondly, attempts at photography are greatly hampered by splodges and an instantly wet lens each time I point it anywhere above the ground. So I concentrate on squelching around and enjoying the stones and their setting.
Much of the glorious backdrop is hidden today, a few grey shapes visible but not much else. Blencathra hides its unmistakable profile away in cloud. I'm pleased to be down here, rather than up there (for once).
Three visits and I'm still no nearer to understanding this place - three hundred visits might not help. The enigma of the square internal setting will continue to elude. But the visits, coupled with aerial viewings from Blencathra and from Lonscale Fell, have highlighted how cleverly placed the circle is. The setting is not on a high elevation, in the context of the mountain backdrop. But it has elevation over the immediate surroundings, being placed on the top of a small hill that ensures the views all around are unrestricted to the mountains.
After about 20 minutes, another car pulls up and a solitary occupant emerges. I take this as my cue to leave, to let them have the circle to themselves as I have.
A last viewing across the field and I'm off, happy and sad, wet but warmed inside.
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Castlerigg visit #2 (19.10.2011)
Since my sunlit evening visit on the weekend, we have climbed Blencathra and had an aerial view of the circle from Gategill Fell Top. The intervening days have showed the other side of Lakes weather, with gale force wind, heavy rain and a hailstorm the order of the two days. But the forecast is good for today, a single weather-window amongst the wet for us to climb Skiddaw from Wainwright's recommended route via Ullock Pike. I'm also keen to see Castlerigg at sunrise and so I leap out of bed (in itself almost newsworthy) at some ridiculous hour to make sure I'm there to see it. I leave the house just before 6, which turns out to be about forty minutes too early for the time of year.
And so it is that I arrive at the gate just after six, in complete darkness with only my rubbish headtorch to light the way. I'm not entirely surprised to find a car already there. As I cross the field to the circle, I make out the indistinct figure of my fellow visitor and I make my way around the perimeter of the circle. As I enter the circle, mumbling a "morning" in my not-working-this-early voice, the figure gets up and leaves. Sorry.
But I do at least get the circle to myself, in darkness that is almost complete. A few flash-lit photos are taken, mainly point and guess efforts as I've switched my torch off. The walk up the hill had got me quite warm, but as I stop to await the dawn I'm glad of my thick fleece and gloves. Finally a faint light is coming over High Rigg. At which point the first of several new co-visitors arrive. During the next 20 minutes or so another three or four people arrive, all with tripods and proper cameras. The opportunity for a sunrise photo here is obviously not going to be wasted. It's interesting to watch the proceedings in the grey pre-dawn. I had been leaning against one of the stones, but as the light starts to creep over the hilltops I detach myself from it and leave the circle. All of the photographers are super-respectful of each other's positions and none of them enter the circle. All are positioned to greet the dawn, giving things a strangely religious feel. One of the photographers, a Scot, recounts how she had climbed Latrigg the day before and walked through the woods to take photos of the autumn leaves. I think back to the filthy weather we had yesterday and metaphorically doff my cap (it's too cold to actually do so). My photo attempts are limited and I wish for the tripods and SLRs of my fellow visitors. At least it's easier for me to change position!
The sunrise is a slow affair, the faint sliver of blue giving way to pre-dawn grey. The top of Blencathra is clear of cloud, a good sign for our Skiddaw walk later. A pink-lilac illluminates the west, and the conical shape of Great Mell Fell becomes a focal point. It's a beautiful sight, pretty as can be. The pink-lilac turns to a streaked orange and the stones become sharper. Some thicker cloud rolls across, hiding the very tops of the hills to the southeast. Within an hour, the spectacle is over, but boy has it been worth coming to see. I head off back to the house and breakfast. In a couple of hours we'll be off for our walk and despite some cloud it looks like a good day for it. Can't wait.
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Castlerigg visit #1 (15.10.2011)
We arrived in the Lakes in glorious autumn weather, with clear blue skies and sunshine the order of the day. After a quick shopping trip into Keswick, we headed back to our base for week, just outside of town and wonderfully only a 10 minute walk from the stone circle. It was getting to late afternoon and I couldn't wait to get my first sight of the circle, especially on such a perfect evening.
As I climb the steep road up towards the circle, the sun's softly filtered light plays on the slopes of the unmistakable Blencathra. Pausing to look backwards, it's sinking low over the Western and Northwestern Fells, so I hurry on, keen to get there for sunset.
It's has been a beautiful day, so it's no surprise to find a number of cars parked near the entrance. Walking up the field, the tops of the stones are the first thing to appear, then a inconceivably dramatic backdrop of mountains and fells come into view. The circle is pretty thronged, something that would usually have me silently cursing, but the setting is so overpowering that instead I grin stupidly at the wonder of it all.
I circle the circle from a distance, round the boundary walls and fences, stopping to look at the small outlier. Eventually I head into the melee, for a closer look at the stones themselves. No time-knawed rocks these, they are, in the main, round-shouldered, smooth-faced beauties. The peculiar oblong setting inside the circle draws me particularly, although I don't have any idea why.
The sun sets over Causey Pike, a brilliant orange ball amidst scant fluffy cloud. What a sight.
Most of the people drift off, only a few lingering past the sunset. Eventually, as the dusk deepens, I have the circle to myself for a wonderful while.
The ease of access and ever-present crowds will prevent this ever being as close to my heart as the more remote moorland circles, but for sheer drama and setting, this one takes some beating. I will be back.
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Visited 28 August 2010, on a brilliantly clear day. After leaving Nant Tarthwynni, my route headed southwest up to the summit of the little-visited Allt Lwyd ("Grey Hill"), the easternmost of the peaks of the main E-W Brecon Beacons chain. Sadly no summit cairn here, except an extremely paltry modern effort, but there are grand views taking in the whole of the western profile of the Black Mountains range to the northeast. Waun Rydd, flat-topped near neighbour, looms to the northwest. The beehive cairn of Carn Pica can be seen as a pimple on the skyline.
My route heads across to Waun Rydd, up a deceptively tiring (in the heat anyway) incline onto the flat, peaty plateau of the mountain top. Rather than heading to the summit, I cross the rather trackless southern edge of the plateau, above the steep-sided Blaen y Glyn, which involves various diversions around eroded peat hags and boggy areas. The next objective, Bwlch y Ddwyallt ("Two Hills Col") is an odd summit and proves to be incredibly windy. As the name suggests, it feels more like a saddle than a summit in its own right, but there is no denying the spectacular high-level view it gives of Corn Du, Pen y Fan and Cribyn, the central peaks of the Brecon Beacons. Looking north over the lip, Cwm Oergwm drops away towards the lush farmland of the Usk valley.
Feeling sufficiently wind-blasted, I head back towards Waun Rydd ("Free Moorland"), this time making for the summit. From here the Radnor peaks that I stumbled across a week earlier are visible, mist and rain free for once. Following a rough path south and then eastwards from the undistinguished summit, eventually the distinctive beehive cairn appears ahead.
Whatever the authenticity of the cairn itself, the situation is breathtaking. The plateau ends at the cairn and the land drops away below it, down the Tarthwynni valley to the Talybont Reservoir over 500m below. The whole of the Black Mountains profile is visible, down to Pen-y-Fal (the Sugarloaf) and Blorenge. It's a classic bronze age cairn position, placed to command extensive views over the land below, as well as the headwaters of the Tarthwynni brook . If the original cairn was set back a little from the lip, it would be less visible from below, also a common theme with these upland cairns. What a superb spot!
Eventually I tear myself away, straight over the edge onto the steep hillside below. The gradient gradually reduces, heading down onto the broad ridge of Twyn Du. There is a nice overview of the two Nant Tarthwynni enclosures across the valley to the south.
The path finally meets a narrow lane that heads down to Aber Village, and from there I walk back to Talybont-on-Usk, where there are shops, a pub and bus services. A long and tiring walk, but highly recommended on a clear day. The views will blow you away.
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Visited 28 August 2010. A week after the misty trek across the Radnor Forest peaks, a day trip in the eastern Brecon Beacons was a much sunnier and hotter affair.
The walk up here from Talybont-on-Usk proves to be a tiring one, with the sun beating down on the back of my neck as I take the broad and grassy bridleway leading up from the blue waters of the Talybont Reservoir. It's a steep and steady climb up to the first of the two forts, slightly below the 400m OD mark. It's worth pausing occasionally to look at the view back across the reservoir, to see the slopes of Tor-y-Foel rising beyond. As height is gained, the Black Mountains appear over to the ENE, from Mynydd Troed at the north to Pen Cerrig-Calch further south. Ahead, the bulk of Waun Rydd fills the head of the Nant Tarthwynni valley.
The eastern fort is the larger and better preserved of the two. Unfortunately, the majority of the site is now covered by the forest to the south, and the thick vegetation of August does not encourage further investigation. In truth, I am very hot and out of breath by the time I get here and grateful for the shade of the tree line. The northern curve of the low rampart is readily visible, but not particularly impressive of itself. But the positioning, with the marvellous views, makes a visit a worthwhile experience.
The western fort is even less impressive, but the additional height (now just above the 400m contour) adds to the views further, particularly up to Waun Rydd.
From here I continue on up the hill, intent on a visit to the three Talybont peaks: Allt Lwyd, Waun Rydd and Bwlch y Ddwyallt. Carn Pica will be a bonus site on the return journey.
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Arriving at Four Stones provides an emotional punch in the guts. The last visit here was with my Dad, on one of our last days out together in 1999. Coming back here is nearly overwhelming and I find myself in tears, thinking of all the things we never said and all the things we never had time to do. I will experience something similar at Mitchell's Fold the following spring, showing that the healing we think time brings isn't either as complete or as secure as it seems. These sites bring such thoughts into sharp relief.
But although Four Stones has the power to open me up, it also has the power to bring a stupid grin. The four boulders, so closely spaced as to enclose the visitor in a tight embrace, exert a strong pull on the senses. The proximity of a nearby house and occasional passing car, the recently cut hay in the field, all fade out of mind as I sit here. The views of the now-revealed Radnor mountains, that I was so recently stumbling across in the mist, add to the overall feeling that this circle is a small part of a grand landscape. And we sit in it, briefly, then we're gone and it endures, for the next visitors. Long may that continue.
I'm thinking about it all and I'm sorry and I'm not sorry - our time was made up of confused emotions and little whirlwinds and all those things we couldn't really talk about but, most of all, it was sealed in sacred moments like these and then it was gone.
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Heading south along quiet lanes, the Crossfield Lane round barrow can be seen over a field gate. Although once a large barrow, over 30m across, it's now been ploughed down to little more than a rise in the field.
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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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