Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli Cairns

The uplands of Britain – the quintessential ‘Great Outdoors’- is a topic of conversation that does seem to polarise opinion somewhat. Yeah, like that (in)famous yeast extract, or iconic Irish porter, folks do tend to either love it... or hate it. Now, what with so much division prevalent within society nowadays, I’m not about to engage in denigrating the opinions of, say, people whose idea of ‘getting back to Nature’ is a week inside a geodesic dome at Center Parcs; nor to question the intelligence of tourists who, by wandering up mountains devoid of waterproofs, risk not only themselves but the lives of those brave souls on call to rescue them; nor even to ponder why some individuals believe crawling at 2mph across a rutted track in a shiny 4x4 has any merit whatsoever. No, opinion is, by definition, subjective. Instead, why not turn the lens upon oneself for a moment to consider this: is it illogical, if not paradoxical, to enjoy escaping from reality for a brief period by immersing oneself in... reality? By hanging out upon piles of stone crowning a mountain top, for example?

OK, so this is not a new deliberation as far as I’m concerned. The thought has occurred – more than once, to be fair – that there are easier hobbies than putting oneself physically and mentally on the line in a self-evidently forlorn attempt to understand that which will never fully reveal itself: the inner thoughts of those Bronze Age pioneers who populated these Isles when the basic fundamentals of our present-day way of life was still a radical new deal. Did they reason in a similar manner to us? If so, what WAS it about mountains and hills that consumed these people to the point of demanding they expend so much time and effort interning their VIPs ‘up there’? Was there something inherent in their society that ensured ordinary prehistoric punters viewed the uplands with an awe/deference not too dissimilar to that which some of us feel to this very day? Or was it merely the manipulation of the group mindset by the priest/chieftain class in a cynical attempt to maintain the power status quo, as per the succeeding monotheistic religions? Well, to my mind, if there are clues to the resolution of this dilemma, they are only to be found on location – upon the stage set where all elements of the theatrical production are brought together: the mountain top itself.

Now, assuming, for example, that the reconstructed Globe Theatre is the optimum setting to enjoy The Bard’s tongue-twisting offerings, where in the UK best meets the search criteria for a Citizen Cairn intent upon grasping the nature of that Bronze Age upland vibe? As with most things first-hand knowledge is beneficial when making such subjective judgements... to know what one is talking about. To my detriment I’ve not yet had the pleasure of visiting London’s Bankside... however, over 30 years walking the UK’s hills and mountains, with an ever-expanding focus upon prehistory, leaves me in no doubt that Pumlumon is, quite simply, the doyen of all locations. In my experience nowhere else in these Isles’ uplands possesses such a concentration of ancient funerary cairns located in such wild, unfrequented terrain. That Pumlumon also happens to be the outstanding fountain head of UK rivers is, surely, no coincidence?

To my mind a subtle interaction of numerous essential factors is required for that perfect upland ambience, assuming such a phenomenon transcends personal preference. Neither sheer height above OD, nor size of monument/preservation alone will suffice: Pen Pumlumon-Fawr is almost 1,000ft lower than the significant grouping of great cairns surmounting Y Carneddau up there on the North Walian coast; neither does Pumlumon possess as monumentally titanic an upland cairn as, say, Tinto upon The Scottish Borders; nor even anything to compare with the jaw-droppingly well-preserved chambered cairn cemeteries to be found – admittedly at lower altitudes – across The Irish Sea. Clearly, the chosen site can not be so easily accessed as to be subject to the incessant noise of tourist chatter, yet so isolated as to remove that sense of human connectivity to the environment. All things considered, I maintain it is Pumlumon’s unique distillation of attributes which assures its supremacy when assessing that upland prehistoric vibe: the relationship we Homo sapiens possess with the raw, brutal upland landscape. To unbridled reality.

Pumlumon it is, then. But which of Pumlumon’s multitude of cairn-endowed summits should the determined traveller choose in order to sample that ‘essence’? Well, Pen Pumlumon-Fawr, at 2,467ft the loftiest point, naturally receives the majority of traffic, this predominately consisting of tourists ascending the old mine track from Eisteddfa Gurig to the south intent upon ‘ticking off’ the view from the apparent highest point of The Cambrian Mountains (although, from a traditional viewpoint, that accolade is attributed to Aran Fawddwy). Good for them.. and good for the farmer collecting the parking fees. Worth every penny, so everyone’s a winner, right? Err, not quite. One only has to view the damage wrought upon the great central Bronze Age cairn – vandalised to buggery by the gouging of numerous shelters by the ignorant criminal element – to appreciate there is an inescapable detrimental impact upon the seeker of that elusive vibe even here. No, for the optimum ‘connection’ our hypothetical seeker must turn the gaze to the approx northeast where, a little under 2 miles distant, rises the seemingly inappreciable Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli. Topographically speaking, an inferior mountain... yet in my opinion possessing that additional ‘Je ne sais quoi’ when it comes to atmospherics.

It has to be said that when viewed from the south Pumlumon isn’t likely to excite, let alone inspire the uninitiated. While this is understandable, it nevertheless highlights a fundamental ignorance of South/Mid Walian mountain topography on behalf of the observer, whereby the dramatic landscape features are usually to be found upon the northern escarpment. Such is the case with Pumlumon and this is the reason why I begin my return ascent to Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli beside the former ‘outdoor activity centre’ of Maes Nant, overlooking the sparkling waters of Nant y Moch Reservoir. At 2,431ft, Pumlumon’s second peak is marginally lower than its western neighbour... but, crucially for Citizens Cairn, spared all but the boots of die-hard, heads-down trekkers ‘doing’ The Cambrian Way, plus a few more well-informed punters checking out the sources of the Severn and Wye. OK, so... reasonable height, wild – yet not prohibitively obscure – location and hence, minimal disturbance by tourists: check. But what of the monuments themselves? Well, here is where Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli excels, the summit boasting a trio of great stone piles arranged in linear array, these complemented by a series of much smaller satellite cairns clustering around the primary monuments like chicks to hens. Check. There is one more initial aspect to consider: the approach. Err, check. Reckon I can still do it.

So, the day having dawned more-or-less cloudless, I set off eastwards along the stony bridleway accessing the Pumlumon heartlands of Cwm Hyddgen. It was apparently hereabouts where Glyndwr ambushed an Anglo-Flemish force in June 1401, the nearby Bryn y Beddau (’Hill of Graves’) said to reference the last resting places of the fallen back then. I, however, seek those of a much older epoch located far above. Pausing to refill an already depleted water bottle at the fast-flowing Afon Hengwm, the doubts momentarily surface... as if mimicking the turbulent waters giving the bedrock such a hard time: am I sure I can still do this... hey, it’s not too late to back out, to be sensible, you know? Objections duly noted, I override my concerns and decide to see how far I get, striking off to the south-west above the Nant y Llyn with a vague notion of taking a little of the ‘sting’ from a direct approach, this prior to veering up towards Pen Cerrig Tewion. The latter is a long time coming, however, the terrain underfoot not remotely conducive to the swift forward motion of a heavily-laden man – a fact Glyndwr’s soldiers were no doubt only too aware of – save of the kind Jürgen Klinsmann might recognise. Better to have made the crest fence-line rather earlier, methinks, but there you are. Nevertheless, the glorious view of Llyn Llygad-Rheidol clasped below the frowning cliffs of Pen Pumlumon-Fawr is a stirring sight, the sudden excessive wind mitigating the otherwise significant heat factor. Job’s a good ‘un. Only problem is it’s also a somewhat underestimated one, the profile of cairns surmounting Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli’s summit still quite a way distant.

Bypassing Blaen Afon Gwy (source of the River Wye) to its immediate north, I negotiate a surreal landscape of eroded peat hags to finally arrive at the summit some two and a half hours after setting out... quite a hefty approach, to be fair. Two factors compete for sensual supremacy, neither achieving dominance: the brutal, yet thankfully none-too-cold wind... and the overwhelming visual spectacle of two massive circular cairns (there is a much more subtle third to the north, of equally enormous diameter, yet much lower profile). Those who have been accorded the privilege of visiting some of Wales’ mountains will be aware that quite a selection are crowned by large funerary cairns in varying degrees of preservation; however, to find three of such stature – of such significant diameter – grouped closely together above 2,000ft is possibly unprecedented (I’ll need to review).

The first of Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli’s great stone piles encountered measures between 59th and 65ft in diameter (depending on whether you believe CADW or Coflein) and is seriously impressive, despite the presence of the customary summit idiot shelter – yep, even here... there is no respite from the hill-walking vandals. Immediately to the northeast rises the central cairn, an even larger monument of c72-75ft diameter, albeit defaced by a shelter fashioned into its eastern flank, in addition to the summit. Hell, I want names! I want addresses of the fools responsible! Nonetheless, the sheer volume of fabric still incorporated within the cairn is mind-blowing. Finally – last, but certainly not least – sits a ring cairn of c65ft diameter. A ring cairn? Yeah, I know... unexpected, or what? The initial impression is that of a seriously denuded remnant of a round cairn, but closer inspection on this occasion reveals no visible trace of surface stone within the gap between ‘ring’ and ‘central core’. Henceforth, I have to say I’m now convinced by the designation, by the evidence of my eyes, this rendering all possible associations with the trio of cairns surmounting Pen Pumlumon-Fawr null and void. Furthermore, I manage to identify at least one of a series of much smaller subsidiary cairns cited by Coflein as clustered around the primary monuments. In short, far from being a subsidiary top mirroring the sentinel peak, it seems Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli stands as at least an equal.

Nerdy ‘archaeological stuff’ duly taken care of, I settle down to devote the remainder of my time to the primary reason for dragging my poor aching frame to this wondrous spot: the sweeping vistas, the very real sense of becoming ‘one’ with the elements, a sensation amplified manyfold by the hammering wind. As I lay back and immerse myself in reality, the thought occurs: assuming one accepts that Émilie du Châtelet, Einstein (etc) were onto something with this conservation of energy lark (as you may have gathered I didn’t go to university) why shouldn’t one postulate that some of that human ‘essence’ – recycled electrical pulses – now resides within the very atmosphere that is being repeatedly hurled with excessive violence against my Gortex? Luckily I ain’t afraid of no ghosts (so no need for that Ghostbusters’ speed dial). Yeah, logically these Bronze Age people might well have been onto something when choosing to interact with Nature free from the many complex social distractions of everyday life ‘down below’. Seems to me that up here one’s faculties are free to focus upon whatever comes to mind... to soar along with the Red Kites, fabulous creatures which instinctively know better than to battle the elements.

As if on cue – a cosmic stage hand operating an unseen lever – an encroaching mass of unforecasted grey vapour suddenly approaches from the west to obscure the scene, clammy tendrils of swirling moisture seemingly grasping for purchase upon the landscape, only to succumb to the ferocity of the wind and move on while reminding this traveller in no uncertain terms of the gravity of the situation. I feel the conscious need to reassure myself that, truly, ‘I AIN’T afraid of no ghosts’... but then again, perhaps this gentleman doth protest too much, methinks? A compass bearing upon Cwm Gwerin is of more practical comfort, if ultimately redundant as the landscape is revealed in all its clarity once again. OK, fair weather hill fog isn’t exactly unknown, but there’s no denying it adds to the drama of the theatre. This Bronze Age theatre. Throw an occasional ‘Brocken Spectre’ into the repertoire and is it any wonder those shamans may well have been able to hold their audiences totally in thrall?

What a fabulous place this is! To the northwest, the deep defile of Cwm Gwerin guides the transfixed gaze to distant Cadair Idris and the high peaks of Snowdonia, Aran Fawddwy, birthplace of the Dyfi – and topped by a single massive funerary cairn – visible a little to the right. Some 1.5 miles distant to the northeast, beyond the rising of the Afon Hafren (aka mighty River Severn), Pumlumon Cwmbiga’s twin huge cairns bring Pumlumon’s main ridge to a fitting conclusion, while yet another behemoth stone pile resides upon the southwestern terminus at Y Garn – a total procession of some 4.5 miles. Coming full circle, ‘The Green Desert’ of Elenydd, the intimate heart of Mid Wales, leads the eye to the Great Old Red Sandstone Escarpment of South Wales: Black Mountains, Brecon Beacons, Fforest Fawr, Y Mynydd Du.. a cornucopia of prehistoric heritage hidden in plain sight. A lifetime of discovery for those able and willing to lift their eyes above the horizontal plane.

The more I ponder imponderables, the more the fact that this summit is set between the sources of two major rivers seems key to the location of these three huge cairns; furthermore, is there a wider association between the trios of cairns upon Pumlumon’s two main tops and the fact that three rivers rise here upon the main ridge? Speculation, but nonetheless. Indeed, it truly beggars belief why on earth anyone should climb all the way up here.... only to cower away within a shelter hastily consuming sandwiches while staring at the inside of a mutant drystone wall? Just what is the point? It’s a rhetorical question, of course, one I consider asking a muppet who duly arrives to do just that... but refrain upon getting the distinct impression I would be quite literally talking to the wind. To my mind, these idiot shelters should be progressively dismantled, their prospective occupants actively encouraged to dress appropriately for extreme conditions and not passively condone the systematic vandalism of our heritage.... or keep the hell away! These are scheduled ancient monuments and ‘protected’ by law – ignorance of this is no defence. He is one of a handful of passers-by who briefly pause here en route to somewhere else. In contrast – given the choice – I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else at this moment. As would any Citizen Cairn.

The hours fly by and I find I must begin my return journey or risk benightment; but then, if the summit of Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli can be considered a natural stage set, a visit here is surely the equivalent of experiencing Mr Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ – you really couldn’t do it justice in less time. Forewarned of what is to come – not by the metaphysical, of course, but by plain old prior experience – I briefly consider the ‘easier option’ of retracing my steps, before commencing my steep, trackless descent northwestwards into the aforementioned Cwm Gwerin. Surely it can’t be as taxing as I recall from a dozen years prior? Err, yeah, right. And I’m not twelve years older? Nonetheless, if ever an experience can concurrently be considered a full-on physical ordeal... and incredibly rewarding, it is a traverse of this wondrously untrammelled valley, set deep within the remote interior of Ceredigion. I have heard Cwm Gwerin cited across years as arguably the wildest cwm in all Wales; a pretty fair description, to be fair. Sure enough, the going is hard, with not even a hint of a recognisable footpath until well into the latter stages, this despite the presence of several derelict farm buildings standing mute testimony to times gone by. Progress is slow due to the unforgiving terrain underfoot, yet steady. At times the cacophony of cascading water – that of the Afon Gwerin (naturally) rushing to engage with the more voluminous Afon Hengwm arriving from the north – is overwhelming.

Crossing to the northern bank of the Afon Hengwm I head west now following a semblance of a path, this frequently losing itself within bog until I eventually once again stand at the ford just east of the confluence with the Afon Hyddgen. A final push/stagger sees me reach the sanctuary of the car, utterly spent physically... yet mentally recharged beyond all reckoning. Hey, if I was ginger that battery with the distinctively coloured top might as well give up the ghost. Ah yeah.... speaking of which? OK, I’m not about to say I believe in the supernatural, that there indeed exists a metaphysical medium whereby the inherent energy of those who lived before has been transposed into a form with which we can interact beyond the most basic level.... such as being blown around a mountain top. I’m not saying we can ‘cross over’ into another ‘mystical’ realm transcending the known laws of physics simply by communing with extreme Nature.

Oh no, no, no! Give me reason over blind faith any day. Darwin before the self-serving priest. However, if we accept that how we perceive reality and how we relate to this crazy, spinning planet defines who we are... our sense of morality and how we act; if we also concede that our predecessors may once have possessed instincts and cognizance of stimuli honed to a much higher degree than ours by the life and death necessity of the hunt, faculties that still reside within us, dormant from lack of use; and, finally, if we make the assumption that our own modern perception can be influenced/amplified by external factors including location, mind-set, the weather etc.... then I reckon Pumlumon – Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli in particular – offers quite possibly the optimum stage set to re-discover an appreciation of ancient theatrics in these Isles.

OK, I’m not saying that to watch the winter solstice sunset at Stonehenge is not an awe-inspiring spectacle; nor mid-winter sunrise at the magnificent tombs gracing Brú na Bóinne. These are mind-blowing locations, indeed. However, these are monuments specifically designed, methodically created to achieve a defined result, a predetermined impact upon the viewer.... Nature, in effect, harnessed by the elite to make some pretty cosmic points. No such control was possible with the great mountain top cairns, an environment where Nature is at its most extreme, most brutal... and sometimes, if you’re lucky, most spellbinding. Simply put, nowhere else can compare with ‘up there’.

So, if you do get the chance... grab those boots, open your mind and... Let the show commence! Let the show commence!

Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli, fits in the mouth nicely, doesn’t it, I just called it the “Other Plum”.

So..... heading east down off Pen Pumlumon Fawr, highest peak in the Cambrian mountains, one firstly comes to a large walkers cairn that sits on level ground on a saddle between two peaks. Leaving the cairn for the unnamed peak that sits just north of Pen Lluest y Carn, I carry on over it and come into view of the mountain I’ve yet to climb.
The path takes you up and behind the big hill and will go right on by unless you leave the path and purposely seek out the top, just keep looking left for the top of a cairn, it was about fifty yards from the path.
The first cairn I get to is the southern of the three cairns. It has a hollowed out interior, and is comparable in height (about 6ft)to the central cairn it’s nearest nieghbour. But the central cairn is bigger in square feet I think. A shelter has erupted out of its eastern lower flank, making the whole thing look like a stone octopus tentacles draped over the hill top.

Darker clouds are growing in the sky, I eye them with disdain, I’ve definitely not dressed for rain, getting a move on.
The third cairn is again the smallest of the three, two mountain tops next door to each other, both with three cairns, both with the northern most cairn the smallest, can’t be a coincidence, surely?
Mountain top done I start to look for the way down to Carreg Wen the white stone of infinite clarity. I see the way, and go that way.

Dawn arrives below the western flank of Pen-Pumlumon Fawr bringing the unwelcome grey of low cloud to belie the favourable forecast. Suffice to say Pumlumon is not a place to go wandering in the mist. The twin Bronze Age cairns of Carn Hyddgen – or Carn Gwilyn, if you prefer – rise above the deserted buildings of Maes Nant to the approx NE, standing sentinel over the valley where Glyndwr defeated an English army in June 1401... and I momentarily think of the 200 or so men who died that day. Poor sods. Yeah, Pumlumon is a mountain with a ‘sense of place’ hanging in the moist air so tangible I swear you could cut it with my cheap imitation Swiss Army knife – blunt as it is. So, as is often the case with this mountain climbing lark, plan B is invoked... I will visit the cairns upon Banc Llechwedd-mawr and Glyndwr’s quartz blocks at its base. Except... passing the confluence of the Afon Hengwm and Afon Hyddgen, I have a sudden change of heart. Hell, Craig y Eglwys is clear. Let’s do it!

Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli is not one of Wales’ taller mountains – at 2,431ft far from it – but the trackless slog up Pen Cerrig Tewion to my SE is a serious undertaking simply because of the terrain underfoot; springy long grass and moss, interspersed with bog, doth not an easy ascent make. But then this is the whole point, the reason why my only company are the circling falcons and Red Kites, seemingly waiting for the seriously struggling creature in florescent orange to expire for a free feed. Yeah, Pumlumon keeps its secrets close to its ample chest, so those in search of immediate thrills go elsewhere. Mist swirls across Pen Pumlumon Fawr, its northern crags soaring above the source of The Afon Rheidol as I pick up a reassuring fence-line and slowly... ever so slowly... the summit burial cairns, invisible from below, are in stark profile. Ditto the retrospective view of the monuments at the summits of Drosgl and Banc Llechwedd-mawr. Not to mention Carn Gwilym.

A walker’s cairn crowns the summit of Pen Cerrig Tewion. From it I receive my first view of the far, far older trio upon Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli, rising across Cwm Gwerin. I reach the main ridge and head westwards past the source of The River Wye. The enormity of the action strikes me like one of the prehistoric arrowheads archaeologists have found upon this ridge. This unmarked bit of bog is the beginning of that mighty river. What’s more, the Severn (Hafren) has its source the other side of my destination. Is it any wonder Bronze Age man was freaked out by Pumlumon... assuming they knew? Hell, why wouldn’t they know? A warden arrives out of the proverbial nowhere on a quad bike and explains he’s collecting markers from yesterday’s marathon. Yeah, there are unfortunately people who insist on treating mountains with such distain. I am glad I chose to come today.

So to the summit, 16, no 15 years since I was last here. The north-eastern cairn is unfortunately much denuded. The other two are not, despite the unwelcome attention of those who do venture up here but still do not have the sense to appreciate it. The first encountered, the south-western, is a fine specimen, despite the storm shelter and, like its near neighbour in the centre, boasts a fabulous view down into Cwm Gwerin, not to mention of the whole of Southern Snowdonia. Pen-Pumlumon Fawr’s own cairns are obvious from here, silhouetted against the skyline. Clearly they were meant to be viewed from here. As was the cairn upon distant Y Garn. The middle cairn also possesses a storm shelter and a crude wind break at its eastern extremity, an edifice eagerly utilsed by one of the two couples of muppets who momentarily join me in passing, so missing the very views one assumes they expended so much energy to see. Whatever.

Everything just feels ‘right’ about the placement of these cairns, you know? Although not the largest you will encounter in Wales, the pilgrimage required to get here means this is arguably the best all round location you’ll find for such monuments. The somewhat adverse morning has developed into an excellent afternoon of high, broken cloud, sunshine periodically streaming through to illuminate the mountainside. I sit upon these cairns and ponder thoughts you can only really contemplate on site. Why did our ancestors bury their dead upon these brutal mountain tops? Sitting here there seems no-where else logical to place them. I mean, come on! The sources of two major rivers – the very essence of life in the most literal sense – either side. Coincidence? Perhaps.. but I think not somehow. The hours fly by and I must leave. I decide to descend through Cwm Gwerin, a landscape of deep bog, yet beguiling nonetheless, the Afon Hengwm effecting great loops as if it was a seagull freewheeling home with a full belly of fish. I reach the car to settle down for the night a true Citizen Cairn’d, to paraphrase The Drude somewhat. Nevertheless I know what he means. Pumlumon blows me away. It really does.