Latest Posts

Right up in the north-east corner of Lower Lough Erne is the town of Kesh. It’s a pretty nondescript place, somewhere I wouldn’t be keen on passing too much time in… except that it has this mighty and mighty fine standing stone to its east in Drumnarullagh townland. It’s visible from the road about 120 metres into the field, well over 2 metres tall and 1.8 metres wide and is quite majestic, all alone there, with not much else around except the remains of a riverside rath about another 100 metres to the north.

The weather goddesses decide – for once – to give me a break. C’mon, whoever heard of a capricious weather god? Yeah, the day dawns above Cwm Berwyn in a manner that is truly a joy to behold for this traveller camping rough in the hills. With this privilege, however, comes opportunity... the realisation that now is the time to once again either put up or shut up. Another potentially exhausting excursion into obscurity beckons, with every possibility of the failure that may bring. Speaking of which, I’ve still yet to figure out how the hell to approach Banc-y-Gwyngoed in the first place?

Yeah, Mid Wales is like that. What might look straightforward enough upon the map... invariably is anything but: a paucity of recognised tracks to the tops (if any) exasperated further by the frustrating lottery of locating anywhere to park a car that doesn’t add prohibitive extra road-bashing into the equation. Or seriously piss off the locals. Now I’m aware that some view the latter as a laugh... reckon all farmers struggle with copious anger management issues when, perhaps, they should be looking a little closer to ‘home’? For what it’s worth, The Citizen Cairn likes to treat as he may find; to engage locals in conversation wherever possible. Granted, some landowners are clearly beyond reasoning with. Others, however, can teach you a lot if you are prepared to listen.

After extensive deliberations (yeah, right) I decide to climb Banc-y-Gwyngoed from the north-west(ish), initially heading for Tregaron prior to travelling south upon the B4343 to arrive at Llanddewi Brefi. As is customary, my route finding is not, ahem, precise; I, therefore, overshoot a little prior to locating the minor road (a little due north of town) accessing the local cemetery. This thoroughfare services the farms of Gwyngoed-fach and Gwyngoed-fawr, beyond which the traveller must don boots to enter Cwm-du. Sure enough, my size 9’s might’ve been made for walking, but Gwyngoed was, as I feared, certainly not made for parking. Thankfully I eventually manage to squeeze in beside titanic black bales of animal feed between said farmhouses and head for Cwm-du, eyes peeled for a route to ascend the towering bulk of Banc-y-Gwyngoed looming to my right.

Upon passing through a ford, I see my opportunity: an open field gate servicing green pasture, rising above which hillside beckons beyond a low fence juncture. Keeping to the left (east) of said fence-line I struggle (rather badly, to be fair) against the gradient to quickly gain height during the heat of the morning, the combination of angle of attack/conditions ensuring frequent pauses are a necessity. These ‘breathers’ also afford the opportunity to gauge the ever-expanding retrospective panorama taking in yesterday’s ascent route. A tumbling watercourse has carved its own path of least resistance to my right; I decide to conserve my energy reserves by sticking with it and only finally striking off west(ish) for the final ascent to Banc-y-Gwyngoed’s summit near its (apparent) source.

Thanks to the rough, trackless topography, I make hard work of what is after all (once again) a ‘minor hill’, the vision of the large cairn surmounting the near crest arriving not before time. Like its neighbour standing proud upon Bryn Rhudd almost exactly due east, the monument crowning Banc-y-Gwyngoed has been disrupted over the millennia, a ‘sheep shelter’ having been fashioned within the stone pile at some (indeterminate) point during times past. Although clearly not a welcome situation by any means, in my opinion, this is nevertheless preferable to the usual farcical muppet shelter one tends to encounter upon the uplands nowadays. As it happens, sheep are conspicuous by their absence today – however the same can not be said of the local honey bees. Hey, tell me about it!

Sure enough, as I advance to check out the cairn in detail (as you do) I’m met by an advance picket guard of several aggressive insects literally smacking into my body in an attempt to drive me off. I can sympathise, but hey, live and let live, right? As in the past, I  try to blag it out... but these Banc-y-Gwyngoed bees are made of tougher stuff and are having none of it, quickly summoning reinforcements to counter-attack the intruder. Realising I’ve met my match this time – in no uncertain terms – I withdraw to hang out upon the cairn’s grassy extremities instead. Luckily the stripey little Apis mellifera are cool with that arrangement and settle back down to doing whatever it is bees do when no one’s looking – presumably content that I’m no wannabee (sorry) Honey Monster. Like yesterday, the upland vibe – the occasional ‘buzz’ notwithstanding – is truly exceptional, this hilltop the perfect place to laze in the sunshine and not do a great deal, if the truth be told.

Eventually, curiosity – and inactivity – get the better of me and I go walkabout to the south-west to overlook the aforementioned Llanddewi Brefi; to gaze towards Tregaron; and, upon the northern horizon, Pumlumon herself... prior to returning to the summit once more. Exquisite vistas, these. Suddenly I’m aware of peripheral movement and completely unexpected noise. Noise? Here? Yeah, quad bikes carrying the landowner and a visiting guest who, inevitably, make a ‘beeline’ for me. The farmer appears bemused that ANYBODY is up here at all, let alone an English chap professing to be here to inspect the cairn. Whatever for? I decide to control the situation and proceed to ask far more questions than I receive.

The farmer appears convinced and is happy to chat: yes, he does see a future in Welsh hill farming, no matter what other ill-informed ‘doomsters’ may say; no, he didn’t fashion the ‘sheep shelter’ within the cairn... it’s been in situ as long as anyone can recall; no he’s never considered the cairn as particularly ancient or special... although, come to think of it, it is a local tradition to scatter funeral ashes here (if that’s not lingering folk memory I don’t know what is!); oh, and that circular ‘silo’ across the valley is part of a ‘bio farm’... which recently leaked into the river duly poisoning wildlife for miles around.. although you wouldn’t have heard that since, well, it was ‘hushed up’. Can’t have people thinking environmentalists can do damage as well, can we? All in all, it’s an education. I’d like to think for the three of us.

I’m left alone once more to ponder stuff upon my rocky seat for a while – hey, even the bees have apparently accepted me as part of their world and allowed me back on – before advancing time inevitably prompts the final descent. You know, it’s all very well ostensibly diffident comedians attributing success to the simple ability to arrive somewhere... to merely ‘turn up’. However, I reckon life’s rather more complicated than that.

Woody Allen – if I’m not mistaken – once noted “Success is 80% turning up”. Come to think of it, perhaps it was 90%? Whatever, I guess the moral of the story is you need to be ‘in it to win it’. Can’t really argue with that. Now I’ve never been much of a gambler... calculated risks taken with reasonably favourable odds of success being much more my style (suffice to say the spectacle of The Citizen Cairn – attired in a gaudy 70’s Elvis get-up, naturally – placing ‘everything on black’ in Vegas is not likely to astound the mug punters any time soon). Nevertheless, I reckon there’s a pretty good chance Mr Allen wasn’t referring to visiting upland cairns in Mid Wales, irrespective of arithmetic......

To perhaps explain – or not – consider the twin, grassy heights of Bryn Rhudd and its neighbour Banc-y-Gwyngoed, rising due east of the charming village of Llanddewi Brefi: both are annotated with the siren call of the antiquarian type-faced ‘Cairn’ upon my map and, at just c1,575ft and c1,456ft respectively, both seemingly offer a lot of potential prehistoric ‘bang’ for one’s buck, so to speak? And that they certainly do. Problem is the curious traveller can not simply just ‘turn up’, as at a lowland site – sardonically or otherwise – meaning the chances of a successful visit are subject to diminishing returns even prior to pulling on one’s boots. Then again this may well be an inherent part of the appeal of the upland cairn: the distinct element of pilgrimage?

Anyway, rising from my wild camp within the wondrous Abergwesyn/Irfon Valley some distance due east, an unseasonably clear dawn sky ensures I envoke ‘Plan A’: a day upon the high hills. To be fair, these ‘plans’ do tend to progressively rival the hapless Baldrick’s shenanigans these days. So, after launching the poor car up ‘The Devil’s Staircase’, as one is obliged to do, a road closure necessitates an unforeseen detour south (without even the contents of one of Max Boyce’s fabled ‘billy cans a’brewing’ as recompense), prior to crossing the Afon Tywi and swinging back northwards, via Soar-y-Mynydd. The onward drive to Tregaron possesses intrinsic value so no need to rush, the beyond-velvet voice of Karen Matheson upon the CD player further emphasising the point. Inevitably, I miss my turning to Tyncae, being thus obliged to double back from town before parking up as near as I can to said farm.

A green track heads uphill to the approx southeast toward Tan-garn-felen, prior to ascending Bryn Du subsumed within forestry above and beyond. The supposedly great cairn of Garn Felen – not positively identified last year – is located (somewhere or other) within the trees above and to my left; however, I (wisely as it happens) decide to focus upon the task at hand. Forestry tracks are a bit of a slog at the best of times so the sight of open hillside when it finally presents itself is welcome. Yeah, the north-eastern ridge of Bryn Rhudd drawing the gaze toward a large cairn perched upon the summit.

The going is rough. Trackless, in fact, the physical effort demanded of me upon this very un-Mid Walian morning making a mockery of any notions of Bryn Rhudd being a ‘minor hill’. Haha, yeah, methinks even Billy Ocean might well have had cause to pause for thought faced with an ascent of Bryn Rhudd. There are, however, compensations: the initial (apparently nameless) top is found to bear a couple of small Bronze Age cairns at SN7006156248. Not bad for starters. The obvious line of ascent continues to the south-west, the views opening up across Cwm Brefi to the Mid Walian heartlands as height is gained, before approaching the summit from the approx south alongside a fence-line. Coflein lists an array of additional monuments here upon the southern flank of the hill, some of which I reckon I identify, hidden/partly hidden within the industrial-strength upland grasses. No doubt I walk right by others, either hidden in plain sight or perhaps too weathered to say one way or another? Topping the list of the latter is an apparently substantial ring cairn unfortunately nowhere to be seen. I conclude it must lie prohibitively too far down the slope for an audience today. Another time, perhaps?

Initially, I somehow contrive to find the great summit cairn a tad disappointing after expending so much effort to get here, the ancient stone pile defaced by a surmounting dry-stone wall in a manner (vaguely) reminiscent of a dodgy postcard punk’s mohawk, the effect rendered all the more bizarre by the otherwise all wire fence-line. What’s that all about? The deflation is short-lived, however – not to mention farcical in retrospect – a gate allowing access to the western arc of what is actually a very substantial monument, indeed. Of far greater importance, of course, I’m pleased to relate that the summit of Bryn Rhudd is a superb viewpoint. As always, ultimately it’s where they decided to place these funerary cairns that counts, regardless of how large or small they are.

The vibe – that beyond-special ‘upland ambience’ I have sought out all my adult life – seemingly hangs in the air like a super-oxygenated Cretaceous atmospheric throwback. Yeah, stay here overnight and perhaps Martyn Ware (the bloke from the original Human League with the dodgy ‘politics’) might feel compelled to pen a song about your accentuated dimensions? Whatever – and leaving concerns of potential gigantism to one side – the stone pile is truly the optimum spot to plonk oneself down and enjoy. Just enjoy ‘being’ for a while. Hey, that’s what it’s all about, right? Why (if one is able) should a personage limit his/her experience to viewing the environs of a noisy, crowded beach, dodging footballs hoofed about by annoying little blighters... when, with a little more effort and imagination, one may literally gaze into the ever-expanding infinity of the heavens? Nuff said.

The (what appears to be equally) large cairn crowning Banc-y-Gwyngoed is clearly visible a little over half a mile to the west, beckoning the traveller on like, well... a beacon. OK, I admit I’m tempted. However, I reluctantly make the decision that I simply do not have enough energy ‘in the tank’ to carry on any further today. Mañana, mañana, my friends. Besides, these visits are not about ‘ticking sites off of lists’... but relishing the moment while one can. I use the time to hang out upon Bryn Rhudd’s summit plateau, stalked from above by Red Kites... and from below by all manner of creepy-crawlies. And there’s more, a subsequent foray to the northern rim revealing not only superlative downward views but a further couple of small (potential) monuments. Yeah, it would appear the great cairn is the focal point – the crowning glory, if you will? – of an extensive Bronze Age cairn cemetery? As the late, great, Michael Caine probably never said: ‘Not a lot of people know that’. Not bad for a supposedly obscure Mid-Walian hill.

Needless to say, time flies... here upon my sun-drenched perch; consequently, all too soon I must reluctantly consider the descent. Duly considered, I reckon a reverse of the outward route is the safest option in the circumstances, given the dodgy terrain underfoot. So that is what I do, finally arriving back at the car upon very, very tired, achy legs. ‘Running on fumes’, as they say. I decide to spend the night above (and somewhat to the east of) Cwm Berwyn, fingers crossed for the weather to hold, so permitting a visit to Banc-y-Gwyngoed the following day.

themodernantiquarian.com/site/20127#post-178193

Though the OS maps show very little, the Duddon Valley has a very rich history of human settlement and this is detailed in the community led publication “Ring Cairns to Reservoirs”. Following various discoveries, the community in the valley managed to raise then secure additional funding in order to carry out a survey of the area which uncovered around 3000 previously unrecorded historic sites. Not all of these fall within the age interest of TMA, but a fair few do, and Long Pike was one of the sites to be excavated.

The excavation revealed a couple of pieces of pottery, and some charcoal backfill beneath some of the stones which allowed for dating of around 1500 BCE. This absence of detritus is taken as a sign that the site was kept very clean due to the great significance it may have had to those who build and used it, pointing to it’s likely use as a ritual site.