GLADMAN

Of all prehistoric structures it is perhaps the portal tomb which is consistently the most aesthetically pleasing to the modern eye. Whether originally covered by a mound or not(?), the haunting, bare profile of a dolmen/cromlech is guaranteed to set the thought processes a’ flowing.... there are squat, powerful ones (e.g. Lligwy), the overwhelmingly massive (e.g. Browne’s Hill), the elegant and impossibly fragile (e.g. Pentre Ifan), the downright bonkers (Trethevy Quoit), the cute little ones (Chun Quoit, Maen-y-Bardd) and the classic ‘Flintstones’ form (Devil’s Den). Quite where the Kilclooney More portal fits in to these categories, I don’t know. To be honest I think it’s in a category of its own. Really, it is that good.

Sure, I’d seen the pictures and this dolmen was the primary reason for the trip to Donegal – although the many court tombs had a little to do with it, I suppose. But little can prepare the visitor for the elegant form, the streamlined contours... and the sheer, well, sensuous femininity of this wonderful structure.

The visit starts in a less than inspiring manner as I park at the ‘Dolmen Centre’ (oh dear) beside an impossibly yellow church (double-plus oh dear). Hmm. Trying a bit too hard, me-thinks? Anyway, crossing a bridge beside the latter monstrosity, accompanied by a very annoying hound which wants me to play ball, a path leads onto open moorland, the dolmen eventually appearing upon the horizon. Tourists, with their trademark inane assertions, abound, doing little to dispel my distinctly ‘underwhelmed’ state of mind. ‘This had better be good’... Needless to say it is. Very.

The capstone soars upon well proportioned orthostats as if seemingly made of balsa and liable to float away into space any second, the whole sculpture so incredibly well balanced it takes the breath away. Surely this capstone was always meant to be seen? Further inspection reveals a near 360 degree sweep of mountains upon the horizon and a smaller chamber – seemingly the real thing and not a folly – behind the main event. Hmm, were both after all covered by a single cairn? More questions than answers, a particularly knowledgeable American tourist then going on to torpedo another of my cherished stereotypes. Are you listening to me, boy?

I leave this wonderful site for the nearby ruined court tomb.....

themodernantiquarian.com/site/5332/kilclooney_more.html

.....thinking that, quite possibly, this is the finest dolmen in these Isles.

Formicaant’s notes prompted me to quote my fieldnotes of 6th May 2007 for this sadly neglected site... so here goes..

Finding no apparent access from the minor road crossing the shoulder of Castle Common – and more importantly, no place to park – I decide to leave the car at the hairpin bend at Mole’s Chamber and approach from ‘round the back’...

Take the higher of the two bridleways heading north before veering steeply uphill to my left. It soon becomes apparent that the landowner clearly does not want people to see this fort, despite it standing on public access land... hmm. However, keeping to the right of a barbed-wire fence, I ascend a gulley with not a little difficulty, eventually reaching the ramparts marooned within yet more barbed wire. How I hate this stuff! Persevere, however, since there is a gate giving access to the enclosure at the SW corner.

Although pretty eroded, the ramparts are still more than discernible and bivallate where not protected by steep slopes to the south and south-west. This has apparently led some to contend that the hillfort was never finished, although I must admit a ruthlessly practical husbandry of resources appears a more likely explanation to me. There even appears to be the remains of a round barrow in the NE corner?

Shoulsbury is not the most powerful hillfort you’ll ever visit, but the majestic view southwards over Exmoor is a veritable glory indeed, a vista which, unfortunately, is not destined to last today since a violent storm front sweeps in to obliterate all and give me a fearful hammering. Consequently I decide to return to the car via the road to the south, descending out of mist to find the gate barbed-wired across. I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions as to the mentality/morality of the landowner.....

So, Cow Castle may be Exmoor’s hillfort jewel-in-the-crown, but Shoulsbury nevertheless possesses superb views, great atmosphere and some reasonable ramparts. Combine a visit with the nearby Setta Barrow and you’re laughing... provided you aren’t put off by a bit of wire.

Oh Dunnottar... the ‘slope fort’ (from the Gaelic ‘Dun’ [fort] and Fothair [slope]). At first sight the gaunt castle ruins, seeming almost to sprout from the living rock upon which they stand (between Castle Haven and Old Hall Bay, just to the south of Stonehaven), promise an interlude from the intensity of hunting the many RSC’s in the area. A few hours by the sea to regain some perspective, perhaps? But then the sheer importance of this site, not only to Scottish history, but to the prehistory of this magical land becomes apparent to the interested traveller.

First, the history – the castle was established in the 14th Century, the walls no doubt incorporating elements of the preceding Pictish fort which once stood on the site, and must have been pretty well impregnable before the advent of heavy artillery. Wallace invested it, ditto Cromwellian forces between September 1651 and May 1652. It was during the latter siege that a Mrs Grainger, wife of Kinneff’s minister, managed to blag herself an exit and spirit away the Scottish crown hidden in her dress. One assumes she was a somewhat hefty lass... as Private Fraser out of Dad’s Army would say, ‘wi’ nice, firm thighs...’. But I digress.

For me, however, it is the natural defences of Dunnottar, the great crag jutting out into the sea, which make a visit here a must to all those with a passion for the past, a past which, if understood, can perhaps guide the modern Scotland towards a more balanced and confident future. Much has been written about Scots gaelic culture... not all of it to the nation’s benefit, in my opinion (the ludicrous Braveheart, anyone?)... coinciding with devolution and the roaring success of the Tiger economy across the Irish Sea before the recent crash. Comparatively little has been written about the people who once inhabited Dunnottar in prehistory, a people who have arguably – to use a modern term – been retrospectively ‘photoshopped’ out of Scotland’s story. The Picts.

So who were the Picts, these people who apparently scared the living daylights out of many a Roman legionnary, yet carved exquisite stones? Theres’s apparently not an awful lot to go on. However legend has it Dunnottar was chosen by the Picts due to it’s association with ‘The Green Lady’, no doubt some reference to a Mother Goddess?. Climb upon its rock, with the seagulls a’wheeling around your head in a cacophony of noise and I’ve no doubt you’ll understand what they meant. Well, at least a little.....

Like Dunluce upon the Antrim coast, the castle here is almost an irrelevance compared with the rawness of nature at this site. If you’re after a starting point to gauge the spirit of the Picts I’d argue here is as good a place to start as any....

Well, who’d have thought it? After all these years trampling up and down the wondrous Mynydd Du, gawping at the elegant waterfalls upon the Nant-y-Llyn and hanging out at the Cerrig Duon, the penny finally drops that here, right beside the main path, is a genuine Bronze Age cairn.

True, the cairn is not even marked on the 1:25K map and the stream’s cascades, outflow of the superb Llyn y Fan Fawr sited far above, completely grab the attention of the passing hillwalker. Nevertheless.... honestly!

Sited overlooking the aforementioned Nant-y-Llyn, to the south of the Maen Mawr and its accompanying ‘circle, a visit to this cairn is no easy affair most of the year since it requires the fording of the infant Afon Tawe – easier said than done in all but the driest of periods, today requiring a detour of a quarter mile upstream, not to mention waterproof socks. However combine a visit with the circle and you’ll have yourself a grand few hours in fabulously wild, remote country infused with that additional ‘aura’ only prehistoric sites possess.
Hell, not even driving hail and blizzards could dampen our spirits today, not with washes of sun racing across the flanks of Waun Leuci during the intervals between weather fronts and the multicoloured sheep wandering up to gaze incomprehensively at the visitors. ‘Allo creeps, Sidney Sheep ‘ere’.

The location is superb, the only sound that of water making its inexorable way into the Afon Tawe from a myriad sources upon the mountainside, the loudest being the cascades just upstream. The cairn, clearly ‘opened’ at one time or another, would appear to have been sited with reference to these waterfalls, and also appears to have a remnant of cist within (?)

As for the technical bit... according to Coflein the cairn is:

“A Bronze Age round cairn is located on south-east sloping ground at 370m ASL, to the south of the megalithic complex of Maen Mawr and Cerrig Duon, and on the north side of Nant-y-llyn.
The oval stony mound measures 9.8m long (NW-SE) by 7.6m and stands to between 0.9m and 1.2m high, allowing for the slope of the ground. The cairn is marked by a central trench running NW to SE which measures 4.3m long, 1.4m wide and 0.5m deep; towards its SE end lie two stone uprights, perhaps the remains of a cist”.

It has to be said that I’m not the most enthusiastic early riser. And to do so at 7.30am on a freezing cold Boxing Day morning would probably be beyond the call of duty... if the potential prize wasn’t a visit to a couple of Wales’ finest cairns. Sadly the Mam Cymru stays behind to tend to her infant grand daughter. Some things are indeed more important, aren’t they?

So, with this incentive I head along the M4, resisting the urge to take the turn-off to Barry Island – in homage to last night’s ‘Gavin and Stacy’ – and veer up the A470 beneath Garth Hill’s barrows (must visit these one day) towards dear old Merthyr Tudful, hence Tredegar. Here a minor road leaves the A465 to ascend the Sirhowy Valley towards the hamlet of Trefil. This is an industrial landscape, and not a pretty sight, it has to be said.... particularly if you once made your livelihood here (check out a rather poignant song by South Walian comedian Max Boyce about this valley if you can). The road continues, to terminate at the quarries above Dyffryn Crawnor, but I don’t make the full distance due to ice [a particular Gladman fear], parking a little way short. From here the 2,025ft summit is a little under 2 miles to the approx south-west.

The landscape, cloaked in a mantle of white, is the epitome of ‘the bleak Midwinter’, the snow masking numerous springs waiting to snare the unwary traveller. Cresting the initial ridge, the summit of the mountain is visible beyond, a relatively simple walk in clear conditions, I’d have thought, but quite a trek in deep snow today.

It is worth the effort. The twin Bronze Age cairns of Garn Felen and Carn y Bugail tower above the hostile landscape a small distance to the east of the summit OS trig point...and it seems to me incredible that monuments this size could still remain upon the over-trampled Brecon Beacons. Initially, however, it is a monument of much more recent times – and modest construction – that fair brings a lump to my throat and very nearly a tear to my eye. A little way below Garn Felen stands a small cairn dedicated to the crew of a RAF Wellington bomber (T2520 from 115 Squadron, RAF Marham, Norfolk) which crashed here on 9/12/40 returning from active operations. There were no survivors. It exudes a poignancy beyond words, all the more so because of numerous poppies adorning the cairn, one annotated ‘from a friend’. See, some people DO still care.

The Bronze Age equivalents crown the skyline above and are real beauties. Outside of Pumlumon, perhaps only the Carnau ‘r Garreg Las (upon western Mynydd Du) compare in my experience. Filled with snow, they are superb viewpoints for the cloud-wreathed main Brecon Beacons massif across the valley and the distant Black Mountains. Although nominally simply massive piles of stones, they clearly represent much, much more.

Mist sweeps in to periodically engulf the summit, the giant cairns looming claustrophobically through the swirling, ethereal vapour – note that this is no place to be without a compass and the ability to use it. It is perhaps at times like this that Cefn Yr Ystrad is at its most evocative. It certainly has me in thrall today.

Another of those denuded, battered old South Walian long barrows which seem to exist in some sort of semi-urban time vacuum detached from reality, but are paradoxically as real as real can be........

Sited upon rising ground between the villages of Laleston and Tythegston, outliers of the great urban sprawl that is Bridgend, the monument is overgrown and defaced by what appears to be a waterlogged quarry at its eastern end. Nevertheless the earthworks are still quite substantial and there’s a pretty hefty capstone in situ, too. Always a good thing to have surmounting a long barrow, I find. Good for the soul.

And it is the satiation of this ‘soul’, whatever that might be, the appreciation of the intangible elements of a site – I guess you could call it ‘vibe’ – that is far more important for me these days than the number of orthostats and the like. Little details, initially seemingly irrelevant, that take on great significance as you sit and ponder... the fact that this, a monument built by the first farmers to work this area, overlooks the allotments of Laleston to the north east... serious agricultural continuity emphasising the fertile nature of this small sector of Glamorgan; the Bronze Age ‘tumulus’ – love that word – crowning a rise to the approx north-west. Was this sited specifically to be seen from the older long barrow and if so, does this imply a continued reverence for previous sacred places or just a cynical power play by the new elites?

Depeche Mode’s ‘Wrong’ periodically enters my head, perhaps my subconscious trying to remind me of one of many wrong courses of action I’ve no doubt taken recently. However, as cars speed along the A48, as I have many times previously, some swinging down the A4106 to Porthcawl, I’m quite satisfied there is nothing ‘wrong’ with Tythegston long barrow on this grey day. Quite the opposite.

Hamish’s directions, as usual, will get you here. If you come, don’t forget your thinking cap.......

Gwern-y-Cleppa is one of those sites that gives rise to conflicting, contradictory emotions within the traveller. A fine, old longbarrow, with substantial chamber stones still in situ, sitting upon a South Walian hillside. Who could ask for more?

Indeed. Trouble is, this said hillside is yards away from Junction 28 of the M4, overlooking a Newport industrial estate. The noise of traffic queuing upon the slipway waiting to attend the Wales/Australia Rugby International is, er, somewhat distracting, similar to the experience of a visit to Mayburgh Henge, it might be said. But then you wouldn’t dream of missing a trip there because of the proximity of the M6, would you? Exactly.

This is why I finally take the plunge (pun not intended, but this being South Wales it’ll do) and park up in the Cleppa Park industrial estate in the teeming rain, feeling a little – OK, very – out of place in my waterproofs.... [by the way, thanks to Hamish for the canny directions]. Following the rough farm track across the aforementioned M4, a Welsh pony looks up from its lunch as if to enquire ‘English? Thought so..’ before resuming munching grass. Hmm – is this a good idea?

The (very) short answer is... Yes. Across the bridge a field of ploughed mud (apparently the Welsh are proud of their ability to ‘grow’ mud, judging by the tourist adverts) appears to my left, with a barbed wire fence at its far boundary. However I’d advise carrying on a little further before leaving the track and heading towards a ruined building upon the hillside. Here the barbed wire can currently be stepped over with relative ease, so allowing access to the long barrow. It’s a good, if not a great site, and I was certainly grateful for its continued survival against all the odds, if also sad for the loss of the landscape it once surveyed. Such is progress, such is economic reality. The tomb itself has othostats comprised of some kind of conglomerate and is graced with several hardy trees. A couple of (empty) vodka bottles – presumably not of Neolithic origin – were unwelcome additions, but note the past tense here. Hanging out in the rain, drinking my coffee and eating sausage rolls, the sheer bizzareness of the moment strikes home... Gwern-y-Cleppa is like the old spinster who won’t sell up to the unscrupilous property dealer, striking a defiant stance against the descent into the apparent banality of everyday existance. Yeah, almost as if the old, denuded mound seems to say to the passing cars ‘I’ve seen it all, so bring it on!‘

Come to Gwern-y-Cleppa if you get the chance. This impoverished, battered long barrow is a survivor and deserves our support!

Although not only lower, but far less shapely than the Sugar Loaf (Mynydd Pen-y-fal), its elegant neighbour across the valley, the sprawling South Walian mountain known as Blorenge nevertheless possesses something of great value that its illustrious rival does not – a stonking great Bronze Age burial cairn at its summit!

Despite being sited at an altitude not that far short of 2000ft, it’s also pretty easy to visit, the B4246 from Govilon crossing the western shoulder of the peak before descending towards Blaenavon, one of the cradles of Welsh industry, or so I’m told. A short diversion towards prominent radio aerials brings the traveller to The ‘Foxhunter’ carpark, so named since the eponymous racehorse is apparently buried nearby.

But is a burial site of a different type that the Mam Cymru and I have come to see today – that of what must surely have been a Bronze Age chieftain or other ‘Big Man’. The conditions are appalling, the wind so powerful it takes all of my strength just to open the car door, the rain coming in correspondingly violent bursts. Nevertheless the path (to the approx NE) is clear and easy, if more resembling a flowing stream today. So, after helping a bloke with no shoes bump-start his van (kicked out by his wife, perhaps?) we follow said path-cum-stream to the summit.

Reaching the summit we are blown away.... not only by the massive monument and superb views, but also in a quite literal sense. Duh, it’s windy! The cairn is a full 15m by 2m high according to Coflein, although it would appear its crafty builders utilised the shape of the mountain’s summit to cut down on the volume of stones required to achieve the desired effect. There’s also the remnants of a possible cist within, which is always good to see. Bonus! Having said that, a head first close-up view, courtesy of the wind, is probably best avoided, come to think of it.

As previously mentioned, Sugar Loaf sits across the valley, acting as appropriately ‘rainbow-ed’ foreground for the sweeping be-cairned summits and ridges of The Black Mountains, the little hillfort of Crug Hywell clearly visible above Crickhowell. Several Neolithic tombs grace the landscape, out of sight but not out of mind, as they say, not to mention Norman castles, reminders of a more war-like age. Hell, I like Wales.........

Set upon a minor, outlying ridge of Cadair Idris, above the wondrous Llynnau Cregennen, this defended enclosure – presumably of Iron Age origin – is probably not the finest example of the type you’ll ever encounter....if the only criteria considered are archaeological.

Landscape context, however, is always of major importance when visiting any monument – not to mention a bit of a fixation of mine – this particularly being so with regards hillforts. In Pared-y-Cefn-Hir’s case the siting is second to none, both militarily and aesthetically speaking. Some location! Truly, the scenery is absolutely first rate.

Nevertheless there’s more. The enclosure, perched upon its rocky eminence, overlooks the nearby ancient Ffordd Ddu trackway (flanked by numerous standing stones) and is in turn overlooked by mountain top burial cairns upon Tyrrau Mawr and Craig-y-Llyn, western sentinels of Cadair Idris. There are also the Arthog stones within a short radius......

I must admit I’m not too keen on sites in private fields close by houses/roads requiring knocking on farm doors for access. Therefore, upon arriving early Saturday morning to find a thick hedge backed by barbed-wire between the road and the chamber, my thoughts were of the ‘oh well, let’s get this over with, then.......’ variety.

Needless to say this was misguided and not a little premature in this particular instance. Parking in the layby by the chapel – quite an old one, by the looks of it – I walked up the Newchurch (a newer one, I presume) road and knocked at the first house on the left. A very elderly lady with a zimmer frame eventually opened the door, understandably somewhat perturbed to have a Gladman on her doorstep. Nevertheless she was quite happy to grant access to the field in which the chamber resides, as long as I realised she had ponies. What, those three minature specimens grazing nearby? ‘Yeah, right’, I thought, trying to stop my knees knocking with fear.

In retrospect I can imagine her closing the door with an inward chuckle, saying to herself ‘ha! my pyscho attack ponies will soon sort that English idiot out good and proper!’ That they did, that they did, the little buggers pursuing me and headbutting me for close on the next two hours, the swines!

But what of the chamber? Despite the proximity to the road the hedge – if not the ponies – allows a decent morning’s hang. What’s more, it’s a pretty substantial structure, too, with a large, slipped capstone and several large orthostats combining to produce a curiously aesthetic whole. OK, we’re not talking a St Lythans or something similar, but nevertheless well worth the effort of seeking out.

Just don’t expect to be left in peace by the horseys!

After an aborted attempt to find this lovely little chamber back in September – I’ll blame an ancient OS map and not my own incompetence for once – we were more than happy to achieve success this time around. What a wonderful site!

Hidden away in sand dunes long since colonised by vegetation, the location is somewhat confusing to modern visitors. However I assume the ground topography has changed considerably in the intervening 5000 years or so, the monument originally having clear sight of the wonderful Three Cliffs Bay before the sand moved in? Perhaps.

The chamber, although lacking in elevation, is more extensive than I anticipated (see Coflein description posted under ‘miscellaneous’) and, no doubt thanks to the sand, pretty well preserved. And then there’s the location! Truly exquisite, it has to be said, with the haunting, shattered remnants of Pennard Castle perched across the bay (speaking of castles a short detour to the cliff edge is also recommended to visit a nearby Norman ringwork). If you can tear yourself away from all this prehistory and history, the beach is a real cracker as well.

Park as Jane suggests and follow the path past a gate until the concrete becomes a cinder track. Veer right here and....... well, the rest is up to you.

Now I’ve been intrigued about what may lie upon this stretch of bleak, high moorland for some time now. Don’t get me wrong, even my pigeon Welsh – not to mention map reading skills (ahem) – made it plain that there were cairns here. But, as any seasoned TMA’er will know, there are ‘cairns’, and then there are proper, Bronze Age cairns worth seriously checking out.

Anyway, I’m down to spend a few days with the Mam Cymru during a period of atrocious weather.... even for South Wales, which is saying something. Torrential rain, swollen rivers threatening to burst their banks, and wind gusting in excess of 50-60mph. Nice. Needless to say the Mam wants to go walkabout, so Cefn Esgair Carnau is a name retrieved from the memory banks as a more or less safe option in the circumstances.

North of Penderyn – the distillery of which, incidentally, produces a very fine whisky (it’s true!) – the A4059 swings NE towards the distant flat summits of The Brecon Beacons. Park at the disused quarry entrance at approx 978131 and head NW (ish) across the road onto the moor, trying to avoid the bogs as you do so. Eventually the intrepid traveller arrives at an area of bleak upland defined by that peculiar ‘grass’ which favours – shall we say – rather wet locations. Four relatively large cairns are to be found here beyond a smaller outlier, with another some way to the NE. The ‘daddy’ – or should that be ‘mother’? – of them, however, lies out of sight to the north at SN97521375, a great pile of stone some 1.7m high overlooking the Afon Hepste.

The siting above the river is, I believe, deliberate and significant. The mountains and hills form a more or less natural amphitheatre around the moor creating a vibe which is, if anything, heightened by the wind and horizontal, driving hail. In short this is some place and I feel stupid for having driven past so many times in ignorance. What’s more, the hillside beyond the Afon Hepste leading towards the great peak of Fan Fawr (Waun Tincer) would appear to be also graced with a myriad cairns..... whether these are field clearances, or bear greater ritual significance is another intruiging question left for another day.

All in all a visit is well worth the effort, but make sure you wear your boots!

Visited with the Mam Cymru, by way of a direct, very steep ascent from the secluded Grwyne Fawr valley – we’re getting too old for this lark, I’m afraid – the 2,624 ft summit of Pen y Gadair Fawr is crowned by a substantial cairn-spread, perched upon which is a rather ‘dodgy’ looking modern effort. The size of the latter apparently varies according to the vagaries of the winter storms; a rather feeble construction, if the truth be told. Huh, they don’t make ‘em like they used to, do they?

Not so the remnants of the original which, as the photo shows, would have been of a fair old size and is still pretty extensive. Well worth the trouble in reaching and worthy of such a major peak.

Coflein isn’t conclusive as to period of origin, but nevertheless reckons:

“.....The circular cairn is constructed of small easily-portable stones forming a dense pile and measures 15m diameter and 2.5m high. The grassed-over base of the cairn measures about 1 metre high. The exposed pile of stones on the top, which has been rebuilt in modern times, is about 5 metres across. The feature could be a burial mound, and has extensive, panoramic views......”

As mentioned, the views from the cairn are simply magnificent, stretching all the way to distant Sugar Loaf Mountain and Blorenge above Abergavenny... nearer to hand, the Maen Llwyd stands at the apex of forestry below to the (approx) south. Said to be the highest sited standing stone in South Wales, it apparently aligns upon a man-made notch near Mynydd Llysiau, across the Grwyne Fechan to the west. Nice. Sadly we didn’t have the energy reserves to check this out this time around.

Prior to a nightly stop over in the Elan Hills, I take the opportunity to visit this obscure stone circle in predictably poor weather. Hey ho.... this is Wales after all, I guess. Approaching from Llandrindod Wells, an attractive town sited within a loop in the Afon Ithon – and judging by a nearby Roman Fort (Castell Collen) and castle (Cefnllys), its strategic value was evident from the off – I skirt a large lake (complete with dodgy ‘sea monster’ sculpture) and, passing the obligatory golf course, park near the steep access road to Carregwiber. I decide to walk from here and spare my already battered car further mischief. Not that the crab-apple tree dropping copious fruit onto my roof gives a monkey’s about that. At least it wasn’t my head, I suppose.

To be fair it’s quite a walk, verging on a proper hillwalk (so an OS map is essential), overlooked in the initial stages by a hillfort. Nice.... Follow the track to the SE, ignoring any turnings, until you meet another track running along the ridge of Gilwern Hill above and beyond. Follow this to the left until, just before a prominent copse of trees, you should head eastwards towards the summit of Gelli Hill. This is crowned by a trig point and a rather large burial cairn, boasting a superb view of the Wye Valley and The Radnor Forest rising to the east – the conical summit of Whimble obvious and alluring. Something about the shape, I guess.

The circle itself is sited a little to the west of the 1,440ft summit, the stones not very big, and with some apparently modern ‘additions’. But orthostat size is of little relevance here, as I’m sure the erectors would confirm if someone could invent a time machine and go have a word. Up here location is everything, the stones simply demarking a sacred space. No need to impress when the landscape says all that needs to be said. And then some. But needless to say I am impressed. What a great vibe!

Well worth the effort, despite the fearful hammering I get from Mother Nature!

Been meaning to come here for ages, Cannock Wood being not far from the M56 junction of the M6 ‘n all. But you know how things are? Well, finally made it on the way back to Essex from Cumbria – a bit of a pain to find without an OS map – but well worth the effort for hillfort fans.

Now Sunday morning’s probably not the best time to come here, judging by the hordes of local dog walkers letting their stinking creatures do their ‘business’ all over the ramparts, but there you are. ‘Take your opportunities while you can’ has always been my motto.

So what of the hillfort, if understandably somewhat lacking in vibe? Actually I’m impressed. A large, powerful inner rampart is fully accessible (shame about the outer defences, however), the gorgeous autumn colours of Cannock Chase adding a, well, gorgeous backdrop. Why, even the cooling towers of Rugeley Power Station do not particularly detract from the scene as I munch my chicken and mushroom slice at the highest point. The defences appear bi-vallate at this point (to the north), multiplying to at least three – possible more – ramparts and ditches at the more vulnerable southern approach. Trouble is the fern cover is so extensive it’s difficult to be certain. I make the main entrance to be at the eastern end – traces of ‘barbican’ outworks? – but whether this is original? Hard to be sure with such accessible sites.

So, probably not worth a long drive to get here, but well worth a diversion if travelling up/down the M6!

This visit was set to be a ‘nothing better to do on a hostile day in Cumbria’ trip, so ended up well pleased with the result, it has to be said.

OK, so the circle isn’t exactly the finest you’ll ever come across and – to be honest – confused the hell out of me until I walked around a bit and sussed out the large, eroded stone placed somewhat off-centre (or so it appeared to me, anyway). The problem in this respect is that the circle is situated in deep fern cover behind an area of eroded limestone pavement, making it very difficult to distinguish the two. Hmm. If it wasn’t for THAT pole there would not be any fieldnotes........

However, once you’ve sorted out what’s what.... the atmosphere – the sheer silence – takes over and you’ll immediately forget you’re in the most visited National Park in these Isles. If ever there’s a place to simply hang out away from it all, this is it. Superb! The map showed an ‘enclosure’ of some description within the trees beyond the substantial dry stone wall to the east – but such was the vibe here that the thought was just too much to even contemplate. Lazy sod.

As regards access, I parked by Postman’s cattle-grid coming from the direction of Askham (take the Haweswater road out of town, veering left past Whale. Then, after negotiating a couple of gates by a ‘phone box now acting as a rather odd greenhouse – a red greenhouse, that is – pass the Howgate turn-off on your left and there you are). Facing the ridge, the public footpath heads for the right hand shoulder, but needless to say I made for the left-hand (northern) edge. Quite a slog, but the views across Bampton Grange etc towards Haweswater, with High Street crowning the horizon, are superb and extensive.

The pole advertising the circle isn’t visible from the escarpment edge. I’d suggest you make your way to the highest point – there’s a circular OS fitting instead of the usual trig point – and head ‘inland’ towards the trees. Worked for me, anyway.

Dyer describes this long cairn as being ‘badly damaged’......... but don’t let that put you off for I believe this to be an essential visit. Despite the obvious robbing of the chamber areas, this remains a very substantial monument, the environs full of atmosphere, the state of preservation no doubt assisted by the relative isolation of the site – but yes, I agree that the dry stone structure within the eastern end of the cairn is modern. More’s the pity, but you can’t have everything, can you?

I approached from the cattle grid on the minor road to the east(ish) at approx SH69350680, a great road, as it happens, with a stunning panorama of the Howgills as you put on your boots. For put on your boots you must if you want to avoid soggy feet. From here a prominent fence line follows the course of Rayseat Sike (stream) towards the monument. There’s a path of sorts to the left of the fence, but I’d recommend sticking to the right to avoid having to climb the barbed-wire later on. Although very boggy, with heather underfoot to twist those ankles if you don’t concentrate, persevere because in about half a mile or so (I think) the long cairn is unmissable above to your right.

As mentioned, the vibe here is incredible, the landscape wild and uncompromising, a harrier (or similar bird of prey) hovering just above my head before obviously deciding a Gladman wasn’t worth the effort. Probably too stringy or something. The Howgills skyline is the finishing touch.

Sad to report, however, the decomposing head of a ram caught in the aforementioned fence. Sure this wasn’t some sort of offering, judging by the entanglement of the horns. I once had to free such a creature from a similar fate at Kilmartin with the hacksaw from my car tool-kit... but not today. Such is life... and death at Rayseat.

Well.......... I eventually mentioned to get to this excellent site, albeit in a somewhat, er, roundabout way...... and was not disappointed.

I arrive at the tiny, model settlement of Burnbanks, at the eastern end of Haweswater, in pouring rain – as per usual – taking the stony bridleway, which climbs above and along the northern shore of the reservoir. A mini range of craggy hills rise above, but I’m put off the direct approach to Four Stones Hill by the waist-high fern cover (seriously, just try walking through it, particularly with concealed brambles to catch the unwary), so carry on to take a look at the roaring ‘The Forces’ waterfalls. Impressive in their raw, unbridled power in spate. A footpath climbs the left hand (west) bank to arrive at a footbridge over the stream and it’s here the fun begins. Hmm.

The mist has come right down so I a take a compass bearing on Four Stones Hill on my map and .... doesn’t seem quite right, so have another go. Anyway, climb as indicated and, breaking free of cloud, find myself upon Low Kop....... damn, but while I’m here may as well have a wander to take in this magnificent Lakeland scenery.Well, it’d be rude not to. Upon returning, I head for Four Stones Hill and am duly engulfed in cloud once again. Suddenly the vapour peels away and there are the two stones below to the south, the position highlighted by the tiny tarn, the cairn also visible. Two further fallen stones lie a little way to the west of the uprights, down the broad, green track.

Of course, the whole vista is now dominated by the reservoir, a modern intrusion into the scene altering the whole landscape context of the monument. But then again none can deny that it does look bloody magnificent as a backdrop. Much rather this than some power station. Awesome, in fact. The ground around the stones is seriously waterlogged, although the pool between the upright stones is, judging by previous photo posts, a permanent fixture.

My compass says the reservoir lies to the north (!!) so duly goes in the bin upon getting back to the campsite. Luckily it didn’t stop me reaching these fantastic stones set in glorious scenery.

Lucky owners of Mr Cope’s great orange tome will need no introduction to this, Lakeland’s most southerly 600m mountain, or ‘fell’ as they call them in these parts. If ever there was a ‘mother hill’, Black Combe is surely the archetypal case within Britain. Not only does it possess Sunkenkirk (Swinside), one of these Isles’ finest stone circles, upon it’s north-eastern foothills, there are also the elegant Giant’s Grave monoliths and Lacra circles/rows to the south and three (count ‘em) now virtually obliterated stone circle sites to the west, upon the coast. Clearly Black Combe was the object of significant ritual focus, of that there can be no doubt.

It is fitting, therefore, that Black Combe appears a ‘friendly’ mountain, with a clear track leading from the church at Whicham northwards to the 1,968ft summit at a pretty steady gradient. Also, since it is located upon the coast, it is a fabulous viewpoint – famously celebrated by Wordsworth – the vista including not only coastline ‘luminaries’ such as Blackpool Tower and, er, Sellafield, but virtually the whole of Lakeland. On a clear day (ha!) the view apparently extends all the way to Wales and Scotland. Nearer to hand, the eastern flank of the mountain is enlivened by some fine cliff lines, no doubt the eponymous ‘black combes’. It is indeed a splendid mountain.

Needless to say friendly appearances can be deceptive, my visit to the mountain coinciding with winds gusting in excess of 50mph, with a band of driving rain and cloud sweeping in from the sea later on. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of the conditions, it was a wondrous experience to visit Black Combe. In a way I think I now know what those ancients were thinking when they venerated it ......

Like many others, I guess, I’d always found excuses NOT to go to Greycroft..... mostly since I imagined myself being like Winston in 1984, under constant surveillance from Big Brother and suddenly hearing that totalitarian voice bark out ‘stop right where you are!’ as I bunked the barbed-wire fence. Hmm, perhaps not, then. Coward.....

It’s therefore great to be able to confirm Fitz’s October 2007 experience that Greycroft is now officially ‘on limits’ (about time too and so gracious). It is also quite simply a fantastic stone circle facing out to sea, which in any other circumstances would have been top of the list many years ago.

Anyway on a Saturday teeming with rain – nowt else to do, so why not finally have a go? – I head for Seascale and take the southern approach road towards the ‘Works’, as my OS map somewhat ludicrously describes the power station. Looking for the footpath sign it’s nowhere to be seen, so I do a three point turn in front of the main gate, tailed by a Police car as I do so (obviously also with nowt else to do). Noting that this road is a clearway, I decide to park back down the road at the entrance to the bridleway leading to How Farm and walk back to the bridge. Here a stile is set unobtrusively below to the left. Cross this, head beyond the ruined mill and you’ll eventually come to another stile allowing access to the circle.

Despite being sandwiched between two very unsavoury things – golf course and power station – Greycroft nonetheless has a really great vibe today. The tree screen is working wonders with reducing the visual impact of the latter, the weather keeping most of the muppets away from the former.

Having just heard news that Sellafield is set to receive another nuclear power station in the not too distant future, I’d suggest now is the time to get yourself here and take a look at this beauty before the mutant cows take over!

Isn’t it great when you chance upon a site that you assume will be a minor deviation but ends up blowing you away? Well for me such a site was Sunbiggin Tarn stone circle last Wednesday.
Simple pleasures.......

After spending a good chunk of the day at the frankly wondrous Rayseat Pike Long Cairn, I find I’ve an hour and a half to spare before dark. Although not shown on the 1:25 map, a quick delve into my trusty TMA list reveals directions to the site (cheers Fitz). Oh go on. Why not, then?

The scenery roundabouts, here in the ‘no-man’s land’ between Lakeland and The Yorkshire Dales, is truly worthy of much more than a passing visit, a wild uncompromising landscape to lose yourself within – in a metaphorical as opposed to physical sense, you understand. Couldn’t be doing with the latter.

Climbing the small hill, the first impressions of the site were ‘hang on, there’s nothing here’, until the very diminutive stones, surrounding what appeared to be a cist, slowly materialised from the long grass. The sinking sun flooded the landscape with golden light, sparkled upon the waters of Sunbiggin Tarn and highlighted Rayseat Pike standing on it’s ridge to the south-east. What with the Howgills crowning the horizon it suddenly dawned upon me that this was a very special place indeed and I didn’t want to leave.......

You see it’s true. Size isn’t everything. Sometimes it’s of no consequence whatsoever.

Having tried and failed miserably to find White Hag from Oddendale last year (my excuse being it lay just beyond the coverage of my OL5 map), another predictably ‘dodgy’ Cumbrian day gave rise to another attempt last week.

This time I decided to start from the minor road leading south from the little village of Crosby Ravensworth, parking the car a little north-west of Holme Bridge, near Town Head. A bridleway leads roughly south-west from here known as ‘Slack Randy’, for some reason or other, starting as tarmac but soon becoming gravel, then grass.

The wind was up and the mist was a’swirling, but, upon taking a left hand fork, the route heads towards and then alongside the sanctuary of a large drystone wall. This eventually swings sharply away to the left, the path continuing in more or less the same line to pass right by the circle. Being a bit of a wimp when it comes to mist ‘n’ moors I took a bearing here just to make sure. Better safe than sorry......... the result being success!

Lying between the limestone scars of Wicker Street and White Hag, the circle is set in a wonderfully wild location – to be honest in the middle of nowhere – several trees gamely attempting to relieve the harshness of the moor with their spartan profiles, but not achieving a great deal, it has to be said. A large glacial erratic lies a little to the south (ish), not to mention a brace of nearby cairns, with other cairns prominent upon the distant hilltops. The circle stones themselves are pretty substantial, but low-lying and thus lacking the visual drama and haunting profiles possessed by other moorland circles. Nevertheless the vibe here is superb, the peace total, disturbances none. Couldn’t really ask for more. Well, a bit of sun, perhaps?

On the way back it’s also well worth checking out a settlement site near Ewe Locks. Not sure of the ancestry of the place, but several good hut circles are in evidence. Nice one.

At 2,375ft the great mountain of Ingleborough may not be the highest in the Yorkshire Dales – that distinction going to nearby Whernside – but nevertheless eclipses the latter in terms of sheer stature and bulk. Not to mention, or so it would seem, the attentions of the local walkers.

What’s more, the spacious summit plateau is girdled by the remnants of once powerful dry-stone ramparts. Yep, that’s right.... this inhospitable mountain top was once a hillfort. Not only that, but the highest hillfort in Britain, to be precise. Crikey, the Iron Age people who lived here must’ve been hard, whether the average temperature was a couple ‘o degrees warmer in those days or not!

Somewhat short on time following an early morning dash from Essex – if you can exactly ‘dash’ in an old Rover 45, that is – I choose the ‘easiest’ ascent starting from near The Bull Inn at Chapel le Dale to the North.... a little too ‘touristy’ for Gladman tastes, perhaps, but with the compensation of passing some wonderful limestone scars, the enormous ‘shake hole’ known as ‘Braithwaite Wife Hole’ and crossing ‘Humphrey Bottom’ before the steep rock staircase to the final col. They certainly have a great way with words around here. But then it seems they have lots of practice using them, too.

Arriving on the summit my initial sensation was bi-fold and contradictory; elation at the views, disappointment at the lack of rampart preservation. Several, pointless, large modern cairns probably go some way to explaining the latter, I guess, not to mention the mass of visitors. However after going and finding myself a quiet(ish) corner overlooking The River Doe, the atmosphere kicks in and I’m suddenly totally transfixed by this mighty place. Imagine if this was where you lived? I try, but the thought is too much, it really is. Couldn’t exactly play ‘knock down ginger’ on the main gate, could you?

All too soon I must leave to beat the onset of darkness, the circuitous route via Simon Fell much preferable to my way up. Too late to carry on to Cumbria, I spend the night beneath this superb natural fortress. Sure, Yeavering Bell may remain my favourite Northern hillfort (with Carrock Fell not far behind), but Ingleborough is still the daddy of them all.

P.S. Real Ale fans might be interested to know that The Black Sheep brewery lies just up the road. Very appropriate for a TMA’er. Baa! baa! baa!

As with nearby Fan Gyhirych, it took me near on 14 years to actually confirm the prehistoric ancestry of this cairn... but... well.... perhaps it wasn’t really needed after all because the great 2,176ft high lump of rock and (usually) sodden earth and grass it’s perched upon – known to us as ‘Fan Nedd’ – just sort of feels ‘right’ anyway. So I guess I already knew. Hard to explain, but come here and I’m confident you’ll know what I mean. The Fforest Fawr is far quieter and – dare I say it – less fashionable than the nearby Brecon Beacons, whose highest decapitated summits are clearly visible on a clear day beyond Fan Fawr.

Somewhat unusually for such a cairn, it is NOT located at or near the summit and therefore not to be confused with the prominent – if rather odd – walker’s cairn on the northern apex of the summit plateau (not to mention an equally odd horseshoe shaped shelter). The site is most directly reached via a ladder stile not far from Maen Llia and a subsequent climb up the eastern flank of the mountain.

Hmm. Maen Llia...... I’d actually suggest first time visitors to the area save a foray to this fabulous Bronze Age monolith until later (betcha can’t, however) since the physical cairn remains will inevitably be a disappointment following on from such a beauty. The views, however, will not be, particularly if you carry on to the summit itself. If you indeed choose to do so you may be tempted to ponder the fact that almost every visible mountain possesses a Bronze Age burial cairn, from Fan Llia across the valley, Fan Gyhirych, Waun Leuci and Mynydd Du itself to the west... not forgetting the aforementioned Beacons. Can’t really ask for more, can you? And all the while Maen Llia guards Sarn Helen down below as it has for millennia.....

Oh, as for Coflein:
“Located on the edge of a level shelf on ground falling to the E is a circular mound 4.9m in diameter and .45m high. A few stones are visible, possibly kerb stones.”

So, not the greatest cairn, granted..... but in just about the best location there is, in my opinion.

Set high upon the 2,379ft South Walian summit plateau of Fan Gyhirych sits the remains of a large diameter round cairn.

As with other examples in the area, it is not conspicuous due to relative lack of height. Nevertheless it remains, a fact we should be grateful for in this day and age, to continue to provide a precious, if tenuous link with the people who once lived and worshipped here millennia ago....... and what a location, too.

The Fforest Fawr – literally ‘big forest’, as representing the medieval term for wild hunting country which didn’t necessarily include trees – has been one of my favourite walking areas for many years, being just one side of a C90 tape’s length drive – usually featuring a certain Mr Cope, it has to be said – from the Mam Cymru’s house. Ah, audio tapes... remember them? Ha! Still got ‘em. But I digress... Needless to say I’ve only recently – through our friends at Coflein – identified the cairn for what it really is. Yeah, not exactly quick off the mark, but you live and learn. And it’s a discovery which is very welcome indeed.

Coflein:- “A partly grassed-over round cairn located on the north end of a flat summit measures 11m (N-S) by 9m and 0.9m high. Composed of small stones there is no sign of a kerb or cist. A heap of stones 4m across and 0.4m high has been dumped on top of the cairn.”

Fan Gyhirych is perhaps best approached starting near the fabulous monolith Maen Llia – why not combine visits if you decide to come? From here you have the option of climbing Fan Nedd (and visiting another Coflein-certified cairn) or taking a good path across the mountain’s northern shoulder. Fan Gyhirych is the decapitated summit on the skyline straight ahead to the west.

Alternatively a well maintained track can be cycled from the minor road west of Penwaindwr (on the minor road which leaves the A4067 above Cray Reservoir). It’s not as bad as it sounds, honest! Either way make sure you’re prepared, that’s all.

At 3,490ft the burial cairn upon this, the sentinel peak of The Carneddau, must be the highest surviving Bronze Age site in England and Wales, with those upon nearby Carnedd Dafydd coming in a close second..... seeing as the cairn which apparently once crowned the summit of Yr Wyddfa, Snowdon (presumably also Bronze Age in origin) has been obliterated by the tourist railway.

A major trek from any point of the compass, to be honest the cairn does not take centre-stage upon arrival at this brutal, rocky plateau, unlike some of Wales’ ‘lesser’ so endowed peaks. Of course this is not to do such a sacred monument an injustice – simply a recognition that no man-made structure could possibly compete with the soaring buttresses and rocky chasms of this most dramatic of dramatic landscapes in terms of visual drama.

In short, I believe the simple fact that the cairn is here at all was sufficient comment at the time of internment, like the dominant wolf manoeuvring to claim the high ground overlooking the pack. The people knew the score.

It is tempting to view the great northern ridge approaching Carnedd Llewelyn – via numerous burial cairn-topped subsidiary peaks, including Drum and Foel Grach – as a great processional way, but perhaps this is unrealistic in view of the terrain. The Stonehenge Avenue it is not.

Those who may wish to make the pilgrimage to the summit will find the route via the access road to Ffynnon Llugwy the most straightforward. Note that this is no place to be in mist, however, as I can well testify.... Take the right precautions and it will be a day no pilgrim will ever forget.

Y Garn stands at the northern apex of the wonderfully undulating Nantlle Ridge, separated from the great bulk of the adjacent Mynydd Mawr by the Drws-y-Coed pass and with fabulous views eastwards to the Snowdon Massif – Yr Eryri itself.

This is a special place to come and hang out with just the wind for company. Evidently our Bronze Age ancestors shared the same opinion, since the 2,077ft summit plateau is crowned by two large burial cairns..... whoever was interred here hanging out for eternity upon this windswept mountain top.

According to our friends at Coflein:

“Two large cairns, probably dating to the Bronze Age and situated within open moorland on the summit of Y Garn. The stone built cairns are circular on plan and measure about 10m in diameter and up to about 2m in height. The cairns have both been disturbed in the past, with the construction of drystone shelters around hollows dug into the centres. Cairn A is the easternmost cairn (SH551526) and Cairn B is the westernmost of the pair.”

The most direct approach begins from the hamlet of Rhyd-ddu and is pretty obvious, to be honest – that is, straight up in an unremitting grind! The reward upon reaching the summit is not only one of the most expansive views in all Wales... but two large Bronze Age cairns to enjoy it from. It’s too much, it really is.

Sometimes it’s strange when life’s eddies and currents conspire to bring you back to somewhere you last visited as a kid. Such a place is Manorbier, a stunningly attractive little town on the SW Pembrokeshire coast, one complete with castle and a most picturesque sandy cove. I was last here during the red-hot summer of 1983 to visit the virtually unaltered Norman fortress – yep, it’s really that long ago.... . Didn’t even notice the presence of a far older structure perched upon the headland overlooking the bay at the time. Why should I, seeing as I was in thrall to the brutal military architecture of the Normans? (still am to some extent, I suppose). Ancient stones don’t have a portcullis, arrow slits or murder holes, do they? Boring.

So, 26 years later I arrive with the Mam Cymru to remedy the oversight, (arguably) wiser, certainly older and a little more obsessed with these islands of ours. Damn, that castle still looks as broodingly magnificent as ever, although in the interim the village has developed into one of those ‘chocolate box’ locations American tourists describe as ‘quaint’ in scribbled postcards to the ‘folks back home’.

The chamber’s name is apt. If there’s a more fitting location for the final resting place of an important individual on the Pemrokeshire coastline, I’ve not yet seen it. But bring it on! Needless to say I don’t clock the fantastic positioning at first, some clambering over rocks between the punters on the beach being required before we gain the headland path. Don’t worry, the Mam’s used to this by now. And there it is........ perched overlooking a frankly awe inspiring cove, the sea the colour of azure.

A simple structure, the tomb is, I believe, of sub-megalithic type, whereby the rear of the capstone rests directly on the ground without orthostat. We perch upon the impressive capstone and simply watch the world go by... there’s a lot of it, too, walkers marching past in single file, none of whom even pause to glance at this ancient structure. Hell, at least I was only a kid! As is my wont I take a look inside the chamber, not the experience it should be due to the frankly disgusting habits of some of the walkers. And with a position like this the only real place to be is upon the top....

Worth the wait? You betcha!

Incidentally check out Moss’s recent blog for info on sub-megalithic chambers in the area at:
themodernantiquarian.com/post/79254/weblog/submegalithics_in_west_wales_or_not.html

Needless to say this could very possibly be one of the most obscure sites to feature in TMA... one for ‘completists’ or the obsessed only, perhaps? Hmm... so much so that I’ve no idea what to ‘label’ it as?

Set a little to the south of the 2,358ft summit of Fan y Big, high upon the great northern escarpment of The Brecon Beacons, the location is awe-inspiring. It truly is. The physical remains, frankly, are not – for if there is something actually here to see, I could not find it. Might even have walked right by without realising it, who knows? Guess it’s my fault for assuming a cremation burial would be within the remains of some kind or cairn or cist... but I understand this need not be the case. Perhaps a GPS owner might be able to provide a definitive answer? Perhaps.

What is not in dispute is that this wild, windswept mountain ridge was the last resting place of at least one Bronze Age inhabitant of the region. To quote Coflein:

‘Remains of a cremation burial lying on the path passing Fan y Big, two cordoned urns and a bronze implement were recovered from the site in 1981’.

Significantly he/she was not alone, for nearby Pen-y-Fan, Corn Du and probably Cribyn (cited by the relevant local archaeological trust, but not Coflein in this instance) also featured Bronze Age burials. For me this simply adds another dimension to a multi-faceted landscape that already has me freaking out with delight. Clearly here we have South Wales’ highest Bronze Age cemetery……..

The most direct approach is via the long northern ridge Cefn Cyff, parking your car (carefully, mind) near the farm at Pen-yr-heol. Minimal the remains may be, but that is just one aspect of the ‘package’. Less is very often more, I find.

Hmm.... how can some people be so lucky as to have a bona-fide chambered cairn sitting in their local park? Not to mention one that hasn’t been daubed with paint or otherwise vandalised in such a location. Sometimes life can be really unfair........... so much so that the Mam Cymru wants to move to Llangattock immediately. Sod the commute!

The sentiment is understandable, if a little, er, ‘impractical’. For in addition to the Norman castle – obligatory for a Welsh borderland town with such a turbulent history – the charming town of Crickhowell, just across the river, already boasts the Gwernvale chamber. Not to mention the bizarrely decapitated hillfort of Crug Hywel acting as terminus for one of the sweeping, elegant 2000ft ridges of the Black Mountains across the valley.

The cairn itself possesses a fine set of old oaks planted around it – a nice touch – and even has a small capstone.......

On second thoughts, where’s that piggy bank?

Set upon a subsidiary ridge of Mynydd Mawr at almost 2,000ft (please refer to that site for additional comment – and ranting!), this burial cairn is in a wonderful position overlooking Betws Garmon, possessing magnificent views along Llyn Cwellyn to the Snowdon Massif.

In fact most of Central Snowdonia is visible to some degree or other – even Caernarfon Castle – making this just what the doctor ordered on a lovely September afternoon. A place to sit and ponder ‘Bronze Age’ related thoughts – whatever they might be – whilst chomping on several Yorkie bars and chicken tikka samosas. Naughty, naughty. But nice.

Coflein states:- ‘remains of a burial cairn, probably dating to the Bronze Age, situated within open moorland in a prominent position on the summit of Craig Cwmbychan ridge. Stone built and circular on plan, measuring 11m in diameter and up to 1m in height. The cairn has been disturbed in the past, leaving a large hollow in the centre which has been built up to form a drystone shelter’.

One of the great things about being a megalithically-minded (and hopefully reasonably enlightened) hillwalker is that sometimes everything you hold dear in the field comes together in one glorious combination. Another is that people tend to leave you alone when they think you are mad. Bonus! Then again perhaps they know something I don’t.... wibble...wibble..

Anyway, the great passage grave upon Seefin, in County Wicklow, is probably the greatest example of this ‘combination’ I’ve yet experienced, but an expedition up the 2,291ft elephantine bulk of Mynydd Mawr in Central Snowdonia isn’t that far off, in my opinion. Being an isolated peak, the views from Mynydd Mawr are absolutely sensational, particularly from the vertigo inducing Craig-y-Bera to the exquisite Nantlle Ridge and across the Cwellyn Valley to Yr Wyddfa, Snowdon itself. However study the map further – particularly Coflein’s annotated example – and you will see that the greater part of Central Snowdonia is one gigantic, upland Bronze Age burial cemetery. Not as immediately obvious as any of the great Irish sites, granted, but there nonetheless and mainly subject to the attentions of people who couldn’t give a monkey’s about it for one reason or another.

Coflein describes the huge burial cairn at Mynydd Mawr’s summit thus.... ‘a large sub-circular summit cairn that measures 22m in diameter by up to 2.5m high. It is constructed of small-medium angular scree stones piled together. There has been later delviing (sic) to form three drystone shelters which are built into it. Each of the shelters measure up to 3m in diameter by 1m high’.

So, more destruction of a once magnificent monument, then. What’s new? Thankfully, however, the cairn is in a very real sense only a symbollic marker of the location, the sense of place at which is, well, above everything normally experienced in this day and age. Across the valley the new multi-million pound cafe upon the summit of Snowdon is clearly visible, while we’re content to let the grave of some great predecessor be treated like this. Well, it is just a pile of stones, after all......... or is it?

Note that there is another substantial cairn – also ‘amended’ somewhat – upon the rocky promontory of Craig Cwmbychan, overlooking Nant-y-Betws roughly to the NE. Both cairns are best reached from Planwydd Farm, a little above the inflow of Llyn Cwellyn. A steep climb, but then the reward matches the effort. Ten times over.

The last visit of an epic 40 site Scottish tour during May 2009, I’m fast running out of time if I intend to reach my planned camp in Glen Etive before dark. Bad planning, Gladman, yet not stopping at Skail and Grumbeg during the drive down Strathnaver from Tongue is not really an option in retrospect.

As usual Inverness city centre confuses the proverbial out of me – more lost time – before I eventually locate this fantastic site. Whoah! It’s a whopper, make no mistake about that, and confirms the massive impression these Clava monuments have made on me during the past fortnight.

The kerb stones are substantial, the circle stones very substantial, the major monolith.... well, you get the picture. Even the rainfall is correspondingly substantial – as only the Highlands can truly provide – giving my waterproofs one last, major workout. It is of no consequence and in many ways only serves to heighten the experience of being here. The landscape setting is the adverse of nearby Druidtemple, set upon a low open hillside beside a minor road. Consequently the vibe is different, but great nonetheless.

I’m left with one lingering thought as I head for Fort William.... does Scotland have any rubbish sites?

Set overlooking the beguiling waters of Loch Naver in the desolate, yet ultimately captivating wastes of Strathnaver, the shattered remnants of this chambered cairn (visited May 2009 but photo just re-discovered) form perhaps the most moving – in the human context – of all the sites I’ve yet seen.

Much of this emotional undercurrent is no doubt due to the feeling of isolation engendered here, a state of mind amplified many times over by the sheer starkness of a brutal terrain seen through heavily overcast skies laced with drizzle. The silence is overpowering, the senses overloaded trying to cope with such a novel eventuality in today’s world of incessant noise and information overload – much of it sheer nonsense.

However Grumbeg has another story to tell, strictly speaking outside the parameters of TMA, but highly relevant to a visit here nonetheless. For this hillside was also the site of a 19th century village (the implied continuity of human occupation is mind blowing), the community forcibly evicted during the infamous ‘Highland Clearances’ of 1814. This shameful period of our relatively recent history saw agents of the Countess of Sutherland resorting to barbarous methods to destroy whole communities – and all because turning over the land to sheep pasture would bring in more profit. The burial ground overlooking Loch Naver mirrors its Neolithic counterpart, as if asking ‘how did it ever come to this?‘

Standing in the progress of Empire builders with a fortune to make, the inhabitants of Grumbeg never stood a chance. Now the Empire has gone, too, while the remnants of the chambered cairn continue to surmount it’s hilltop. Have we really come so far? A question a Bronze Age inhabitant of this site might well be well justified to ask.....

An unobtrusive round barrow – presumably Bronze Age – set high upon Y Das, western promontory of Pen Rhos Dirion, itself rising to 2, 338ft and part of the great northern escarpment of the Black Mountains.

Only formally ‘recorded’ in 2007, due, no doubt, to the undulating terrain and uncompromising nature of the summit plateau, the monument is easily overlooked if you don’t know what you’re looking at – as I can well attest, much to my subsequent shame.

Nevertheless what a site to have as your final resting place, with mesmeric views of the Wye valley etc! The glider pilots, who use the thermals generated by the escarpment edge to great effect, probably possess the best view of all, but for the rest of us a reasonably straightforward path/track up Cwm Cwnstab, beginning at 188333, is the most direct route.

Coflein: – ‘An earth mound, 5.0m by 4.0m and 0.50m high. The mound was covered by grass and moss when recorded in September 2007’.

In other words it looks just like a bump on the mountain top. Doh! Well, that’s my excuse, m’lud.

This very substantial cairn adds added interest for any hillwalker en-route to the 3000ft high Carneddau peaks of Foel Fras, Foel Grach etc. Not that many of them even pause for breath, that is, save to discard another bloody banana skin! And these people reckon they love Nature, eh?

Postman’s route is recommended, although longer variations beginning from Bont Newydd are also possible, with the added bonus of the great spectacle of the Aber Falls. Mind you TMA members could always make a diversion there afterwards. Probably the best bet unless you are unfeasibly fit and young, since an ascent from Bwlch Ddeufaen allows exploration of that fine valley, too.

Simply a great place to sit and, well, do nothing except take in the fabulous views whilst perched upon a Bronze Age cairn. Mmm, nice. Noticed remnants of what appeared to be a cist in the cairn centre, but suspect this may be modern tamperings due to the precarious footings? Perhaps not – see the Coflein extract below...

Note that the higher, but much less well preserved cairn upon Drum lies a little further up the ridge. Choose a fine day, or stick to the fence if mist should sweep in........

Coflein states ‘A large mound of stones 60’ in diameter and 5’ high. In the centre is a hollow 5’ deep exposing the upper part of an upright slab 1’6” long, possibly the remains of a cist or burial chamber. In the early years of the present century the capstone of a cist was said to be visible. A gold image 5 ins long is said to have been found at this cairn some time in the 18th century’.

Clear skies at the Severn Bridge morph into heavy, low cloud at Talgarth, the sweeping ridges of the Black Mountains engulfed by opaque vapour. Damn, no climbing today, then. Bloody forecasters...... Fortunately one of the many benefits of also having megalithomania (or whatever) is that no such weather constraints apply to visiting ancient sites. I therefore take the opportunity to visit perhaps the finest in the area, tucked behind Ffostyll farm beneath the great northern escarpment of the aforementioned mountains. Some ‘plan B’.

To be honest I don’t like knocking at farm doors to ask permission to visit my heritage... you know somehow it doesn’t seem ‘right’ .... but it would be no issue at all if all farmers were like the occupant of this farm. The man’s genuinely interested in the beauties in his field, enthusiastically relating how he found microliths in the vicinity and only too aware of the long tradition he is upholding. He’s also about the best weather forecaster I’ve come across, as subsequent events will prove. Right on!

A short sqwelch through typical farmyard surroundings brings the visitor to the required field. I’m surprised by the remaining size of the two long cairns – although obviously somewhat damaged – and delighted by the surviving chamber stones upon both. Bonus! The northern example is by far the more substantial, the eastern chamber ‘protected’ by massed nettles and the ubiquitous ‘thorny tree’ – where’s Mam Cymru when you need her?

The southern also possess some significant stonework – for these parts anyway – but it is once again the skyline which elevates Ffostyll above the usual, the barrow-topped flat summit of Y Das prominent to the left of the Y Grib ridge, itself ‘be-cairned’. Then again I probably eulogise too much since I love this area. If you come I believe you will, too.

Great surroundings, great vibe and substantial remains. Couldn’t really ask for more.

Languishing in the ‘visit some day on the way back from Pembrokeshire’ file, a visit to this fine, little cromlech was never gonna happen without some external influence. Not worth the journey alone, I thought..... how wrong can you be?

It therefore took a visit to the Gwal-y-Filiast (Dolwilym) chamber – with similar canine associations and not dissimilar siting – to up the ante, so to speak. Consequently Mam Cymru and I  arrive in sleepy Llangynog on an overcast morning and park by the village hall for a brew, an English prerequisite before any exploration, you understand. Initial perceptions of a place can be deceptive, however, the image of a blind man ‘power walking’ down the road leaving us, frankly, in awe – and I not a little ashamed of the way I sometimes tackle my own ‘issues’.

Although there is parking nearer the site, we decide to walk from here since the hedgerows are alive with all kinds of ‘stuff’ the Mam knows by heart... unlike her somewhat limited brother who’d probably poison himself in a flash. A public footpath veers left as we approach houses and descends to the river whereby, upon crossing a bridge, notices warn the traveller there is no access (due to deep excavations, as I recall). The fence, however, is not a problem, passers by on the main path completely unperturbed.

The chamber looms through the woodland a little above the gurgling stream/river, but far below road level, the substantial, slipped capstone and orthostats covered with moss. If ever there’s a ‘Dingley Dell’, this is it... so close to civilisation, yet a million miles away in terms of vibe and sense of place. The chamber is completely subservient – in a landscape context – to the stream, which fills the air with sound, for once not seeping from someone’s poxy I-pod. How refreshing, how unusual. So that’s the siting settled, then. I’m puzzled by the ‘greyhound’ connotations, however. Unlike the aforementioned Dolwilym (or Donegal’s Kilclooney More, for that matter), no mystic mutt guides the visitor to this site, so did this refer to a ‘grey hound’, as in wolf? Dunno.

In accordance with Postie’s observations there are indications of recent ritual activity here. However – unlike other sites I’ve visited – it is unobtrusive and doesn’t have an impact, to be honest. True, I’d rather have nothing, but stuff such as this is less damaging than used condoms, for example.

All in all another fine site.

Driving up from South to North Wales, the weather is so unfeasibly good (not just for September, but for any time in Wales) that I decide to do a wild overnight camp in the Cwmdeuddwr Hills en route. Well, it’d be rude not to, I suppose – not now that Nature’s gone to all that trouble........

I take the minor road from Llanwrthwl, intending to revisit the large cairns upon 2,000ft Y Gamriw in clear weather, when another cairn – Carn-y-Geifr – catches my eye on the summit of Drum Ddu across the valley. Further investigation of the map reveals the Carnau Cefn-y-Fford conveniently placed on the ascent ridge. That’s settled, then. Mustn’t pass up the chance to open up new vistas and what-not. New cairns on the horizon.... Right on!

One car can just about be parked (without blocking the field access beyond) at the point where tarmac becomes stony bridleway, a short trudge down which brings the Carnau Cefn-y-Fford into view to the left. Veering onto boggy grass now, with a semblance of path, three cairns in varying degrees of preservation (one with a prominent orthostat) are passed before two biggies come into view either side of the approach. The landscape is wilderness personified, the high surrounding hills/mountains (the relative classification is academic in my view) benign in the sunshine, but lethal at any other time for the unwary walker and hiding untold bogs only discernible by the change in vegetation. For me, this is how prehistoric sites are meant to be experienced, with just the wind perhaps carrying the echoes of what once transpired here....... perhaps. The cairns and landscape merge into one – it seems to me the cairns ARE the landscape. Evocative beyond words.

I continue onwards and upwards roughly SE to the summit plateau of Drum Ddu to find a family group of three utterly dishevelled, yet beguiling, wild ponies eyeing me suspiciously from the Carn-y-Geifr, before coming over to check me out – perhaps sensing ‘this one’s not gonna cause us any issues’. The moment is worth the price of admission alone. If there was one, that is. Sad to relate, however, that the cairn, impressive from afar, has unfortunately been turned into sheep shelter, so some of the vibe is lost. The views, nevertheless, are awesome, the Y Gamriw cairns, in sharp profile upon their own ridge reminding the traveller how adept the Bronze Age people were at ritual theatre. Perhaps the individuals responsible can be regarded as that period’s forerunners of a Shakespeare, manipulating their audiences for dramatic effect? In short, you have to have the right seats to be in on the party since Y Gamriw’s massive cairns are not visible from below.

And Drum Ddu and its environs sit in the front row. In this weather, anyway.

Not expecting much from this, to be honest, but – particularly following on from the fine Cors y Gedol cromlech during the morning – I guess I should have known better. Suffice to say that as soon as I arrived, any plans for any additional visits that day were quickly abandoned. I like it here.

A morning of heavy, low cloud had put paid to thoughts of climbing Cadair Idris, prompting the next best thing in my eyes – a dolmen hunt! Bron y Foel Isaf is one of the most obscure around, and sure enough I end up taking a very minor road past Byrdir Farm.... very picturesque, but the five or so road gates in about a quarter of a mile do become just a tad tedious. Eventually I arrive on the minor road I should have taken and, passing Caerffynnon farm on the right, park at the staggered crossroads beyond. This is already occupied, but the car occupants look at me blankly when I enquire if they are looking for the dolmen, asking instead whether they are allowed to open the gates across the road. OK....

Follow the dead end road and take the right hand fork until the capstone appears within the wall to your right. Initially a bit of an anti-climax, climb the wall into the heavily overgrown field and the true substance of the capstone will reveal itself. Wondrous. To be honest I’m not sure whether this was a ‘standard’ chamber, now collapsed, or one of the sub-megalithic types? I assume the former?

Whatever it’s a good-un, not too dissimilar to Gwern Einion before its recent consolidation.

Easy to get to – NOT! – but Elderford’s directions will do the trick for the determined/obsessed. The site is just off a public footpath, although it seemed the gate had not been opened for ages. Due to the ‘out of the way’ nature of the site I guess this wasn’t entirely unexpected, but nevertheless welcome all the same for the Mam Cymru and I.

Four rather handsome slabs, running with those peculiar long-legged arachnids and overgrown with nettles, lie unobtrusively beneath trees overlooking Hay-on-Wye, together with the remnants of a long cairn. Not a bad location, one might say. I gave the nettles a bit of a seeing too, but rest assured they’ll be back. And then some.......

And that, my friends, is about that. Save the wonderful ambience and sense of place which money simply cannot buy. A simple site which punches far above its weight.....

Glad to relate that the farmer who owns the house opposite is an educated, interesting man who clearly relishes living in the near vicinity of such a fine cromlech – as they call these fabulous structures in these parts. Very refreshing.........

Apparently the field boundary upon which the chamber stands has remained unaltered due to the relatively poor soil of South Pembrokeshire negating the incentive to expand farm size – only the ubiquitous spud and low grade cereal thrives here. Bad for the farmer, but great news for those who cherish the survival of monuments of this quality. I really do rate this as one of the finest of Pembrokeshire, nay Wales.

It also seems that the public footpath is the original track linking adjacent farms. Right on!

N.B – note that it is possible to park a car on the verge beside the footpath sign. Please don’t block the track as this is now very much in use.

A little way roughly north of the enormous Garn Turne lies this even more obscure diminutive gem of a cromlech... it really couldn’t be more obscure if it tried. It really couldn’t.

After seeing several large tractors – or maybe the same one coming back and forth – trundling up the minor road with a giant raking apparatus attached, I decided to park at the entrance to Colston Farm to save my paintwork from further annihilation. Plenty of room here, and just a short way back down the road to the metal gate. Over this and the cute little chamber eventually materialises further downhill on the inside of the hedge. They really don’t want you to find this one, do they?

My feeble effort in the ‘Monty Don’ stakes will need a lot of help pretty soon to save the structure being reclaimed by Mother Nature. Speaking of which, I was half expecting a gathering of ancient dudes to emerge from the towering cane crop to join me for lunch, such is the ethereal nature of this spot. If you build it, they will come, right? Then again it could have been due to a bit too much caffeine intake, I suppose.

Oh that orange lichen! Marvellous.

Strange things occasionally happen at megalithic sites. That’s a given, I guess. Whether it’s due to the state of mind of the visitor, unusual magnetic variations, or other phenomena we simply don’t understand.... strange things happen.

But I guess even a completely chilled Gladman was somewhat taken aback when a lovely couple arrived at the enormously impressive Garn Turne and enquired ‘hope you don’t mind if we bury our horse?’, or words to that effect. Er, um, OK... suppose so.

Mercifully they didn’t return dragging a carcass, but a wooden casket containing the ashes of said clearly venerated beastie, which were ceremoniously and solemnly deposited within the chamber. I felt as if I’d been sucked into a wormhole and transported 5000 or so years back in time, my initial lack of enthusiasm somewhat dissipated. The engines won’t take any more, captain. But pity the poor archaeologists who revisit the site after we’re dead and gone! That’ll confuse the blighters no end.

Anyway, but what of Garn Turne’s physical attributes, then? Well, they say size isn’t everything, but sometimes – as every woman will no doubt confirm – sheer size can simply leave you breathless. Hidden away in a field screened by a very high hedge below the eponymous crag, you honestly would have no idea it was here without a map. Never one to take the easy option, I approached via the green track to the east and across the adjacent fields (unlocked field gates). The chamber boasts an ENORMOUS capstone, some very substantial orthostats forming a facade of some description and that most important quality. Vibe.

Garn Turne. Still relevant after millennia.

My, this is a great site. It really is...... Guess I should have done more homework, but to say the designation ‘cairn’ on the 1:25 map hardly does this justice would be an understatement of megalithic proportions.

Needless to say I start off heading up the main track in true Gladman fashion, only to find two farm lads searching for their missing car keys in a muddy field. OK...... is that the sound of dueling banjos in the wind I hear?

Anyway, out comes the map and – after confirming with the farmer, who’s arrived on-site to rescue the aforementioned – I retreat and cut through the un-signposted field gate to the right, whereby a stile leads in a short while to the stone circle. C’mon, it has to be called one, surely?

The field is a churned mass of mud, courtesy of an assembled throng of bovines thankfully held at bay in an enclosure made of those motorway central reservation barrier things. The circle stones/kerb stones/whatever are substantial, the magical Y Preselau, raising a misty head above and beyond to my right, well, magical. Water streams down the Rosebush Reservoir Dam, its source soon replenished by a vicious weather front moving in to give me a fearful hammering. But hey, tucked up in my waterproofs this is a marvellously evocative place, a place to sit and wonder why is it so little known?

This was another of those ‘how has it taken me so long to get here’ sites.........

I recall cycling past on the return from Pont Scethin in 1998 and thinking ‘that’s nice’. 11 years later I finally decide to take a closer look on foot and it blows me away. Much better than I remembered, with a fantastic, substantial capstone and great location below the southern Rhinogydd – the ridge beyond teeming with other sites.......

Several nerdy walkers gawp at the individual hanging out inside the chamber, the postie speeds past no doubt oblivious. Of much more interest, a local comes across and introduces himself as a ‘dowser’. Apparently the vicinity is a ‘hotspot’ of activity in this respect and he’s well chuffed. So am I.

A Gladman, you might say.

First visited this wonderful site in February 2001.... perhaps not the best time, so I immediately put it on the ‘list to visit again one day’. As you do.

The opportunity arose in 2005, only for Moel Ysgyfarnogod to call me the louder during a supposed window in the weather – I actually had my lip cut by hailstones that day, but that’s another story. Anyway, finally made it back last week, actually managing to find the obscure left fork from the main track (see the link directions) and – to be honest – more than happy I’d taken this walk seriously and worn my Gortex boots, since this direct path possesses some SERIOUS bogs indeed. So much so that there is, in my opinion, a good case for heading straight to Llyn Eiddew Bach and cutting onto the direct track that way, particularly since this wonderful cairn-circle is clearly visible on the skyline at lakeside. This would mean missing out on the little Llyn Eiddew Bach ‘circle, however.... so perhaps doing the outward leg via the llyn – so easing any navigational problems – and squelching back via the direct path is the best compromise.

By whatever route you get to Bryn Cader Faner I guarantee a true stonehead will not be dissapointed. On a reasonably clear day the mountains of central Snowdonia rear up behind, while the northern Rhinogydd – arguably Wales’ roughest terrain – tower above in a manner that can only be described as brutal in the extreme.

Time flies here, my anticipated 2-3 hour visit turning into an extended 5 hour hang since I simply could not leave. Just the one mountain biker passed by in all that time.... needless to say he didn’t stop.

Incidentally when nearing the car on the return leg you have the most superb view of the Dwyryd Estuary laid out before you. An opportunity to divert a little to the left and ponder a while......

At 3,196ft, Foel Grach is one of the Carneddau’s – and therefore Wales’ – highest mountains.... a brutal, uncompromising spot, yet perfect for contemplating those thoughts where only a completely clear psyche will do. Although thoughts such as ‘how do I get down again in one piece?’ are arguably more practical.

As such it’s no surprise to find the remains of a Bronze Age burial cairn crowning the rounded summit, a suitably grand spot to be near your Gods – or whatever else the chieftain laid to rest here believed in – I’d have thought.

It goes without saying that the views are awesome on a clear day, though perhaps the experience of being here is heightened when the cloud swirls ethereally around the tops and the wind threatens to blow your insignificant body over the edge? Nature at her most primeval, her most powerful, the human being fully at her whim.

Bearing this in mind it occurs to me that perhaps we may be barking up the wrong tree – not that there are any for miles around up here – when automatically assuming the siting of burial cairns upon mountain tops was for reasons of personal aggrandisement. Perhaps it was an act of symbolic subservience to the natural world by the heads of Bronze Age society? Then again perhaps this is simply a case of imposing modern world views upon those of our ancestors, the two being mutually incompatible? Well, it’s a thought. I’ll stop now......

As for Coflein:

‘...The summit is a base of outcrop on which stones have been piled to form a rough structureless cairn 1.6m high, now with a slight hollow in the centre.‘

Hmm...I must admit I was initially a little confused to find Ysgyryd Fawr defined as a ‘Sacred Hill’ within TMA since the long, elongated summit ridge is enclosed by what appear to be defensive earthworks – a hillfort, no less. OK, these aren’t exactly powerful, but then again they don’t need to be since the only feasible direction of attack is from the south. Case closed, m’lud.

However the presence of the (very) scant remains of St Michael’s Chapel at the summit got me thinking (Uh oh, not that again!) and doing a bit of reading .... why build it here? I can’t escape the tentative conclusion that it may well have been for the same reason the earlier enclosure was laid out – to absorb or appropriate some of the otherwordly ‘sacred power’ this hill was clearly thought to possess, if the local folklore is anything to go by, that is. Handy to utilise for your Christian congregation’s spiritual needs (if somewhat hypocritical, it has to be said) and handy to call upon a bit of divine assistance when your Iron Age neighbours want to do your knapper in as well.

Let’s face it, there are numerous precedents for Christian sites trying this scam (Knowlton Henges, Ysbyty Cynfyn etc). The Iron Age thing is less clear cut, but many a hillfort incorporates seemingly revered Neolithic and Bronze Age monuments within their ramparts. Was a touch of supernatural help the finishing touch to assuring your safety? Not that it always worked, of course.

On a more prosaic level a visit to this wonderful ‘mini mountain’ is, well, wonderful, either by the easy ‘tourist’ route from the south, or the steeper approach from Pen-y-parc to the NE, right on the English Border. The views are superb, particularly across to the Sugar Loaf and The Black Mountains. And then there’s the legends............

Overlooking the busy town of Crickhowell (Crug Hywel in the native Welsh) which eventually superseded it, a visit to the small hillfort of Crug Hywel is memorable, to say the least. Set upon what is known locally as Table Mountain – for obvious reasons, since the site looks as if some alien spaceship pilot had a few too many ‘Romulan ales’ and sliced a bit off – at 1,480ft the hillfort requires a very steep climb to reach. It is well worth it, however, if only for the views of the wonderful Usk valley alone. I’d recommend an approach from the east, via the outdoor centre at Perth-y-pia, since this is the route myself and the Mam Cymru took.

Despite being in such an exposed position the defences have survived reasonably well, all things considered, the state of preservation probably assisted by the fact that it’s such bloody hard work just getting here, let alone pinching stone and carrying it back down again… I’ll leave the technical stuff to Coflein:-

The fort is tear-drop shape in plan, tapering towards the northwest end, and encloses an area roughly 100 metres northwest-southeast and 50 metres northeast-southwest. The interior slopes towards the southeast end. The fort is entered through the northeast side, through a gap in the rampart and inner defensive wall roughly 8 metres wide. The inner defensive wall has collapsed to 5 metres wide and approximately 0.3 metres tall. The rampart wall is better preserved, standing to a maximum of 2 metres high, although it has become flattened on the south and southwest sides. The vertical distance between the bottom of the rampart and the top of the inner wall is roughly 10 metres. Two hut platforms and a hut circle are located against the inside face of the inner wall on the northwest side of the fort. There is also evidence of a round building to the south of the entrance.

Note that after the initial rigours of the ascent the 2,300ft summit of Pen Cerrig-Calch is a relatively easy onward walk to the approx NW and provides great panoramic views of, well, everything. If you fancy it go prepared, however. This is Wales, after all. Oh, one more thing. Don’t forget that the Gwernvale chambered cairn – well the orthostats at least, since there’s no ‘cairn’ – is a ‘no-walk’ bonus beside the A40 just outside of Crickhowell itself.