GLADMAN

Any TMA-inspired tour of the chambered cairns of Scotland might well, with much justification, be called ‘The Greywether Trail’. It is therefore with a – hands up, I admit it – somewhat immature ‘YES!’, followed by a Ravanelli-style celebration to an imaginary rendition of Ode to Joy, that I find one that he hasn’t posted. Sad, isn’t it?

To be honest, Greadal Fhinn has intrigued me for quite a while. Never having seen it referenced in any guide, there it was, as clear as day upon the 1:50k OS map. Kilchoan... yeah, went there once to look at the excellent Mingary Castle, but what if this chamber is fragmentary, destroyed, even? Long deviation from the tour route for little reward? I settle the question by deciding to take in the chambered cairn at nearby Camas nan Geall, too. And, of course, if the weather’s fine there’s the exquisitely brutal scenery of Ardnamurchan as well.

Funnily enough, dawn at my coastal camping place, near Glenuig, arrives with promise of another fine day. Bleedin’ freezing, though, courtesy of a pretty stiff breeze. The drive to Kilchoan is long and, you could say, made upon one of the most consistently ‘serpentine’ roads in the UK. But how can I complain, not after recently stumbling across Loch Nell’s Serpent Mound? Exactly. And the loch views, particularly of Sunart, are exquisite.

Arriving at Kilchoan, I initially attempt to access the site, clearly visible upon the hillside, from the B8007 on Glebe Hill.... however thick foliage and fence lines make me think again and park near the jetty, beside the village shop-cum-post office. I ask a local. ‘Burial chamber?’ She looks at me blankly. ‘Oh, the standing stones!’ Seems access is no problem at all. A ‘twin gate’ (pedestrian beside standard size) gives access to a field with raised water grilles near the entrance. Simply head uphill, to the left of houses and through (open) fieldgates, veering left to the monument.

It is worth it. A large chamber, comprised of substantial orthostats partly supporting a slipped capstone, stands before one of the most diminutive little chambers I ever did see. A truly ‘ickle’ dolmen, the chamber so exquisitely small I cannot even squeeze the Gladman frame inside... although the bright blue hue of the reverse of the capstone suggests the odd sheep or two find it a comfortable fit. Cairn material is at an absolute premium, and although the linear chamber alignment may well mean that Greadal Fhinn was a long cairn, ‘something’ tells me it was round...?

So, substantial surviving chambers, then. But this is only part of the reason for a visit here, for the sea views across to The Isle of Mull are stunning. They really are. Ben Hiant, despite being a mere ‘tiddler’ in Scottish terms, is also a beautifully aesthetic mountain to have as a backdrop. Sit and watch the ferries ply their trade along the Sound and reflect that life isn’t always that much of a drag. Not as long as there are places like Greadal Fhinn still on this planet.

Just to note [for any visitors pending] that the cairns currently – June 2010 – sit above an area of furious development, the environs resembling one great, big building site.

It would be interesting to know what is going on here since, as Nickbrand states, the location is otherwise pretty fine. Sad.

One day, perhaps?

Although a futile exercise, of course, just imagine if this massive, chambered cairn hadn’t been wilfully vandalised.... my mistake... ‘excavated’ by Angus Smith in 1871. Perhaps Argyll would still possess something to rival some of Ireland’s great, virgin cairns? Then again perhaps we would now have a concrete dome a third of the size preserving and ‘protecting’ the chamber, but changing the whole character of the monument? Hmm...there is no cut and dried answer, is there? And of course it is unrealistic to be too hard on Mr Smith, since his contemporaries would probably have seen nothing untoward in his actions. It was the self-righteous Victorian Age, after all.

Of the centrally placed chamber, only a gaping crater remains, whilst two obvious orthostats still remain in situ from what would appear to have been a facade/forecourt to the south-east. So, not much surviving detail, then.

But, come on, the great, round cairn is still some 4m tall. Which is mightily impressive in anyone’s language, particularly mine, Achnacree being possibly the tallest such monument I’ve seen outside of the aforementioned Emerald Isle? Foliage borders, but does not encroach upon the cairn proper, leading to an excellent, ‘cool vibe’ on this sunny afternoon. Although, come to think of it, the pretty strong breeze probably has something to do with the ‘cool’ bit. The trees also screen the site from the houses across the road, handy in that they avoid a ‘Memsie’ situation.

So, not a great deal to report, but well worth a visit. Particularly if you’ve got a thing about large, round cairns. Oh, but what could have been!

Heading north across the Connell Bridge on the A823, pass the airport and caravan park on your left before taking the immediate next right turn.
Follow this unfeasibly straight road past Dalvuie (on your left) and the cairn will soon be obvious on the right. It would appear parking is not an issue before the houses opposite.

This Argyll weather is crazy. No, sorry, it really is. Awakened early morning by a violent rain storm hammering on the car roof, cloud filling Glen Lonan, by the time I return from a wander upon Meall Reamhar the day is clearly set to be a ‘scorcher’. One can almost imagine Sun ‘journalists’ with fingers poised over PC keys. Bless ‘em.

So, across the bridge I go at Connell and should have taken the first right to Black Crofts, turning right at the junction to take the ‘first tarmac left which doesn’t appear to lead directly to houses’, according to a local woman – it has to be said rather startled to be flagged down by a very rough looking Gladman. Needless to say, however, I didn’t, for some reason deciding upon an unfeasibly straight road past Achnacree instead. Why? But I got there in the end, parking as per Greywether’s notes to find an very ‘un-farmer-like’ farmer reading out front of the farmhouse. ‘Enjoy’, he says and I’m reminded of that Cope quote ‘is there nowhere I will be made unwelcome?’ Or something like that.

The site is a short walk across fields from here, although several gates need to be negotiated before a private audience with the two, very different chambers on view is attained. The first is a low, squat structure, the fine capstone unfortunately fractured into two unequal portions and thus content to do without the support of the surrounding orthostats. To the NW, however, is a fine looking dolmen, the substantial capstone very much supported by its companions. Unfortunately the chamber is filled with stones, whether remnants of original cairn material, or field clearance, I cannot say.

I lie upon the south-eastern chamber capstone and roast in the sun, sounds of playing children drifting up from the Abhain Achnacree (stream) below and to my left, screened by foliage. Beinn Lora towers straight ahead, looking far higher than it actually is. Hell, it’s a glorious site all round.... overgrown, but not to excess and I get the feeling it plays host to very few visitors indeed... although interestingly the BBC were apparently here not too long ago. Whatever for?

Returning to the farmhouse I’m greeted with some surprise regarding the length of elapsed time. Rather than saying ‘I’ve been experiencing the vibe, maaan’, I play the pseudo-academic card and find myself deep in discussion re the rock art of Kilmartin, cup-marks and distribution patterns. Although somewhat out of my depth as regards rock art, I think I manage to avoid being thought a charlatan blagger, since the guy clearly knows his stuff. But only just, mind...

Every now and then a site visit leaves the traveller with a sense of ‘what the bloomin’ eck do we have here?’ Usually this is due to partial destruction, severe undergrowth obscuring form, that sort of thing. But this is something different. Sure, I’d heard of the great Native Indian Serpent Mounds of Ohio, seen a possible ‘tail’ appended to the Bryn-yr-Hen-Bobl in Anglesey, and read about Stukeley’s serpent analogy for Avebury. But here, upon the bonny banks of Loch Nell? The real thing? Yeah, right.

However, during the dying embers of the day I head approx north from the nearby chambered cairn to take an all too brief look at this eroded earthwork. Marked upon the 1:50k OS map simply as ‘cairn’, this description may well have sufficed if the western section was all there was to be seen here... a large, approx circular cairn bearing a deep excavated cist. Nice. But what’s this, a narrow, ‘serpentine’ ridge (hell yeah!) leading towards, and therefore connecting the cairn to, another, tree covered feature to the approx east? Well, some form of burial monument, clearly. But why the ‘body’, assuming the cairn to be the ‘head’? Symbolism, then. But why the second cairn/mound/hillock at the other end? And was there meant to be a ‘tail’ section added to that? To be frank, I haven’t a clue. But, whatever it is, The Serpent Mound certainly lives up to its assigned name. Does exactly what it says on the tin, so to speak.

I walk the ridge and have a look beyond... perhaps another section, perhaps not? I wish I had more time, but there’s a camp to sort for the night and dinner. Basic human requirements. Serpent Mound... love the name and leave here intrigued by this enigmatic, yet virtually unknown site. Oh yesssssssssssssssss.

How good are the substantial remains of this lovely chambered cairn, magnificently positioned upon gently sloping ground, overlooking the southern end of Loch Nell? Perhaps my viewpoint is coloured a little too much by this majestically cloudless evening. But what rich, vibrant colours they are!

Loch Nell is a veritable megarak’s paradise, not only bearing two, clearly identifiable crannogs – those mysterious artificial islands cloaked in folklore when not in opaque vapour – but also, if I am to believe my eyes, a monument bearing comparison, albeit on a much smaller scale, to the great ‘serpent mounds’ of the USA. Can’t be, surely? Not here.

However it is this deceptively large chambered cairn, set not far from Dalineun Farm and shining like a beacon in the evening light, which is the the most obvious prehistoric monument in the locality. OK, the cairn itself is denuded, but the squat orthostats, supporting a large, attractive capstone render the chamber with an aura of subdued, understated power reminiscent, perhaps, of Lligwy in Anglesey. Unlike Lligwy, however, the chamber is too low for me to enter. But with a north-eastern aspect such as this, the only proper place to be is upon the capstone, surely?

The capstone is just about visible from the loch-side road and barbed wire fence. The obvious parking space was unfortunately occupied by some bull-necked muppet who appeared to take umbrage at the sight of my shades/beard/foreign legion hat ensemble. Perhaps he was a fashion designer? Sorry mate, I’m beyond help in that department. I therefore asked a bloke mowing grass beside nearby buildings, who was only too happy to calm any misgivings I had of parking in an official ‘passing space’ and bunking the barbed wire. ‘Don’t forget the Serpent Mound, too’, says he. I check the map. I had. Thanks to him, I didn’t.

The shadows grow longer and I really must go. But not before a quick visit to the Serpent Mound to the north.

Not exactly a ‘fieldnote’ in the strictest sense, since, unless you have a boat – or can swim like Johnny Weissmuller in those old Tarzan films – Rubha na Moine must be viewed from a distance.

I select Meall Reamhar as my viewpoint in this respect, a small hill-cum-grassy-ridge overlooking Loch Nell’s north-western flank. Choosing the appropriate ‘hump’ rewards the early morning traveller, rising from an overnight camp, with a panoramic view of the full length of this wonderful loch. What’s more, an initial squall, bringing heavy cloud, has already swept away towards Oban, leaving air so sweet and fresh you can almost taste it. To be honest, I think you probably can...... hmm.. swweeett.

The crannog, one of two to grace this loch (the other being Dalineun Isle in the southern corner), bears heavy foliage – like virtually all other examples I can recall in passing over the years – and looks otherworldly reflected in the mirror-smooth waters. I wonder if the original occupants ever paused to appreciate the stunning landscape they inhabited, if indeed it actually resembled its current state to any significant degree? Possibly, I would guess, at least during the months of Spring and Summer, assuming a high tolerence of the dreaded midge! But throughout a Scottish Winter. Perhaps not.

Whatever, the view of Ben Cruachan rising above the site to the approx NE is truly exquisite, with Strontoiller Farm visible, too.

Following on after a frankly wondrous morning at Port Sonachan, the long cairn at Achachenna was always going to be a bit of an anti-climax, I guess. But perhaps only in Argyll could this be so... and, it’s a pleasure to relate, misguided.

After descending The Pass of Brander, with its impressively unobtrusive hydro-electric scheme, the B845 heads south from the A8, twisting and turning, this way and that, as it heads down Glen Nant towards Kilchrenan. Here, a minor road beckons to the traveller’s right, leading past Lower Achachenna Farm. Parking just south of an access track to an electricity sub station – honestly, without the sign you would have no idea it was here at all – the monument lies beyond a short stretch of bog and trees to the approx east. Sounds simple enough, but I sink up to my left calf in said bog and find two successive fences, one barbed, barring progress to the relevant field. Huh, Achachenna, you’d better be good!

To be honest, upon arrival, I’m not particularly impressed. ‘Is this it? An, admittedly fine, monolith and shattered remnants of a chamber. Why, although Port Sonachan lies just a short distance away across Loch Awe to the east, both it and the loch are hidden by foliage and land topography. What a swizz...no views.... should have gone straight to Glen Lonan, mumble, mumble. Then again the sun’s out, there’s coffee to be drunk and sweeties devoured, so I lay back and... the old – very old – structure begins to infiltrate its way into the Gladman psyche. Then, suddenly, a soaking wet mutt of a labrador bounds up, threatening my rapidly ageing DSLR, followed by what looks like a family of tourists. Bleedin’ Hell. Here? I excuse my comatose demeanour by stating what a wonderful Neolithic monument this is. ‘I know,’ says the jolly man, ‘I own it’. Doh! What does that law say, again? But I needn’t have worried.... Just like the Achnagoul owner, this man’s actually interested in his charge, laments that the students who used to come and take measurements no longer do so, and states that I’m free to go where I choose and enjoy. Well, who could say ‘no’ to such an invitation? Not I.

It dawns on me that the cairn actually DOES have a great view, with Ben Cruachan lording it magnificentally to the NE and, wandering around, this is actually one large, extensive monument, with several orthostats poking up here and there. The prominent monolith is also a very handsome example indeed. Then the sky takes centre stage with great, billowing, white masses of vapour floating in a vivid blue sky like those airships of yore. Before they began to blow up, that is. Suddenly time, to lazily continue the aeronautical theme, is flying, but I do not want to leave, noting how the ancients utilsed the slope of the hillside to accentuate the silhouette of the long cairn. Crafty buggers.

Achachenna, you knew what you were doing with this naive male punter all along, didn’t you? Obviously a product of a female religion, then.

‘This could be the best-located chambered cairn in Scotland’.... so says Greywether. Who’s been to a few, it must be said. Having spent a wonderful morning at this gorgeous site, I can only agree, with the added caveat ‘of those I’ve seen to date’. Rest assured, if there are any better placed megalithic monuments, let me at ‘em!

Blimey, can a man really ask for more than what is on offer here? At least within the bounds of a family web-site that is. Perched upon a crag overlooking the Port Sonachan hotel, where punters sit enjoying a coffee with ‘panoramic views of Loch Awe’, the panoramic views enjoyed by this megalithically-minded traveller are in a totally different league altogether. The coffee’s pretty good as well, made with water from a stream just down the road... Truly stunning, the mirror-smooth surface of the loch is broken by an occasional pleasure boat leaving a prominent ‘V’ wake in its, er.... wake, whilst the massive bulk of Ben Cruachan dominates the upper reaches behind me.

So, that’s the view, then. But what about the chambered cairn itself? Pleased to report that it is, in fact, quite substantial, with one nice – albeit capstone-less – chamber within the remnants of a cairn, plus hints of the previous existance of more. In short, well worth the effort of climbing up here for its own sake, never mind the exquisite position chosen for it by its builders.

Needless to say no-one else arrives to break the vibe and, to be honest, I’m not even sure the smokers having a ‘crafty fag’ outside the hotel can even see me from down below. As G notes, the hotel is the key to a visit to this obscure site. The track opposite immediate splits in opposite directions... take the left fork and climb until just before a small building, veering uphill to the right here beneath pylons. Cross the fenceline at it’s left-hand extremity and ascend, steeply, straight uphill, heading right near a round water tank. The monument is upon the rocky crag above you.

My initial, map-less attempt to find this monument from Achnagoul I ends in an embarrassing retreat back down the hill to the car in order to remedy the situation. Huh, ‘mountain man pathfinder’, indeed... As I do so, however, I spot the farmer working in the field. ‘Hmm, suppose I’ll discover if what G and Postie said about his attitude still holds true’, I think to myself as I boldly make contact. In short, it does.... for conversation makes it clear the man harbours a deep appreciation of what he has here in his care and of the tradition he is upholding. No need to ask permission, just show the land and his ownership due respect and you are welcome here. How refreshing, downright intelligent and proper Scottish is that?

I jump in his Defender for a lift back up the hill and, once over the forest gate, head approx north, taking care to err on the side of left and so avoid my previous mistake. After one ‘false alarm’ – hell, this doesn’t look much – I arrive within the monument’s clearing. Wow! This is much more like it. Exquisite.

A large chamber, partitioned into two sections lengthwise (or technically perhaps two linear chambers?) is entered via a fine, curving facade of orthostats. Heavilly overgrown with moss and fern, a little poking around in the undergrowth – I mean ‘serious academic investigation’, of course -reveals said facade to be much more extensive than I first thought. So much so that, if I didn’t know better, I’d have assumed I’d found an Irish Court Tomb (a point also made by G in his notes, it must be said). The vibe here is so incredible this early evening that thoughts of moving on are immediately discarded. Nature has taken a large step to reclaiming this tomb, but in a far more subtle manner than Auchnaha across the water! Somehow the artificially-created environs of Achnagoul II feel right and I do not even mourn the loss of a horizon. How strange is that? Strange, but true. The same sentiments as finding such a beauty so close to one of Scotland’s finest.

Arrive here early afternoon... hot, bothered, late and in dire need of a good spot to chill out, following an unscheduled drive to Argyll Tyres in Lochgilphead to replace a tyre (obviously), duly punctured near Auchnaha, on the other side of Loch Fyne... I guess some may feel the location of said event is more than coincidental, bearing in mind what has befallen the chamber there? Hmm. No comment for the sake of my sanity. Wibble... the first puncture in 20-odd years, and it occurs there... wibble. Access to Achnagoul, as mentioned before, is excellent, the farm indicated upon the A83, with a large ‘parking’ area where the rough track veers left towards the farm. Hope over the fence, up the hill to the copse of trees and there you are.

Thankfully there can be few better places to relax in these Isles than here, perched upon a hillside near Achnagoul Farm, a splendid location overlooking the aforementioned Loch Fyne. Nice. No, it’s much more than that and I heartilly concur with the previous two (very distinguished) gentlemen’s comments... this has to be one of Scotland’s finest long cairns. Some claim, indeed, in a country liberally blessed with such a rich seam of treasures.

The cairn itself is substantial, a longitudinal trench allowing the visitor to, unusually, walk the length of the monument from within. A large orthostat highlights a lateral chamber, but it is the main chamber, with superb capstone in situ, which, quite rightly, wins the plaudits. The narrow entranceway to the chamber is pretty impressive, too, with some nice stonework. A tight squeeze to enter, with condensation running down the inner faces of the orthostats, this chamber is just what the doctor ordered right now. Chilling out in all senses of the term, not just the most literal. Alright!

Time appears to stand still, but the watch all too soon indicates the passing of the afternoon and decision time.. do I head for another site, or have a look at the companion long cairn within the nearby forestry? I choose the latter, since, well, whatever schedule I had is now history following Stockie Muir yesterday and this morning’s shenanigans. Trouble is I’ve left map and compass in the car, some woodland blunderings making it clear I can’t blag my way out of this one. I must retrieve them...

Alas! Poor Auchnaha may well have been ‘christianised’ for our sins, or whatever, but the pious act of vandalism didn’t exactly do it any favours in the preservation stakes, did it? Survive for millennia upon your hilltop and then have a great big ruddy tree fall on you once you’ve been suitably ‘blessed’. OK, I may well be compressing the time-frame somewhat, but it’s a valid point, is it not?

This is another of Scotland’s obscure sites, as Greywether and Postie make clear (was it really so recent Postie?), very much hidden away in a boggy forestry clearing above the quiet – very quiet – eastern flank of Loch Fyne. The B8000 wiggles and weaves along said coastline to allow the motorist to get within striking distance of the monument, but upon parking near Auchnaha House one gets a distinct feeling of being an unwelcome guest. Private Estate signs abound, the hillside barred by a seriously tall wire fence. However further investigation reveals this to end before the forest line to my right, leaving a corridor of forestry devastation to overcome for anyone thinking of coming this way.

As it happens, I do, but all the clambering and whatnot results in me initially missing sight of the little standing stone guiding visitors to the clearing. However I backtrack and there it is... at first appearing simply to be a jumble of overgrown stones.... with a great big ruddy christmas tree on top! However orientate yourself and have a wander and a large inner and outer chamber (with slipped capstone), together with numerous orthostats from what must have once been an impressive facade materialise from the chaos. Moss and lichen are having a field day, as are the midges in the damp, humid atmosphere.... cue the usual improvised head gear, so no ‘scale’ shots in order to preserve what may still serve me as a reputation. Baldrick would’ve been proud... perhaps I could swop it for a visit from Time Team? A much more worthy cause than another bleedin’ R*man villa. Yawn.

Despite the state of the site, the sense of isolation here, together with the substantial remains give Auchnaha a true ‘I’m glad I came’ feel. Hang in there girl, hang in there.

Companion site to nearby Lang Cairn, albeit much smaller and not so well preserved, this is arguably even more remote and relatively difficult to reach. Both time and inclination resulted in me foregoing an approach from Lang Cairn yesterday, heavy, low cloud almost resulting in me deciding not to go for it today, upon awaking beside an ethereal Loch Lomond. Almost.......

Following Greywether’s advice, I arrive at The Queen’s View car park on the A809 and, after shaking my head at the so called ‘Queen’s View’ itself (is that it?), look in trepidation at the swathes of mist sweeping across Stockie Muir and wonder if I’m simply truly committed, or ready to be committed, if you know what I mean? So low is the cloud that I stick to the low-level path across the northern shoulder of Auchineden Hill, against all Gladman instincts, and head for The Whangie. OK, to southern ears it’s not the best of names, but there’s nothing second rate at all about these soaring, rocky pinnacles, reminiscent of Skye itself, mist swirling around and – to be honest – putting further doubts in the mind.

However the forest line is where it should be, so I follow it steeply downwards to the left of a prominent (glacial?) hill, to eventally meet an intersecting wire fence line barring progress. This is of the ‘barbed’ variety, but passable [note there are the rusting remnants of a parallel fence]. Once across, look for a small stream-bearing gulley, with a (sort of) green path to its right. Follow this, the gulley becoming more and more substantial, until a green bridge, metal water pipe markers and a small brick structure on the opposite bank announce you are almost there. The long cairn lies a little further on to the right, not far from the forestry line.

Overgrown and sporting a typically spunky little tree, two facade orthostats, one significantly leaning, form the major structural highlight of the cairn. It is more than enough... the cairn is pretty substantial and, so it would appear, more or less aligned upon The Whangie? If so, the latter is perhaps not so surprising, bearing in mind my recent experiences there. A protruding orthostat maybe hints at a former lateral chamber to the north, then again maybe not. To be honest that is that in terms of visual experience. But, hey, we’ve other senses too, right? And it’s the stimulation of these where Stockie Muir long cairn excels. Superb vibe.

The mist lifts, allowing a ‘high level’ return along the summit ridge of Auchineden Hill, with the tenament blocks of Glasgow to my right, Loch and Ben Lomond to my left. This is not your usual place, it has to be said.

Relative to prehistoric structures, the term ‘sleeping giant’ could well have been invented for the Lang Cairn... sitting aloof at the southern end of Gallangad Muir, just north of the forest line, Mother Nature has now all but reclaimed her monument for herself, such is the heather coverage.

Yeah, the true height of this extraordinary long cairn may consequently be masked, but there’s no disguising its length. The name is descriptive and apt. Say what you see, prosaic local inhabitant, say what you see.... For me, however, it is the impressive facade which is the finest component of this top rate cairn, despite the toppling of two of the tallest stones who knows when? Facade aside, however, structural details are scarce, with only the remnants of a lateral chamber visible mid-way(ish) along the right hand flank as the traveller makes his way from the facade end.

Due to the aforementioned forestry there’s an ‘otherworldly’ aura here, the vibe amplified as a spontaneous Gladman exclamation echoes around the locality, as if within some natural mountain amphitheatre. Too much reverb, methinks. The light drizzle and mist lying upon the tree-tops probably helped as well, come to think of it. In some respects, a ‘Lost World’ analogy is not too fanciful, for the forestry not only shields the Lang Cairn from casual visitors, but makes a personal audience by the interested punter none too easy either.

So, assuming you’ve managed to locate the ‘Auchencarroch Road’ from the A813 at Jamestown, follow this minor road all the way to its terminus at West Cameron Farm. I asked to park here – no problem at all – before walking up the well made track, this veering eastwards, then southwards to enter the forestry. The trick now is to attempt to accurately guage when to cut through the trees to your right and emerge upon the moor within sight of the monument. Hmmm... somehow I managed the feat with ease, much to my surprise, although the ‘ride’ I chose did not possess the observation platform mentioned in Twinny’s post. So must have been a bit ‘jammy’, then. Further to previous directions, ensure you pass a distinctive structure faced with a couple of horizonal wooden planks on your left, and look to do your ‘Indiana Jones’ bit near the end of the next long, straight section of track around the corner. Think of it as a sort of induction test to prove you are worthy. Or something like that.

Finally, I should relate that the long cairn was surrounded by numerous Historic Scotland notices warning that metal detecting at a Neolithic site is not only very stupid, rendering you a muppet (er, ‘Stone Age’) but also illegal. OK, perhaps it didn’t say the former, but if any local TMA’ers are in a position to keep a look out, please do so.

Nearly didn’t make it here, having missed the crucial left fork driving down from Glen Trool... too involved in a Capercaillie sing-a-long to notice, I guess. Muppet..... Nevertheless the ‘I’ll regret it once I get home if I don’t’ factor came into play, so back track I did, sweeping around to approach from the north – to be honest this is probably the most logical idea in terms of fixing position anyway. It was a good decision.

Set high upon Bencallen Hill, this is a fine chamber, although I have to admit it’s hard to reconcile that the ‘front’ is actually generally perceived to be the ‘back’. That’s the result of all the cairn material being ‘recycled’ as sheep fold walling.... a somewhat disorientated Megarak.

Nevertheless it just seems ‘right’ to be here, you know? Despite the row of electricity pylons marching down Howe of Laggan, like something out of H G Wells, despite the devastation of encircling forestry waste, the remains of this chambered cairn clearly belong upon this windswept hilltop.

G’s directions will get you here. Note, however, that due to forestry operations, the intervening landscape between road and monument is very rough, with several deep, water filled trenches to cross. Not a major issue with my long legs, but bear it in mind.

Noticeably overgrown and ‘let go’ since Greywether’s posts, I had a bit of difficulty trying to reconcile what I saw here..... too wide for a long cairn, etc.... until I caught on that it represented the remains of a multi-chambered round cairn.

The siting, alongside a dusty foresty track with grafitti-defiled signage, within close proximity of the A714, isn’t exactly the most salubrious, but that’s not the monument’s fault, is it?

Perhaps best to visit prior to seeing the nearby White Cairn – an aperitif, if you like – I nevertheless found the site to be a ‘grower’ and well worth a short visit before going to find a wild camp in Glen Trool for the night.

Loved this.... don’t be mis-led by the ‘White Cairn’ marked on the 1:50K OS map a considerable distance to the NW, near Bargrennan Burn. The White Cairn we want is much closer to Glen Trool village and marked simply as ‘chambered cairn’... for once the megarak has an easier time than he anticipated! Doesn’t happen very often....

As Sals says, a waymarked track, appropriately indicated by white-tipped posts – I detect a female’s co-ordinated touch here – makes very pleasant progress towards what would otherwise be a pretty difficult to find chambered cairn, hidden within a forestry clearing. And what a fine chambered cairn it is, too, with double capstone, the inner sheared into two segments by (hopefully only) the progress of time, within a large, round cairn. The chamber itself is reached by a low passageway, open to the elements.

There are minor gripes, such as the prevalence of grafitti within the chamber, some old, some relatively new, together with a flooring of white gravel. But, as stated, these really are minor. What’s more I’m joined by no-one, the aura here remaining just as a woodland clearing should be. A small information panel gives punters an indication of what lies before them. But, to be honest, the White Cairn speaks for itself this afternoon.

Note that the Cairnderry chambered cairn lies a few miles down the road and is worth a look... not to mention Glen Trool itself, a must for fans of The Bruce, I’d have thought?

No trouble at all finding this, which probably wouldn’t have been the case without the signpost and way-marked path! Although the stones are small, this is a perfectly formed little Four Poster with what would appear to be an attendant outlier as well.

The feeling of remoteness here is out of all proportion to the effort required to attain it, so this is well worth the effort if you subscribe to the theory that big isn’t necessarily always better. Perhaps it’s the minimalist in me, but I feel that often true quality is self evident.

The track actually continues to ascend a small hill bearing a prominent cairn.... but lack of time prevented a look this time around. More’s the pity.

Phew, what a full-on beauty to end the day with. Bang on!

Like nearby Cairn na Gath, this site is also accessed via the Southern Upland Way, a steep, waymarked track climbing away from the minor New Luce road near a burnt mound. The route contours around to the right of a farm, beside a forestry line, before rejoining the track and crossing heavily ‘hoof marked’ ground to a sign indicating the monument to the left.

A phalanx of wind turbines stand astride the skyline as I complete the final approach, the sloping, slatted fenceline curiously having no stile.
Once across, I begin to count the chambers within the long cairn... one at the southern apex; a lateral within the left hand (western) flank; at least one further lateral to the east (possibly two?); and, last but most definately not least, a fine, northern chamber bearing capstone. Not bad, then.

As I venture inside the latter, a small vole pops up and looks me up and down before scurrying off, as if to say ‘Oi, I don’t want the likes of you in my house thank you very much’. That may well be, but I’m afraid the creature has no choice in this instance since this is an exquisite little chamber. The light of this fine evening is equally exquisite, the site a perfect hang. I finally leave gone nine to sleep where I’m parked.... I’ve been in worse places.

I concur with Greywether’s observation that this long cairn is more impressive from a distance than when viewed up close and personal... but would add that, nonetheless, the exquisitely desolate moorland setting of the monument makes a visit here more than worthwhile. In fact, combine it with a visit to the nearby – and far better preserved – Caves of Kilhern and you’ll have a smile on your face the size of the vast Galloway skies...

Sited below and to the west of Balmurrie Fell, access is eased by the fact that the course of the Southern Upland Way long distance path runs a few hundred yards further to the west, the monument being duly signposted from it – just in case you happen to miss a stonking great long cairn on the near horizon, that is. I asked permission to park at Balmurrie Farm, this being readily granted by a sophisticated looking elderly woman tending the cottage garden. From here, follow the track past ancillary farm buildings, veering left past a further, isolated building before heading on a waymarked path across the moor to the NE.

The long cairn is visible from a considerable distance away, emphasising the same Neolithic grasp of landscape dynamics so familiar to visitors of the great long barrows of southern England. The ground is rough, the final stretch quite boggy beyond a ludicrously ‘triple-secured’ gate (something tells me the landowner’s had some issues with the peculiar breed that is the long distance walker). Upon arrival the cairn is something of a disappointment.... at first. A large ‘bite’ has been extracted from its flank to provide material for drystone walls and a ridiculous ‘conning tower’ cairn built on top. Nevertheless it remains a substantial, impressive structure. Particularly when the visitor adjusts to the vibe of the locality and the all encompassing sky. True, the ever encroaching wind turbines peer over the eastern horizon, but Cairn Na Gath remains a monument to the wider scheme of things.....

As I sit and take it all in, a couple of men appear upon quad bikes, collies perched upon the rear, the dogs disembarking as required to deal with particularly troublesome sheep. My acknowledgements, however, receive no response.. even at close quarters... Hmm, there clearly are issues here, since common courtesy costs nothing, so assume this is the farmer who is none too happy with my parking at his farm after all? Perhaps, perhaps not. However be aware than access IS official and Greywether indicates alternative parking arrangements in his notes.

North of the long cairn, the map shows a couple of hut circles, but unfortunately I wish to see the Caves of Kilhern before sundown..... oh for more time.

Sited to the approx SW of the great round cairn – and on the opposite side of the farm track to Mid Gleniron II – this is a badly denuded long cairn, which nonetheless retains some orthostats indicative of the existance of previous chambers.

Unable to make a proper study due to the very close attentions of a bovine bovver brigade, this is worth a quick look en route to the large round cairn which overlooks it.

Sited upon rising ground on the opposite side of the farm track to Mid Gleniron long cairns I and II, this is a fine, apparently undisturbed round cairn.

Not sure if access is covered by any local agreement – I forgot to ask – but since the relevant field was teeming with frisky, young cows at the time of my visit, I thought it proper to ask regardless. Referred to as simply a ‘cairn’ upon the 1:25K OS map (which incidentally shows Mid Gleniron II in an incorrect position) I guess no-one knows whether this great stone pile conceals a chamber, cist, or indeed, anything at all – and thus it’s age relative to the long cairns. Having said that, its positioning overlooking, and therefore dominating, the three Neolithic cairns is perhaps indicative of the Bronze Age? Respecting, yet nevertheless assuming ‘ownership’ over what went before.

Climbing to the summit of the cairn, the panorama of the ritual landscape of Mid Gleniron farm is truly something special. And luckily cows can’t climb cairns... so soon lost interest in the intruder.

Now I read some time ago that Mid Gleniron possessed an excavated long cairn or two... so while I’m (finally) in the area I decide to go take a look. As you do. Passing Glenluce Abbey – worth a look if you’re into such things, I guess – I arrive at the entrance to the Mid Gleniron farm access track to find that, if I wish to proceed further, it will have to be on foot. Fair enough, since the splayed access allows sufficient room to park the old Rover 45.

So, in the searing heat of this Galloway morning (!!), off I go, prematurely freaking out at the large long cairns which soon materialise in the field to my left.... before realising they are, in fact, clearance cairns (this being later confirmed first hand by the farmer). However the ‘real thing’ is not long forthcoming, an open gate beckoning the traveller into a field of sopping wet grass, said traveller immediately wishing he’d elected to wear the Gortex lined boots... muppet. Incidentally there’s also one of those ‘wooden slat’ stiles in the field wall a little further on should the gate be closed.

I arrive first at Mid Gleniron II, a substantial long cairn, unfortunately lacking any sign of chambers and sporting a rather silly cairn – clearance, as opposed to ‘walker’s’, as far as I can tell. Caffeine calls, and as I rest up with the coffee, the farmer passes by. I take the opportunity to go and have a chat and ask for permission to visit the striking round cairn across the way. He’s only too happy to oblige – if I can handle the cattle – and we discuss many issues... bizarrely, it transpires that the man ‘in the chair’ at this farm is a chap named... Robert Gladstone... hell, there aren’t many of us around, but we seem to have a ‘thing’ about prehistoric cairns.

Moving on to Mid Gleniron I, it’s immediately clear that this is a far superior monument, the long cairn retaining some orthostats of a facade and three chambers:- one (without capstone) at the facade end; another (with capstone) set behind this; and, to its right (looking from the facade, that is), a capstone-less lateral chamber. Good, nay great, stuff and a fine place to hang out in the sunshine, for the surrounding countryside is verdant in the extreme. I even notice a few ‘cupmark-like’ circular depressions in the chambers, although, being ignorant of the geological properties of the stone, these are most probably natural in origin. The one picture I manage to get in this respect, in the main chamber, has been posted.

However I’ve a particular thing for round cairns, so Mid Gleniron’s fine example is next on the agenda. Just not yet...

Sitting within Knockman Wood, to the north of Newton Stewart/Minnigaff, this is a surprisingly well preserved long cairn in attractive surroundings, set in a clearing between forestry to the west and trees of a deciduous variety to the east. Indeed, notices displayed within the car park highlight that restoration of the latter is now official policy. Right on!

As Greywether notes, no chambers are currently visible – hence the state of preservation – but any initial disappointment is more than offset by the remains of a facade featuring two substantial orthostats. The lichen encrusted cairn material exudes time immemorial, this, together with the late afternoon / evening sunshine and silence, combining to produce a first rate vibe. Hey, I like this place. The first long cairn of the tour bodes well.

Access is straight forward, if a bit of a plod from the Knockman Wood car park. Veer immediately to the left, past a gate, and follow the initially dreary forestry track, keeping left at any intersections. Assuming you find yourself climbing gently above and to the left of a small loch, you are literally on the right track and the monument will eventually materialise before you.

One further point relevant to any one who may be contemplating being around ‘after hours’, is that the gates at the entrance to the car park access track are closed – but not locked – during hours of darkness.

Perhaps the most straight forward route to this wonderfully remote, moorland site is from Cambret Farm..... however..... not wishing to duplicate part of yesterday’s walk (to Claughreid) and with an eye on obtaining a quite literal overview of the inter-relationship between the numerous monuments in the locality, I decide to approach from the summit of Cambret Hill to the approx NW. This is initially not as difficult as it may sound, since a tarmac road, albeit not in the best of repair, snakes its way up to the summit from the NE to provide access to several telecom antennae. These are, of course, unwelcome intrusions, yet the viewpoint they surmount is excellent through the entire 360 arc, ensuring one happy Gladman, despite the searingly cold wind.

The fabulous Glenquickan ‘circle lies near forestry to the west, Claughreid to the approx south-east. But, of course, it is the massive cairn, beside the prosaically named Cauldside Burn, which holds the gaze, despite being totally dominated by the towering crags of Cairnharrow rearing above it across the valley.... hey, humankind may have felt the compulsive need to erect our monuments to Nature, but nothing, I said nothing can beat the real thing.

As I descend towards the site, a most excellent, not to mention large, wild stallion (cue air guitar) noisily asserts his dominance of this hostile landscape, confronting the intruder head on. Wisely, I think, I circle around him and don’t blatantly challenge his ‘horse-hood’. Anyway, after crossing a fence-line (by gate, if I recall correctly) a little bit of serious ‘bog bashing’ sees me at the monument, struggling to find a dry bit to hang out upon. Granted, quite a large arc of the circumference of the ‘circle is missing, but several of the remaining orthostats are substantial, bear exquisite lichen, and stand right beside a stonking great big cairn with remnants of cist to the NNW. Wait... there’s more... beyond the cairn there are two small stones which Burl reckons precede an overgrown ring cairn. I struggle to make out the latter, but am nevertheless happy knowing it is there.

As with many moorland ‘circles, I would suggest the aim here was pretty obviously not to impress, but simply to provide spiritual functionality to a family group. No point trying to impress the gods when they have created landscape features that completely overawe anything you can possibly contemplate, is there? Whatever its value to its builders, whatever rituals were practised here, I feel this circle still retains its relevance, even after millennia... for to be here is a very evocative experience indeed. Hell, here I have the opportunity to clear my head of all distractions and simply ‘be’ for a few hours. I thank Mr Burl and Mr Cope for initially inspiring me to seek out places such as this. Gentlemen, it has been emotional.

Although my attempts to find some of the rock art which also adorn the area prove fruitless – not surprisingly – I ascend back to the car deeply moved by Cauldside Burn.

Standing right beside the Bagbie Cairn, this excellent little Four Poster is a great little site to come and chill out at, perhaps following a trek to see one of the other stone circles in the vicinity?

I was lucky enough to experience a golden evening here, with nothing but sea birds from nearby Wigtown Bay as company. Noisy little blighters, so they are....... A large monolith is visible in the field beyond a tall drystone wall, the rather unusual cairn completing a fine mini prehistoric ritual complex upon this obscure hillside. Obscure, yes, but that’s just the way I like ‘em.

Dumfries and Galloway? Bring it on!

An unusual cairn featuring two enigmatic othostats in addition to a more standard kerb stone.

The site is reached by a minor road from Carsluith (this terminates before Cambret Farm), followed by a brief walk to the NW along a footpath, this starting where the road makes an abrupt 90 degree right hander (parking possible).

Marked upon the 1:50k OS Landranger – together with nearby standing stone – what isn’t mentioned is the wonderful little Four Poster right beside it. Bonus!

First site of a proposed two week tour of the Scottish ‘lowlands’, following on from a long drive from South-East Essex.... stone circles with central stones are not exactly common place in Britain, so curiosity value alone makes this an essential visit.

Having previously seen the charismatic Cairnholy tombs on the way back from Arran some years ago, I decide to approach from Cambret farm to the approx north, a minor road from the tiny coastal village of Carsluith allowing vehicular access to a point where tarmac gives way to an unsurfaced farm track. Verge parking is possible here, hence boots must be donned for the short walk to the farm, followed by a rough trek to the south, crossing Carsluith Burn.

A large glacial erratic (I assume) is prominent upon the hillside, above to the left, this distracting me from my compass bearing and luring me to the high ground. Yeah, I can not resist the call. In actual fact the circle sits within a field at the northern head of a valley, bounded to the east by Cairnharrow and to the west by Cairnholy Hill.... so ignore the hillside and veer right alongside a fenceline.

Although the fallen centre stone is substantial, the stones upon the circumference are relatively small. But this is of no significance since the ring is in complete harmony with it surroundings. From within, the aforementioned glacial erratic appears an integral part of the monument, perhaps a natural gorsedd? My rough compass bearing is c75 degrees from the centre. Telecom antennae rise upon Cambret Hill to the north. Two further stone circles lie to its left (the fabulous Glenquickan) and right (Cauldside Burn). Hardy souls may visit all in a long day – as suggested by Burl. But I must have time to reflect, so will visit the latter tomorrow. He says.

The only sounds are that of bird song and the wind. It is a good start.

I first came to this magnificent mountain escarpment way back in 1993, looking, believe it or not, for The Llyn Fawr (the lake above The Rhondda, that is). Incredibly naive, perhaps, but I got away with it.... and my sense of awe has not diminished with time. Nor has my respect for the inclement Welsh weather!

The latest ascent is made in the company of The Mam Cymru, my sister. Not too canny with map or compass, it has to be said, but a dab hand with anything to do with the soil. And besides, everyone knows women can’t read maps and men can’t walk and look around at the same time. It’s Nature, see.

Fan Foel is, to be honest, a northern spur of Ban (or Fan – sorry I never could figure these language mutations) Brycheiniog, at 2,631ft, the summit peak of Y Mynydd Du, The Black Mountain. From a megalithically-minded and – arguably – general perspective, the best approach is from the Trecastle road to the east. This necessitates crossing the infant Afon Tawe before even beginning the ascent, not the easiest task, even in summer, but then proceeds to follow a lively, cascading stream, the Nant-y-Llyn, right back to it’s source. This is no ordinary ‘source’ either, but the legendary Llyn-y-Fan-Fawr, companion lake to the even more legendary Llyn-y-Fan-Fach.... The path follows the twisting, turning, right-hand bank, past several pretty impressive waterfalls, not to mention a genuine Bronze Age cairn...

themodernantiquarian.com/site/12742/nantyllyn_mynydd_du.html

...the Maen Mawr and Y Cerrig Duon also visible on the right-hand skyline.... a good place to chill out on the descent. For now, simply follow that stream (!), the landscape becoming more and more brutal until, after several ‘false crests’, lakeside is attained at 2,000ft, the elegant escarpment of the mountain towering above to your left. Perhaps my favourite upland lake, it’s tempting to call it a day here at this exquisite spot. But.... the call is unspoken, never unheard. There’s round barrows in them thar hills.

A ‘rocky staircase’ at the southern end of the lake provides a steep, but safe passage to Bwlch y Giedd and the crest of the ridge above. Turn right here and the OS trig point and ‘circular shelter’ of Ban Brycheiniog is soon reached. Unfortunately there is no prehistoric cairn upon this summit, ‘courtesy’, no doubt, of the aforementioned shelter and the muppets who built it. I mean, who would want to cower in a shelter when the view down to Llyn-y-Fan-Fawr is simply magnificent? Ha! Moving on along the escarpment edge, any feeling of indignation is soon alleviated upon reaching the vertigo-inducing buttress of Twr-y-Fan Foel, for this is crowned by an apparently undisturbed Bronze Age round barrow [see misc post]. The siting is amazing, it really is.

The second cairn lies upon the summit of 2,575ft Fan Foel itself. Subject to an excavation in 2004, the finds were somewhat interesting, to say the least. Please see the miscellaneous post and Rhiannon’s link for details, but suffice to say it appears Bronze Age people certainly knew how to ‘say it with flowers’. To stand here is deeply moving and makes a mockery of the ‘R*mans brought us civilisation’ dogma I was taught in school. Honestly, does anyone actually still believe that rubbish? My informed guess would be ‘yes’. Looking west, Picws Du, adorned by it’s own Bronze Age cairn, towers above the waters of the magnificent Llyn-y-Fan-Fach. Strong walkers can visit the peak from here, but I’m afraid those days are past for Gladman..... [Incidentally several ‘circles are to be found to the north of Fan Foel, not forgetting the wonderful pair beyond the Usk Reservoir].

Perhaps the most significant aspect of a visit to this wonderful spot, however, is the ‘big picture’ it conveys of South Walian Bronze Age burial practice. To clarify, glance to the east, across Llyn-y-Fan-Fawr to Waun Leuci, Fan Gyhirych, Fan Nedd, Fan Frynych, The Brecon Beacons, The Black Mountains – a linear procession of burial cairns literally as far as the eye can see; then to the west, the two great cairns upon Garreg Las beyond the aforementioned Picws Du, with examples upon Garreg Lwyd, Carn Pen-y-Clogau...etc.. fading to the horizon. Clearly there was something very serious and widespread going on here... Hell yeah!

Pen Twyn Glas marks the 2,115ft apex of Tal Trwynau, a long, grassy ridge dividing the Grwyne Fechan valley from Cwm Banw to the west. This is the ‘forgotten quarter’ of The Black Mountains, the scene dominated by the great Waun Fach/Pen-y-Gadair-Fawr ridge to the right and Pen Cerrig-calch/Pen Allt-Mawr, across Cwm Banw, to the left as the Mam Cymru and I ascend. The silence is all consuming, the sense of anticipation that of those who know what’s coming.... like a child upon Christmas Eve, so to speak.

Everything changes upon attaining the main ridge mid-way between Pen Allt-Mawr and Mynydd Llysiau, however. To be honest the summit itself is not exactly inspiring, being ‘adorned’ by one of the most pathetic walker’s cairns you’ll ever see and a fallen boundary stone that may well be old, but obviously not prehistoric. Then the view to the west and north-west materialises. Actually that’s not the right word, implying a gradual revealing, whereas the stunning vista actually hits the traveller with all the metaphoric force of a freight train. Not just inspiring, but awe inspiring. Can anything look so beautiful as the Rhiangoll looks today in this light? An open question, I guess.

We consider heading either left or right along the ridge.... but frankly this will do nicely today, thank you very much. Trees soften the flanks of Cwm Nant-y-fedw below, as if planted for this very reason – but actually colonising the only sheltered areas they can find in this brutal, hostile landscape. But what of prehistoric ‘stuff’? Well, there’s a somewhat denuded Bronze Age cairn a little way down the slope to the left of the cwm [see misc post], this leading the eye towards the great bulk of Mynydd Troed and, beyond, Mynydd Llangorse with its hillforts, The Brecon Beacons and, why, even Y Mynydd Du. The great South Walian Bronze Age cemetery, no less.... Diverting the gaze northwards, the reason for siting Castell Dinas ‘there’ was never more obvious.

But, magnificent scenery aside, why would a stone-hungry TMA-er want to expend all that energy – for it’s quite an ascent – for one, denuded cairn, albeit one that yielded artefacts upon investigation? The answer, I think, lies in a couple of further Coflein records which reveal that a Bronze Age arrowhead and flint (possibly Mesolithic) were found in the immediate vicinity [again see misc post]. Clearly men have been ‘passing by’ for millennia – whether on hunting expeditions or engaged in ritualistic rites I guess we’ll never know – and it’s this knowledge which, for me, adds some tangibility to the highly developed ‘sense of place’ we experience here, a feeling which I simply cannot put into words. It just feels ‘right’, you know?

Punters may march ‘eyes down’ along the main ridge – and quite a few do so, the muppets – but move a little to the west to the lip of the escarpment and I’ll swear you wouldn’t be at all surprised if a Bronze Age gentleman came up and sat down beside you. Come and ‘ave a chat, my friend. Swop me Triplepoint jacket for your quiver of arrows? Right on!

So, come to Pen Twyn Glas and travel in the footsteps of the ancestors. Literally......

The relatively modest cairn upon Pen Rhiw-ddu makes a fine hors d’oeuvre for a visit to this, one of South Wales’ finest – and largest – upland cairns at almost 3.5m. Duw, it’s big! What’s more, it crowns a very unfashionable 523m summit, far out on the western fringes of Y Mynydd Du. Although the ‘Beacons Way’ passes close by – not that you would guess, it has to be said – I can not imagine any long distance walker lingering here for very long, if at all. Such people tend not to be interested in ‘piles of old stones’.

The cairn dominates the (approx) western horizon from Carn Pen Rhiw-ddu and, if it wasn’t for the wind, I’d have sworn I could hear it whisper ‘visit me, you know you must....’. Or perhaps that was just the ‘E’ numbers from too much Easter chocolate kicking in – why, we even had to stop on the way from Bridgend to get some more. Whatever the cause, the effect is the same. We have no choice but to comply. At a little over half a mile, the distance between the two monuments is by no means great in hillwalking terms. But bear in mind that this is a ‘proper’ mountain landscape. Peat hags abound, the long grass is liberally sprinkled with ‘ankle breaker’ rocks to catch the unwary... and I shudder to think what it would be like in mist. Quarter may be asked, but will definately not be given up here.... especially with the wind gusting at 40-50 mph. Nice. No, really, I find few things more intoxicating than being out in inclement weather when you’re adequately protected. Not that a family unit of wild ponies, sheltering in a hollow, would appear to agree. They probably have more sense than crazy English people. Curiously one mare, heavily pregnant, judging by the size of her belly, stands aloof from the group, munching grass furiously. Hell, encountering these fantastic creatures is one of the joys of these hills, it really is.

Carn Pen-y-Clogau steadily grows larger as we approach until... wow! Some people certainly spent an awful lot of time building this. An awful long time, indeed. Struggling to the top in the wind, I’m saddened to discover that, even here, the ‘shelter building muppets’ have been at work. But such is life, I guess. Na fe bois, Felna Mae. Excitedly I point out Castell Carreg Cennen, standing a’top its unfeasibly dramatic crag away to the almost exact west. Then, to the south-west, a line of suspicious ‘humps’ crowning a ridge in seriously evocative fashion. I check the map – Tair Carn Uchaf and Tair Carn Isaf. How much more has this country to offer? The vibe here is fantastic and I wish we had more than a couple of hours. But what a couple of hours...

Easter Monday dawns damp and highly overcast in South Wales. So what else is new? Oddly, however, the mountain forecast reckons the cloudbase will rise above 2,000ft by mid-day. Yeah, right. But worth taking a chance nonetheless. We head for the western extremity of the prosaically named Y Mynydd Du – The Black Mountain... on days like today, believe me, it certainly is.

Beyond Pontardawe the A474 heads northwards through Cwm Gors, the exquisite cairn circle of Carn Llechart, out of sight but most definately not out of mind, above to our left. The A4069 branches right towards Brynamman and then begins the ascent alongside the western bank of the Nant Garw [note the riverside prehistoric settlement, below to your right] into as bleak and hostile an environment as you could probably imagine. The uncompromising slopes of Garreg Llwyd guard the pass above to our right, equally brutal terra incognita rises to our left. The traveller is therefore left completely unprepared for the sweeping, majestic northern vista which suddenly materialises upon reaching the parking area at Rhiw Wen. Or at least he/she would be if the whole bloody mountainside wasn’t engulfed in cloud! Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, after all? However us English folk have a secret weapon to deploy in times such as these... there’s always time for a nice cup of tea! Sure enough, the cloud mantle begins to waiver in the gale-force winds and release its hold. Damn, I do believe the Met boys are actually going to be right!

Garreg Llwyd, with its Bronze Age cairn, is the obvious choice for an outing, but it is Carn Pen Rhiw-ddu, to the south-west, which is our target for today.... the perceptive may well have discerned a clue in its title as to why. Anyway, a short scramble beyond disused quarrying brings us to a rock strewn landscape featuring an east-west craggy ridge topped by a pretty neat cairn. Not especially large, but well built, albeit defaced somewhat by the obligatory internal ‘shelter’. The views – now that the cloud has lifted – are pretty superb, not only northwards towards the beautiful, fertile valley of the Afon Tywi, with Mid Wales beyond, but eastwards across the northern escarpment of Mynydd Du itself, the two, great cairns of Carnau’r Garreg Las prominent upon their ridge.

However it is the view to the west which is arguably the most intriguing. I check the map – with much difficulty in the wind, it has to be said – and note that the great stone pile on the horizon must be Carn Pen-y-Clogau. Needless to say the Mam Cymru’s up for it.

themodernantiquarian.com/post/84423/fieldnotes/carn_penyclogau.html

Literally the culminating monument of the locality, the name of this impressive summit burial cairn apparently translates as ‘cheese cairn’. Hey, old fashioned cheeses tended to be round, but then so do most cairns... I’m not convinced.

Although ‘hollowed out’ to form the obligatory walker’s shelter (rant supressed with much difficulty) this remains one substantial cairn for apparently so obscure and insignificant a mountain-top. I mean, this isn’t even the true summit of Mynydd Llangynidr – which is incidentally crowned by another large cairn, Garn Fawr – this being visible some considerable distance to the approx south. I would suggest its size only really makes sense if viewed as the focal point of the numerous cairns located within Pant Llwyd. Here lies the ‘Big Man’, and don’t you forget it, so to speak.

We sit upon the great stone pile and survey the landscape, a vista not for the faint hearted as mist begins to sweep down Dyffryn Crawnor, first obscuring Tor-y-Foel and then the dominant, snowy summits of the main Beacons massif for the duration. The panorama is one of brutal severity, patches of snow highlighting numerous ‘shake holes’, the silence total, cars labouring up the B4560 to the east mere pin-pricks upon the horizon. I effect a bearing upon the route down and, sure enough, upon taking the obligatory ‘last picture’ we are plunged into a claustrophobic world of clammy, grey vapour. Disorientation is total and it takes a great leap of faith to place complete trust in that little red needle. Shouldn’t it get easier after 20 years upon the hills? Perhaps it’s best that it doesn’t...... I remain in awe of this environment, and I hope I always will.

But such is the entry fee for a couple of hours at such an exquisite spot.

Heading uphill from the Carreg wen Fawr y Rugos stone row (a general south westerly direction) it immediately becomes apparent that there is far more to this mountain than I first thought.....

We stumble across a large, circular, grassy cairn, which bears all the hallmarks of a Bronze Age burial site. Then another, followed by numerous further examples, culminating in a pair defining the final approach to the great summit cairn, Garn Caws. The western of this pair is a very substantial monument indeed, significantly not sited upon the summit of a prominent crag overlooking Dyffryn Crawnor, but upon its ‘inner’ shoulder, this rendering it invisible from the valley below. I would suggest this implies a specific relationship with Garn Caws, and a subservient one at that. [Coflein details of the various monuments within the cemetery are given as a miscellaneous post]

The locality of Pant Llwyd is liberally endowed with ‘shake holes’, those enigmatic circular depressions (I’m sorry, but ‘holes’ simply does not do justice to their exquisite natural symmetry) to be found upon the limestone uplands of South Wales. I must admit that, for all the world, they appear ‘man made’, or even of ‘supernatural’ origin. Could their existence have had a bearing on the location of the cairns? An intriguing thought, but one to ponder later on. For now, Garn Caws calls...

themodernantiquarian.com/site/12944#post-84364

Easter Saturday ... weather not too canny, so most of the population of South Wales, I guess, looks forward to a day in front of the TV eating chocolate. But not all. The call may be unspoken, but never unheard... we must head for the hills.

The small town of Llangynidr – very much the sort of place you’d retire to if you had enough money – lies a little west of Crickhowell beside the River Usk and attendant canal. The shapely peak of Tor-y-Foel, a perennial favourite, precedes the snow-clad summits of The Brecon Beacons to the west. When they are not obscured by a more off-white curtain of opaque vapour, that is. To the south, however, the high ground is of an unknown quantity, the B4560 allowing the motorist panoramic views of The Black Mountains of the quality usually reserved for the hillwalker as it snakes its way towards Ebbw Vale. I check the map. Somewhere upon the western fringes of these uplands lies the obscure Carreg Wen Fawr-y-Rugos stone row. The cloud base is holding. I think I’ll give it a go, but neglect to tell the Mam Cymru the true objective. Hey, I might not be ‘The Postman’, but Gladman must be seen to deliver. And today I’m not too sure I can.

A very minor road descends into Cwm Cleister just before the ‘bend-to-end-all-bends’ near Pen Rhiw-garn. We (eventually) manage to park below a stile (public footpath sign) midway between the access for Pantllwyd (dirt track) and High Meadow (private road) farms. The latter name is descriptive, the path linking the upland farms across sodden grassland, the way ahead indicated by marker posts. At Pantllwyd farm we veer SW and follow a stony track – more resembling a stream today – between drystone field enclosures towards the open hillside. Breaking free, I take a bearing and up we go....

The mountainside is teeming with water. The vestiges of melting snow? Probably not, since the map shows a myriad natural springs in the area, a fact which no doubt accounts for the especially numerous wild ponies within view. Unlimited food and water on tap. Right on! As we make our way to the far side of the ridge, the barest glimpse of orthostat amongst the coarse, long grass promises success, duly confirmed a few moments later. I manage a few hasty photos before the heavens open, water now coming at us from all sides, not simply straight up from the ground(!!), water driven by wind gusting at approx 40mph now we’ve left the mountain’s lee. Hell, this is a great place for a pic-nic, sitting upon the lead, and by far the tallest, stone, a stone strangely enough ‘crossing the T’ of the row in its fallen state, suggesting it didn’t just topple of its own accord? The other orthostats are much smaller by comparison, although the shattered nature of one may mean it was once more substantial. Some way to the north-east stands a low outlier....

The view to north and north-east towards the Black Mountains is stunning, the decapitated top of Crug Hywel prominent above Crickhowell. But why place a stone row here. Is the proximity to the life-giving springs significant. Or was it intended to point the way towards the burial cairns in the manner of those upon Dartmoor? We must head to the summit and have a look for ourselves...

themodernantiquarian.com/site/12943#post-84359

Firstly, great fieldnotes from Craig inspired this visit, so thanks.

Junction 32 of the M4 is not the most inspiring place in the world – despite the proximity of the fairytale Victorian ‘reconstruction’ of Castell Coch above Tongwynlais – its significance for me being access to the A470 and the North. The Afon Taf snakes its way towards Merthyr alongside the aforementioned route, the motorist no doubt barely affording a glance at the wooded hillside to his/her left, if my own experiences are anything to go by. This is Garth Hill and, contrary to appearances, it is really rather special.

Perhaps the easiest way of discovering Garth Hill’s secrets is to head for the small town of Pentyrch, from where a minor road climbs northwards to intersect with another skirting the southern flank of the hill. The Fford y Bryniau (Ridgeway Walk) can be ascended here directly to the summit if time is short. However I followed the road to a ‘pic-nic’ area and climbed the eastern end of the hill overlooking the Taff Vale, meeting a very friendly, knowledgeable local en-route. From here the principle attraction, an enormous summit round barrow crowned by OS trig point, is visible to the approx SW. There is certainly a sense of pilgrimage coming along the back of this mini-mountain which would probably be lost by taking the diirect route. And wasn’t a sense of the dramatic, that is an understanding of theatrics, an important element of Bronze Age ritual? It certainly appears that way to me.

RedBrickDream’s descriptions of the actual barrows are pretty much spot on, the summit barrow being the largest example I can recall in Wales – the most easterly is also pretty large, it has to be said – and very unexpected in these parts. Well worth a visit for these alone. However the views are also superb, with a grandstand vista of Cardiff and its bay, not to mention the Brecon Beacons on a clear day. Unfortunately I couldn’t verify the latter.

The only ‘downer’, I guess, is that you are unlikely to have Garth Hill to yourself for long. And American students doing star-jumps for some muppet to capture on camera for ‘the folks back home’ doesn’t do a great deal for that ‘special relationship’, in my opinion. However Garth Hill did an awful lot for my personal relationship with Cardiff....

Perhaps the shortest Gladman field notes ever... what is THIS all about, then?

Carl’s small, weathered sign has now been replaced by two ‘official’ signs:- a standard Public Footpath sign and a ‘dolmen’ sign featuring a ‘walking man’. This is all well and good except they point to a pair of huge, locked iron gates, the entrance featuring an intercom which does not work. So just how you are supposed to access the ‘Public Footpath’ is beyond me. Quite bizarre.

Some hostility between new occupants and council, perhaps? Needless to say the chamber was there first!

The industrial coastal belt of South Wales continues to intrigue and prove just how misplaced the somewhat prejudiced – nay, elitist – views of this traveller are at times, never more clearly than in the case of this hillfort hidden away from prying eyes above Rhiwsaeson....

A glance at the map shows apparently substantial defences. But how can this be, with Llantrisant and neighbouring settlements encroaching to the north and west and the M4 a little to the south. Surely it must have been destroyed, or at the very least be a local yobs’ hangout? The truth is very different.

Heading north out of town beneath a disused viaduct, a ‘Road Closed’ sign halts any further vehicular progress. So I park here and revert to the Mk1 boot, full waterproofs required to keep out the downpour. Passing Ty-mawr farm on my right, a signpost proclaims the ‘Fford y Bryniau’ (or ‘Ridgeway Walk’ to most of the population) heading to the left. My old 1:25 OS map shows the hillfort to the left of the track, or, more accurately, ‘exceedingly wet and muddy excuse of a track’. In actual fact, it lies to the right, crowning the high ground behind the obvious wooded hill in the right foreground. But then I wasn’t to know that, was I? Serves me right for being a cheapskate and buying ex-library maps, I suppose. Due to this I arrive at the western defences first, initially somewhat underwhelmed, then pleasantly surprised at the bivallate ramparts. Seems there’s life in the old ‘fort yet.

A couple of locals approach around the perimeter and stop for a chat. Seems that, yes, the hillfort is on private ground but Glynn, the landowner, is a rather nice bloke who’s got no issues with access as long as the usual courtesies are followed. Can’t say fairer than that, can you? Anyway, carrying on clockwise around the circumferance things get a whole lot better, with not only a fine view of Garth Hill and its round barrows, but a reasonably well preserved, partly tri-vallate section of eastern ramparts to enjoy. There’s also what I take to be the original gateway – two very eroded, deeply inverted, close set parallel banks – at the south-east. Hell, I like this place. Water accumulates at several locations within the defences, possibly a handy original feature, certainly of great benefit to the current inhabitants of the enclosure: sheep.

Tall, (usually) dark, well proportioned (ish) and with a multi-faceted character suggesting hidden depths.... if you can penetrate behind a veneer of apparent couldn’t-care-less-ness. But enough about me. These Cae’r-Hen-Eglwys stones are pretty good, too!

Surely few megalithic monuments can invoke such paradoxical sentiments in the visitor as these two beautiful monoliths? Hidden away in a field, to the north of the charming village of Laleston and sandwiched between the, er, somewhat less appealing urban sprawl of Bridgend to the east and the M4, the profile offered from the minor road upon arrival is achingly evocative... shades of Duddo, perhaps? The stones themselves possess exquisite grain, the resultant texture combining with the colours of the lichen, ever changing in the constantly evolving light patterns of today, to send the perceptive senses into overdrive.

Then the paradox... the downside. The piles of household rubbish littering the approach, the old trailer wheel and coke bottle defining the space between the stones, the patch of blackened earth nearby no doubt marking the location of the last rites of another stolen car, now removed, the stones looking on in mute witness at the violation. Hell, how did it come to this in a society which is only too ready to proclaim its spirituality and its supposed affinity with its ancient heritage, the ‘Hen wlad fy nhadau’? Why, they even sing about it in the new cathedrals, the rugby stadia! How indeed.... it seems to me that actions certainly speak louder than words in this respect and that, following the demise of the chapels, the new South Walian ‘religion’ of rugby and beer has very little time for the ‘Old land of my fathers’. As Karen Matheson once succinctly put it, the ‘..country’s been wearing the emperor’s clothes..’. Surely it shouldn’t be up to an Englishman all the way from south-east Essex to attempt to restore some dignity to this relic of past cultures? Then again, perhaps it takes the outsider to see things as they really are?

A ‘souped up’ pretend rally car – you know the sort – roars past, the ‘occupants’ looking at me as if I’m from another planet. Although I know the area well, I feel I might as well be, if the sadness which wells up within me is any indication. But then, suddenly, the paradox inherent here provides the defining moment of the visit.... The sun streams across the defiled landscape to illuminate the two monoliths, which appear to these eyes like a shining beacon of hope for the future in their very survival against all the odds. Melodramatic? Perhaps. But then again...just maybe.... the ‘chavs’ won’t win after all as long as there are some who realise this is not the way to treat the past. It can be different. No, it HAS to be different. So visit these stones, if you can, and perhaps we can help bring them back into the local conscience.

To reach Cae’r-Hen-Eglwys take the A473 Bridgend turning (roundabout) towards Laleston from the A48. Take the next left and, ignoring any turnings, pass the cemetery on your right. At the crossroads turn right and head east to a junction. Turn right here and, in a short distance, the stones appear silhouetted beyond a field gate to your left.

The area around the staunchly Republican South Armagh town of Crossmaglen, prosaically dubbed ‘Bandit Country’ by British soldiers during the Anglo-Irish troubles, was found to emanate a quite intimidating aura by this somewhat wide-eyed, head down traveller in search of megalithic treasures. Not so Mr Cope, who – if the legend is true – once brazenly drove through town sporting his enormous Luftwaffe cap. Mind you, there were what appeared to be 20mm cannon shell holes penetrating several road signs at the time of my visit, so please don’t be too harsh on me.....

From Crossmaglen head north on the B135 towards Cullyhanna, the trick being to pick up Annaghmare Road going left at some crossroads, then proceeding just under 1 mile down this road to locate a minor access track on the right. More difficult than it sounds, since clearly several promised signposts had been removed. Park at the end of the access track and there it is, the superbly preserved court tomb standing before you upon – or perhaps more accurately, engulfing – a small knoll backed by woodland.

Seeming only lacking capstones, the tomb possesses a fine facade of large orthostats either side of a central galley, this being aligned approx north/south and consisting of three linear chambers. Beyond, at the far (northern) end of the cairn, lie two lateral chambers, apparently later insertions, the cairn being therefore extended to accommodate them. The quality of construction is excellent, with high quality dry stone courses being utilised to fill the spaces between orthostats.

Both forecourt and entrance were apparently sealed sometime between c3100 and 2,800 BC, radio carbon dates in this range being obtained from charcoal found behind the blocking material. And there’s more... According to Carleton Jones (Temples of Stone) the relative positioning of the facade stones may well have represented an attempt to embody male/female symbolism within the structure. Specifically, the 3rd orthostat to the right of the gallery entrance is the largest of the entire tomb, potentially suggesting ‘masculinity’, whilst the 4th to the left is, bizarrely, set upon its narrower end as if to represent a ‘top-heavy’ female shape. This would certainly explain what is otherwise a very structurally unsound, not to mention difficult to achieve, architectural arrangement. Not quite ‘Page 3’, I grant you, but infinitely more ‘tasteful’, I’d have thought?

Annaghmare is thus a complex, damn interesting monument and... once a hovering army helicopter decides to bugger off.... possesses a great vibe within its woodland setting. I loved it and left South Armagh a little wiser in more ways than one.

The day dawns with perhaps as blue a sky as I ever thought possible in Northern Ireland. Certainly the weather is in distinct, sharp contrast to that which accompanied my first attempt to ascend Slieve Gullion a week before, that attempt aborted before even leaving the car due to a very low cloud base. In retrospect I’m glad I didn’t push my luck, although I admit it would have probably been easier, yet undeniably foolhardy to carry on with such a prize waiting at the summit.

Slieve Gullion, at 1,894ft (573m) is the highest point in South Armagh and focal point of a vast ampitheatre of volcanic hills encircling the border town of Newry known as ‘The Ring of Gullion’. Newry, infamous within the context of recent Anglo-Irish relations, is, on a happier note, the birthplace of the great Arsenal/Tottenham goalkeeper Pat Jennings. Reaching much further back into the mists of time, legendary Irish heroes such as Cuchulain, Fionn MacCumhail and the Red Branch are closely linked with this fine little mountain.

Those megalithically inclined – or even simply looking for a majestic view – are helped by a well maintained, well signposted ‘Slieve Gullion Forest Drive’, itself offering panoramic views, which can be followed to a car-park on the western shoulder of the peak. Here, a steep path heads eastwards towards the southern summit.... apparently there was a sign, but it keeps getting periodically, er, removed by persons unknown, so please make sure valuables etc are locked away out of sight. The terrain consists of springy peat, although erosion has made the path steep in places. Nevertheless the trek should not be overly taxing, the retrospective views over the surrounding countryside stunning and ample compensation for any flagging limbs.

Then, upon reaching the top, there’s the magnificent passage grave crowning the summit, one of the highest ‘opened’ examples in Ireland. Although not quite in the same class as the Seefin cairn upon the Wicklows (it being much more accessible and thus bearing a little unsightly grafitti – but, hey, so does Maes Howe, albeit Viking!) it remains an outstanding example of this type of monument. The traveller is required to stoop in order to traverse the low entrance passage, the flanks of which are comprised of very large slabs, and emerge into the tall central chamber within the massive cairn. This is octagonal with a rear recess lined with orthostats, the interior illuminated with a stream of sunlight from a grilled sylight in the roof. Interestingly the aforementioned recess appears to contain a bowl-like receptacle similar to that within the great tomb at Newgrange.

I stay within the cool of the interior for a considerable time before finally emerging to take in the views; the Cooley Peninsular and sea to the south east, the Mountains of Mourne across Carlingford Lough to the east and, to the north beyond Callaigh Berra’s Lough, the northern summit of Slieve Gullion bearing another, although chamberless cairn. Sadly, however, I’ve spent so much time inside that I must now begin the descent...

Incidentally it would appear that ‘Callaigh Berra’ is a reference to the ‘hag’ incarnation of the Mother Goddess trinity. According to legend, the giant Finn Macool (him again) was persuaded by Callaigh Berra to take a dip within the lough only to be transformed into a grey haired old man. It seems he managed to get his youth back (ha!) but was nevertheless left with the dodgy peroxide barnet. Because he was ‘worth it’, probably. A lesson to us all.

Such are the megalithic riches of Cork and Kerry that this beautiful recumbent stone circle was, I’m ashamed to say, merely languishing upon my ‘reserve list’ of sites to be visited should the chance arise. Fortunately, for my self-credibility, it did.

The R569 leads eastwards from Kenmare – which, incidentally, possesses a fine stone circle of its own – to the town of Kilgarvan, south of which a minor road ascends above the Slaheny Valley in the direction of ‘Macaura’s Grave’, the nature of the latter remaining an unknown entity. Without an OS map I’m forced to rely upon Mr Cope’s ‘Megalithic European’ directions. He does not let me down..... not that this is readily apparent as I park up beside a lonely track-cum-road leading to a distant farm, since the ‘ring, perched upon a rocky knoll, is not visible until you are a few yards distant.

A 5-bar gate to the left furnishes a clue, however, and sure enough a short track brings the traveller to one of the most intimate, exquisite little stone circles it has ever been his privilege to see.... before a swarm of Grade A ‘attack’ midges necessitate an immediate sortie back to the car to retrieve insect repellent. So a few minutes later, smelling like a prize lemon – and no doubt looking like one – I settle back down to enjoy the moment... when, horror of horrors, the sound of a car driving up shatters the ethereal stillness. Thankfully a local accent and the comical clamour of alarmed sheep being moved into an adjacent field announce salvation. Gurteen was clearly designed to remain hidden from prying eyes, a haven away from the distractions of every day life. So it was written, so it shall be.

As mentioned, the ‘circle is a bona-fide gem, with eleven (I think) orthostats, one fallen, and two external, radial portals – the entrance arrangement apparently very unusual, according to Burl. The recumbent is no ‘tiddler’ either, plus – like the aforementioned Kenmare ring – there’s the additional bonus of a central ‘boulder burial’. The surrounding landscape is impressive, with a sweeping vista of Slaheny Valley to the north providing a softer counterpart to the rugged Gullaba Hill and soaring 2000ft ridge to the south.

In fact I’m inclined to review my previous assertion. Far from being hidden away in the ‘middle of nowhere’, it could well be argued that, at least to those that built it, Gurteen was actually at the centre of the locality, at the very hub of ‘everything’. It’s just our 21st Century perception that has changed. More’s the pity, perhaps.

Bejaysus... these Cork ‘circles are hard for the outsider to find, are they not? And without a lot of time/patience, forget it! Not worth asking the locals, either, since everyone assumes you’re a tourist looking for Drombeg and – since that’s signposted – you must be a muppet. One gentleman in particular looked me up and down and gave me the stereotypical ‘I wouldn’t be starting from here, mind...’ directions to the honey-pot site even though, in retrospect, we were less than half a mile from Bohonagh.

However such tribulations can have unforeseen benefits, for example one false turn leading us to Woodfield, birthplace of Michael Collins. The name apparently still arouses heated, divided passions within Cork; the deep scars the Civil War inflicted upon Irish society clearly fade very slowly indeed.... nevertheless an enigmatic, intensely ‘human’ man worthy of much personal study in my opinion. But I digress.

Eventually the proverbial ‘one last look’ (seriously), whilst descending a steep hill, highlights the ‘circle stones silhouetted upon the skyline opposite. No objections being raised at the nearest house, I set off up the hill and am promptly blown away – metaphorically this time – by the scene which greets me. With due respect to this morning’s fabulous Drombeg visit, Bohonagh is in a different league altogether in terms of vibe and sense of place. There is an absolutely sensational aura upon this overgrown, unkempt hill top today. Possibly this has something to do with the towering, black storm clouds, washes of sunlight streaming across the landscape following a sudden shower. Then again it could be the sweeping views out to sea, or the joy of finally standing here being accentuated by the difficulty of the pilgrimage. Or the silence reflecting the overgrown impression of ‘rawness’ here? In truth I guess it’s a combination of all these factors. The only (very) minor gripe is the cattle fence, but hey, so what?

But what of the circle itself? Nine substantial uprights stand in the ring, two of which, big beauties, are set radially to the circumference, acting as portals. Opposite, the conglomerate recumbent has been described by Mr Burl as ..’like an old white loaf thick with currants...’ Wonderful words, indeed. Some way to the east is located a companion ‘boulder burial’, a sort of dolmen-variant with an (apparently) approx 20 tonne capstone resting upon much smaller supporting stones.

So everything’s in its place at Bohonagh. I tend to think of the place as Drombeg’s beautiful, reclusive sister, who doesn’t get the boys because she can’t afford the latest clothes and is too shy to come to the dance. Doesn’t make her any less enticing, though, does it? I’d argue it makes her more so.... just like the landscape she graces, gloriously uplifting and melancholic by turn. Just like her even more reclusive nearby sibling at Reanascreena, another essentail visit.

We head back to Ballyvourney via Beal na mBlath (the site of Collin’s ambush by anti-Treaty IRA forces), a spot which, like Bohonagh/Reanascreena encapsulates the heart and soul of Cork for me. Places which invoke real, raw human emotion; places which can make you actually feel something. How refreshing......

Ballynoe is cited by none other than Aubrey Burl as ‘one of the great rings of Western Europe’.... so an overcast morning, threatening rain, is probably not the optimum time to visit. But then experience has shown that dear Roisin Dubh rarely accommodates the insignificant wishes of Gladman, so he’s well advised to take whatever’s on offer, so to speak.

The circle is located a couple of miles south of Downpatrick, the town, as its name implies, more than happy with its association with yer man himself (although the claim that St Patrick’s actually buried in the cathedral here is perhaps somewhat, ahem, tenuous). The final approach on foot is along a tree-lined track, the unintentional effect of which, combined with such a distinguished write up, is to heighten the anticipation of the traveller to, well, you get the idea. It therefore comes as quite a shock to find.... no fanfare... no fence, no turnstiles, no hype... in fact not even any people. Just a deep, lush pasture with Slieve Donard (one of the ‘Mountains of Mourne’) gracing the horizon to the south west and a slumbering arrangement of large stones poking above the grass. Right on!

The sense of anticlimax, albeit most welcome, is fleeting, for the validity of Mr Burl’s assertion is soon very much apparent. And then some, since the circumference of the ring is still nearly intact, featuring numerous large orthostats. There’s more, however, in the form of a long mound partially surrounded by a heavy, incomplete kerb. Whether this originally enclosed the mound is unclear, although further kerb stones at the western end suggest it did, I guess. The mound itself possesses remains of a cist at its eastern end. So, Ballynoe is a fine, multiphase monument. But which came first, long mound or circle?

Well, perhaps the siting of portal stones outside the (approx) western entrance at Ballynoe might shed some light here, for Mr Burl hypothesises that since this (amongst other features) is very similar to the arrangements to be found at several Cumbrian ‘circles (in particular at the wonderful Sunkenkirk), there is a case for suggesting Ballynoe was erected by incomers from across the Irish Sea, perhaps trading axes from Langdale? And of course the great Cumbrian circles do not surround tombs. An intriguing theory, also discussed, incidentally, by Mr Cope in his ‘You Gotta Problem...’ sleeve notes.

Ballynoe has many other stories to tell, including possible Mid Winter alignments upon the aforementioned Slieve Donard. But perhaps the most significant story is that here we have one of Britain’s finest stone circles languishing in relative obscurity. But don’t just take Aubrey’s word for it..... I happen to think so, too.

Although rising to a relatively modest 1,078ft, the incredible mini-mountain of Knocknarea (Cnoc na Riabh) appears much higher to the passing traveller, the result of its isolated coastal position emphasising its full elevation literally from sea level. Indeed, water would appear to be key to its significance within the landscape, the deep incursions of Sligo Harbour (to the north) and Ballysadare Bay (to the south) combining with the Garvoge River, draining Lough Gill (to the east), to form the peninsular upon which the mountain stands, to the west of the great Carrowmore megalithic cemetery. That Knocknarea and the latter are linked, I guess, must go without saying?

Knocknarea is visible – nay, dominates the skyline – for many miles around the locality, making it a suitable spot to erect surely one of the most enigmatic pile of stones in all Ireland... Miosgan Meadhbha, or Maeve’s Cairn. Unexcavated, like nearby Heapstown Cairn, the monument is on a par with the great passage graves of Bru na Boinne in terms of size, but, for me, eclipses them in terms of visual impact and siting. Although generally thought to contain a burial chamber (or two) – oh come on, it must, surely? – I suppose we could even have an Irish variant upon the Silbury theme if this was found not be the case after all? Hmm. Unlikely, I think.

The monument is bordered by a substantial bank and several smaller cairns, further emphasising its stature, as well as a small prehistoric settlement to the north east. And of course there’s the sweeping sea views across Sligo Bay and beyond Sligo itself to the elegant escarpment of Yeat’s Benbulben, the evocative scene enhanced by cloud swirling around the cairn and across the summit plateau. Suffice to say if there isn’t a great queen buried within... there bloody well should be!

Knocknarea truly has it all, so you won’t be surprised to know that there’s a price to pay for an audience with Queen Maeve... that of a steep climb. I’d suggest the easiest approach is the obvious one, via a pretty rough track starting from the Grange North car park to the south east.. not easy, but within the capabilities of the average mortal, I’d have thought. We took approx 45 minutes, although this included a diversion to eulogise with a typically rosy cheeked farmer over the beauty of his two magnificent horses whilst his cattle curiously looked on. Bear in mind the aforementioned cloud, however. Although a mini-mountain, normal rules apply, so take care.

Cong is a small, historic town sited between the loughs Mask and Corrib, large bodies of water which restrict the approach to the mountains of Connemara from the east. Its principle claim to fame is the ruined 12th Century abbey, the building besieged by schoolboys as we arrive from Galway, thoughts of their heritage no doubt the last thing upon the minds of the little shites.... The other attraction is a ghastly, mock-medieval structure known as Ashford Castle. Hmm. Nothing here to satiate the megalithically minded then?

Appearances, of course, can be deceptive, for just a mile(ish) to the north-east sits as varied a four stone circle complex as you could wish for. Needless to say, without a map, or road sign of any description, we struggle to find the rings at first. But ‘endure and perservere’ has always been an unofficial Gladman motto.... and eventually the first of the quartet – the northern most, and coincidentally finest – comes into view. It is worth finding, being a variant recumbent circle, the recumbent and odd little flankers set on the northern arc of a ring enclosing the remains of a kerbed cairn. The setting is exquisite, too, the stones having been erected upon what would appear to be an artificial platform, overlooking a pasture from beneath a copse of trees. This, then, is the ‘cared for’ site for the occasional visitor.

The second site lies beyond the stone wall to the south. A large, embanked stone circle – the largest ring of the group – it is dishevelled, semi-derelict and overgrown, but nevertheless still possesses several large orthostats in situ. The visitor retains a perception of having a ‘stolen moment’ here; such experiences are, of course, often all the more sweeter and memorable because of their illegitimacy, whether actual or supposed. It is an evocative site, indeed.

The third stone circle, to the north east, is a ruinous cairn-circle of four surviving uprights. It is also engulfed by vegetation but well worth the calf graze I suffer climbing the dilapidated dry stone wall to get to it. Show sites have their place, but arguably these half-forgotten, hidden monuments offer more reward to the inquisitive.

The final circle of the group stands within the private grounds of Deanery Place, shrouded by yet more foliage. But unfortunately time has run out. Burl cites this as being a ‘plain elipse’ with a ‘score of light-grey stones...‘

Back in the car it’s time to head into yonder mountains, well happy with a visit to perhaps the most neglected stone circle complex on the western coast?

Megalithically-minded visitors to Lough Arrow and its environs – a most beautiful part of Ireland, it has to be said – are quite rightly captivated by the great Carrowkeel cairns crowning the Bricklieve Mountains. These are a ‘must visit’, if ever there was one. Other visitors, not so inclined, carry on down the N4 to Sligo, perhaps to indulge in some Yeats, or, if that doesn’t appeal, 15 pints of Guinness. Hey, it’s a nice town, so it is.

However virtually no-one, it would appear, makes the short detour beyond the northern tip of the lough to Heapstown crossroads. Time is money, or so the proverbial ‘they’ say, but if you do make the effort I guarantee your ‘account’ will be in credit. And you can’t say fairer than that, can you?

For here, a little north of the aforementioned crossroads, sits a veritable slumbering giant of a cairn – I assume ‘passage grave’, although, like nearby Maeve’s Cairn upon Knocknarea, it remains ‘unopened’. And what an unassuming behemoth it is, too, hidden away in a wooded field set back from the junction of minor roads. A full 60m in diameter, it is one of the largest cairns in Ireland outside of Bru Na Boinne, far larger than those at Carrowkeel. The site is bordered by a kerb which infers that the cairn was once far larger than it currently is, the missing material probably now adorning many a local wall, road or building.

According to the local, excellent guide (issued by the Arrow Community Enterprise Limited), George Petrie (yes, himself) visited Heapstown in 1837, at which time a large monolith stood upon the cairn’s summit. Unfortunately this is now long gone, apparently lying smashed somewhere within the lush vegetation surrounding the site. More’s the pity. The site is known as Carn Oillriallaigh in gaelic folklore... which apparently alludes to it being the tomb of Aillil.... must study up on Irish mythology.

We visit upon a typically Irish day of fine, misty drizzle – the ‘dry sort of rain which won’t soak you to the skin’, according to one of our many B&B hosts, I forget which – this lending a somewhat soft focus to the landscape and cairn-topped mountains beyond the lough. Does wonders for the female skin, too. Oh yes, this phenomenon being another of the wonders of Ireland. But I digress... Anyway, climbing the slippery cairn material with the intrepid ‘Gladmum’, a dog barks in the yard below as it spots the intruders, so momentarily breaking the silence which seems to envelope the great cairn like a warm blanket. We sit at the summit in hushed awe – reverence, even – trying in vain to contemplate the mind-blowing expenditure of effort it must have taken to erect this monument. And why build it here, aloof from the great nearby mountain top cemetery? Putting it simply I believe there is a lot more to Heapstown Cairn than currently meets the eye, and it could well have been an integral part of the Carrowkeel ‘experience’. This is a very, very important site, indeed.

It certainly deserves to be better known...... but in a curious way is fine just the way it is, so to speak.

Oh Carrowkeel... word fails me, but I guess I should try and describe something of what it meant to visit this astonishing prehistoric ritual complex. For me Carrowkeel is quite simply the finest of the major Irish megalithic cemeteries. Sure, it lacks the connoisseur’s art of the Bru na Boinne tombs and Loughcrew – and is of somewhat rougher construction, it has to be said – and Carrowmore is simply mind-boggling in extent. But for a ‘mountain-head’ like me, Carrowkeel really does have it all, the tombs perched upon the Bricklieve Mountains (Breac Shliabh, or ‘speckled mountains’) overlooking the gorgeous Loch Arrow and possessing a magnificent vista towards the one and only Knocknarea.

Leave the main N4 Sligo road at Castlebaldwin and follow the ‘historical trail’ (a bit of a misnomer, obviously, since this is a journey into prehistory) roughly southwards, with the cairn-topped Kesh Corran rearing up to your right. The road surface becomes progressively ‘rougher’, as if to reflect the surrounding landscape, with high limestone cliff faces curiously reminiscent of Northern England, until a sign proclaims that the final kilometer to the cairns is indeed passable by car. Hmm. Perhaps it’s something to do with me being a somewhat cynical Anglo Saxon/Celt/and-whatever-else-hybrid, but we decide to walk nonetheless, fearing a touch o’ the Blarney stone. Wisely as it transpires, too, although the Aussie kangarooing (ho! ho!) past us in his hire car would probably have disagreed whilst exclaiming ‘where’s the cairns, dude!’. Last seen careering downhill towards Loch Arrow...... he at least gave us a laugh and, with large cairns seemingly crowning every ridge, may well have stopped me freaking out altogether with a little light relief. No worries, dude.

The very rough approach track terminates at a turning-area-cum-car-park (ha!) from where a short climb brings us to the first monument. To state that the prosaically named ‘Cairn G’ is a ‘good way to begin’ is putting it very mildly indeed, the well preserved cairn covering a magnificent cruciform chamber, its solid roof slabs supported upon eight (I think) orthostats. There’s more however, for the chambered tomb possesses a ‘Newgrange-style’ letter-box which apparently allows the setting summer solstice sun to penetrate the chamber on 21st June. This is obviously the reverse of the world famous arrangement at Newgrange, so elevating this tomb into the premier league of Irish passage graves in the process. Oh to be here when that happens!

The next cairn uphill (Cairn H) has sadly collapsed into the chamber, although I can attest it is still possible to crawl down the passageway. Well, a Gladman’s gotta do what a Gladman’s gotta do, as they say. Cairn K, however, crowns the summit of the northern Bricklieves and is a real beauty, the cruciform chamber within exceedingly well preserved and reached by a long, low entrance passage akin to the great Orcadian tombs. The three pentagonal side chambers are exquiste, the corbelled roof likewise. And if I’m not very much mistaken.... the passage is aligned upon Maeve’s Cairn surmounting distant Knocknarea! It’s all too much, it really is. No, seriously, because as well as a large cist to the east of the tomb, the ruined ‘Cairn L’ to the west, and a nearby settlement (no doubt the home of the people who used these tombs?), cairns seem to crown every horizon. As old Irish comedian Frank Carson used to say.... ‘And there’s more’. Much, much more at Carrowkeel.

Sadly I must leave and who knows, I may never return? But no matter. Carrowkeel will always have me in thrall.

The magnificent court tomb of Shalwy lies just a couple of hundred yards up the valley from its companion site Croaghbeg, dense vegetation ensuring it remains hidden from all but the most inquisitive – not to mention well informed – passer-by....
themodernantiquarian.com/site/5377/croaghbeg.html

It is arguably an even more impressive example of the type, being sited upon a small knoll and possessing an additional ‘triangular’ lintel stone and better defined court. The vibe and sense of place are just as exquisite, the build quality just as good as its near neighbour. These tombs were made to last, you could say. They’ve certainly stood the test of time.

Note, however, that an approach from Croaghbeg, although short, involves negotiating several barbed-wire fences and very rough, soggy ground. In fact, in retrospect, I would suggest that returning to the road from Croaghbeg and then approaching Shalwy direct would be a less arduous undertaking.

Despite initial appearances from the road above, these two court tombs do not grant personal audiences lightly. Hey, but isn’t that always the way with classy ladies?

It’s hard to credit that such ancient structures as Croaghbeg – and its near neighbour Shalwy – can remain in such a state of glorious abandonment in this, the 21st Century! If ever there were a pair of hidden megalithic gems, ‘tis these two beauties.

Even armed with one of the recently introduced Irish 1:50K maps, finding the courts tombs is much easier said than done, until two locals on the coastal road confirm the steep northern turn-off does indeed lead towards Gortnagalliagh. Sure enough, after parking near a junction with a rough farm track, I notice two apparent heaps of stone in the deep valley below to my right. Further afield, W.B. Yeats’ Benbulben rises beyond the tiny island of Inishduff within Donegal Bay. It is a sensational vista, it really is, and I believe I can make out Knocknarea.

Actually visiting the tombs is also no easy matter, progress down the steep valley side hindered not only by barbed-wire fences (the locals weren’t at all perturbed by our visit, it has to be said) and the rough ground underfoot, but by 6ft plus fern rendered soaking wet by a sudden heavy shower. Good job the ‘Gladmum’ and I elected to wear full waterproofs, then. Seeing the tomb up close and personal for the first time after emerging from the fern cover is something special, almost as if it’s actually located within a clearing in the primeval forest or something. Seemingly only missing its capstones, the structure is very well preserved, being solidly constructed of large stones. Having said that, the court itself appears a little poorly defined, although an apparent capstone-less dolmen structure within the court area is a nice additional touch.

A visit to Croaghbeg is a somewhat surreal experience, as if the traveller is granted several hours upon some Lost World plateau where time has stood still. There are no turnstiles, signposts, kissing gates or information boards here, and certainly no tourists to break the spell. Hell, there’s nothing at all to interrupt a perfect experience. Except the draw of Croaghbeg’s companion tomb, Shalwy, a little up the valley. themodernantiquarian.com/site/3033/shalwy.html
So why not indeed?