GLADMAN

There is something about Loch Hope which ensures I find it more appealing than most other Scottish lochs... well, at least the substantial lowland variety. Clearly it’s not a question of aesthetics alone since, even with Ben Hope’s summit swallowed in a mass of grey vapour, even with rain hammering upon the car roof... I’m nevertheless compelled to halt and go for a wander. Perhaps such a compulsion is driven, at least in part, by the ethereal – perhaps almost metaphysical – ‘edge of the world’ aura I sense here, perched upon the far northern coastline of Britain, so far from home, yet paradoxically so at home. Then again perhaps it’s simply beyond credible explanation? Ha! Time to pull on the boots before my head explodes.

Heading west, the A836 is carried across the River Hope – Loch Hope’s outflow, no less – by the Hope Bridge, not far from the hamlet of Hope (there is literally an abundance of ‘Hope’ here) before climbing to a prominent bend where it is possible to park before a towering, gated deer fence. Beyond, a stony track heads southwards a little way above the western shore of the loch, although such is the surface water prevalent today that it might as well be a stream, albeit only part time. In due course it is necessary to cross a bona fide example in the guise of the Allt A’ Bhaid Loisgt, this bordering woodland cloaking the eastern flank of Ben Arnaboll. The track veers toward the shore of the loch where – if I’d been in possession of a more up to date version of the OS map – I might have been able to interpret an unusual feature near an apparent hut circle as a souterrain. Then again maybe not with vegetation of such luxuriant density.

Anyway moving on.... a little further south along the shore there stands what is by all accounts the remains of an Orkney-Cromarty type chambered cairn measuring ‘approximately 15.0m in diameter and 1.7m high – [OS (NKB), 19 Dec 1978]’. Although heavily overgrown and featuring the remains of a later parasitical building to the west, this is actually a reasonably substantial monument with what appeared to be a clear remnant of chamber within. Furthermore the torrential downpour, an incessant, unwelcome travel companion since before dawn, begins to ease and permit voluminous sunbursts to intermittently transpose the intensity of light within the loch-side foliage. From apparent monochrome to a colour palette of such vibrancy as to resist all my attempts at definition. I guess water is like that, making sure this dishevelled cairn is a good place to be.

According to the map another cairn is located further to the south, others located upon the far shore of Loch Hope. Yeah, there is a lot more to be seen around Loch Hope.... one day, perhaps? Not least the substantial remains of Dun Dornadilla, which – at least – I  can recommend. However this is not an environment condusive to cramming experiences, but rather one to savour. If only for a limited time.

The Forest of Borgie is not perhaps the best place in Scotland for an exhausted antiquarian to spend the night, its dark, ‘moist’ interior seemingly offering the optimum breeding environment for that most annoying of Highland creatures.... the fisherman. Why they can’t keep themselves to themselves I simply do not know. Having said that the trees also provide pretty ideal conditions for midges, too, although the driving rain which greets me at dawn at least mitigates against their adverse impact somewhat. Scanning the map I decide to head toward Bettyhill upon the A836 to check out some cairns I’ve circled – well, highlighted with a rather poor scrawl of indecorous form – on the map a little east of the village. Might be of interest..... er, perhaps.

Now visitors new to the area might well wish to make a diversion to see some of the excellent monuments of Strath Naver (e.g Skelpick and Coille na Borgie). I, however, park a short distance beyond the Farr road (the Swordly turning is too far) and walk up the obvious track to the North east. Although the weather conditions are absolutely shocking my initial displeasure is short lived, soon rendered more-or-less irrelevant by the realisation that here, at Fiscary, we have another of the northern coast’s prehistoric gems just sitting upon the hill side above the road as naturally as you like. As if it has always done so.... which, from our modern perspective, is not that far from the truth, when you think about it?

The first of the trio of cairns I have the distinct pleasure of encountering [NC73226248] is a massive example of the round genre, according to RCAHMS “27m in diameter and 3.5m high, which has been disturbed but does not appear to have been excavated”. An unusual feature – in my experience possibly unique – is the presence of a retaining, circular wall of rubble defining the base of the cairn in lieu of a kerb, this, by all accounts, an original feature. A large flat stone “1.6m by 0.7m” lying upon the monument’s south-western nether regions is perhaps suggestive of a chamber subsumed within. It certainly doesn’t appear to be field clearance, so I reckon this is a pretty good bet. All in all a very impressive monument, then. But wait, there’s more....

Looming above through swirling mist to the approx NNW stand another two large cairns. Again, however, there is an unexpected twist to proceedings... the full-on Chubby Checker experience with The Fat Boys thrown in for good measure, in fact. Something I simply wouldn’t have expected. I mean, I’d never heard of this little, craggy coastal hill top before, so it just goes to show what is literally lying around the Scottish landscape. Yeah, as I reach the summit it is soon apparent that the pair of cairns are connected by a ‘platform of stones’, the uniform, consolidated nature of which prompted Audrey Henshall (1972) to surmise that here we might well have a ‘waisted long cairn of two distinct periods’... as at the infinitely more famous Camster. Blimey! The first cairn [NC73116260] is another massive round stone pile, once again apparently intact and ‘20.0m in diameter and 2.7m high.’ A little way beyond [at NC73106263] – and linked by that umbilical platform – is an Orkney-Cromarty chambered cairn with a ‘Camster type tripartite chamber.. 16.0m in diameter and 1.5m high’ (Henshall 1963), this still defined by the remains of a number of internal orthostats. Double blimey! Hey, perhaps if it hadn’t been excavated by Kerr in 1891 it would also be more-or-less intact. Perhaps.

The hilltop possesses a fine view across Farr Bay and the coast, in better weather (not that difficult a concept to grasp today, to be fair) no doubt proving to be an idyllic spot for a picnic. As it is I receive a full-on, merciless pounding from the inclement conditions, low cloud advancing menacingly across the mountains rising to landward and bringing yet further driving rain. But, regardless, how great is it that such an intriguingly unusual prehistoric complex can survive in such a substantial state of preservation upon the tourist trail? A rhetorical question for a Citizen Cairn’d, naturally.

Driving along the coastal A894 from the lovely (cairnless) chambered cairn at Badnabay I happen to glance up to my left upon passing the shore of Loch an Daimh Beg, a little south (ish) of Scourie.... to see what appears to be a large cairn surmounting the near crag. Pulling into a handy lay-by beside a gate in the deer fence, a quick fumble for the map confirms what, in these parts anyway, has come to be generally accepted wisdom, at least where I’m concerned; namely it’s a pretty fair bet that a large pile of stones will turn out to represent a chambered cairn. To my shame, exhausted by the day’s exertions and with time advancing inexorably toward night, I momentarily consider passing on by, like a motorised Dionne Warwick... or The Stranglers, if you prefer. Happily, in retrospect, I pull myself together in the nick of time. Good man.

The gate accesses a stony track heading initially for Bealach na h-Imrich. And then goodness knows where? Gaelic names upon the map. The monument is soon forthcoming, crowning a small crag above to my right and appears pretty substantial, albeit now very much part of the landscape it was no doubt once erected to stand apart from as a statement of intent. Perhaps. As usual Audrey Henshall had the details back in 1963, the cairn of Orkney-Cromarty type with a diameter of c40ft and a small (apparently) polygonal chamber, entered from the north/north-east, defined by four orthostats subsumed within the summit, their tops nevertheless still visible. So, quite a substantial monument with internal detail still in situ.

But there’s much more to this site in the form of some quite magnificent views, particularly looking south across Loch a’Chreagain Theth to the enigmatic profile of Quinag upon the skyline and... I think.... even the legendary Suilven. While to the south-west the eye is guided by the contrasting, yet aesthetically complementary contours of land and water across Badcall Bay to a myriad islands and islets occupying the inner reaches of Eddrachillis Bay. Looking north-west the map depicts a hut circle upon the far shore of Loch an Daimh Beg, several other examples apparently set below the cairn to the approx south-west. East? I’m reminded of the hauntingly barren waterscapes of North Uist. Quite an accolade, to be fair. Oh for more time.

As it is a truncated visit must suffice. I watch as several cars arrive at the hotel in Lower Badcall... whilst I will sleep tonight in the company of young stags above Loch Lurgainn. Guess one day the hotel will appear attractive. Not just yet, however.

This, the barest bones of an Orkney-Cromarty chambered cairn – yeah, very much minus the cairn nowadays – is about as far removed from the great Balnacrae seen earlier this trip as perhaps my imagination will allow. And, to be fair, I can imagine quite a lot. Sitting unobtrusively near the coastal A894 a little west of Laxford Bridge, the monument is nevertheless beguiling.... small, yet perfectly formed might well be an apt description.

According to Audrey Henshall (1963), as you might expect up here on this wild ‘n windy coastline, fifteen orthostats (apparently of wondrous gneiss) remain in situ, the tallest a modest 3ft 8ins in height. These form a two sectioned chamber (the outer rectangular, the more substantial inner, oval) originally accessed by a portalled passage some 7ft in length to the south-east.

Now although the chambered cairn occupies a low-lying position upon grassland beside the Traigh Bad na Baighe, the outlook presented to a weary, yet well satisfied traveller chilling out within is certainly expansive, the plaudits (in my opinion) going to the view looking eastward toward the distant summit of Sàil Mhór, with Foináven to its left... also north-east across Traigh Bad na Baighe and Laxford Bay, colours muted by the overcast light subject to occasional irradiance as the evening sun refuses to submit to bland uniformity. Although, having said that, the elegant profile of Ben Stack looming above the little hamlet of Badnabay to the south-east is pretty fine, too. Such is the nature of the topography here that aspects toward the other points of the compass are more localised, craggy hill sides the order of the day.

As I sit and drink my coffee a muciferous slug, riding a trail of seemingly unparalleled viscosity, makes its laboured, slimy way toward the top of the tallest chamber stone. ‘Al’, as I duly christen it – being ignorant of how to determine the sex of gasteropod land molluscs, but pretty adept at the morals (or rather lack of them) of politicians – doesn’t quite make it. A portent of the future, perhaps? Whatever the ultimate outcome of human conflict instigated by the egos of such people – whether cyclical fluctuations of the political status quo, or death and destruction by armed conflict, for me locations such as Badnabay place things into some sort of context. We may come and go, but when all is said and done Nature will carry on sorting the good ideas from the bad according to her selective algorithm. Hmm. Writer Neil Gunn (his memorial encountered at Heights of Brae) would no doubt have been able to elaborate upon this theme better than I.

Time flies and I must move on in order to achieve an Inverpolly wild camp before dark. Needless to say such are the archaeological riches of this magical coastline that that proves a very tall order. Cnoc An Daimh sees to that.

N.B: my thanks to TMA contributor ‘tumulus’ – Martin McCarthy – for highlighting the existence of this excellent site through:
ancient-scotland.co.uk

Megalithically-minded travellers immersing themselves in the landscape and lore of auld Alba .... perhaps searching for that special ‘something’ a little out of the ordinary, somewhere off the beaten track... might well consider perusing Greywether’s collected field notes as an appropriate introductory well of inspiration. And why not, when monuments of the calibre of the great Balnacrae chambered cairn are included within that canon? I’ve wanted to come here for several years now; had the map co-ordinates ready and everything. Nevertheless, I guess the extended approach – allied to the possibility of an unclimbable deer fence making all the effort superfluous at, quite literally, the final hurdle – put me off. However, having spent a memorable morning at the Heights of Brae chambered cairn, wondrously sited looking across to the Knock Farril, an expedition – for it is such – to Balnacrae suddenly acquired that rather overused classification of ‘must visit’.

A minor road heads west from Evanton approximately tracing the line of the River Sgitheach – to the fast flowing watercourse’s north – passing the hamlet of Swordale before running out of tarmac just south of Milton Lodge, beneath the wooded heights of Swordale Hill. I wouldn’t say there’s plenty of room to park since, according to the occupant of the house when I duly knocked upon his door, the council own the road’s terminus, as evidenced by a stationary dumper truck. Please bear this in mind if you come. Anyway, I head off along the private, rough track toward Fannyfield (great name... assuming you’ve a sense of humour and actually understand what feminism is about, of course), veering right at the buildings to ascend to a forestry track heading into the trees... as such tracks tend to do. Ignoring an initial left hand fork apparently accessing the river, I make swift progress, trending to the left and ignoring all right hand turns until a final section, resembling something from The Somme circa 1916, ensures every additional step extracts the maximum effort, a full-on obstacle course of fallen trees and head high gulleys. Eventually I reach the aforementioned deer fence, the exhausted traveller separated from the boundary line by yet another deep gulley... needless to say the most cavernous yet! The track veers to the northwest toward the ruined farmstead of Balnacrae... however I chance my arm and find it is currently (May 2014) possible to cross the fence at this point to emerge upon the open hill side above Strath Sgitheach. Furthermore a row of stones crowns the rise to my right like a phalanx of warriors drawn up in battle array.... or a group of Easter Island moai pondering whether to ‘turn left’, as instructed by that dodgy satnav from that equally dodgy shop in Inverness. That’ll be the monument, then. And it sure is a big one. The warm glow of success lingers momentarily before it’s down to business once more.

As I approach (slightly) uphill my initial impression is that my homework must’ve been subject to a few too many sherberts since the monument appears to possess a very ‘linear’ profile, some variant of seriously trashed long cairn, perhaps? However a grassy, circular footprint of significant diameter subsequently says otherwise. As does the wondrous Audrey Henshall, who reckoned in 1963 that this is an ‘Orkney-Cromarty type cairn’... with ‘an edge, which suggests a diameter of at least 75[feet]’, this revised by the OS a couple of years later to c93ft. Morever the stones are very hefty indeed for a chambered cairn, ranging from 2’4” to 6’ 6” (dimensions again courtesy of ASH). And there are a lot of them, too, as if to compensate for the almost total loss of the cairn itself. So, why so many chambers stones? As with Greywether before me, the act of mentally reconstructing the now free-standing interior of this chambered cairn is easier said than done... beyond me, to be honest. Two chambers or one? Hmm. ASH reckoned the passage entered to the north-east; however aside from that, the great Balnacrae tomb is an enigma. Come here and see what you think?

I sit in the shade of one of the substantial stones – they offer quite a bit, to be fair – and try to reconcile how the brooding remains of this chambered cairn now slumber in complete and utter obscurity.... when the tomb must once have been the focal point of local life. The Maes Howe of the area, no less. However times have changed, have they not? For good and bad, I guess. No Ladytron back then, for a start. The location is not overly dramatic, but subtle and telling, the cairn occupying the apex of a (very loose) triangle incorporating the heights of Meall a’Ghuail and Cnoc a’Bhreacaich and focussed upon the River Sgitheach, arguably mirroring that of Heights of Brae mentioned earlier. Or most probably vice versa. The realisation that these people knew their landscape inside out is impossible to ignore. Hey, I couldn’t even tell you who lives a few doors up from me. As I said, times have changed.

I stay to enjoy the complete and utter peace here until I can linger no more, well aware that I’ve a bastard of a return in store and attempting it in darkness would not be good. So... if chambered cairns are really your bag be advised that Balnacrae would fall foul of the Trade Descriptions Act. There is but the trace of a cairn here. However if ancient stones help take your thoughts to somewhere you would like them to be... Balnacrae has more than enough.

Oh. Thanks to Greywether for the inspiration to come to this wondrous place. I would love more to come.

Wondrously placed upon the north-eastern shoulder of Moel Eilio, outlying sibling of the enigmatic Pen Llithrig y Wrach (Slippery Hill of the Witch, no less), this cairn-circle – for want of an official designation – simply couldn’t complement the nearby Hafodygors Wen ring cairn-cum-four poster any better if the pair had been designed as part of a unified vision. Which, seeing as the monuments are inter-visible, might not be as far from the mark as some other antiquarian-related musings I’ve undertaken in the past. Perhaps.

Now a brief perusal of the relevant 1:25K OS map suggested to me that a minor road heading approx west from the village of Dolgarrog would bring me within striking distance of the monument, that is in the vicinity of the Coedty Reservoir. Trouble is... I couldn’t locate said route – or at least a road I’d consider manoeuvring my car up (has it been closed to vehicles now?) – so continued to Tal-y-Bont and took the left hand fork from the Llyn Eigiau access road (refer Hafodygors Wen). Ah, Llyn Eigiau. Doyen of starting locations for serious expeditions into the uplands of Y Carneddau, it was a failure of its dam on 2nd November 1925 which, unleashing a torrent of water downstream to overwhelm the aforementioned Coedty Reservoir, resulted in the catastrophic deaths of 16 Dolgarrog residents. A poignant reminder of what can happen when humankind underestimates, for whatever reason, the sheer power of natural forces. Perhaps it is a subconscious recollection of these tragic events which colours my outlook with a slightly matt black sheen this morning as I park-up near Pont Newydd. Then again it could also be the driving rain and high winds? Possibly...

A bridleway heads uphill more-or-less southward above the reservoir, the erection of a new fence having unfortunately churned the landscape to a muddy morass. Nevertheless Moel Eilio presents a pleasing profile, albeit one soon supplanted as I clamber over a stile and advance beyond a cross-fence, by that of a hauntingly evocative hawthorn tree crowning the monument I’ve come to see. An example of natural and artificial aesthetics complementing each other perfectly. Harmonious synchronisation, you might say? Or maybe not. Perhaps that’s just the way I see things since the tree is as gnarled, windswept and in-your-face combative as any I’ve witnessed. A true survivor. The grassy, round cairn it surmounts – for it is indeed clearly a cairn – possesses a significant diameter, albeit lacking somewhat in height. A not insubstantial number of stones – I ceased counting years ago – demarcate the circumference. I hesitate to use the word ‘uprights’, since those upon the arc facing the towering bulk of Moel Eilio rearing above are recumbent, just what you would expect if incorporated within a retaining kerb. However others, particularly to the north overlooking the reservoir are, in comparison, relatively tall and surely(?) not placed with the intention of undertaking any load bearing. Consequently I reckon ‘cairn circle’ is a reasonable enough assumption in the circumstances.

So, here we have an impressive monument set overlooking the Afon Porth-llwyd, outflow of Llyn Eigiau and inflow of the Coedty Reservoir. Clearly the valley floor has changed quite a bit since locals gathered here to do whatever they had to do to keep favour with the gods back then. Not so, perhaps, the northern/north-eastern skyline with Tal-y-Fan’s serrated ridge and the serpentine meanderings of the Afon Conwy timeless constants, at least within timescales us humans would understand. Turning the Gladman gaze to the south-west another inexorable presence captivates and, inevitably, clears the diary for the rest of the day. Yeah, Moel Eilio. At 1,791ft it is not a major player in the area, not by a long chalk. However if I’ve learned anything from an adult life spent seeking out the unusual, the obtuse... the interesting.... it is that a peripheric viewpoint can often provide unexpected insight.

And so it proves with Moel Eilio. To be fair the ascent from the cairn-circle is short and, notwithstanding the fact that I tend to struggle with steep climbs nowadays, without much of a bitter aftertaste, the retrospective view looking down upon the monument vindicating the exemplary vision, the sheer appreciation of the landscape inherent within its prehistoric architects. In my opinion we could learn so much from these people if only we adopted a similar outlook to living upon, being a part of, this planet. Although, with several millennia of scientific learning under our collective belts, you’ll excuse me if I decline a belief in supernatural agency. We can all do without hubris. Anyway... I reach the crest of the mini-mountain and suddenly the going becomes just about as difficult as it could be today. Deep, trackless heather. Clearly not many people come this way, then? The summit (unmarked – why no burial cairn here?) is eventually attained and the high (mostly) Bronze Age cairn adorned summits of Y Carneddau crown the skyline in serried array beyond. The ‘playground’ – or perhaps more accurately ‘assault course’ – of my youth somehow now appears to generate much more profound emotions when viewed from a distance in a similar plane. Perhaps that is because I have nothing to prove to myself, at least physically, so the mind is more perceptive? Or then again maybe you have to take a step back in order to truly appreciate what is there before you? Hard to explain. Obviously.

I force my way through the heather, slightly downhill now, to eventually overlook the ancient settlement at Moel Eilio. Again, the isolated trees emphasise the way in which our ancestors could suss out the landscape.... the tribe elder no doubt declaring ‘this is where we will live... good shelter’. Carnedd Llewelyn, possessing the highest surviving burial cairn in all Wales, rises above the shattered rock pinnacles of Craig Eigiau, the latter likewise looming over the hauntingly melancholic breeched dam of Llyn Eigiau. Sunlight spills from the brooding cloudbase and sweeps across the floor of the cwm as if in mimicry of those events almost a century ago. My attempts to capture such an intense vibe on ‘film’ are doomed to failure, not least since the sheer velocity of the wind renders my camera tripod almost superfluous. Jeez, it is bad. But what the hell! I’m alive!

I return to Cae Du and spend the last half hour before dusk watching the setting sun illuminate Tal-y-Fan... as if it was the star actor of a drama randomly played out at the whim of the clouds. And there can be few better seats in the house than this cairn-circle.

TMA members have been eulogising about the merits of this obscure site for a couple of years now.... however since my visits to Gwynedd are – at best – an annual occurrence nowadays, it’s taken a while to discover what all the fuss is about. But there you. Better late than never.

‘Ye Old Bull Inn’ is a conspicuously attractive landmark (purely from an aesthetic viewpoint, of course) for travellers heading north through Tal-y-Bont, minor roads accessing Llyn Eigiau and Bwlch-y-Ddeufaen exiting the B5106 to left and right of the building respectively. I select the former, the gravity-defying tarmac climbing steeply away from the fertile Dyffryn Conwy in such a manner as to provide a serious, if not insurmountable challenge to a front wheel drive vehicle under icy conditions. However just the ubiquitous Snowdonian rain to contend with today. So, ignoring a left hand fork heading toward the Coedty Reservoir (incidentally take this to visit Cae Du) I pause above the farm of Rowlyn Isaf to concurrently negotiate a gate and allow the (presumed) owner to overtake and go about his business unimpeded by such as I. Yeah, some people have work to do. Anyway, a little beyond the final gate prior to the more-or-less straight approach to the Llyn Eigiau parking area it is (fortunately) possible to leave a car near a couple of prominent ladder stiles.

Back at the aforementioned gate, this traveller, shorn of protective steel carapace, now subject to all the vagaries of the inclement weather, a substantial drystone wall makes a reasonable enough job of emphasising the contours of the hillside falling away toward the swollen Afon Dulyn. That’ll be the way to go, then. The river, sourced within the Dulyn Reservoir cradled beneath the forbiddingly craggy eastern flank of Foel Grach, presents a pretty significant barrier to further progress. Once across (dryshod, although I’m not so competent upon the return!) I continue, uphill now, shadowing the boundary line until a lateral wall (with stile) passively announces I’m but a short distance south of the Hafodygors Wen Cairn II. Unfortunately there is very little to report of the latter, the cairn all but destroyed, its material returned to the landscape to ‘go ‘round again’. Or something like that.

But what of the celebrated ring cairn? As the previous posts make clear, the massive erratic boulder is the key to its successful location. The monument is set a short distance south (that is toward the river) so even the likes of myself couldn’t fail. The position, overlooking the Afon Dulyn, is excellent, in a rather brutal ‘upland’ sort of way. A quartet of significant orthostats stand within/upon (I’m not sure which) a reasonably well defined ring cairn, such definition no doubt enhanced by Chris’s previous gardening exploits. Well done that man. Although a few Bellis perennis wouldn’t have gone amiss. The high peaks of Y Carneddau, their summits truncated by an all encompassing mass of grey vapour long since past critical saturation point, provide a suitably brooding backdrop to the west and south-west, the latter, enlivened by the shattered rock of Craig Eigiau, arguably the most enigmatic. Despite the rain – or perhaps even more so because of it? – this is a place to sit and ponder, to think about stuff. Yeah, whatever comes into the head. The profound, the base... the focussed, the incoherent. Random thought... it’s all good. Although unfortunately I guess it’s advisable to retain some exclusively within my head nowadays. My ‘mind palace’, as Benedict Cumberbatch might say, albeit one with a bit of a leaky roof, needing renovation.

Speaking of thought .... just what were the architects of this idiosyncratic monument thinking when they erected it all those millennia ago? Is it a unique North Walian ‘four poster?’ Sure it looks like one. However to be honest I’m not completely convinced owing to the placement of the stones relative to the assumed arc of the stone circle’s circumference. Somehow the angles don’t seem right for just the four stones? Having said that, I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing much more than a half dozen of the type, so happy to defer to those that have. Whatever the truth this is, regardless, a wondrous monument set within classic upland scenery and blessed with that most precious attribute of all. Vibe, atmosphere.

Worth getting the feet wet for.

A dispassionate – and hence somehow all the more gloomy – forecast of blanket low cloud across the South Walian uplands is responsible for a rare surety this morning. Yeah, instead of the usual somewhat, er, ‘fluid’ journey parameters, today the Mam C and I will visit the great hill fort of Carn Goch, South Wales’ “whatever you can do...” counter to Gwynedd’s magnificent Garn Boduan. Or Tre’r Ceiri, if you prefer. Needless to say we don’t make it.

Climbing away from Upper Brynamman upon the A4069, the beguiling vision... for those who choose to ‘see’... of the Tair Carn Uchaf (and Isaf) Bronze Age cemeteries standing proud upon the western-most slopes of Y Mynydd Du only serves to – yet again – ratify the maxim than nothing is ever certain when it comes to mountain weather. So where’s the cloud, then? Dunno. Passing the Cwm Garw settlement below to our right (must actually stop one day – duh!) and parking up at the old quarry site of Pen Rhiw Wen, it’s time to switch to manual prediction, the MK1 eyeball and copious experience. A final wraith of grey vapour extricates itself from the summit crags of Garreg Lwyd and dissipates. On my head be it. To the hills!

The ascent of Garreg Lwyd – at least from the north-west – is the least arduous of any 2,000ft peak in Wales. Which is handy for us two these days and highly recommended to anyone wanting to ‘dip a toe’ in the ‘sparkling waters’ of upland exploration. Or something like that. Nevertheless the landscape soon becomes as brutally incoherent and haphazard as many another far higher mountain, so don’t take liberties in mist please. Heading south-east from the car park the angle of attack eases in relatively short order, the massive summit cairn soon visible beyond some natural outcropping. I wouldn’t exactly call it a limestone ‘pavement’.... although if you’ve seen some pedestrian paths around Aldgate recently the comparison is there to be made. To be honest the sheer scale of the monument takes me back a little, this despite having visited the summit a number of times previously. The most obvious feature is a large ‘marker cairn’ perched upon the south-western section, presumably formed of original cairn material. However it soon becomes clear that a significant volume of stone still remains more or less in situ, particularly upon the eastern/southern arcs. Simply put, this was a massive cairn in its day bearing direct comparison with Carn Pen-y-clogau and the aforementioned Tair Carn monuments to the approx west. It’s therefore – as usual – unfortunate that, in addition to the marker cairn, vandals (for, let it be said, that is what they are) have also fashioned a couple of ‘shelters’ from the ancient fabric. That these are poorly constructed and subject to immediate collapse under my weight is a moot point. Ironically the nearby OS trig pillar bears a plaque stating that damaging the same is a criminal offence. Priorities, eh? These gripes aside, the monument occupies a wondrously desolate position with far reaching vistas to all points of the compass.... assuming the visitor clutches said navigational aid in his/her hand the validity of this statement is easily verified. The most dramatic is arguably that to the east, looking toward the central peaks of Y Mynydd Du, perhaps the most expansive that to the coast. But don’t take my word for it. Hey, don’t take my word for anything. Particularly how the great cairn of Carn Pen-y-Clogau appears to sit perfectly upon the horizon from here.

The day is getting on a bit, albeit still reasonably attractive. Bit like Kate Moss, you could say? However the siren call of the uplands lures us onward, if not exactly upward, heading east toward Foel Fraith instead of returning to the car for Carn Goch. This is ‘shake hole’ country, those enigmatic circular depressions in the limestone working in association with ragged peat hags to add a surreal, somewhat otherworldly aspect to the rough moor between the two peaks. Foel Fraith is characterised by linear rocky outcrops forming the western flank. And not a lot else, to be fair. Unless one is particularly turned on by summit bog. What is does possess, however, is a fine view of the twin cairns of Carnau’r Garreg Las crowning the chaotic Twyn-swnd rising across Cwm Sawdde Fechan, these in turn directing the gaze further east to the heartland of Y Mynydd Du. Immediately north is Cefn y Cylchau featuring a number of clearly much smaller monuments. Today, however, all this appears too taxing. Or rather is too taxing. Time to sit and chill out, enjoy the moment.

Hours fly and soon it’s almost time to leave. I wander off alone to take a few more images and notice a sheep apparently sitting in one of the aforementioned bogs. Trouble is it doesn’t immediately flee in blind panic at my approach... because it can’t. Stuck fast within the deadly, glutinous mud, its demeanour suggesting it has resigned itself – if sheep can do such a thing – to die here tonight from exposure whilst its companions look on without a trace of irascibility. I appear correct, since nothing I can do will budge the bloody thing. Damn! So how does a 12 stone man manage to drag a fully grown, completely waterlogged sheep from a mire while the Mam C sits a several hundred yards away, oblivious to calls overwhelmed by the wind? I’ve no idea. But the thought of leaving this creature to die a lonely death up here is too much to contemplate.... so the strength is somehow forthcoming.

We commence our return to Garreg Lwyd to watch dusk weave its magic from the great cairn, golden rays from the sinking sun illuminating the underside of the cloudbase with the subtle interplay of light. The Mam C suddenly points out a brown sheep standing munching the tough upland grass amongst a nearby group of otherwise more-or-less white ones. ‘Have you seen that?’ Well, now you come to mention it.....

The Mam C and I approach from the western prow of the fabulous Y Das... following a kamikaze sheep track eastward to circle the headwall of Cwm Dwr-y-coed, the eponymous stream – for here it is little more than nascent – tumbling down the mountain side with the reckless abandon of, well... a base jumping kamikaze sheep, perhaps?

To the south, the main summit ridge of The Black Mountains sweeps away from Pen-y-Manllwyn toward Pen y Gadair Fawr and its Bronze Age cairn, the relative uniformity of topography only serving to emphasise the sheer vastness of the sky, an occasional walker reduced to oblivion within the enormity of such a macro vision. It is certainly a thought provoking spectacle and not a little unnerving, particularly to homo sapiens conditioned at school to view ourselves as the culmination of existence. Yeah, right. We, however, turn back to face the west and advance along the southern flank of the cwm... Mynydd Bychan. Here, in direct contrast, the landscape is subject to such dramatic variance that the gaze is drawn irrevocably downward, no doubt an instinctive reaction to mitigate against the traveller walking blindly to his/her death. The resulting experience is just as dramatically awe inspiring as before, yet curiously more manageable, perhaps more in keeping with standard behavioural ‘templates’ stored within the human genome? But, don’t trust me. I’m not a doctor.

Whatever, this is classic mountainscape. The promontory narrows as we pass a small tarn choked (if that’s the correct description) with indeterminable species of flora, the modern cairn – perched precariously upon the mountain’s prow a little way beyond – signifying terra firma is about to be at an absolute premium in short order..... meaning the ‘platform cairn’ should be just about... here. Sure enough, to judge by the arc of compacted stone and apparent small uprights subsumed within, the Coflein people are correct and Mynydd Bychan is indeed crowned by such a monument. OK, structurally speaking the cairn is not exactly impressive. Although I guess by definition, by its very nature a ‘platform cairn’ would never have been that tall, never have possessed a truly upstanding profile. However such gripes pale to insignificance when I stand upon it and do a 360 degree sweep of the environs. Superlative scenery, indeed; the location surely one of the finest anywhere? The Mam C, ever cool (well except during our previous aborted visit here last year) settles down for lunch. I, on the other hand, can not sit still until I’ve taken a myriad more (mostly rubbish) images like a hyperactive child having ingested too many ‘E numbers’.

Time passes upon our spectacular eyrie all too quickly under the watchful gaze of both birds of prey and the occupants of the rather quieter gliders, both of which ride the thermals here with apparent minimal effort. A green track zig-zags down the northern face into Cwm Dwr-y-coed, probably connected with limited quarrying said to have occurred here at some point in the past. However we decide to descend – very steeply! – directly from the modern cairn in order to take another look at what looked suspiciously like a trashed cairn last time we passed by, albeit under much more stressful conditions. To be honest it still does not look like the result of quarrying, but we are nevertheless none the wiser. Picking up the green track we swing northwards and head for the Wern Frank Wood barrow and hence the car, fording the now rather more substantial Dwr-y-coed en-route.

The Mam C reckons she spots flecks of gold in the fast flowing water. I disagree. ‘Fools Gold’. But then again it might be said the whole vibe of this wondrous area is reflected by that of the classic Stone Roses track.... pulsating, undulating natural rhythms releasing positive, uplifting energy. Well worth coming back for.

To be honest.... inquisitive travellers such as The Mam C and I don’t require any excuses to revisit Y Das, north-western bastion of The Black Mountains. Yeah, the sublime views, particularly when perched upon the western escarpment edge looking across Mynydd Bychan and Cwm y Nant to Y Grib – that wondrous, narrow ridge breaching these uplands with all the certainty of a Masadian siege ramp – are surely sufficient reward to satiate even the most stilted heart? Nevertheless we have one. An excuse, that is, since previous visits here were manifestly unable to determine the location of a small Bronze Age round barrow said to reside upon the summit plateau. It really shouldn’t be that difficult.... Oh, and we also want to carry on to conclude some, er, unfinished business upon nearby Mynydd Bychan to the south.

The attractive village of Talgarth – still shadowed by the somewhat sinister Norman round keep of Bronllys, rising to the approx north-west – is the gateway to the hills around these parts. Incidentally possessing a good local bakery, too. Anyway, head east past the (main) church and, noting ‘The Lodge’ upon your left, pass through the farmyard at Ffostyll to arrive at a sharp right turn a little further on. Follow this, ignoring the right turn at Llanelieu Court, to park upon the copious grassy verge a little beyond the next right. Here, assuming the cloud base is clear of the summits, Y Das will be visible as the flat-topped, wedge-shaped height rising to the approx south-east, Mynydd Bychan and Y Grib the supporting cast right skyline (if this is not the case... I would seriously consider a postponement since the Black Mountains demand exemplary compass work in mist). We follow the signed, fenced bridleway heading for Rhiw Cwnstab, the landscape rising to pass the Wern Frank round barrow, this so overcome with the ubiquitous gorse as to defy all attempts at positive identification. The path eventually accesses a well graded track overlooking Cwm Cwnstab ascending to the bwlch between Y Das and Pen Rhos-Dirion, the bedrock old red sandstone adding a somewhat surreal twist to the colour palette utilised by Nature.... however we decide to venture off-piste and make our way up the grassy ridge itself straight to the summit. Just for the hell of it.

The sheer contrast between the lush pastoral patchwork of fields lying far below and the brutal upland grass is perhaps as extreme here, upon the summit plateau of Y Das, as in any location in Wales. We go walkabout along the northern flank and it’s the Mam C who makes the discovery first. A small mound set some considerable distance back from the escarpment edge so as to deny the visitor those exceptional downward vistas. It’s by no means a substantial monument – Coflein’s dimensions of ‘5.0m by 4.0m and 0.50m high’ appearing realistic enough – but nevertheless relatively well defined, having apparently survived the ravages of several millennia up here pretty well, all things considered. We settle down for coffee – and chocolate for the Mam C – duly noting how the topography at this point limits views to the horizons, specifically excluding the immediate locale below. Clearly this needn’t have been the case and hence would appear intentional. It also creates a fundamental disaccord between wishing to remain at the site and the urge to enjoy all this mountain top has to offer, aesthetically speaking. Eventually the latter can no longer be denied and we continue to the western escarpment edge. As mentioned at the beginning this is, in our opinion, a truly sublime viewpoint, the rollercoaster profile of Y Grib leading the eye toward Bwlch Bach a’r Grib, Castell Dinas and the soaring bulk of Mynydd Troed appearing far in excess of its relatively limited elevation.

Across the cwm to the approx south rises Mynydd Bychan, the flank of Y Das falling precipitously to Cwm Dwr-y-Coed below. From here I reckon I can appreciate the position of the ‘platform cairn’ a little to the left of the modern cairn surmounting Mynydd Bychan’s pronounced prow. Yeah, guess this should be our next port of call traversing this upland desert wilderness.

An early morning of appalling conditions in northern Snowdonia – hey, it happens every once in a while – is the prerequisite catalyst for immediate implementation of ‘Plan B’, such as it is; drive south to the coast to (hopefully) escape the clammy clutches of the high peaks... and then see what’s on the infamous ‘bad weather list’. This time, however, I’m well on my way across The Migneint, Spider Stacy’s ‘Repeal of the Licensing Laws’ rattling the car windows in an attempt to resuscitate morale in seemingly terminal decline, before I realise the weather is actually deteriorating further still. Castell y Gaer, the small hillfort overlooking Llwyngwril, flashes into the mind as a potential saviour of a rapidly self-imploding day. Yeah, seem to recall nearby Allt Lwyd also possessing a cairn or two, as noted from the wondrous Craig-yr-Aderyn a few years ago.

Unfortunately a little later on neither option looks a practical possibility since, upon passing the shore of a particularly ethereal Llyn Mwyngil beneath the cloud-wreathed crags of Cadair Idris, a speed boat appears a more viable mode of transport in which to traverse the B4405 today. The weather gods are fickle, however, the (relatively) low ridge of Allt Lwyd undeniably visible beneath the cloud base as, having veered north upon the A493, I approach the small village of Llanegryn. And, no, I didn’t make a votive offering at Tal-y-Llyn. Anyway, passing the school, the subsequent right fork climbs to its terminus at the farm of Cae’r Mynach; however it is possible to park – with care, naturally – upon the verge before the field gate at Tai ‘r Mynydd a little way beforehand. Here a (signed) public footpath promises access to the hinterland. Hey, why not?

The path ascends the shallow, green hillside to the approx north-east, the intervening ground between gate and the summit of Allt Lwyd packed, according to the map anyway, with hut circles and earthworks, not to mention a rather enigmatic grassy cairn Cae’r Mynach with sweeping, retrospective views of the coast. Beyond the dry stone wall enclosing the upper boundary of the field are located another small cairn at SH6097907818, the remains of a possible ‘large cairn’ set nearby between apparent sheep folds... and yet more hut circles and enclosures beyond to the approx north. Needless to say there’s more, the path continuing its line to present a fine view of the course of the Afon Dyffryn flowing through Cwm-llwyd, the optimum viewing platform a definite large round cairn at SH612081. Despite being damaged by (yet) another parasitical sheep fold upon the south-eastern arc, a substantial volume of stone remains in situ giving a good impression of how the original monument might have appeared. Well, sort of.

Next I head uphill to the south-east, bypassing at least another ‘possible’ cairn, to the summit of the ridge at SH615077. Here a very significant monument – far more substantial than I was expecting, at least in respect of retained footprint – still stands with possible traces of cist elements within its predictably gutted interior, together with at least one more-or-less certain kerb stone upon the extended circumference. According to Coflein this cairn may have incorporated two separate monuments; an earlier, large ring cairn ‘some 23m in diameter and 1m in height’ over which was superimposed a kerbed-cairn ‘approximately 15m in diameter and 1.5m high’ [see misc post]. In addition further linear dry stone features suggest tinkering during historic times. Despite residing at only some 1,286ft (392m) the cairn is a superb viewpoint, particularly southward toward the coast and to the north-east, the gaze following the grassy ridge all the way to Cadair Idris itself.... while to the east the impossibly enigmatic Craig-yr-Aderyn sits across Dyffryn Dysynni, crowned by its powerful hill fort. Yeah, the views are first class.... even if the weather is most certainly not. Bloody freezing, in fact. Although, to be fair, it is no doubt the strengthening wind velocity which is responsible for driving the hill fog away and consequently allowing me to be here at all. No, one can’t have it all, despite what those muppets on the TV adverts say.

As it happens Allt Lwyd has one final surprise for this bemused modern antiquarian today, this located across the wire fence a little to the approx south of the summit monument at SH6145807631. The monument, or rather monuments, appear to consist of a large ring cairn, according to Coflein ‘some 20m in diameter, 1.5m wide and 0.5m in height.... partially overlain to the south by a later burial cairn, approximately 15m in diameter and 1m in height.’ [again see misc post]. This seems a reasonable synopsis to me. What is far more difficult to convey, and certainly beyond the likes of myself, is the sublime vista the latter cairn affords of the fertile valley of Dyffryn Dysynni, the river flowing in lazy, serpentine loops toward the sea, as if reluctant to reach the conclusion of a journey whereby its waters must lose their identity, merging with those of the Afon Dyfi subsumed within Cardigan Bay.

So.... if it wasn’t for the appalling weather early doors I’d never have thought of coming to Allt Lwyd today. I’m sure there’s a moral in that somewhere. Hey, perhaps it’s that we all need to try and be a little more like the Afon Dysynni... attempt to live life in a more ‘serpentine’ manner? Works for me.

Foel Cwm-Sian-Lwyd, rising to 2,125ft, crowns the north-eastern apex of a considerable expanse of (deceptively) desolate, heather-clad moorland set between the main ridge of Y Berwyn to the east, across Cwm Pydew, and The Arans to the west, the latter rising beyond neighbouring summits sometimes referred to in the collective as ‘The Hirnants’.

The summit ridge bears the remains of (at least) two cairns, although only that to the north is cited as having probable prehistoric ancestry by Coflein. Although that would be more than enough to encourage a visit in itself... I disagree, my experience strongly suggesting – to me, at least – the summit cairn is also an apparently unopened burial cairn, albeit badly disturbed by the subsequent erecting of an OS trig station. Ironically, it appears the OS agree with me.

The cairn sited upon the northern prow of the mountain (SH99713172) is a large construction measuring ‘about 15m in diameter and up to 1.5m in height on its N. side’ (according to Coflein), sadly surmounted by a substantially rectangular dry stone construction which, bearing in mind the surfeit of heather, may well be a shooting butt. If so it shows, if my perception is anything to go by, signs of having been rebuilt at least once in it’s lifetime. Three is a nice, rounded number too, don’t you think? Needless to say, despite the pretty severe wind and lashing showers, I refuse to enter on principle, namely that one has to dress for the occasion, whether that be a night in a posh restaurant or an afternoon watching rainbows arc above Cadair Berwyn. And not lower one’s standards.... Whatever, it must be said that the grassy footprint is pretty impressive and this is a good place to be, the scenery illuminated with vibrant colours from cobalt blue to the most orangey of orange – and pretty much everything in between – during periodic sunbursts providing brief hiatuses from swiftly advancing storm fronts riding the prevailing wind.

The summit cairn (SH996314), by contrast, has a somewhat lower profile but nevertheless the footprint is convincingly ‘authentic’ to these eyes, bearing comparison with the not-too-distant Bronze Age cairn of Foel y Geifr. Furthermore, by my reckoning it’s pretty certain that this was not erected by walkers in this more-or-less unfrequented part of Wales. Although, to be fair, the summit of Foel Cwm-Sian-Lwyd possesses views that rival many a more popular mountain, encompassing not only the Berwyn and Aran heights, but also the Arenig, Clwydian, Cadair Idris.... and much else besides, stretching all the way to northern Snowdonia.

There is a downside, however. Despite appearances upon the map and, indeed, from the B4391, there is no ‘easy’ route to the summit of this mountain. So be warned. In fact ‘masochistic purgatory’ might be a more apt description of even the short ascent from the obvious parking area near the sharp U-bend at Pont Cwm Pydew. Trackless heather is like that. But there are compensations, shall we say?

This one’s for aficionados everywhere of those Bronze Age sites with not an awful lot tangible remaining, yet nonetheless worth the (not inconsiderable) effort reaching, if only to enjoy some sublime incidental views en-route, to attempt to understand the landscape context that I believe is at least as important as the archaeology itself.

Anyway, a convenient lay-by upon a prominent corner of the A498 overlooking the farm of Hafod Rhisgl – some way south of the official tourist viewpoint/car park – provides a good starting point for a rather steep, wooded ascent upon a (signposted) public footpath, tantalising vistas up and down the valley materialising through autumnal foliage exploding in a last intemperate display of colour before winter’s icy grip takes hold, a seemingly infinite smorgasbord of red, yellow, brown... orange. Eventually the angle eases and, beyond a substantial, gated, dry stone wall, the nature of the landscape abruptly changes to that of the brutal uplands, almost monochroic in comparison. The cairn is not easily spotted, laying some way before a stile accessing the main north-south path traversing these hills from Moel Siabod to Y Cnicht. Incidentally, after checking out the monument, I head south toward the wondrous rock walls of Moel Meirch and Llyn Edno, the relatively untrodden heartland of the Moelwyns...

Upon arrival it is clear that, sadly, the cairn is badly denuded, the track through the bwlch bisecting the monument with an imperious ‘Romanic’ contempt that would beggar belief.... if it wasn’t all too common place. Nevertheless a substantial stone still remains in situ upon the southern arc, the ‘side on’ positioning strongly suggestive of the surviving flank of a former cist, and thus Bronze Age origin. Coflein agrees, citing ‘Caernarvonshire Parish Files’ from 1953. Furthermore, the cairn is sited so as to cunningly – or pedantically, perhaps – just negate one of the aforementioned glorious views, this sweeping down to Llyn Gwynant, lying resplendent within Nant Gwynant to the approx south-west. Visitors to more than a few Welsh upland cairns may well agree that such precise placement is not an unusual occurrence, possibly indicative of the type?

As it is... the outlook from the cairn is dominated by the overwhelming profile of the Snowdon Massif rising to the approx west across the valley, the mountainside rising past Clogwyn Pwll Budr toward Y Cribiau (and hence the ‘mother hill’ Moel Siabod) to the north and Cerrig Cochion to the south. Needless to say Yr Wyddfa and its acolytes take centre stage. Which was perhaps the whole point? Travellers undertaking the crossing from Gwynant to Lledr via this natural breech in the mountains perhaps pausing here to do/say whatever was required to placate, with the intermediatory assistance of those interned within the stone pile, the upland gods. Well, it’s a thought...

It might be argued that the intentions of human beings erecting a cairn upon a mountain plateau with such a chaotic topography as Mynydd Graig Goch – a brutal landscape suggesting Mother Nature took a permanent hiatus mid-way through the act of creation, like the child walking away from an upturned box of lego – were always going to be infused with meaning of extreme profundity, incorporating sufficient incendivity to inflame the group consciousness and so define who they were as a people, how they viewed and related to their surroundings on the most fundamental level. Or else why undertake such a seemingly pointless, thankless task? A rhetorical question, of course. But one that plants that seed of curiosity in my brain.

At barely 2,000 ft Mynydd Graig Goch is not a substantial mountain, even when viewed within the context of the moderate summits of the sublime Nantlle Ridge, of which it is the south-western outlier. However, like the short man attempting to compensate for lack of vertical stature with abnormally powerful upper body strength and inflated aggression, it sure makes every one of those feet above ordnance datum count with a surfeit of naked rock, most impressively to the north where a powerful cliff-line towers above Llyn Cwm Dulyn. A reservoir since the 1880’s, this glacial lake is apparently still home to the enigmatic arctic char. Unfortunately none of these wondrous fish break the not quite placid surface of the llyn as I begin what is a straightforward, albeit very steep ascent from water’s edge. A bit too steep when wearing thermal underwear to (theoretically, anyway) cope with the anticipated inclement summit conditions. But there you are.

The summit crags, the Graig Goch, are an awful long time a’coming, eventually materialising beneath a leaden sky which thankfully appears content to interact with this mountain top from a distance, finally dispensing a light drizzle which has threatened all morning. Outcrops of shattered rock bar further progress like the merlons and embrasures forming the parapet of the defences of a giant’s castle.... albeit a very badly built one, soon breached. A massive dry stone cross-wall is a much more difficult barrier to circumvent since I can not locate the break which must surely exist? And there, finally, sits the cairn a’top a section of lower crags a little below to the approx south-east. Once again the actual highest point was not considered appropriate. To be honest the monument is hard to make out initially, a massive cairn of stones set upon a massive natural base of rock, the latter slowly, inexorably disintegrating, engaged in a battle with the elements it can not win. A cairn upon a cairn, just about the optimum camouflage. Surely this was not designed to impress?

As I make my final approach that leaden sky – inevitably – decides to come and say ‘hello’, my world suddenly contracting to a surreal, claustrophobic, apparent dream state of ethereal, swirling shapes lacking any definition, apparitions devoid of any coherent form and without any real notion of substance... colour perhaps fifty shades of muted grey. Although rational thought reassures me that, having taken a compass bearing for just such an eventuality, this is really no big deal.... primitive responses nevertheless surface from deep within and battle for supremacy. Those far reaching vistas toward the Lleyn Peninsular I was hoping to enjoy suddenly curtailed as if a giant, unseen hand had placed a cover over my bird cage. Yeah, the conditions deteriorate further and it is tempting to accede to the wishes of the primeval psyche which has been released and run for home. But I will not. The cairn is deceptively massive, a serious construction for such a brutal spot, yet seems – to me – to have been placed not to assert ownership of this landscape, to effect some sort of subjection of Nature, but rather to function as an integral part of this mountain top, to work in harmony with it? Perhaps the all enveloping mantle of hill fog has some bearing on this view? Perhaps that was why these monuments were placed at such locations?

Two hours pass before the cloud is just as suddenly whisked away and I am finally able to revel in the panoramas I came to see. Another large Bronze Age cairn crowns Garnedd Goch rising across Bwlch Cwmdulyn to the north-east, yet another upon Craig Cwm-Silyn, summit peak of The Nantlle Ridge. The wondrous Moel Hebog, possessing a little Bronze Age cemetery of its own, sits beyond Cwm Pennant to the east. Then there’s the aforementioned Lleyn, chock-a-block with hillforts, portal tombs, cairns; prehistoric treasures such as Tre’r Ceiri and Garn Boduan. Hey, the thought occurs that perhaps the point of this cairn, as with the massive Carn Ban overlooking Kilmartin far to the north, for that matter.... as well as numerous others... was to act as a place to observe, not to be seen?

Finally I must leave this desolate, yet nevertheless beguiling spot to ensure I get back down before dark, the former chill seeping into my very being as a result of the waiting, the riding out of the storm, now superceded by the warm glow of well... to be honest I don’t really comprehend the source. Perhaps it emanates from a recognition, incoherent and blurred at the edges, that I am actually a part of this landscape, a participant in this ongoing relationship humankind has with these brutal, inhospitable high places, however minimal my role. Like playing ‘the third sheep’ in a school nativity play. Whatever, it feels good to be here. Maybe it always has, and that’s why we continue to come? To connect with some facet of ourselves buried so deeply within the subconscious that it can only be teased to the surface when experiencing the sensory overload inherent in pilgrimages to primeval places such as Mynydd Graig Goch.

Guess it’s a pretty well established irony how casual experiences – those unintended, spur of the moment decisions subject to minimal (if any) planning... and no preconceptions – can sometimes end up becoming emotional/artistic highlights of this condition we blithely refer to as life? Of course this may just represent the tangible benefits of a realistic outlook driven by past endeavour, the visitor perhaps subscribing to what the Pet Shop Boys once defined, tongues firmly in cheek, as the philosophy of ‘Miserabilism’. Well, if the cap and dark sunglasses fit. Anyway... a visit to the Great Orme Bronze Age mine this morning is just about the most perfect example of this happy scenario I can recall for, oh, ages.

Although Hurricane Gonzalo’s winds have thankfully abated somewhat, the North Walian uplands’ seemingly perennial companion – persistent hill fog – ensures I do not linger within Nant Ffrancon, the jagged, other-worldly profile of Tryfan too primeval for comfort, thrusting, partially subsumed in all that swirling vapour, into a seemingly parallel dimension beyond human cognition. So, what to do? Ah, I recall the Great Orme possesses a portal tomb. That’ll do. Thankfully times have changed since the traveller had to take his/her life in hand to traverse the northern foothills of Y Carneddau as they sweep down to Conwy Bay, tunnels bored in the living rock nowadays affording easy, if somewhat serpentine passage for the A55 heading for Conwy and Llandudno. Furthermore, I’m pleased to say that my suppositions are false, the old school seaside resort retaining more than a touch of its assumed former elegance. A very steep (signposted) road shadows a tram line to ascend The Great Orme. I decide to park up in the obvious Mine car park and seek out the Llety’r Filiast dolmen, the map not that clear as to the tomb’s whereabouts, well at least to these eyes.

Nonchalantly wandering into the ‘gift shop’ to ask directions the middle-aged bloke at the counter – whom it transpires from the introductory video is one of the original archaeologists working here (how cool is that?) – asks whether I want to take the tour? Suddenly put on the spot I mumble ‘Er, OK, I guess so... while I’m here’ which draws a wry smile from his rather attractive female companion.. as if to say ‘you won’t be so blase afterwards, trust me’. Or something like that. Anyway, initial impressions of the site are not good, not unless the devastating residue of ‘industrial heritage’ is your thing, steps directing the visitor to the bottom of a quarry – a big stony pit, in other words – whereby several dark gashes within the limestone suggest gateways to somewhere else not really of this planet.... Yeah, do I really want to venture inside? Not sure, to be honest, so I force the issue and render obsolete further objections in my usual not-so-subtle manner. Crossing the Rubicon and burning the bridge behind me, so to speak.

The initial shaft is surprisingly narrow, the rough hewn ceiling low enough to make me feel rather stupid for questioning the validity of having to wear a ‘hard hat’. Subtle – for the most part – lighting by bare electric bulbs renders a torch unnecessary and, although the engineered, ‘tourist friendly’ floor and wooden staircases may adversely impact the subterranean purist a little, the overall effect is, in my opinion superb, chock full of vibe. In fact my only gripe is the cartoon posters which periodically adorn the passage walls, presumably for the benefit of school parties. Deciding to take my time I pause in the entrance to one of innumerable diverging sub-shafts to let my noisy co-visitors pass. Muppets. As their complaining utterances recede into the distance the sheer scale of these excavations, effected with nothing but hardened stones and bone picks, slowly becomes apparent. Well, sort of... since the thought of hewing solid rock with such primitive tools does not compute in any coherent manner. Paradoxes arise at every turn, leaving the brain in turmoil. Surely such a feat is impossible, but then again it can’t be because here am I within the rock as surely as the A55 can be found within Penmaenmawr. So how did they do it? Ouch. A hard hat hasn’t been devised that can mitigate that kind of cerebral overload. The effort is simply awe inspiring, beyond comprehension, surely rendering the titanic excavation of Avebury’s ditch a mere warm up exercise in comparison?

The shaft descends further into this perplexing, disorientating underworld, the side walls and ceiling contracting and widening at various points as if in mimicry of a natural cave... such as that visited last month within the Carreg Cennen, some way to the south. OK, the vibe isn’t as extreme as within that sublime place; but then not only is the scale here beyond comparison... it is all the result of the efforts of humans. Wow. And then the climax of the tour, the piece de resistance proving to be a massive chamber, the gaping interior accorded some definition courtesy of minimalist red and green lighting. It is a wondrous, truly amazing sight to behold, apparently the largest such prehistoric excavation anywhere. I’ve tried to capture something on ‘film’, a vague snapshot. Needless to say it really does need to be seen in person. I tear myself away from the opening noting that a skeleton was apparently found beneath the entrance shaft, the sign postulating a possible ritual sacrificial dedication. Or something like that. The excited voices of numerous children announce the presence of a school party... so time to move on and leave this place of my own accord, not swept before an irresistible cacophony of noise like a piece of flotsam upon the incoming tide.

Exiting into daylight I detect a certain unease vying with the wonder swirling around in my head .... what if the Bronze Age peoples who accomplished this astonishing feat (apparently the tour passages represent but a small percentage of those discovered to date) did not do so willingly? Is there evidence to support my initial assumption that this was analogous to 20th century coal mining in the South Walian valleys? Not nice, but provided a living? Or were they mercilessly exploited by newly emerging Bronze Age Big Men, some of whom may have been laid to rest within the great round cairns crowning the undulating skyline of Y Carneddau to the south. A disturbing blueprint for the sub-human actions of Todt and his ilk during Nazism’s 20th Century nightmare. It is a sobering thought, disquietude at odds with the cheery cartoon figures depicted upon the posters. A fresh batch of school children’s voices fill the air to jolt me back to the present and, following a brief look into the open cast mine from the overhead walkway I head for the Llety’r Filiast.

Passing through the shop on the way out I stop for a brief chat with the staff. The attractive woman catches my eye once more and smiles, this warmer, more an acknowledgement of shared experience. Yeah, we both know she was right. What a place! I leave with far more questions than answers. Always a good thing, to be fair.

Dawn arrives at Fferm y’Rynys – a little under a mile below and to the south of the great chambered long barrow standing mute testimony to millennia of humankind’s ultimately forlorn attempts to tame this wild, uncompromising landscape – to witness my tent.. somehow.. still clinging to this North Walian hillside, like a particularly stubborn limpet upon the foreshore beneath Penmaenmawr, having defied the unwelcome attentions of Hurricane Gonzalo’s swirling extremities during the night. Well, at least the meteorologists named this latest manifestation of Nature’s destructive power after a male, albeit (presumably) one from Shakespeare’s ‘Tempest’. How poetic. Anyway, having just about managed to avoid dashing out what brains I do possess upon Tal-y-Fan’s summit crags the previous day, I wisely resist the siren call of the high peaks, as exemplified by the soaring profile of Moel Siabod to the west. Must be getting old. So Capel Garmon it is.

Ironically, despite having patronised Gareth and Carol Williams wondrous campsite more-or-less every year since 1989, this is but my third visit to the superb neolithic monument which overlooks the fertile Conwy Valley at its juncture with that of the Machno. As noted by previous members parking/access is not ideal if approaching from the village of Capel Garmon. Hence I decide to finally take Carol’s advice and walk from my tent. Hey, why hadn’t I thought of that before? Standing at the campsite entrance the access road continues uphill beyond a gate, the negotiation of a couple more such barriers bringing me to a public footpath veering left where a large corrugated iron barn looms above. From here marker posts direct the would-be visitor across a couple of fields until the great funerary monument is seen slumbering below, beyond a kissing date. Yeah, this is a much better way to arrive, blown in on the wind.

Immediately it is obvious that Gonzalo hasn’t finished yet, not by a long chalk. Violent gusts of wind propel towering cathedrals of cumulonimbus across the sky, unleashing shafts of golden sunlight interacting with lashing rain squalls to send rainbows arcing into the apparent stratosphere, tripping the light fantastic to the symphony in my head. The scene, the vibe is so ‘Turner-esque’ that, upon glancing toward the natural gorsedd to the north, I almost expect to see Timothy Spall sitting there, paintbrush in hand. Nature’s invigoratingly full-on theatrics would be more than enough today, to be fair. However Capel Garmon happens to be an absolutely first rate monument....

Substantial, too, a central ‘chamber’, flanked by another large example either side upon an approx east-west axis entered – at least originally – by a narrow passage to the south, this seemingly aligned upon the aforementioned gorsedd (as noted by Mr Cope in his day-glo tome). Seems a reasonable assumption to me. However for me the most impressive component of this great chambered long barrow is the massive capstone which still rests, albeit with a bit of help from a surprisingly unobtrusive concrete support, upon the western chamber. This is open to the west giving the impression of being the entrance. But apparently, in true Cotswold-Severn tradition, this was actually a falsie. More to the point though is why we have a Cotswold-Severn influenced monument up here upon a raging Snowdonian hillside at all? How very odd.

Pondering such imponderables I sit inside and let a couple of hours drift by in relative shelter. ‘Relative’ since even the overwhelming mass of a 14ft capstone isn’t sufficient to keep out the weather in these parts today. Particularly tail ends of hurricanes. In some ways Capel Garmon’s great tomb sticks out like a sore thumb here in the uplands of Northern Snowdonia, the preserve of the great Bronze Age round cairn. But I, for one, am not complaining.

Wondrously perched upon the terminus of High Willhays’ south-western spur, this substantial cairn would have possessed a magnificent view down into the deep defile cradling the West Okement River.... if its (presumably Bronze Age) erectors had seen fit. Needless to say – for whatever reason(s) now lost to the swirling mists for which Dartmoor is famous/infamous (thanks in no small measure to Conan Doyle and that story about the dodgy mutt) – they didn’t, the spellbound traveller consequently having to make his way a short distance to the crest in order to peer at the rocky river valley below. Or, even better, to the granite outcropping beside what I assume to be another military observation hut(?) upon Fordsland Ledge itself. It is worth the effort, either option offering certainly one of the finest vistas I’ve seen in the area. Hey, try both.

The cairn, despite apparently having lost a little height in the century since Crossing’s visit (see Misc posts), is nevertheless well defined, its hollow interior sprouting a number of large orthostats irrevocably losing their footing and duly succumbing to Newton’s three dicta, albeit to varying degrees. It should be noted that the resulting ‘arrangement’ does not resemble any standard notion of an archetypal Dartmoor cist. And the professionals reckon a chamber ‘unlikely’. However I think it also unlikely that the stones should have been specifically transported here at a later date and erected to form a ‘shelter’, not with the much less exposed valley just below. Yeah, whatever form it took, I reckon logic suggests there probably was some sort of ‘structure’ incorporated within this cairn at its genesis. I guess only excavation might determine whether this was subsequently subject to adaptation, perhaps in historic times?

One thing is beyond dispute, however. What a fine hang this place is! The river may be obscured from the gaze of the Citizen Cairn’d lying almost comatose within.... but not the brutal grandeur of the encircling tors. Time slips by, as it must, it eventually dawning upon me that I’d better make a move and find somewhere to sleep. Descending to the approx north-west the shattered rocky tors of Black Tor look well worth a visit. However I find I’ve less in the ‘reserve tank’ than I previously thought and press on toward Longstone Hill. Ha! But wait, there’s more....

Heading approx south from the high crags of Yes Tor.... well, certainly ‘high’ for these parts, anyway.... the traveller will reach the marginally taller (2,039ft/621m) summit of High Willhays in ‘round about half a mile of more-or-less level plodding enhanced by some fine medium/distant views. The topography of the summit plateau itself is (thankfully) enlivened by several granite outcrops – or ‘tors’ – exposed rock formations apparently laid down some 280 million years ago by the greatest powers of all. Now there’s a number to make the head spin, assuming the climb up here doesn’t cause the old knapper’s gyroscope to malfunction first.

If the current OS maps are to be taken at face value... well, that is that. However this being Dartmoor, where the remnants of past civilisations often appear (to me) to merge seamlessly with the very landscape itself, it can arguably pay dividends to sit down and let the subconscious do some observing before subsequently letting the conscious ‘you’ in on the secret. First up is TSC’s ‘revetted mound’ adjoining the southern flank of the initial tor encountered at SX58028944. To be fair, if my experience is anything to go by, it is easily missed, not least since the construction is not something I’ve encountered elsewhere, at least in this upland context. So OK, although I’m not 100% convinced it is of prehistoric origin – my lack of Dartmoor expertise notwithstanding – it’s nonetheless difficult to think of what else it could represent up here?

The actual summit tor of the mountain is crowned by a rather pathetic attempt at a walker’s cairn, seemingly so precariously sited as to be at the mercy of the next storm front. The intervals between which, I would assume, are not that excessive. However as I plonk myself down to take in the moment, not to mention some caffeine, I’m suddenly aware of an arc of what looks suspiciously like the remnants of a retaining kerb below to the near east at SX58038922. No, surely not? Closer inspection only serves to further convince me that these ‘orthostats’ can not be the result of natural outcropping and stand here as a result of human agency, that derisory summit cairn actually representing the lingering residue of a much more ancient monument (see Misc post). Yeah, that’s better. And funnily enough EH agree, a retrospective search of Pastscape citing these standing stones as forming part of a possible ring cairn to complement the monument to the north. Seems Dartmoor’s highest tor isn’t so unaccountably devoid of archaeology as might initially be surmised. Bonus site. I can live with that.

I can also live with descending back to the car via cairns sited at Fordsland Ledge and upon Longstone Hill. Not that I’m aware of the latter. Yet.

I first came to Dartmoor, these enigmatic lofty plateaux of granite and blanket peat bog, during 2002. That it’s taken me – someone as irrevocably drawn to the high places as the compass needle is to the north – a dozen years to visit the summit of these wondrous uplands is no admission of any lack of aesthetic appeal. Sure, there are other areas of these Isles that offer more dramatic, more awe-inspiring natural scenery. However I reckon nowhere else can match that consistently sublime synthesis of monument and landscape, a perfect juxtaposition which renders it impossible to contemplate one without the other. That, for me, is the essence of Dartmoor.... the past and present seemingly concurring to suggest a notion of timelessness. And there is simply so much to see.

The appeal of Yes Tor and its lofty neighbour High Willhays is, at first sight anyway, somewhat less idiosyncratic of the area, the map depicting a brace of cairns sited in a manner reminiscent of those gracing numerous South Walian peaks rising beyond the Bristol Channel. Typical Bronze Age upland, in other words. I arrive at the Meldon Reservoir ‘picnic area’ around 9.00 to conclude a four hour drive from Essex, the steadily improving cloudbase, having prompted (somewhat reluctant) thoughts of an ascent, now offering no credible get out clause that my subconscious will later accept. Damn it to blazes! Speaking of which, phonetically at least, the track heads across a  literally much more concrete dam before veering left to provide a reasonably-graded, looping route to the summit of Longstone Hill ...or right to skirt the eastern shore of the reservoir. I choose the latter, a short while later ascending very steeply to the south-east. Yeah, in retrospect the former choice is probably preferable.

Longstone Hill is home to several Bronze Age cairns, but since these are not depicted upon my map – and I’ve undertaken no research due to the spontaneous nature of the climb – I’m spared the decision to defer a visit to the descent. Yes Tor rises across Okehampton Common, a row of marker poles demarcating the ‘Danger Area’ of the Okehampton army firing range. How southern England’s highest peaks can remain subject to this I really do not know, although no doubt the commanding officer could provide a coherent reason, if prompted. Anyway, as instructed by the notices, I double-check the high ground to my left (north) and spy no flags or such-like, this happy outcome suggesting I’m not in imminent danger of being blown to smithereens. Besides, the local ponies, eyeing me with an apparent combination of varying degrees of benign acceptance through familiarity, pity and possibly sheer toughness bred by having their home routinely shelled, don’t seem in a hurry to vacate the area. Suitably reassured, the onward route to the summit of Yes Tor is straight forward, if deceptively steep, the latter causing me to labour considerably as my dodgy upper torso muscles tighten under the weight of the rucksack. Nevertheless I eventually arrive at some typically Dartmoor-esque rocky outcrops a little below, and to the approx west, of the summit, the appearance of primeval, naked rock a welcome development following the admittedly somewhat featureless nature of the lower slopes. However it is the discovery of further rock fashioned into a massive pile that renders the effort of dragging myself up here much more than worthwhile.

Not surprisingly – given its location – the cairn has been badly treated over the course of time, Pastscape citing it as ‘gutted’. To paraphrase Rowan Atkinson (in that gorilla sketch with the sadly missed Mel Smith) I’d reckon it’s more likely to be absolutely bloody livid, a significant inner area having been ‘excavated’ to create a central crater. As a result estimations of height do not really add any value. Suffice to say it is not that tall. However, with a diameter in the region of 82 – 88ft, this is nevertheless one seriously substantial upland cairn indeed, what’s more with indications of a possible former cist still in situ. Set quite a way below the summit of the mountain the monument occupies what I would now regard as a classic Bronze Age position, the aspect to the north and west, courtesy of Yes Tor’s location at the extreme north-western apex of the moor, as open and far reaching as a Citizen Cairn’d could wish for. To the south the summit ridge draws the gaze to High Willhays, at 2,039ft the sentinel point (topographically speaking) of Dartmoor and the highest ground to be found in England south of The Black Mountains’ wondrous Black Hill. Apparently devoid of monuments, closer investigation will reveal this to be (quite probably) very far from the truth.

Despite being subjected to a not insignificant, freezing wind – a reminder, as if one was required, never to take Dartmoor at face value – some three hours fly by before I (can) see fit to finally leave the cairn and arrive at the summit. Sure, I’d be enough to cause a sergeant major to fling himself from the crags in sheer frustration. Amen to that. An OS trig pillar crowns the highest crags proffering excellent views into the wild interior of Dartmoor, a myriad magnificent stone circles and enigmatic stone rows merging with the heather clad contours at this distance. The 2,031ft summit itself, however, is curiously disappointing thanks to stark reminders of the military..... an artillery observation post, towering antennae, a bulldozed track allowing access to a lumbering 4x4 buggy contraption which rumbles past below me. Not ideal, but there you are. The map cites an additional Bronze Age cairn upon the western crest. Sure enough there is a stone pile here, but the apparent lack of structure does not overly convince me. To be fair the lower monument is more than enough.

As mentioned previously High Willhays beckons to the south, albeit with, at this distance anyway, a somewhat dubious allure more suggestive of a ‘professional’ rather than archetypal natural beauty, the former often associated with military establishments, of course. Since I also want to check out the cairn upon Fordsland Ledge before heading back, south it is.

Lying just south of the minor road traversing Cwm Cadlan at its eastern end, this massive monument may well qualify as one of the easiest visited major upland cairns in all South Wales (please refer to my Twyn Bryn Glas field notes for approach details, should you be so inclined... amongst other stuff). Needless to say I had no idea it was here before Carl’s note. Ahem.

Just a short stroll from available parking within a disused quarry, the monument stands surrounded by what Coflein terms ‘solution holes’. Now I’m not quite sure how these differ from the ubiquitous ‘shake holes’, but assume – OK, hope – a non-geologist such as I can be forgiven such craven ignorance. As I approach it is immediately apparent that, as well as being a seriously large cairn, the monument also retains elements of quite substantial kerbing in situ. What’s more I discover just the one empty plastic milk carton upon the great stone pile... not even a full pint, at that.. where, so close to the road and in overwhelmingly plain sight, I had expected a veritable rubbish tip. A very pleasant, unexpected surprise indeed. Famous last words, but perhaps the lack of ‘central excavation’ may have something to do with this (current) happy state of affairs.

The cairn is not alone, another (which I did not visit due to impending darkness) set a little to the approx north-east, the great ring cairn some way to the west at SN98321087, unseen in the advancing gloom of dusk. Oh, and according to the map there are quite a number more ‘round about upon the flanks of Cefn Sychnant. Numerous others to the north.

A great way to end the day, you might say.

Well I say... Ding, dong! As Leslie Phillips – that, ahem, ‘old school’ connoisseur of feminine beauty – might have said.... if he had’ve been a stone head. Hey who knows, perhaps he is? It would have been an appropriate exclamation, too, since in my opinion, this slumbering monument really is something special. Now, having trudged around these Isles for over a decade actively searching out remnants of our prehistoric past.... for some reason or other.... I kinda thought those jaw dropping moments – such as I experience upon encountering this (apparent) ring cairn – were more or less confined to those ‘hard to get to’ sites located in the middle of nowhere. Not there for the taking, just a short distance from the road. But there you are.

Funnily enough, bearing in mind its considerable circumference, the monument is not shown on the current OS maps (1:50 or 1:25K) so should not be confused with the pair of cairns actually depicted a little to the east. Easily done, however, with only the ‘aerial’ view from high ground to the north proving conclusive (Carl’s notes appear to refer to the cairn at SN98921108 and not this). Yeah, matters are not helped by the fact that, from my experience anyway, its very low profile renders it very difficult to spot from roadside. Consequently, upon stumbling down from Cadair Fawr (touch of shin splits, unfortunately) I’m utterly unprepared for the sheer size of this great stone polo. OK, there are other ring cairns in South Wales.... but, to my recollection (or lack of knowledge, perhaps), none of such dimensions, none hidden away in such plain sight. Why have I not been here sooner?

According to RCAHMW’s David Leighton (Jan ‘83) the site is an “...annular oval bank of mixed grade rubble and boulders without an entrance. It measures 20.7m internally (E-W) by 18.3m and is 2.5m-4.3m wide and 0.7m high. A small recumbent boulder near the centre is perhaps the remains of a cist”.

I wish I had much more time... but unfortunately the light is beginning to fade as the day draws to its inexorable conclusion. Hey, perhaps the sole logical reference point I’m aware of at this moment. A pastel pink glow illuminates the skyline to the west, the high escarpment of Craig-y-Llyn highlighting the location of The Llyn Fawr.... another sacred facet of this South Walian landscape back in the day. Once again a shake hole stands – if a hole can be said to stand? – fractionally outside the western arc of the ring cairn, so close, in fact, that a small section of said stonework has partially fallen into the enigmatic cavity in the limestone. The question inevitably presents itself: ‘why erect the ring so close?’ A reasonably sized recumbent stone lies within the centre of the monument suggesting the remnants of a former cist, whilst rising to the east, a massive round cairn stands at SN98551095. I am parked nearby.

Mr Leighton concedes that there is a possibility this massive masonry ring residing upon Cefn Sychnant is a trashed round cairn; however I agree, if only due to the conspicuous absence of internal cairn material, that a ring cairn is much more plausible, more probable. And what a glorious example it is, too. After half an hour I have to leave to catch that eastern monument before dark. But I know the Mam C will love this, so intend to return. As I prepare to vacate the site a boy racer trundles by staring at the day-glo clad individual sitting in the middle of the moor for no apparent reason. ‘What is he doing?’ Ah, bless. Guess I could’ve reciprocated and asked the same (presumed) question in return. Mind how you go, my muppet friend.

The quickest – not to mention simplest – way to the summit of Cadair Fawr, a 1,591ft (485m) outlier of the Fforest Fawr, is to adhere to Carl’s fieldnotes and approach from the A4059 to the north, this option also allowing the traveller easy access to the substantial cairns located upon the south-western flanks of Cefn Esgair-carnau should he/she so wish. Easy.... but no doubt wet. OK, no so easy, then.

A more ‘intimate’ route, however, is to start from the minor road traversing Cwm Cadlan to the south, the valley presenting a veritable cornucopia of archaeology that – in my opinion – matches its northern counterpart with ease. I also find there is a somewhat logical symmetry to achieving the zenith at the extremity of a walk. Something Phil Oakey and Little Boots would no doubt also appreciate should they ever go walking together. Now there’s a thought. Hence I approach the summit today from the excellent cairn upon Twyn Bryn Glas, set some way below to the south-east. Now assuming one doesn’t stumble down a shake hole into some mystical, otherworldly, parallel dimension.... careful now.... the short moorland stomp, followed by a brief ‘pull’ to the summit, should prove relatively straightforward, assuming the absence of low cloud. The perennial caveat.

As I gain height the landscape begins to assume a more brutal, primeval character, shattered limestone outcropping now vying for space with the ubiquitous long upland grass.... before finally superseding it altogether in places. Yeah, despite its relative lack of height, clearly Cadair Fawr so wants to be a proper mountain, just like the big ones nearer Brecon. And you know what, I reckon it almost succeeds. It certainly possesses a substantial cairn, comprised of the aforementioned limestone slabs, which is truly synonymous with its location, almost blending into the uncompromising landscape. Takes some doing, that. The signature mark of a proper warrior’s final resting place. To be honest I reckon it would look out of place most anywhere else.

As with that at Twyn Bryn Glas, the monument is not set upon the summit to benefit from some outstanding views of Fforest Fawr and The Brecon Beacons, instead residing some distance to the approx south-west, such specific location surely an act of inherent significance? As a result the northern apex of the mountain obscures all but the Fforest Fawr summits rising above the escarpment edge. The Afon Hepste down below doesn’t even get a look in..... Sadly the centre of the cairn has been ‘excavated’ in the usual manner, although I (perhaps) detect traces of what might have once formed a cist, stones which seem to suggest internal structure.

Cadair Fawr possesses a vibe that I find difficult to define today. Perhaps that is what is so appealing, the atmosphere it invokes defying categorisation. It seems awkward, unique. Neither hill nor mountain, occupying a ‘middle ground’, a no-man’s land, perhaps, between the soaring, wild splendour of The Great Escarpment and the ravaged valleys of industrial South Wales. An adolescent mountain which never grew up? Yeah, it is rather appealing. The Citizen Cairn’d wonders if there is a hint of self analysis in there?

After the passing of several hours watching the sky do its thang it is time to move on. The map shows two further cairns located below to the approx south. Hey what do you know? Right on my route.

I’ve never been to Cwm Cadlan before. OK, it’s not an admission to induce involuntary muscle spasms in any reader, to require the immediate live saving application of the Heimlich maneuver, even..... Nonetheless, having driven about South Wales for not far off 30 years – hey, I started young – I must confess to feeling like a prize muppet now I’m (finally) aware what archaeological treasures can be found here. Better late than never, I suppose.

The small village of Penderyn, encountered when heading north upon the A4059 from Hirwaun, is probably best known nowadays for its whisky distillery, the finished product, by all accounts, rather good.... not that I’m qualified to comment upon such things myself, you understand? Also of note is the Lamb Hotel standing beside a cross-roads, the right hand turning (assuming we are indeed travelling north) indicating ‘Cwm Cadlan’ upon a signpost that Russell Crowe might well have earmarked for the ark in his forthcoming film, had he passed this way earlier looking for locations. Well, bearing in mind the recent rain..... True to form the minor road snakes through a valley immediately at odds with the industrial landscape a few miles to the south. The 1:25K map depicts numerous cairns and burnt mounds – how they got ‘em to ‘burn’ in Wales I’ll never know – upon the flanks of Mynydd-y-glog and Cefn Sychnant to my right; however I’m here to check out some of TMA-er Carl’s recent observations near the head of the cwm. I also intend to return to the summit the ridge Cefn Cadlan, forming the left hand flank of the valley as I approach.

A little prior to the cattle grid where the road begins to descend through forestry to the Llwyn-on Reservoir, there is a small, disused quarry where it is possible to park a car. Not only possible but desirable, too, since immediately opposite stands a rather fine cairn gracing the near flank of Cefn Sychant. Yeah, as bold as you like. Blimey. One for later, that. Chill out in the evening, so to speak. Presently, however, I set off up the shallow hillside to the north, that is more-or-less parallel with the aforementioned treeline and, following an initial false alarm (loose rocky strata), soon arrive at Twyn Bryn Glas a little to the right (east) of a minor summit. The location of the monument is precise – almost pedantically so – the substantial cairn set just below a plateau of eroded limestone ‘pavement’ outcropping, the latter according wonderful views of the snow-capped peaks of The Brecon Beacons to north-east and Fan Fawr to the north, not to mention the similarly be-cairned Cefn Cil-Sanws to approx south-east(ish). All, save a hint of this scenic beauty, is summarily denied the traveller upon the cairn, arguably with authentic Bronze Age intent? Perhaps this was to ensure primary focus was upon Cadair Fawr, rising to the north-west? Perhaps.

Whatever the idiosyncratic placement determined by the Bronze Age mind signified – guess we’ll only ever be able to theorise – I’m glad, from a purely selfish viewpoint, that they saw fit to bury their VIPs in locations such as Twyn Bryn Glas. Yeah, this is an ideal spot for the Citizen Cairn’d who fancies a bit of peace and quiet for a muse – away from the comical rally boys below – without a significant outlay of energy. Somewhere to enjoy the silence. I move on after a while to subsequently clamber up to the summit of Cadair Fawr. However I was impressed by both archaeology and vibe at Twyn Bryn Glas. I’d like to come back some day for an extended stop.

Perhaps it is an inherent fear of death – a tragic irony when born into a monotheistic society nurturing an implacable rejection of life, of the here and now – that has resulted in me not being particularly fond of caves... with the notable exceptions of a rather, er, idiosyncratic gentleman named Nick.... and that overwhelming pitch black fissure within the Carreg Cennen. Instead I opted to heed the siren’s call of the high places, a brutal environment offering no succour to the physical self, but arguably unlimited scope for that most human of traits, introspection. Like a moth unto the flame, a limited secular intellect, lacking the analgesic ‘safety net’ of religious faith, contemplating the most cosmic of questions with all the cutting insight of Rodney Trotter. Yeah, what could possibly go wrong? Suffice to say the project remains a work in progress.

So why come to Paviland, to the limestone cliffs of the Gower’s shattered southern coastline... to the very aptly named ‘Goat’s Hole’, if harbouring such a distinct reticence for entering holes in the earth to my doom? Well, the catalyst was as mundane as a ridiculously poor next day forecast for The Brecon Beacons upon returning from a sojourn upon Mynydd Epynt. What to do? Having recently re-read the hirsute Scottish dude’s ‘History of Ancient Britain’ the insidious thought popped into the head. Oh dear. Not possessing the flowing locks and rugged, granite-hewn athleticism to contemplate abseiling, I conscientiously checked out TSC’s tidal times link and... well what do you know? That’s handy. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The specific archaeological allure of sites such as Paviland Cave is, to my mind, hard to define, if equally difficult to refute. Others may disagree. Perhaps an appropriate analogy might be visiting a now vanished stone circle, a completely ploughed-out long barrow, a henge only discernable as crop marks from the sky? Yeah, nothing now remains in situ within this deep gash perched overlooking the Bristol Channel. At least nothing tangible. But there is so much more to be experienced that must remain unique to each individual. So much more. Now I would assume most TMA’ers are well aware of what the Rev William Buckland excavated here in 1823.... the skeleton of, as far as I’m aware, the oldest anatomically-modern human to have lived and died upon this landscape we now call Wales – or Cymru, of course – that we know of. There were associated grave goods including a mammoth skull, ivory rods and periwinkle shells assumed to have formed necklaces. The most enigmatic detail, needless to say, was a coating of crimson ochre. Whatever the intended symbolism, to my mind there can be no doubt that the death .... and by definition the life... of this apparently young bloke some 33,000 years ago (at the last count) deeply affected those who knew him. OK, the gentleman resides here no more... at least in a corporeal sense. But the knowledge of the incredibly ‘modern’ emotional response seemingly evoked by his passing back then generates corresponding thoughts in this traveller, thoughts amplified manyfold – for whatever psychological reason – by physical association with place. In short the passing of this man matters to me, if only for the selfish opportunity proffered to ‘gaze’ with wide-eyed curiosity, albeit perhaps touched with a degree of morbid curiosity, through a window at my own species. Hey, myself. Arguably a treasure of much more intrinsic value than others reluctantly given up by the earth.

Needless to say I was oblivious to all the above as I struggle to park upon the verge of Pilton Green Farm access track, the sodden grass, courtesy of months of seemingly unrelenting rain, a far cry from last Easter. As previously I head – or rather slither – coastward upon a public footpath across the B4247. In about a mile I resist the temptation to break right for the superb cliff fort and instead descend to the rocky foreshore below, as of course it would be. The path ends abruptly at strata of jagged rock, thankfully arranged in a very roughly horizontal plane, so clambering down to the current(!!) sea level is not too intimidating (those in search of more perpendicularity need only glance up to left or right, the latter concealing the cave within, no less). I notice, by default, that the tide is most certainly out, so there is no impediment to undertaking what is actually a less strenuous scramble than I anticipated. As TSC relates, however, the rock is far from smooth rendering a fall potentially catastrophic. Fatal, even. I’m therefore glad I elected to wear ‘soft’ boots with plenty of grip. Then, suddenly, there it is.

The cave entrance, a primeval fissure within the jagged, naked rock, might be construed as accessing a surrogate womb... if one was looking for inherent symbolism in the landscape? My mind reels. If this was a consideration for our predecessors, what could be so wondrous, so life-affirming, so natural, so welcoming? Aside from this observation, what strikes me most is the sheer height of the gash in the cliff face, water dripping from the towering roof onto my camera lens as I venture inside. Doh! I’m not used to being underground. Especially not when halfway up a rocky crag. The next surprise is the length of the cavity, another, following in quick succession, the abundance of natural light, even under today’s overcast conditions. The only sound is that of the breakers thundering upon rock outside, sending me periodically scuttling without to check the current position. Hey, what’s the big deal? Looks fine. The cave possesses an additional ‘chamber’- hey, a ‘cavelet’ – set high up to the right, near the entrance. I agree with TSC, however. There was no way I was going up there. You would need to be one of the proverbial goats of lore. Or Neil Olliver. I stand and look at the cavity within the outer left hand flank of the cave. One presumes this was where the ‘Red Laddie’ once lay? Again, just the crash of wave upon rock down below. I sit at the inner extremity of the cave and eat lunch, gazing out of the gash in the rock to water that was apparently once many miles distant, an unfathomably long time ago for people like us – well, at least physically – to have been around. I try to imagine what it would have been like. But I can’t. It is enough to try, perhaps?

Another ‘crash’ of waves shakes me violently back to the ‘present day’. I undertake yet one more tidal status check and decide the water is probably close enough to warrant leaving. Er, possibly...... As I prepare to do so I approach the left hand flank (looking seaward, that is) and duly freak out. Seems I’ve seriously underestimated the velocity of the incoming tide which is now surging between me and the near shore. I look for an alternative way out, climbing above and across the rock... but it looks suicidal. No matter, since this has happened to me before, as I recall, cut off by the tide asleep on a Ring of Kerry beach. Hey, I’ll just wade across. How deep can it be? The answer comes as a severe shock, the water reaching my belly button as I jump in and decide to make a splash for it. Not that wise, to be honest. It would have been approaching the Mam C’s neck.... which is a very disconcerting thought indeed. Particularly concerning the subsequent fate of my neck. Yeah, for the only time I can recall I’m glad she is not here. A few more minutes and I would’ve had to have abandoned my rucksack, camera etc. Or stayed the night. However as the delectable Ms Harry sang ‘the tide is high but I’m holding on’ and I duly make the sanctuary of the far rocks to sit, soaking wet, finish my coffee and gaze up at the enigmatic Goat’s Hole I’ve just vacated with such excess muppetry. I almost expect a young bloke to walk past, dyed red and leading a mammoth by a piece of string, pointing at me with his free hand whilst exclaiming “ha! ha!” Such is the surreal nature of the moment. But there you are. Thankfully it’s only a mile back to the car and fresh clothes. And all is well. But only just. Not for nothing do I gravitate toward the high places, since I’ve clearly a lot to learn when it comes to the coast. But hell, what an experience.

SAFETY NOTE: In retrospect – as TSC has shown – a perfectly safe visit to this impossibly enigmatic site is possible as long as you know what you are doing. Clearly I did not. If I was to attempt it again I would arrive before low tide, watch the water recede, set my watch alarm for 60 minutes.... and then leave. No ifs, no buts. PLEASE LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES AND DO NOT MAKE THE SAME ERRORS I DID. KEEP A BEADY EYE ON THE INCOMING TIDE AND STAY SAFE.

Located some way to the (very) approx north-east of Twyn-y-Post, the cairn at SO0322941117 is the last I manage to see today, or at least positively identify. Once again it is a substantial monument, one well worth the effort in tracking down.

I approach from the great round cairn positioned upon the north-western tip of Cefn Clawdd to the south, my progress monitored somewhat warily by a small group of wild ponies. Inquisitive, at any rate. Guess they don’t see many people up here, aside from the quad bike ridin’ farmer.... who, incidentally, sees fit to completely blank my acknowledgement of his presence. Bad day, I guess? Whatever.

Two cairns are depicted upon the map set in a rough north/south alignment. As I approach what I assume to be the southern I’m initially a little disappointed. OK, it definitely appears to be a structured cairn... but a little small, don’t you think? Jeez, talk about hard to please. In retrospect my assessment is probably a little unfair and, regardless, the cairn certainly looks the part when viewed beneath a fine cloudscape. Unfortunately I can’t relate the monument to Coflein records, however.

The northern monument is much more substantial, at least in its surviving form. According to Coflein it is a “low stone cairn, 10m east-west by 8m and 0.3m high on a gentle north-facing slope” [J.J. Hall, Trysor, 13/3/09]. Once again the cairn is surmounted by a smaller stone pile raising suspicions of a former cist, perhaps? There is certainly a distinct paucity of walkers in the area. Then again what odds the local ponies have taken to cairn building? OK, I know. But looking into the eyes of those wondrous creatures the intelligence shines through, does it not? The northern outlook is one of undulating hills, that immediately across the cwm forming the bogland of Cefn Gledwen, beyond which, incidentally, is the famous Griffin Inn. So, a fine upland cairn in a great location. Can’t say fairer than that.

I return to Upper Chapel via an ultimately unsuccessful ‘walkabout’ attempt to locate the most north-westerly cairn shown upon the map. However there is much reedy grass in evidence, so don’t be too hard on me. Might have found it, might not have .... nothing seemed particularly credible, shall we say? And hey, at least I managed to find the north-western Cefn Clawdd monument. No matter, for as I begin the descent a rainbow arcs above the landscape I’ve just traversed. It is a spellbinding sight, rooting me to the spot. Lacking the appropriate words, here are some prepared earlier by Mr Wordsworth (but then you knew that) in lieu:

‘My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is the father of Man.‘

Yeah, not bad. But some things really are too magnificent to be evoked by even such as he.

Blimey. This must be one of the most reclusive major cairns I’ve come across to date... set in a conspicuous position at the north-western apex of Cefn Clawdd.... yet more-or-less invisible when viewed from Twyn-y-Post owing to a text book application of natural camouflage. Assuming there is a text book specifying ‘how to hide a Bronze Age cairn utilising found resources’? Or something similar. Couldn’t see it toppling Clive Cussler from the best selling lists myself, but there you are. Then again... anyone know his agent’s number? I’ve an idea...

Nevertheless the great cairn is certainly at the given co-ordinates, sitting upon the low ridge rising beyond the small lake, the latter a handy feature with which the visitor can self-orientate in relation to this somewhat uncompromising landscape. Despite this I’m still not convinced I haven’t somehow gone astray until I literally stumble over the outer arc of stonework hidden within the reedy grass (yeah, that again). Ah, there it is. What took us so long to find each other, my unobtrusive friend? In fairness my difficulty in locating the monument appears justifiable since the cairn does not seem – as far as I can determine beneath the vegetation – to have suffered the damaging effects of excavation, no doubt protected from stone-hungry eyes by its organic shield.

Although of no great height, the cairn possesses a significant diameter... “12m..[and].. up to 0.3m high” [J.J. Hall, Trysor, 10/2/2009]. There appear to be a number of dishevelled concentric lines of kerbing incorporated within the fabric, perhaps suggestive of a ring cairn? Or then again, perhaps not. Whatever, it is the sheer ‘lost world’ vibe of the site that makes this, for me, a very special place indeed. Indeed, how can something like this survive, in this day and age, a little over a mile from ‘civilisation’? I lie back, drink my coffee and watch a towering cloudscape engaged in a stately, majestic – hey, awe-inspiring – procession across the sky, seeing fit to occasionally deposit some of its content upon the landscape below. Now that’s what I call ‘atmosphere’.

Time passes by, seemingly imperceptibly, although such a notion is countermanded by the cold data supplied by my watch. A further cairn is said to lie near the ‘summit’ of Cefn Clawdd some way to the east. I, however, elect to head north past the lake toward Gwaun Ymryson. Some more cairns there, apparently. It is a drag to leave, but there you are.

A 2003 visit to the stone circle at Ynys Hir notwithstanding – and what a palaver that was – I’ve never ventured upon Mynydd Epynt before. Not that surprising a state of affairs, to be honest, bearing in mind a significant proportion of these Mid Walian uplands is used by the British Army as an artillery range and general training area. Suffice to say that, in my opinion, Bronze Age monuments and the burnt-out hulks of Sexton self propelled guns do not good bed fellows make. However until the dawning of a day when humankind is finally able to settle its differences without resorting to violence – quite possibly an illusory premise – there will always be a requirement for somewhere to train our soldiers. Yeah, it’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it. I just wish we’d reserve deployment to protecting these Isles from the many dangerous psychopaths, secular and religious, which infest this world like a cancer.... and not facilitating the likes of Dubya and Blair’s lunatic holy crusades.

So why venture to Mynydd Epynt again? Just on a whim, nothing more. A spur of the moment decision made whilst idly scanning the map – something I like to do in my idle moments – having noticed a grouping of cairns east of the small village of Upper Chapel, apparently outside the ‘Danger Area’. Hey, what’s the worst that can happen? Apart from being blown 20ft into the air by an unexploded shell, that is? The village sits astride the B4520 which, heading north from Brecon, accompanies the Afon Honddu (not to be confused with the other such within The Vale of Ewyas) back toward its source upon Mynydd Epynt. I park beside the ‘phone box, as appears accepted local practice, although there is some kind of village hall (I think) across the road, complete with car park. A little to the north a ‘dead end’ road heads to the right (east), veering left soon after to service Cwm-egli, whilst an increasingly rough track continues the climb. The route, although not steep, proves a bit of a slog; nevertheless in just over a mile I emerge upon the bare uplands of eastern Mynydd Epynt, The Brecon Beacons shining in serried array upon the southern skyline. Very nice.

Although lacking the dominating height, the enigmatic topography of that famous horizon, Twyn-y-Post (1,381ft / 421m) nevertheless possesses that priceless upland vibe, that impossible to define feeling of ‘wide open skies’ and... well.... space. OK, the harsh staccato reports of machine gun fire, combined with the dull ‘crump’ of impacting artillery rounds, may occasionally drift upon the breeze from the direction of Sennybridge... but there are no chattering voices to otherwise disturb the peace here, save the loony tune antics of the skylark. Bless ‘em.

There would appear to be a trio of monuments located at what, for want of a better term, passes for the summit. The most prominent is a pretty substantial grassy cairn at SO0280440909 measuring “c.10m in diameter and up to 0.4m high” [J.J. Hall, Trysor, 9/2/09)]. Although somewhat trashed, the possible remains of a cist still reside upon the north-western sector featuring some larger stones. A little to the approx south-east (SO0281140899) lies a further cairn – or perhaps ring cairn – which is unfortunately much less well defined. Having said that there remains quite a volume of material in situ, the lack of structural form perhaps resulting from the excavation of a ‘geotechnical test pit’ during 1993 [Coflein NPRN 247429]. Err.... anyone know what a ‘geotechnical test pit’ is? Seems to have slipped my mind.

For me the most intriguing of the three sites is located immediately to the approx south at SO0282040886. To be honest first appearances are of a completely grassed-over ring cairn to this layman’s eyes, although why that (the grass cover) should be so did seem rather odd, given the exposed upland location. Such misgivings are given retrospective credence by J.J. Hall: “... [it] essentially appears to be an earthwork site, the overall dimensions of which are c.12.5m x 12.5m... It is characterised by a low earth bank, grassed-over and no more than 0.3m high by up to 2m wide at base. The outer bank encloses a hollow, the centre of which is occupied by an earthwork mound.... similarities with the Tir yr Onnen Barrow at Ystradfellte are striking”. So, maybe even a small henge, then? As I said, intriguing. So why I neglect to take any images is anybody’s guess. Muppet.

Twyn-y-Post has one further cairn to detain the traveller, this located at SO0290040787 and passed en-route to Cefn Clawdd. This is a small affair in comparison with the other monuments I visited, but nevertheless it’d be rude to to stop and have a look. J.J Hall reckons it measures “3m x 2m and up to 0.2m high” with a  cist perhaps still residing within? Moving on, there appears to be no sign of the apparent cairn upon Cefn Clawdd at SO0321140542 from distance. However it is depicted upon my 1:50k map... so there’s only one way to find out for certain.

The Mam C and I approach the summit of Mynydd Myddfai from the twin cairns (nearly) surmounting Pen Caenewydd to the west, an intervening distance of approx a mile. It is a pleasant, albeit soggy tramp, particularly with the sun having comprehensively vanquished earlier cloud cover.... well at least until tomorrow.... the topography enlivened by the inexorable abrasive actions of the Nant Craig cwmclyd upon its parent peak. To our chagrin – shock, horror – a group of brightly attired walkers suddenly appear ahead and decamp by the OS trig pillar, the first we’ve seen all day. Obviously there are other routes to the top of this little mountain. Unsociable swine that we are, we take the opportunity to veer to the south and check out a rather peculiar linear earthwork noted running the length of the ridge. First impressions are that of quarrying, bearing in mind the seriously ragged nature of the feature.... although the distinct lack of width is nonetheless puzzling? Yeah, surely even the most pissed (or pissed-off) of Roman legions, based at Y Pigwn to the north-east, wouldn’t have neglected quality control to this extent? It would also have been a rather shite boundary, too.

Bypassing the summit, we swing to the north and, noting a small cairn peeking above the ubiquitous reedy grass [this an inevitable ‘walker’s cairn perched on top], duly locate the Tomen-y-Rhos. It is hard to miss the ‘Mound of the Moor’ significantly sited a little below and to the east of the summit (surprise, surprise). It remains a very substantial monument (some 15.5m in diameter according to CADW), despite possessing a ravaged interior initially suggesting another ring-cairn. Or a not-very-well-made green donut. Although, to be fair, I struggle to visualise a benchmark for the latter. The historic ‘mound’ nomenclature is interesting for an upland cairn, suggesting the cairn has been grassed over for some considerable time, possibly something to do with the east facing position? Dunno. Also of note are a couple of substantial stones strategically located within, perhaps the remnants of a cist apparently ransacked – sorry, ‘excavated’ – by the know-it-all Victorians back in the day.

Luckily the occupants of the summit decline to join us at Tomen-y-Rhos ensuring – bearing in mind the cremated occupants of the cairn were reported removed back in 1825 – that we are free to hang out in solitude, if not in total peace..... no, a circling red kite looking for an easy meal sees to that. Jeez, there is never a crow air superiority patrol around when you need one, is there? Not that the presence of the former internees would’ve been an issue.... far from it. It was their cairn, after all. Whatever, the vibe is exquisite, relaxing in the sun and gazing across to Mynydd Bach Trecastell and its stone circles. As Rainer Maria Rilke said “The love which consists in this, that two solitudes protect and limit and greet each other.” Guess I get that.

Time creeps up on us and it’s all too soon necessary to retrace our squelchy steps, via the vacated summit, to Pen Caenewydd. It is a pity to have to leave Mynydd Myddfai, but our chariot awaits back on Planet Earth. OK, I know.... but that’s how it feels. Incidentally, upon returning to Bridgend, Wiki has the answer to the ‘linear earthwork’ mystery. Seems first impressions were correct after all, the unseemly excavations apparently the residue of the industrial extraction of a narrow stratum – or perhaps strata – of ‘Tilestone’ upon Mynydd Myddfai. So there you are.

Mynydd Myddfai forms a relatively low lying ridge (rising to a max 1,444ft / 440m) located to the north of Y Mynydd Du, a postscript, if you like, to the mountainous drama of South Wales’ ‘Great Escarpment’ prior to encountering the more homogeneous upland landscape forming the enigmatic ‘Green Desert’ of Mid Wales. Never having previously captured my imagination... more fool me ... curiosity was finally, eventually, aroused whilst revelling in Nature’s full-on assault upon Carn Glas yesterday. What’s that over there? Sure enough a glance at the map duly revealed the magic word ‘cairn’ depicted numerous times in that fabulous antiquarian typeface... not to mention a similarly represented ‘Tomen-y-Rhos’. What’s not to like?

The small village of Myddfai is a welcoming sight following a somewhat ‘rollercoaster’ approach from the Trecastell-Llanddeusant road to the south. Yeah, guess the OS people must have used up a year’s quota of those ‘steep gradient’ arrows upon that one ‘single-track-without-passing-places’. Nevertheless it is a wondrous ride... in hindsight. A short onward climb to the south-east sees the Mam C and I locate the bridleway near the dwellings at Sarnau [c289783]. It is possible to park a car at the rather soggy entrance, an equally insalubrious, not to mention badly overgrown onward route leading us to the bwlch between Twyn Rhyblid and Pen Caenewydd to the east.

Here a ferocious shower clatters into us with all the unbridled gusto of kids fleeing school at home time, forcing the impromptu donning of waterproofs prior to clambering up to the crest of Pen Caenewydd’s western spur near an isolated, rather enigmatic copse of trees. As we begin to move up the ridge it is immediately apparent that Mynydd Myddfai is a quality viewpoint, the far reaching vistas belying its relatively modest height. Northward a patchwork of fields within the fertile Twyi valley lead the eye toward the bare Mid Walian uplands cradling Llyn Brianne and the reservoirs of Y Elanydd – and perhaps, on an exceptionally clear day, even Pumlumon herself? The southern aspect is possessed by Y Mynydd Du... lock, stock and (Jamesie Cotter’s) two ‘leafy twigs’. So, worth the excursion for the ‘mere’ aesthetics alone, but what of the archaeology? The location of the first cairn is soon attained.

SN78932885: although well positioned to take full advantage of the aforementioned views, the cairn is a little difficult to make out initially... until the Citizen Cairn’d radar has been duly calibrated, so to speak. Yeah, these things can take time, following which the form of the monument is obvious. According to David Leighton [RCAHMW, 9/1/01] “The stony mound measures 9m in diameter and 0.3m high and it has a generally disturbed appearance.” Guess that’s a succinct enough appraisal of the current situation.

SN79172898: located further up the ridge beyond a stile this ring cairn – “a stony ring bank averaging 1.5m wide and 0.2m high enclosing an area 13.5m (E-W) by 11.8m [DL, RCAHMW, 02/92]” – is of much greater interest having been set just south of the ridge crest, apparently intentionally upon sloping ground, so as to present its interior to the south. As such views to the north are obscured. It is a great spot, the vibe intensified courtesy of sunlight streaming from a fracture in the cloud base. Interestingly there is a small cairn set a little to the north of unknown origin....

SN79492888 / SN79482891: we move on, ‘walking serpentine’ in belated solidarity with the memory of the Silures, the tribe who caused the bloody Romans so much trouble in these parts, to the summit of Pen Caenewydd. Two nice upland cairns – apparently also ring-cairns – still stand just below the highest point in true Bronze Age style, the northern, the more substantial and well defined of the pair, located a little below its neighbour. The northern measures “9m (E-W) by 7.6m and 0.3m high”, the southern “about 5m in diameter within a stony ring bank about 1.5m in thickness and up to 0.2m in height [DL, RCAHMW, 9/11/04]. Both monuments are superb viewpoints, except to the east where the mountain’s bulk negates such, the southern possessing perhaps the finest linear view of Y Mynydd Du extant, cairns visible crowning its summits all the way from Tair Carn Uchaf (I think) in the west to Fan Foel across the way. To re-enforce the fact, a partial rainbow arcs to the north. Yeah, this is a very good place to be, despite conditions which can obviously not decide whether they are coming nor going. I joke to the Mam C that Nature is so clearly self-evidentially female. But wisely, I think, decide not to pursue the matter....

Following a megalthic picnic it becomes difficult to even contemplate overcoming the inertia to leave this modest, yet utterly beguiling hill top. Yeah, the true summit of Mynydd Myddfai.... and Tomen-y-Rhos.... looks a long way to the east. However, for once, time is on our side.

I guess it’s pretty much a fundamental human tendency to seek pleasurable experiences now... rather than later. Yeah, why wait until tomorrow if you can have what you want today? ‘If not now, when?’ In general a sound enough lifestyle maxim, provided one is never obliged to take it to such a devastating apogee as was Primo Levi. However there are occasions – visiting ancient sites, for example – when I’d recommend a little more reticence, the application of a degree of self-control to refrain from rushing from place to place simply to be able to say ‘I was there’. Take along a foam mat, chill out, enjoy the moment and let the subconscious do it’s weird and wondrous stuff. Do justice to somewhere you might never frequent again. More often than not these days I find time has run out and I need to return another day to see the remainder of an unrealistic itinerary. The hallmark of a successful visit, in my opinion.

Such as yesterday’s experience at the nearby stone circle upon Waun Lwyd. Shouldn’t have been an issue to make the relatively short diversion to Garn Glas and bag another couple of upland cairns. But it was. Hence I find myself (once again) driving alongside the fast flowing, nascent Afon Tawe, beneath the Maen Mawr and its diminutive petrified charges, toward the prosaically named Bwlch Cerrig Duon. Entering Glasfynydd Forest, I take the first left to descend steeply into Cwm Meity, veering left again to dwellings at Caerllwyn. Here a dead-end road shadows the Afon Hydfer to the west toward its terminus overlooked by the isolated farmhouse of Blaneau Uchaf. I manage to park some way before the gate and walk to the footbridge adjacent to a ford. An idyllic scene, even when viewed under what are clearly fast deteriorating conditions. An obvious track heads southward through Cwm yr Afon beside the west bank of the river. My blind assumption – not for the first time – is incorrect, the bridleway actually climbing above and to the west of Blaneau Uchaf. But there you are, the navigational error duly rectified a little later by way of a steep climb to the summit of Twyn Perfedd. Serves me right.

Having negotiated a gate I’m almost immediately placed in a quandary. Yeah, two cairns are visible, one apparently reached by following the ridge line to approx south, the other located upon the hillside rising above a prominent gulley cradling the Nant Tarw. So, which to visit first? Needless to say I choose the hardest option, the northern of the pair (to the left of a large sheepfold). Wrapped up against the fierce wind it proves a sweaty struggle. But well worth the effort, the cairn revealed to be a substantial, well defined monument carefully located below the crest of the ridge. What’s more with a sweeping, northern vista toward Mynydd Myddfai and Mynydd Bach Trecastell. No paucity of prehistory up there, it has to be said. Nearer to hand the fledgling Nant Tawr, bolstered by months of heavy rain, makes its uncertain way to the eponymous stone circles beneath the (apparently) cairn-crowned Foel Darw. Yeah, corporeal reminders of the previous inhabitants of Y Mynydd Du are not exactly lacking here, either. It is tempting, perhaps with good reason, to assign a connection imbued with inherent meaning between stream and the great cairn I sit upon. However any attempt to formulate a rational definition with fronts of hail sweeping in from the cloud-wreathed summits of Fan Foel and Bannau Sir Gaer is probably a non-starter. Coherent thought as overwhelming bursts of sunlight afford a glimpse of some other aesthetic dimension? You’re having a laugh.

The southern cairn is visible some way away, attained by way of a soggy tramp across wild moorland. Less well defined than its neighbour, it is nevertheless a substantial monument – albeit of low elevation – incorporating a significant volume of stone. Hey, perhaps even retaining the remnants of a cist within? Perhaps. Upon a clearer day the dominating high summits of Y Mynydd Du rising to the south would no doubt add a further aspect to the scene. Today cloud holds them in a clammy embrace which only momentarily releases its grip, and then with apparent extreme reluctance. However the uncompromising vibe speaks volumes regardless. Cold, very wet, with a suggestion of claustrophobia, what with such a weight of cloud bearing down overhead. However this is a good place to be. A good place to have saved for a rainy day, so to speak.

The inclement onslaught begins to penetrate my ageing jacket. Too late I wish I’d had a bit more forethought and worn my new one. It is therefore with typical predictable mountain irony that the cloud base fractures to a fine evening.... more or less as soon as I begin my descent back to the car.

It was The Jesus and Mary Chain who (rather melodically, it has to be said) declared that they were ‘Happy When It Rains’ back in 1987. And to be fair there are occasions when, safely cocooned within waterproofs, I heartily concur with Jim and William’s sentiments concerning precipitation. However following a couple of months of what has been – by all accounts – ‘the wettest winter ever’... to say I’m somewhat pleased that it’s NOT raining this morning would be an understatement of significant proportions. Yeah, even if a thick mass of cloud has seen fit to obscure the high summits of Y Mynydd Du, ‘The Black Mountain’, hopefully the car won’t be in danger of being swept away by the raging outflow of Llyn-y-Fan-Fach. So.... in the circumstances a long overdue first visit to the stone circle upon Waun Lwyd fits the bill very nicely indeed. About time.

Now the first challenge to would-be visitors arriving by car is to safely negotiate the ... er.... how shall I put it?.... very, very minor road from the Red Lion public house, a little north of the village of Llanddeusant, to a parking area at approx SN 797238. [Incidentally there is a ‘red kite feeding station’ nearby, so be prepared for more visions of feathery wondrousness than you might have otherwise anticipated]. Seriously, the road is pretty rough, although thankfully the ‘sump destroying’ cattle grid at Blaneau was fixed some years back now.

So, duly fortified by tea – as is the English stonehead custom – the Mam C and I proceed up the gated Llyn-y-Fan-Fach access track for a short distance before veering left to climb steeply above, and roughly parallel to, the near bank of a major gulley carved by the Sychnant ‘stream’, that is heading approx north-east. A little way further on another gulley, this one cradling the Nant Melyn, can be seen climbing away to the south-east toward the foot of Fan Foel. Ignoring this to persevere with our line, the sight of several enigmatically dark stones soon cresting the horizon announces that, for once, my map-work is spot on. Eh, how did that happen?

The ‘circle stands upon (or should that be in?) a saddle between somewhat higher ground to the west and the wild moor of Waun Lwyd to the east, the latter incidentally cradling the source of the River Usk. It is a pretty brutal landscape, particularly with what should be a superb mountainous skyline to the south truncated by low cloud. Coflein reckons there are “at least 18 stones” within the circumference ... “two of these are buried (discovered by probing) and there are two possible outliers to the NW.” Note, however, that only a leaning upright toward the east and a large stone to south-east are of any reasonably significant dimensions. But then experience has determined that the stone circles of the Welsh uplands are patently not about size/number of uprights. Not interested. It is the LOCATION of the area subject to demarcation that was clearly of paramount importance to the locals back in the day. To paraphrase the saying, it wasn’t the size... but where the stones were put that mattered. Hey, I can live with that ‘less is more’ minimalist outlook.

Having located the ‘circle with such unfeasible ease the sterner challenge is thus to find a spot to hang out and enjoy the superb upland vibe... that isn’t under several inches of water. To literally hammer home the point we are subsequently subjected to an intense five minute working over, courtesy of a passing shower. However such tribulations come with the territory, a small price to pay for the privilege of spending a couple of hours or so in such a wondrous place. As mentioned, by far the largest upright stands upon the south-eastern arc, together with a recumbent and number of smaller stones. Intriguingly the RCAHMW lads [Brian Malaws / David Leighton, 6/11/08] hypothesize that the sum of these parts might have once been a substantial monolith not unlike the Maen Mawr, currently shepherding the not so distant Y Cerrig Duon. A possibility, I guess? Whilst pondering such ponderables the mass of cloud I assured the Mam C “would not lift today.... trust me” sees fit to peel away and reveal Y Mynydd Du in all its considerable glory. Yeah, the reverse of Shakespeare’s “The clouds methought would open and show riches”. The sun, finally able work its fiery magic, sets about flooding the landscape with washes of light of such intensity, such vibrant colour, that I reckon even the aforementioned Reid bothers would have approved? Yeah, fleeting instances of such high drama are what these diminutive Welsh stone circles are all about for me (and I know the Mam C agrees or she wouldn’t come)... those jaw-dropping seconds when Nature’s arc lights, focussed upon such a spartan stage, seem to fuse landscape, monument and walk on actors together as one.

Albeit just for a moment.

Although sited only about a third of a mile to the approx north-east of the Loxidge Tump cairn, fractionally ‘England-side’ of the border, I approach the Black Darren monument from the north-west this April Fool’s Day 2013, this the result of having abandoned an attempt to re-visit the summit of Red Daren due to lack of time, my crampon-less boots having succumbed to the arctic conditions prevalent underfoot like they were supporting a prize muppet not used to such wintry weather. Well, if the balaclava – and sundry other items of headgear – fit... To be honest I would actually recommend approaching from this direction above others, the climb up from the Little Daren Farm picnic area [SO296299] to the north-west of Longtown much quieter and vibey than the Llanthony Priory route in normal circumstances. Equally sublime views, too. [Incidentally castle-heads might be interested to know that Longtown (it’s true, it really is a long town) possesses a nice South Walian Norman round keep ... despite being in Herefordshire].

My approach, needless to say, proves somewhat problematic, not to mention extremely tiring, owing to the inclement conditions having rendered the escarpment edge with a glistening, angled carapace of ice frustratingly not quite able to bear my weight. Yeah, it is certainly no easy skate. Cue a number of undignified stumbles, alternating with passable – well, I thought so.... the allegorical Russian judge perhaps knew better – impersonations of the waterfowl attempting to land upon my local lake when frozen. Luckily there is no-one else around to see my enforced gymnastics, although no doubt any embarrassed blushing was frozen at source. Which, considering that the Black Darren cairn is located just north of the ugly scar that is the Offa’s Dyke long distance path, is an utterly wondrous, in my experience unparalleled state of affairs. The final slither is duly executed... and there it is. The cairn, but one of a linear series of such monuments placed upon this ridge, is not shown on my 1993 issue 1:25K OS map and should not be confused with a ‘Pile of Stones’ a little to the south-east.

The most obvious feature is a large ‘storm shelter’ erected on top of the monument, in retrospect what the Mam C and I clocked prior to being summarily chased from the mountain by a violent electrical storm a few years back. Coflein actually mentions ‘two parasitic sheep shelters’, so my guess is these have subsequently been ‘knocked through’ to make just the one. This traveller wonders whether this particular incidence of DIY was undertaken by the sheep themselves? If so let us hope that someone was on hand, camera at the ready, in order to capture the moment for prosperity. I wait for the upload to YouTube with breath bated in anticipation. Coflein also mentions the remains of a cist still in situ, although again I’m afraid I can’t confirm that, not with the interior packed out with snow. Let’s just say there didn’t seem to be one as I raked about with gloved hands. What can be affirmed without any ambiguity, however, is the sheer extent of the underlying footprint, a feature actually accentuated by the mantle of snow. Suffice to say that this is clearly a substantial monument indeed.

It also proves to be a wonderfully haunting, evocative location today, the whereabouts of the aforementioned Offa’s Dyke ‘motorway’ betrayed by nothing more than a few footsteps in the snow. Yeah, all is silent. In fact I never thought it could be so silent up here. Granted, the scene is not that of a shining Alpine wonderland, as experienced upon Pen-y-Gadair-Fawr the day before, but rather a bleak ‘midwinter’ landscape of the kind Wenceslas was said to have gone a’ wandering about in. Albeit not in Wales.... Herefordshire even. Actually both, it gets so confusing up here on the border. Whatever, the snow is most certainly ‘deep, crisp and even’, according the landscape a hostile, brutal, almost surreal majesty that is a privilege to share with whatever creatures lie dormant beneath waiting for the thaw. In the absence of any other humans, that is.

The leaving comes too soon.

These notes date from the cold ‘Spring’ of last year. Again, should’ve put them on at the time....

A ‘higher than expected’ cloudbase looms above the eastern-most ridge of The Black Mountains, the more-or-less uniform, clean-cut lines of these snow-clad uplands (defining, with uncharacteristic finality, the England/Wales border) simultaneously mirroring and opposing the darkly menacing sky today. Perhaps the somewhat malignant vibe I sense this morning is influenced by the knowledge that today is April 1st.... April Fool’s Day. Yeah, this traveller’s summary rejection of the sundry self-serving tenets of organised religion notwithstanding, it is clearly not so easy to banish all superstition with Mr Spock logic when venturing forth in the great outdoors. One can feel so very small and insignificant.... so vulnerable. And rightly so. Guess the best I can offer by way of explanation is the feeble acknowledgement of entering an environment beyond normal everyday perception, a recognition of willingly subjecting the self to stimuli likely to result in sensory overload, to a greater or lesser degree. Perhaps a parallel can be drawn with the shamans of old, such a mental state enabling the individual to access primeval neural circuits long since filed away in the deepest recesses of the human genome, thought processes selected for animal survival, not logical deliberation. But enough cod-psychology... despite the passing of a sudden, freezing shower, I decide to head for the hills. Yeah, in the words of Andy Partridge... ‘I’ve got 1,2,3,4,5; Senses working overtime’.

Walking back down the road from the (not surprisingly) almost empty car park adjacent to the gaunt ruins of Llanthony Priory a gate allows access to pasture land upon the gently rising southern slopes of Cwm Siarpal. I head for the foot of Loxidge Tump forming the left hand (western) flank of the cwm. From here a steep climb, with some fine retrospective views across the Vale of Ewyas to Cwm Bwchel etc, sees me eventually emerge upon bare, open hillside, the landscape now in the unrelenting, icy grasp of winter raiment above the snow line..... despite it ostensibly being Spring! Continuing approx north along the rim of the cwm the view south(ish) toward the great promontory fort of Hatterrall Hill is truly one to behold, sufficient reward for the inclement conditions underfoot. Not to mention the biting wind, the actions of which ensure ‘I ‘aint seen nothing yet’ by having applied a progressively more potent ‘freezing crust’ to the snow mantle as I gain height. Hence what is – assuming my previous visit with the Mam C back in 2008 is any yardstick – a reasonably straightforward walk is transformed today into a full-on struggle for every step.

Consequently the appearance of the Bronze Age cairn is most welcome... in more ways than one. It is not a commanding monument, at least not in its surviving form, and appears even less so when almost subsumed within the snow! Nevertheless I’m determined not to repeat the error of yore and actually manage to remember to look at the map – for once – the cairn located a little west of the cwm headwall, to the left of the path.... assuming the path isn’t obscured by snow, that is. Plonking myself on top it is immediately clear what a superb location this is, the sweeping view across Cwm Siarpal to the wondrous Vale of Ewyas (in my opinion) matching the aesthetic appeal of some of the area’s top vistas. Hey, well worth the effort of a fine approach. Needless to say it’s bloody freezing but, fortified by an inner glow like some post-Cold War ‘Ready Brek kid’, I discover that there is an excellent vibe to be enjoyed here upon this frozen far-from-waste-land.

After hanging out for a while I slowly – very slowly, not by choice but out of necessity – head approx north-west in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to locate an ‘enclosure’ marked upon the 1:25k map. Snow too deep, unfortunately. Indeed... half way to the summit of Red Daren, the OS trig point conspicuous upon the far horizon, it dawns on me that my progress is so slow that I must choose between reacquainting myself with it .... or finally getting ‘round to checking out Black Darren’s cairn. Not enough time to do both justice. Suffice to say I choose the latter.

If I recall correctly it was Rabelais who reckoned that ‘nature abhors a vacuum’. Not so myself, not with hot coffee a’waiting in the flask. My beef has instead often been with the metre (except when in the gifted hands of a Richey Edwards or his ilk). Yeah, too unwieldy a unit of length in the singular, sadly lacking when bundled together in the kilometre. And you would never catch Charlie and Craig walking 804.67 of the latter to fall down at anyone’s door, I can tell you. Hence – should you ever find yourself in Leith – it’s probably for the best that you refrain from mentioning that there are (arguably) some benefits of using the metric. Consider Y Gamriw, for example: an obscure, sub-2,000ft Mid Walian hill, probably not worth the effort.... or mountain rising to an impressive 604m? It’s all about perception, is it not? Well, isn’t everything? And I’d suggest the latter epithet is much more likely to secure a reference in a local guide book, perhaps planting the precious seed of curiosity.

A guide book such as Terry Marsh’s ‘The Mountains of Wales’, the first 600m plus ‘metric’ guide book I’d encountered, the first to assign the magical noun ‘mountain’. Naturally it would’ve been rude not to go and have a look after that, the massive, shattered summit cairn looming above the mist wreathed summit that day (back in 1999) sufficient cause for the silent voice of introspection to state the self-evident truth... that I had to return some day, if only to see what lay beyond that too intimidating wall of vapour. Needless to say self-evident truths have a habit of hibernating within the deepest recesses of the subconscious, pending a ‘wake up call’. The fruits of Toby Driver’s all-seeing aerial camera displayed upon the Coflein database were the agents in this case.

Located some four miles to the approx south-west of the bustling town of Rhayader, Y Gamriw is – luckily for the average stonehead – significantly more ‘visitor friendly’ than its 600m peers Gorllwyn and Drygarn Fawr rising to the west. Indeed I would go as far as to say you would need to be absolutely bonkers to attempt an ascent of either of those desolate, enigmatic summits if low cloud is at all a possibility. Consequently I’d recommend Y Gamriw as a fine introduction to the perhaps surprisingly uncompromising terrain of the Elan uplands. Try before you buy, so to speak. And visit half a dozen large upland cairns as you do so. What’s not to like for a Citizen Cairn’d?

The key to a relatively straightforward ascent is the minor road heading approx south from the River Wye-side village of Llanwrthwl [although longer variations could include traversing the north-eastern ridge, Graig Ddu.... or even climbing via Crugian Bach’s stone circle]. It is currently possible to park a car – with care, mind – at the terminus, the tarmac morphing into a grassy track and continuing westwards. Head along said track (with Y Gamriw visible rising beyond to the right and Drum Ddu, crowned by Carn-y-Geifr... ‘cairn of the goat’ ... to the left), resisting the urge to strike off for the ridge until an obvious, diagonally slanting path can be seen ascending the mountain’s flank. Having tried both I’d suggest this is an easier alternative to a full frontal assault upon the summit. Anyway, once the ridge crest is attained, heading to the left will ensure the OS trig pillar (incidentally not the highest point of Y Gamriw) will soon be yours, duly noting the excellent cairn grouping of Carnau Cefn-y-Fford lying below, a little further up the track. Needless to say well worth a visit. Now.... assuming you can tear yourself away, the massive summit cairn can be seen rising above and beyond a nasty section of the ubiquitous local bog some distance to the approx west.

Despite the depredation of having had a substantial ‘sheep shelter’ erected within – albeit one constructed from the ancient fabric... and possessing an ethereal vibe I’m at a loss to explain – the summit cairn remains an impressive monument. The views are far reaching, particularly looking west toward what I would cite as some of the most challenging landscape in all Wales. A proper wilderness where a sheep track may well become something to savour, an all too brief respite for tired, aching – not to mention wet – ankles. Looking to the north-east the traveller sees Graig Ddu (as you might expect) slowly descending toward Llanwrthwl, the village obscured by the mountain’s bulk. According to the map three additional large cairns mark its linear progress, two of which I manage to visit this time around. But wait, there’s more. As I turn my gaze to the north the presence of yet two more substantial stone piles located a short distance away lend further credence to my earlier deliberations concerning ‘relative perception’. Then there’s the site of a stone circle – nay, apparent ‘prehistoric complex’ – upon the moorland bordering Crugian Bach to the north-west. Simply put, there was clearly an awful lot going on millennia ago where few now see fit to tread. Yeah, the scope of such a collection of substantial monuments upon / overlooked by such an apparently obscure Mid Walian hill is intriguing. Is it possible that Y Gamriw was actually the focal point of Bronze Age Elenydd? It seems a good bet to me.

The weather becomes progressively more volatile, more violent as I (inevitably) feel the need to take a close look at the two northern cairns.... and – naturally – the Graig Ddu trio in due course. As it happens the eastern-most (and lowest) of the latter three eventually eludes me, the reserves of energy exhausted, the ‘tank’ dry. Unlike the landscape, which is duly subjected to a series of violent lashings interspersed with wondrous golden illuminations, these exquiste light shows culminating in the appearance of some of the finest arching rainbows I’ve seen for a long, long time. How can something so nebulous appear so paradoxically substantial? Yeah, we could debate that one for years. So, I call a halt at the second cairn (SN95666204) and instead of returning to the summit decide, perhaps unwisely, to head straight for the roadhead and car waiting immediately below to the south. The descent is steep, rough, but causes no lasting trauma. No harm done. And to think that I may well have never ventured up here.... if it wasn’t for the metre.

[Fieldnotes from Sept 2012.... but for some reason – too much work for too little pay, probably – not submitted at the time]

The British, I think it’s fair to say, are fond of lists. Consider the seemingly limitless supply of cheap (funny that) TV shows featuring an inexorable count down to the ‘Most Embarrassing Celebrity Moment Ever’, albeit mostly monopolised by Justin Bieber nowadays... or the annual Christmas opportunity to marvel at ‘Bing and Bowie’s’ sheer festive joie de vivre at being in each other’s company.... and pretty much everything else in between. Including the categorisation of the prehistoric monuments of these Isles according to relative merit. Well, apparently some weirdos do it. Clearly a ‘niche’ activity, one never likely to scale the heights of intellectual discourse inherent in debates about Shaky’s awesome jumper, or Agnetha Fältskog’s equally magnificent backside. Nevertheless experience has shown it can generate heated discussion, controversy even. Steady now. To illustrate the point, where would you place Garn Boduan within the rich canon of North Walian hill forts? Exactly. What’s the name again?

To be fair I had noted Garn Boduan quite a number of years back, sandwiched between the exquisite profile of Carn Fadryn to the south-west and the impossibly enigmatic ‘Town of Giants’ to north-east. No wonder it assumed the ‘middle ground’ within both my consciousness and visit list alike. Consequently it required an extended sojourn upon the great Bronze Age stone pile upon Mynydd Carnguwch in 2012 to prompt a subsequent search of Coflein’s database, whereby a reference to ‘titanic enclosure’ raised the ante somewhat. Having said that it’s still a drag to leave the embrace of the high mountains – even if Eryri’s bosom is clammy and somewhat claustrophobic today – and venture to the coast through the narrow defile of Drws-y-Coed, the upland cairns of Eifionydd lost to the seemingly metaphysical world within the cloud mantle. And so to Nefyn, a small town trading upon the allure of the nearby sandy beaches, the latter sheltered by the fortified headland of Trwyn Porth Dinllaen to the west. For me, as with all such gregarious seaside settlements, an air of apparent melancholy is prevalent out of season. Although of course I could just be a miserable muppet. Whatever the truth, the sight of the great rocky lump that is Garn Boduan rising to the south is a memorable one for an antiquarian. No doubt it can be ascended from town.... however, forever contrary, I decide to approach from the south-east, taking the A497 and hence B4354 to park up near Gorphwysfa.

Here a public footpath (a precious commodity as it turns out) follows the line of the road to the east, before doubling back to ascend the afforested hillside rising above. Sadly it would appear that the woods are managed by a private company for the morally debatable pleasure of ‘hunters’, signs warning of the deployment of apparently legal ‘vermin’ traps in the area. So please watch the kids if you decide to come. My assumption is these traps are designed for creatures looking for a meal of grouse the natural way... and not those armed with guns. Guess the latter option wouldn’t make good business sense. Anyway, with Carn Fadryn gracing the left hand horizon, the track makes its serpentine way eventually up to the enclosure. A massive, collapsed dry stone rampart is immediately apparent girdling the summit crags, although the eastern flank is so sheer the natural defences would’ve probably sufficed. Clambering up to the north, past the ethereal remains of several skeletal trees, the true nature of the site slowly begins to sink in. Yeah, this is a very, very substantial hill fort indeed.

The highest (eastern) sector is occupied by the remains of a powerful, thick walled ‘citadel’, for want of a better term. One might also be tempted to call it a dry stone proto-’keep’, although maybe that’s an exercise in interpreting archaeology to fit an existing presumption. Nevertheless I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Garn Boduan was re-occupied and ‘adjusted a bit’ during the Anglo-Norman campaigns in Wales. The substantial nature of this upper enclosure’s defences is more than matched by the superb views afforded the visitor, particularly toward the coast to north-east (Yr Eifl sweeping to the sea with Tre’r Ceiri perched upon the landward summit) and east (Mynydd Carnguwch crowned by its gigantic cairn). Carn Fadryn holds sway to the south-west, whilst Y Rhinogydd provide the horizon beyond Tremadog Bay to south-east. Hey, I even reckon I can make out Criccieth Castle, as well as the shapely crag of Moel y Gest overlooking Portmadog. Needless to say the inclement Welsh weather stakes a considerable bid for attention in the form of a brutal, freezing wind which sends numerous poorly clad punters, arriving from the north-east, back whence they came in very short order indeed. Also striving for attention, to judge by some graffiti daubed in Welsh, are the local pseudo-political activists. Images of Wolfie Smith flash into my mind. Well, guess everyone has to start somewhere.

Moving on after a rather cold lunch, I descend northwards to follow the line of what appear bi-vallate defences. These are impressive, too, albeit becoming progressively more overgrown until the north-western arc is found to be more or less completely reclaimed by Nature. Great views across Nefyn out to sea are adequate compensation for the unforeseen effort demanded from me. Veering south to check out the western flank – after what seems an age, such is the size of the enclosure – I slowly become aware of the remains of numerous hut circles occupying the interior of the south-western corner, overlooked by the ‘citadel’ above to my left. In time these become more well defined, then substantial. It’s difficult to make sense of the overall layout, however, so I withdraw to higher ground for an overview. From here, with Carn Fadryn resplendent upon the far horizon, the impression of ancient upland defended settlement is arguably as good as any I’ve seen to date.

A weather front appears from the direction of Abersoch – or thereabouts – making rapid progress inland. Very rapid progress. In a few minutes it falls upon Garn Boduan, fiendishly strong winds lashing rain against hillside with an unbridled ferocity that makes completion of the circuit back to the summit a matter of some perseverance. Worth the effort though since, as seen upon first arrival, this south-eastern arc of ramparts is perhaps the finest of what has been revealed to be surely one of the finest hill forts in all Wales. Why it isn’t generally regarded as such – well, in my experience anyway – may, as suggested earlier, be simply a matter of geography, of Garn Boduan being located between two sites employing the landscape equivalent of Max Clifford as publicist. Nevertheless, although Garn Boduan may not grab the attention from afar, I’d suggest it is a ‘slow burner’. Yeah, if we were in Aberdeenshire it would be ‘Barmekin Hill’ to Tre’r Ceiri’s ‘Mither Tap’. Pretty good, then.

Walkers making their way westwards along the North Wales Path will be hard pressed not to notice the great Cefn Coch cairn. Guess that’s probably a ‘given’ (although whether its significance duly registers with the average punter is clearly a moot point). The more perceptive pedestrian, perhaps imbued with a passion for corporeal reminders of past humanity, may discern the remnants of a possible stone circle a little to the east. Nevertheless how many of the latter passers-by see fit to interrupt the striding, purposeful gait and pause to peer over the substantial dry stone wall bordering the track to the north, the agency nothing more than curiosity, albeit far from idle in this context. Ah, curiosity... what a wondrous thing to possess! Those that do will, perhaps, notice a pair of fine, mutually exclusive cairns lying in the pasture beyond, beneath the serrated top of Graig Lwyd... actually apparently a trio of monuments, although I was hard pressed to positively identify the last of the triumvirate myself.

Fortunately, considering my inherently poor sense of direction, I approached downhill from Graig Lwyd, where even I couldn’t fail to note the excellent kerbed cairn sitting below the course of a power line. Ah, yes. There’s no point in denying the adverse aesthetic impact of such things, even the wooden variety. However, to be honest, they do seem to become tolerable after a while, another feature of a landscape which has witnessed humankind’s industry for millennia. Or perhaps that’s just me?

In my opinion the kerbed cairn is a cracker, the stones much more substantial than I had anticipated. Nice ‘round’ amount, too.... always a good idea when defining a cairn. I concur with Postie’s count of eight orthostats, the sum of which combine to form a monument very pleasing to the eye, whatever may be looming overhead. To be fair there isn’t actually much ‘cairn’ remaining, the impression more that of a small stone circle. But I can live with that. I also have no issue with the excellent view looking approx north-east toward Ffridd Wanc, nor Moelfre, Y Meini Hirion and the northern Carneddau looming upon the upper southern aspect.

The other significant monument to be found within this field lies a little further south and is a much larger affair – a ring cairn with several tall(ish) orthostats upon the circumference of a pretty substantial, low, grassy cairn. To be honest it’s difficult to decide which of the two cairns is the supporting act, both, in my opinion, excellent examples of their genre. To put it another way imagine – if you can – attending a concert featuring both Joy Division and ABBA. Utterly different, admittedly, but both masters of conveying something of that most nebulous of elements... the human condition. Not sure which cairn is analogous to which band... possibly the kerbed cairn to JD owing to its sparser nature... but hopefully you get my drift?

As usual, more time is required than I have available before darkness descends. However spending my final hour at the aforementioned Y Meini Hirion seems the most apt way to end a rather splendid day above Penmaenmawr.

North Walian travellers looking for a ‘ritualistic quarrying vibe’ similar to that seemingly prevalent upon the utterly wondrous Langdale Fell should perhaps look elsewhere.... albeit (arguably) in vain. Sadly the ravaged headland of Graig Lwyd isn’t going to soothe a ragged psyche in need of sedation. Quite the reverse. In fact I’d wager a shiny brass farthing that any TMA’er standing upon this coastal summit will experience thoughts of sedition against a society that cares so little about our ancient heritage. Can we be blamed for the security of ignorance, as Dave Gahan once crooned?

Yeah, the outlook from the top to the coast is not a pretty sight, looking out across Conwy Bay toward the lowlands of Anglesey. This negative perception is nothing to do with the enigmatic Ynys Mona of course; but rather the inevitable result of devastation wrought by modern man’s insatiable desire to rape the landscape regardless of cost. The thought arises... oh dear... ‘but hold on though, were not our prehistoric forebears doing very much the same here, albeit on a (presumably) much reduced scale?’ Does the fact that they quarried stone from this very hillside to fashion exquisite stone implements make their actions any more worthy? Hmm. Guess it rather depends upon how the individual views the importance of scale of operations, amongst other things. Is a red kite ‘better’ than a crow just because there are less of them? Is it moral that familiarity breeds contempt? My ignorance duly exposed, I defer such ponderings for another day when I’ve some evidence to deliberate. Perhaps there is an axe to grind here, perhaps not? But, as of old, that is probably best done down below.

The summit of Graig Lwyd is girdled by pretty substantial drystone walling. However, upon clambering up from the exquisite Cefn Coch cairn to the south, I find a gate which allows access. Whether the landowner has issues with the odd (or not so odd, depending on your point of view) person having a look to see if they can make out the cairn and settlement depicted on the map I’m afraid I can’t say... since he sped by on a quad bike before I could ask the question. For the record I located the settlement (quite substantial but apparently Roman, at least according to Coflein), but not the cairn. Nevertheless I’m happy that I can declare, in the immortal words of Max Boyce, that ‘I was there’ to witness the extraordinary continuity of human industry. One also wonders why Romans / Romano-British saw fit to seek accommodation here? Quarrymen, or attracted by that ‘ritualistic quarrying vibe’?

Curiosity sated, I turn toward the much more aesthetically pleasing southern aspect and note what appears to be a fine arc of kerbing below at Cors y Carneddau. Worth a look? You betcha.

Standing proud at the bwlch between Moelfre and Graig Lwyd, this fine upland cairn was the primary reason for my return to this section of Gwynedd’s northern coastline today. To be fair the excursion – assuming one is lucky enough to be in a position to make it, of course – is a real ‘no-brainer’ for a stonehead, considering the numerous other cairns, stone circles... hey, ‘axe factory’... located here above Penmaenmawr. Albeit a sublimely ironic ‘no-brainer’, since the old – or not so old – grey matter needs to be at the top of its game to cope with the sensory overload inherent in such a landscape. Guess I’ll just have to do my best, then.

The cairn stands immediately overlooking The North Wales Path, to the latter’s north, at the point where the Wales Coast Path branches off toward Clip yr Orsedd. Maybe this was always the arrangement, the monument defining an important part of the landscape, a gigantic ‘marker cairn’? Whatever, it is perhaps best seen when descending Moelfre (c1,427ft / 435m) rising to the south, itself blessed by a Bronze Age cairn. Nowhere as good as this one, though. From Moelfre’s slopes it is difficult to dismiss the insidious perception that everything in the neighbourhood was sited relative to everything else. With the utmost care, too. Thoughts come a’tumbling down.... unlike, thankfully, the viewer. Was the monument placed here to interact with travellers upon the track(s), whether engaged in journeying to an actual earthbound destination, or some metaphysical abode? Or was it erected in homage of the striking Moelfre itself. Or Graig Lwyd, source of the precious stone implements? Or even placed in the ‘cleavage’ between the two peaks in accordance with some ritual mamillar fixation? Er.. they have been known. Apparently. Rhetorical questions, of course.

Leaving such speculation to one side, what is certain – at least in my case – is that time spent hanging out upon the cairn, gazing south-westward toward the glorious profile of the northern Carneddau sweeping down to the sea, is paregoric in the extreme, the everyday cares and worries of life ‘down there’ seemingly of little consequence for a while. A brief hiatus, admittedly. Why, even the brightly-clad ramblers marching up and down the tracks, such an irritant at Y Meini Hirion, don’t contemplate interrupting their walks for a mere cairn, even one as upstanding in profile, as impressively defined as this. All 8ft or so of it (c2.6m). Incidentally, there is also a small(ish) recumbent stone to be found close-by to the approx west. Whether this represents a displaced cap stone, fallen prehistoric standing stone, or similarly fallen later marker stone.... or nothing at all I’m afraid I have no idea. Sorry about that.

As mentioned by Postie the interior of the cairn has been hollowed out somewhat; however it does not detract from the experience in my view. As for the agency responsible for such vandalism, I’m in the corner of the much maligned giants here. Yeah, I reckon the damage was the inevitable result of a troll looking for a mis-placed laptop so as to continue his evil on-line trolling mischief. Something needs to be done.

There are a number of ‘Moelfre’s to be found in Wales... which, considering this descriptive name translates to the English as ‘bald / barren hill’, I guess is not that surprising. This example, rising at the northern extremity of Y Carneddau is – at c1,427ft – not the highest ‘baldy’ this baldy could climb... however, when located amongst a wonderland of prehistoric delights it would be rude not to check out the summit following ejection from Y Meini Hirion by the unsolicited attentions of noisy numbskulls. What’s more, the summit possesses the grassy remains of a Bronze Age cairn. Not to mention peace and quiet. Ah, that’s better.

OK, as upland Welsh cairns go (as they tend to do unfortunately rather literally, or so it seems) it is not overly substantial, although to be fair the grassy mantle does camouflage form somewhat. According to Coflein:

“The cairn at Moelfre is an oval mound, 26’ x 2’ and 1’ high with its longer axis E-W. In the centre of the cairn is a slight hollow. 2003.11.26/OAN/PJS”

Nevertheless it does the job, not least by inspiring local legend. It would seem that some time in the not too distant past Moelfre was crowned by a triumvirate (the number perhaps symbolic?) of red, white and blue stones traditionally representing three girls petrified – hey, exterminated – by a vengeful Christian god for the unspeakably heinous crime of winnowing corn on the Sabbath. Roland Friesler would’ve no doubt approved, in lieu of the guillotine. Sadly I could find no trace of the stones today, although several of the ‘un-painted’ variety lie around.... as you might expect upon a cairn, come to think of it. However isn’t it great to muse upon the possibily that the girls’ – presumably (hopefully!) apocryphal – sacrifice helped keep the tinder of resistance to religious repression dry. Not to mention every other sort.

The great prehistoric ‘axe factory’ of Graig Lwyd obscures the sea view to the north somewhat – there are worse things to behold – the bulk of Moelfre itself that to the east. However the vista of Y Carneddau to the south and, in particular south-west, is pretty special. Ditto that looking westward along the coast. Less dramatic, but poignant nonetheless is the crash site of a Consolidated B-24 J Liberator “Bachelors’ Baby” which came to a violent end below the mountain in 1942. I did not visit, but understand there is a memorial to the five brave crewmen tragically lost that day. And their dog.

Altogether the summit of Moelfre would be a great place to hang out for, oh, ages... if there wasn’t a great cairn sitting there in the bwlch below to the north. Such is life. As it is, a relatively short time must suffice.

Now it may appear somewhat obsequent for what is surely the most substantial stone circle to still grace this land of Wales (in the absence of more than the pair at Brwyn Gwyn) to not be the primary focus of any trip upon the rocky headland of Penmaenmawr, overlooking what today is actually an unfeasibly blue Conwy Bay... however such is the plethora of prehistoric sites to be found here, where the northern slopes of Y Carneddau literally plunge into the sea, that I assure you nothing was further from my mind this wondrous morning. Except, perhaps, the daily travail. Oh no, as it happens I’ve had a hankering to return for a day out (that is proper ‘out, out’, in the Micky Flanagan sense) since being inspired by posts of the great Cors y Carneddau cairn some time back. Inspiration eh? Yeah, what a priceless gift to bestow upon any other individual.

It would appear from the map that the shortest approach to Y Meini Hirion – the tall stones – is also that requiring the most physical effort from the would-be punter (funny that), a public footpath from Graig Lwyd farm ascending steeply southward across the eastern shoulder of the prehistoric ‘axe factory’ site of Graig Lwyd itself. Guess that although I’m packing plenty of inspiration in my pocket, I’m somewhat lacking in imagination since this is the same route I took twelve years ago upon my only previous visit... however the retrospective, coastal views are excellent, looking across Dwygyfylchi to the Bronze Age copper mines of The Great Orme. Industrious lot, these prehistoric forebears. Well worth the effort every decade or so, then. The path eventually labours up to the crest to bisect the eroded scar that is The North Wales Path, the latter no doubt a prehistoric route along the headwall.

Cefn Coch (Red Ridge) and the Druid’s Circle – well, Anglesey is just across the water, so perhaps some of that enigmatic caste did come here – rises to the immediate south, although visitors wishing to approach via the lovely little ‘Circle 275’ will need to divert a little to the left. Upon arrival I’m instantly glad that I came back, the stones justifying their prosaic name by appearing much more substantial than I recall, particularly when compared with the diminutive orthostats of the archetypal upland Welsh stone circle. The location, however, appears to have been chosen so the monument remains pretty incognito to all except passers-by upon the track below. Burl hypothesises, rightly I think, that stone circle and track are inextricably linked, perhaps in association with Graig Lwyd, too. Well, I reckon it’s a good bet anyway. Bog borders the site to the east, the serrated profile of Tal y Fan looming upon the southern horizon with, nearer to hand, a couple more enigmatic prehistoric structures. Northward lies the sea and the former Druid heartland of Ynys Mona.

I rush about trying to capture something of the magical aura generated by the golden light ‘on film’ before the vibe will inevitably be shattered by the inexorable arrival of the first long distance walkers deviating from the track below. Half an hour later they are here, a group of noisy young ramblers stopping off for lunch accompanied by an adult guide. Sadly, for me, this is Y Meini Hirion’s achilles heel, its proximity to a major rambling route. Time to move on toward Moelfre to the west. Not a great hardship, to be fair.

Executing a crafty plan... I return early evening, at the end of a long day, to find the ancient ring once again at its spellbinding best, thankfully minus the barely interested juveniles. At times like this it may well be a contender for Wales’ finest stone circle per se. A place to sit and think amongst hoary old stones of seemingly unfathomable symbolism and meaning. If only they could speak and relate some of what has occurred here over the course of millennia. Then again, perhaps they do....

Somewhat oddly, bearing in mind the substantial nature of the surviving monument, it appears that the usual archaeological sources are somewhat reticent to assign even a tentative prehistoric origin to the massive cairn upon Moelfre, south-western outlier of Y Rhinogydd. Equally strange, perhaps, is the fact that I’ve never taken the opportunity to find out why this may be the case before today. Hey, in fact a convincing case could be made for a trilogy of related bizarrerie since the decision to pay a visit before heading back to the car before dark was arguably not the most rational of choices available to me. But there you are. Stupid is as stupid does, Forrest. Or is that being unfair?

The cairn is well seen by the prospective visitor hanging out contentedly upon the ancient ramparts of Craig y Dinas, far below to the south, the door to another, more sensual, perhaps spiritual world seemingly momentarily ajar. Or at least it is in the temporary absence of the ubiquitous cloud mantle which, having obscured the mountain’s 1,932ft top for much of the day, has seen fit to move on to annoy other people somewhere else instead. The southern flank of the mini (although not that mini) mountain is sharply graded to the point of being a tad off-putting. However the way is clear, a fenceline visible clinging to the steeply rising contours to the left of a prominent copse of trees, the boundary promising reassurance should visibility suddenly go all pea souper.

Half way up I’m beginning to form the opinion that this undeniably committed Citizen Cairn’d should instead be committed to some institution in the event of ever getting down again, a vicious weather front duly sweeping in from Tremadog Bay with the implied malediction of that cloudscape above Sigourney Weaver’s building in Ghostbusters. You know the one. However a distant stile perched upon a dry stone wall (’dry’ as in no mortar, not water!) stiffens the backbone and beckons me on. Nearly there. Nothing to it, really. Once across I follow said wall to the right and soon spy the cairn beyond. Jeez, it’s hard to miss, certainly as big as it appeared from below, albeit utilising the crags upon which it stands to maximise visual impact in the manner of Foel Grach (upon Y Carneddau further north). Yeah, I prefer to call it ‘crafty, intelligent planning and use of natural resources’, as opposed to ‘cheating’. Also of note is the fact that the cairn does not sit at the summit of the mountain, rather being located some distance to the south-east. So, way, way too large to be a marker cairn. Ditto not a walker’s cairn. Hey, it doesn’t even crown the summit.... and furthermore its construction is suggestive of careful planning, the use of a technique I’ve seen employed elsewhere upon the Welsh uplands. Consequently I’m pretty convinced of its antiquity, to be fair. Located as it is upon a gigantic, natural mound of its own.

I move in to settle the matter with the fine detail and promptly discover that the vagaries of Nature have placed me under serious interrogation instead. Ha! Prepare for a veritable kicking, my boy. Beyond the shelter of the lee of the wall it is more or less impossible to stand, such is the unforeseen extreme strength of the wind, rain – in the horizontal plane – hammering upon my hood with such staccato force as to surely shred the fabric? So why do I feel so utterly elated, so privileged to be here at this moment? So alive? Erm. Anyone got the number of a neurologist? Standing upon the cairn, bracing myself with both trekking poles to stop being summarily despatched head first into the stone pile, it occurs to me that a supine posture would be more respectful. Not to mention safer. Puny Homo sapiens venturing to such places in such hostile conditions, albeit unwittingly, perhaps can not fail to be overawed by the sheer magnitude of the forces inherent in the natural world. To my mind that would offer a coherent explanation as to why these cairns were erected where they were back then. To offer a quasi-shamanic experience for those not deemed suitable – or able – to go the whole distance. In fact it is only the modern technology inherent in my waterproofs which allows me to focus at all. To have stood here in Bronze Age garb and be subjected to such ferocity would no doubt have sent me running – nay, careering – downhill for my very life... faster than Franz Klammer. Either that or stepping through the portal to the spirit world.....

[P.S – In retrospect an approach from the Cwm Nantcol road to the north, subsequently ascending the less steep eastern flank, looks to be the best bet in lieu of the brutal southern slog. But there you are. Hindsight is a wondrous thing, is it not?]

I first became aware of the existence of this somewhat obscure upland enclosure through retrospectively trying to relate the 1:25K OS map to images taken upon Llawlech a decade back. However it’s fair to say the c2 mile walk-in from the west was a bit off-putting. But there you are.... eventually the site rose to the top of the bad weather list.

Needless to say events did not exactly go to plan -do they ever? – the discovery of an extensive, unmarked cairnfield to the immediate west ensuring I arrive a couple of hours later than anticipated. However it is worth the wait, the hill fort proving to be a substantial structure crowning the southern end of a prominent rocky ridge running across the valley, that is between the overwhelming mass of Moelfre to the north and the Afon Ysgethin to the south.

Approaching from the aforementioned wondrous cairnfield I find a very well built (modern) drystone field wall blocking the direct route. Fortuitously, as it happens, since the easiest option is clearly (duh!) to return to the track and approach along the ridge itself, this manoeuvre allowing the traveller an opportunity to discern how the surface rock almost approximates a natural ‘cheveux de frise’ arrangement, albeit a bit of a chaotic version. Yeah, it doesn’t take that much imagination (luckily) to determine the effect such a landscape would have had upon a cavalry – or infantry – charge back in the day, particularly with additional dry stone outworks covering the approach. Morever, according to Coflein, it appears the main entrance was to the south-east, thus ensuring the task of a storming party was even more difficult:

“Craig-y-Dinas, which crowns a prominent outcrop, is a stone walled polygonal hillfort some 75m x 40m with outworks extending 14m to the north-east. It has extensive entrance works to the south-east where stone clearance and walling for an approach trackway can be traced for about 80m to the east and about 107m to the south-east of the hillfort entrance. RCAHMW, April 2009”

There is a significant volume of drystone rampart still remaining in situ here, far more than I expected, to be honest. Yeah, a ghostly shell of an ancient enclosure, garrisoned nowadays by none save an occasional wandering sheep or carrion crow, the sole enemy the inclement weather. However it is the dramatic location which really impresses, the view eastward encompassing the bare, 2000ft plus summits of the southern Rhinogydd rising above the Afon Ysgethin, the river forded in the middle distance by the enigmatic Pont Ysgethin carrying what was once the major London-Harlech mail coach route through these parts... or so I read somewhere or other some time ago. Hard to believe now, such is the haunting, almost melancholic vibe which appears to fill the valley like invisible temperature inversion. The graceful, yet solidly built arch of the bridge is, in my opinion, well worth a closer look if you can spare the time. As are the mountains themselves, it goes without saying, although unfortunately I haven’t come across any ancient cairns upon the main peaks (although the ‘pile of stones’ at the summit of Moel Ysgyfarnogod to the north did set the Gladman senses a’tingling, to be truthful). To the approx south-east the crags of Llawlech overlook Llyn Erddyn (there is a brace of cairns up there) whilst westwards the enclosure provides a fine panorama of the course of the river flowing to the sea, not to mention that aforementioned extensive cairn-field ignored by all and sundry!

As I sit and ‘do lunch’... as one does... subject to the occasional blustery shower sweeping along the valley, my attention is nevertheless inevitably drawn to the north where the swirling cloud base periodically, tantalisingly reveals the massive cairn to the right of the summit of Moelfre. It sure looks a big ‘un. Too large for a dedicated Citizen Cairn’d to resist, in fact. So... unwisely, perhaps, I decide to go have a look.

Another cold, grey, not to mention wet Gwynedd day is summarily kick-started into life – hey, seized firmly by the collar and thrown headlong down the stairs – by the cacophonic dawn chorus generated by the local birds at Fferm y’Rynys, a mile or so beneath the great Capel Garmon chambered cairn. Needless to say I do not concur with our feathery friends’ concept of ‘dawn’, not with darkness still pervading this uncompromising, enigmatic landscape I’ve come to know so well over the years. Still, saves on alarm clock batteries, I guess. And no doubt they are far more perceptive of the idiosyncrasies of this Earth than I. So, in short order I’m heading south-west across The Migneint toward the coastline of Ardudwy, the estuary of the Afon Dwyryd a cadenza of autumnal colour, tones muted by the soft, overcast light. Further south the gaunt, brutal profile of Harlech Castle overwhelms the traveller’s senses with its sheer four-square solidity. Finally, a little way beyond the school house of Dyffryn Ardudwy (with attendant dolmens – has it really been 11 years?) the ram-rod straight Fford Gors heads into the hills toward Cors y Gedol Hall, ancestral home of the Vaughan family, no less. Parking is to be had in a drystone enclosure immediately prior to the terminal gate (small charge – £1 as I recall, perhaps incorrectly? I’d encourage visiting Heads to respect this arrangement since it is quite a handy facility).

Stoneheads new to the area may wish to divert along the short stretch of tarmac to the right in order to visit the nearby, rather fine Cors y Gedol burial chamber.... I, however, take the unmade track heading approx east, the great hill / mini mountain of Moelfre dominating the left hand flank of the valley despite apparent decapitation by low cloud. Now I last came this way a’cycling in 1998 (en-route to the enigmatic Pont Ysgethin) and, to be fair, unless you happen to enjoy plodding along walled tracks a mountain bike would be advantageous if you happen to have one to hand. Unfortunately I do not, it consequently being a relief to discern the rocky north-south ridge, upon which resides the Craig y Dinas hill fort, eventually taking centre stage ahead. It looks worth the effort. Beyond a gate unfenced pasture borders the track to the south allowing me to take an apparent short cut toward the ancient fortress. It’s not, as it transpires (a short cut, that is).... but suffice to say the choice is fortuitous.

Now this being Y Rhinogydd, possessing some of Wales’ roughest terrain, there is no paucity of surface rock, nearby clearance cairns standing as tangible reminders of the local farmer’s ongoing struggle to eke a living from this brutal landscape. As a result the remains of a further cairn initially do not register as perhaps they might have elsewhere... until I notice the large central block, that is, not to mention what might be interpreted as the remnants of a retaining kerb. In other words, features suggestive of constructive planning as opposed to clearance. However since the 1:25K OS map shows nothing I decide to reserve judgement and continue my journey to the hill fort rising beyond to the east.... only to stumble upon a veritable cornucopia of cairns 100 yards further on. Hey, count ‘em. Far too many for my limited arithmetic.

Granted, a number of these cairns do indeed appear to lack any structural detail, so implying field clearance; however with base content seemingly ‘fused’ to the ground, I would argue they are not modern, having been in situ for some considerable time. Others, however, stand in association with orthostats, more still with stone piles bearing apparent evidence of central structures subsumed within. I wander south in a daze and locate a very large round cairn (relative to the others) with a central depression partly covered by a stone slab, as well as elements of what looks very much like a retaining kerb. Still more cairns possess apparent ‘cap stones’ supported upon upright stones buried in the acidic soil, the resulting voids now clearly home to local creatures. Still not sure – cynic that I am, or perhaps not convinced by my own perceptions – unequivocal evidence is nevertheless soon forthcoming courtesy of a cairn retaining the remnants of a ‘Dartmoor-esque’ triple kerb. Blimey. I do declare (finally) that here we have an extensive Bronze Age cairnfield overlooked by an ethereal upland fort.... cunningly camouflaged in plain sight, so to speak.

As I stand and ponder what I’ve found the summit of Moelfre, rising to the north, divests itself of its cloud mantle to reveal the presence of a very large cairn indeed. Yeah, it all begins to make sense, what with the Afon Ysgethin, engaged in its short journey from the high southern peaks to the coast, flowing to the immediate south. This cairn-field is so extensive I clearly need more time... but that would mean sacrificing a visit to the hill fort. Morever I decide an aerial view would be beneficial. And where better than upon the ramparts of Craig y Dinas itself? OK, upon Moelfre itself. But that’s another story.

Although (arguably) not as dramatically sited as the enclosures (count ‘em) upon Foel Offrwm to the east, the hill fort located upon Foel Faner nevertheless occupies a position to die for.... literally, perhaps, if you happened to be unfortunate enough to have tried to storm it back in its heyday. Cadair Idris is the dominating factor here, the legendary mountain massif emphatically claiming the southern/south-western skyline, the sublime Mawddach Estuary duly ensuring the lower regions are equally pleasing to the eye.

Unlike the aforementioned Foel Offrwm, access to Foel Faner is relatively straightforward, prospective visitors presented with the luxury of a way-marked route known as ‘The Precipice Walk’ serviced by its own car park. Should you decide to follow the ‘high level option’ along Foel Cynwch – as I would recommend – the reason for the moniker will become all too obvious, the hillside falling more or less vertically to the Afon Mawddach and A470 below to the west (unfortunately the latter is currently in a bit of a mess, courtesy of very ongoing road improvements). The walk is worth the effort in its own right, to be honest, particularly if you aren’t that confident in your upland navigational abilities... or simply getting on a bit! Tell me about it. However if this doesn’t appeal there is a ‘lakeside walk’ beside Llyn Cynwych which will get you there just the same. As it happens I take that on the way back to the car.

I’ve only a couple of hours to spare before the hills are once again subsumed into that total darkness rarely, if ever, experienced in suburbia.... so I’m obliged to get a move on so as to make best use of the golden light which has rendered this morning’s dull, monochromatic grey but a distant memory. The hill fort crowning Foel Faner lies to the immediate (approx) south-west of Foel Cynwch and is well seen from the latter, with Cadair Idris towering above and beyond. It is an impressive sight. A short, somewhat rough descent and re-ascent later (serves me right for taking a short cut) I am within the Iron Age enclosure, gazing across Llyn Cynwch to Foel Offrwm and today’s earlier haunts. The univallate dry stone defences are pretty substantial, although not overly so, the entrance to the north-east apparently protected by an outwork. That is more or less that in terms of archaeological detail. But it is enough since the views are simply sensational toward Abermawddach, whilst Y Rhinogydd lie resplendent in gold to the west. Sure, there’s gold in them thar hills. No, really, there is.... although I assume not a lot of it is left underground nowadays. Yeah, a little way north within Coed-y-Brenin (King’s Wood) a minor, dead end road heads north-east from the A470 near the confluence of the Afon Eden and Mawddach. Park at the terminus and follow the track to see the waterfalls of Pistyll Cain and Rhaeadr Mawddach.... and if you’re very, very lucky you might just come across a nugget. Right on!

As for myself, spending the dying embers of this wondrous day upon the rampart of Foel Faner is more than ample reward for my efforts, despite said ‘embers’ being fanned by a very sprightly wind indeed. Hey, in the absence of any golden nuggets let’s just say this is another jewel in the proverbial crown of Merioneth. And there are quite a few, are there not? So many, perhaps, that only the likes of Idris himself would’ve had the neck muscles to wear it.

Assuming visitors will be looking to combine a visit to this exquisite little defended enclosure with its more substantial sentinel neighbour.... although, in my ignorance, I actually contemplated an abstention... I would recommend approaching from the latter, perhaps veering to the right (south-west) during the descent in order to bypass some pretty vicious gorse guarding the direct line. Then again this less painful option, whilst mitigating levels of discomfort, would unfortunately also obviate some pretty fine photo opportunities. ‘Horses for courses’, I guess.

The view looking across the site to the Mawddach Estuary during the latter stages of the descent of the ridge is, it has to be said, pretty special. However as I move closer, easing my way gingerly through the aforementioned gorse – paying particular attention to the ‘high bits’, for obvious reasons – primary focus is shifted to the enclosure itself in no uncertain manner.... hey, it’s a cracker! The over-riding initial observation is of the conical, aesthetically appealing – dare I say it ‘Silbury-esque’ – nature of the rocky knoll chosen for this hill fort. I wonder whether this was indeed a prime factor, an earlier ‘sacred hill’ being subsequently occupied during the Iron Age? Indeed the relevant Coflein report [John Wiles 04.07.07] states the following:

“Observations of a possible circular structure, about 6.0m in diameter, & a cairn at the summit of the irregular interior, have not been confirmed. Excavations in 1926 recorded pockets of black soil with burnt bone fragments across the summit area. Finds included a bronze finger ring and at least one possibly Roman pottery fragment..”

So it would seem something was going on here which it would appear was above and beyond normal domestic habitation. Even bearing in mind the perceived limited nature of Iron Age assault technique.... lack of siege engines etc.... the site is, by definition, completely dominated by high ground to the north; however the significant extent of the single dry stone rampart suggests this was no mere subsidiary enclosure. Hey, it seems almost as if the site simply ‘had’ to be occupied, no matter what. Whatever the truth regarding foundation, this is nonetheless a powerful upland enclosure, the south-facing entrance displaying some apparently complex features. And of course there are the magnificent views, less expansive than those to be enjoyed at the main site, of course, but well worth the effort alone. Foel Faner beckons across Llyn Cynwch to the west so I’ve less time here that I would otherwise have liked. But there you are. Mustn’t grumble. Too much is always better than too little, is it not?

I return to the ‘Precipice Walk’ car park via a lower level path heading north beneath the towering hillside. Here the more or less impregnability of Foel Offrwm’s main site is all too obvious. Looking back into the sun the relative defensive strength of the lower settlement is open to much more debate, although no doubt its occupiers could have beaten off an impromptu raiding party without too much trouble. As I make for Foel Faner, however, I can’t help thinking there is so much more to this site.......

Now I’ve often stood upon the shattered dry stone ramparts of upland hill forts and wondered whether their original inhabitants might have similarly enjoyed the natural aesthetics of their home, albeit an appreciation infused with inherent spiritual connotations now lost to us? Or did familiarity breed contempt, as perhaps suggested by conversations with a number of farmers down the years? Rhetorical questions, I guess. Whatever the truth of the matter, there can be little doubt that the numerous Iron Age settlements located in the outlying hills of Cadair Idris, overlooking the beautiful Afon Mawddach, occupy sublime locations indeed. Foel Faner and Foel Offrwm, rising to the approx north of Dolgellau, are cases in point...

My intention was actually to re-visit Foel Faner (a return’s been on the list for years); however, I encounter a huge outing of schoolchildren apparently en-route to the ‘Precipice Walk’ (their teachers seemingly in dire need of some of the local collies to help keep the little horrors in check) and recall Foel Offrwm is not exactly lacking in prehistory. Hey, why not do both? Why not indeed, assuming the legs – and everything else – oblige me. The aforementioned ‘Precipice Walk’ (incidentally well worth undertaking when visiting Foel Faner) is served by a large, free car park featuring public toilets for your convenience, signposted from the eastern environs of Dolgellau. From here follow the road toward Llanfachreth for a short distance before veering right upon a well made track beside a well built dry stone wall. The wall soon cedes to open hillside towering above..... a very steep hillside. This is Foel Offrwm, the main hill fort site crowning the top as you might expect. To be honest ‘very steep’ might well be a bit of an understatement! Nevertheless I’d suggest the prize is well worth the considerable effort it demands from me. Excellent retrospective views toward the craggy summits of Y Rhinogydd bolster flagging resolve as I gain height until the initial tell tale masonry courses signify an end to the ordeal. Not before time.

The defences are much more significant than I (for some reason or other) had supposed, the main dry stone rampart supplemented to the south/south-east(ish) by an additional line covering the less extreme landscape topography there.... clearly the presumed focus of any assault. The entrance is a nicely ‘in-turned’ example facing east, no doubt so placed to prolong the exposure of an attacking force to defensive missiles. So it would appear this was a serious, top-of-the-line upland fort back in the day, constructed by people who very much knew what they were doing. However there is one feature I can’t make head nor tail of.... a large, solid cuboid block of dry stone masonry at the summit of the enclosure. Yeah, what is that all about? I assume it dates from relatively recent times, but was there once a Bronze Age cairn here? I’d like to think so.

Substantial defences notwithstanding, the location of this hill fort is surely its primary attribute, offering outstanding vistas in all directions, albeit views aided by the sun breaking through the morning’s overcast sky. Always a good thing. The pick is probably looking south-west toward Cadair Idris and Abermawddach, although Y Rhinogydd are ruggedly splendid to the west, The Arans rear up to the east, to the left of the aptly named Bwlch Oerddrws (Pass of the Cold Doors).... and northern Snowdonia completes the picture. Oh, and Rhobell Fawr certainly looks its best from here. I gaze across the valley to Foel Faner and debate with myself (a sure sign of madness) whether I’ve the time to visit Foel Offrwm’s ‘lower settlement’ just visible to the south. Dunno... probably not much good. Wrong!

I guess it’s fair to say that the reputation of Dinas Emrys precedes it somewhat..... a state of affairs that, I have to admit, has been known to depreciate the potential value of a site in my eyes in the past. Not a laudable behavioural trait, perhaps, but I reckon there are worse idiosyncrasies out there. Anyway, I reckon I duly absolved myself of any accusations of elitism courtesy of last year’s comic failure to ascend the right crag, an error compounded by a subsequent screening of ‘Merlin’ on TV. Never mind. As Adam Ant once said, ‘ridicule is nothing to be scared of’. Only the failure to try and correct an error when it is in your power to do so.

So, what’s in a name? Why are the (relatively) fragmentary remnants of this Iron Age hill fort, overlain with later medieval castle, accorded such a prominent place in Welsh lore? I mean it’s not as if Merlin actually existed, any more so than Ms Rowling’s bespectacled, mop-haired muppet? Well, for what it’s worth.. it seems to me that in an age before the dubious ‘delights’ of mass communication and TV, power politics was nevertheless still utterly dependent upon the ordinary peasant being sold a good story, one complete with iconic sets and characters. Needless to say, then as now, it didn’t have to be true! Add a widespread belief in the supernatural into the mix and this crag, magnificently set beneath Yr Wyddfa at the very heart of Gwynedd’s ‘natural fortress’, was just about the perfect location to stage your ‘battle of the dragons’ clash of cultures, the analogous bout naturally foretold by that man Merlin. Powerful realpolitik indeed. Wouldn’t have had the same impact if Harry Hill had said ‘So which dragon is best? Red or White. There’s only one way to find out. Fight!’.......

Hmm. How can any site possibly live up to all that? Seems an impossibility. But you know what? I reckon Dinas Emrys carries it off. As per last year (ahem) I approach via the way-marked path from Craflwyn Hall, the scenery very pleasant, bordering upon the exquisite where the Afon-y-cwm, crossed by a ‘clapper bridge’, cascades down from the rocky heights of Yr Aran (incidentally a lovely peak, that). The legendary fortress rises more or less due east, the final, rocky ascent by way of a narrow, wooded ridge from the north-east. Llyn Dinas lies resplendent in Nantgwynant far below, the classic, achingly evocative scene framed by autumnal vegetation of a hue somewhere between pink and brown... don’t think it’s got a name. The colour, that is. The Snowdon massif towers above to the north, the summits obscured by the almost obligatory cloud mantle. Continuing to the west I encounter the rectangular footings of the apparently medieval great tower and, beyond again, three lines of drystone rampart. Ok, these are much denuded, but are nevertheless a lot more substantial than I expected. Indeed it would appear the main approach to the enclosure was here to the west, the defences thus aligned to cover the ‘easiest’ approach. Easiest? Yeah, right.

The north-western outlook has another prize in the form of a wondrous vista toward Beddgelert, the Bronze Age skyline of Moel Hebog looming above all through a grey mass of vapour. Also worthy of note is the nearby hill fort of Dinas.... standing aloof and displaying a far more precise geometric profile than its illustrious eastern neighbour. Wandering to the southern edge of the crag I gaze down at the fast-flowing Afon Glaslyn, sourced immediately beneath Yr Wyddfa itself, and ponder that it would be difficult to imagine, let alone visit, a more strategically placed fortress than Dinas Emrys? Yeah, the pieces are falling into place.

The onset of darkness beckons so I decide I’d better be off. One can not be too careful, what with all these legends hanging in the air. For example it seems that the site has also been known as the ‘Hill of the Flaming King’, perhaps a reference to a solar cult? Needless to say the Celts were not adverse to a touch of sun worship. Clearly Dinas Emrys has played a fundamental part in shaping how this nation and its people view themselves. After (finally) coming here to experience it for myself.... I can understand why.

One of my first ever forays upon the Welsh hills – upon any hills, to be fair – was an ascent of Cefn y Capel from the Llynnau Mymbyr way back in 1990. Can’t recall the reasoning behind what seemed a massively daring adventure at the time (ah bless).... but clearly it struck a chord with the naive young chap. It’s therefore with a fair degree of nostalgia – a sure sign of advancing age – that I park in the lay-by opposite the western extremity of the aforementioned twin lakes, that is just east of the access track for Garth Farm campsite. If my memory – not to mention dodgy arithmetic – serves me correctly, a blue six bar gate allows passage through the substantial drystone wall bordering the A4086, so accessing the exceedingly steep southern flanks of the extreme eastern Glyderau, this the massif’s last ‘hurrah’ prior to assisting the south-eastern Carneddau in shepherding the unruly Afon Llugwy toward Betws-y-Coed.

Despite the relatively low altitude (for these parts) the angle of attack is such that reaching Bwlch Goleuni is by no means an easy skate. A minimalist’s dream ‘path’ is depicted upon the 1:25K map... however ‘up’ is as good orienteering advice as any. Several gnarled trees seem to mock my laboured efforts – exertions not assisted by driving rain – with their intransigent refusal to submit to the inevitable effects of Newton’s laws. Hey, why move when you’ve the best seat in the arboreal house overlooking Dyffryn Mymbyr, the exceptional retrospective views more than capable of taking my breath away. Assuming I had any left, that is. As I finally approach the bwlch the hammering downpour begins to falter before subsequently taking a rain-check. Appropriately enough. Now the long mound I’ve come to see is somewhat reticent, by no means immediately obvious. I like that. Clearly the people had class. Nevertheless I soon spot an arrangement of recumbent stones upon a suitably ‘long’ mound to the right of the path, the former recalled from TSC’s misc post. That’ll be it, then. It is.

The primary thing that strikes me about the monument is its complete subservience to... well... everything else in the upland plane. Surely whomever was interned here – assuming this is indeed a kosher prehistoric site – was well aware of his/her(?) limited walk-on part... of their supporting role in the great scheme of things. ‘Understated’ is the word I’m looking for, I think. If not, it’ll do. To emphasise the point great swathes of opaque vapour momentarily rarefy to reveal the angular, dark crags of Gallt yr Ogof rising to the north-west, the brutal mass of Y Carneddau to the north and the rocky-spined Moel Siabod looming across Dyffryn Mymbyr to the south. Both the latter possess their own funerary cairns, the former, as those familiar with the vernacular may have surmised, a prominent cave. The traveller assumes said cave has already been checked out for occupation by slumbering heroes / heroines? Haven’t done so myself, although the peak is a fine viewpoint, even with the incomparable dragon-back of Tryfan nearby.

As I hang out upon the long grass which subsumes long mound into surrounding hillside I reckon I experience – at least in some limited sense – a true intimacy between biological organism and natural environment. Yeah, relative scale overawes me, further lashing rain sweeping along the valley batters me, swirling cloud initially unnerves me.... but I do not feel out of place. Perhaps this reprises something of the vibe which drove those that erected this monument to do so here, if only in a somewhat trite 21st century manner? Sunshine breaks through cloud and it becomes a major drag to eventually vacate this wondrous place. However guess I must visit the iconic Dinas Emrys one day. The Bwlch Goleuni long mound might not have influenced national identity in the manner of that great hill fortress... but, for me, it accords precious insight into the way the early settlers of this hostile landscape interacted with their environment.

It would be tempting to speculate that this deceptively well sited monument was so named in honour of Pumlumon’s greatest (known) son, Owain Glyndwr. Well, seeing as we are obviously ignorant of the identities of the numerous other great persons once interned in the iconic ‘Mother of Rivers’ myriad upland cairns, surely no one could argue with the selection of Shakespeare’s ‘worthy gentleman exceedingly well read’? Then again this could all be spurious conjecture on my part... the name-checked celebrity the late, much lamented Bill Owen from Last of the Summer Wine? Hey, I’d go with either.

‘Compo’s Cairn’ certainly has a bit of a ‘ring’ about it and, to be fair, appears appropriate to my (admittedly idiosyncratic) mind as I struggle up the steep, southern flank of Cerrig yr Hafan in driving rain, not at all impressed by the accumulation of household rubbish within the abandoned quarry at its foot. Yeah, sadly the old mine/quarry tracks to be found here offer easy access to those in possession of a 4x4... and beyond all help. And to think this is my third attempt to see the cairn. Er, come again? Well, I first noticed Carn Owen last year across the Nant-y-Moch, basking under a peerless blue sky during the ascent of Drosgol. Needless to relate the ‘morrow dawned in appalling fashion.... and an attempt last month was curtailed by the closure of the trans-Pumlumon road at both ends. Bastards! Isn’t it strange... and primitive... how the desire to ‘have’ increases with every successive denial, seemingly inversely proportional to the potential prize? Hence, despite having endured a typically turbulent night upon Pumlumon, I’m resolutely determined to be most probably distinctly underwhelmed this morning.... even if it kills me. Happily neither scenario occurs, although I did wonder about the latter for a second during the ascent. OK, a bit longer than that.

Struggling to the top I immediately encounter what looks like a reasonably large, grassed-over cairn. No bad at all. However the map shows Carn Owen to occupy the very summit of the ridge, to the approx south-west. In retrospect this grassy monument is perhaps related to what Coflein cite as ‘small satellite cairns... noted to the north-east’? Perhaps. What is certain is the substantial size and excellent siting of Carn Owen itself, the monument located, as promised, at the summit of Cerrig yr Hafan (’Haven Stone’?). The stone pile is a superb viewpoint, worthy of Glyndwr himself in my opinion, particularly looking down upon the Afon Cyneiniog to the approx west, not to mention south toward Llyn Craigypistyll and Disgwylfa Fawr, hill of Bronze Age ‘canoe’ fame, no less. The vista of Pumlumon across the Nant-y-Moch reservoir upon the northern arc is pretty good, too.... would be even better in clear weather with the main ridge standing proud of cloud. Yeah. But then you would wake up...

There is a wee problem, however. It is far, far too windy to stand anywhere but in the cairn’s lee. Consequently I’m obliged to sit. Well, better than involuntarily prostrating myself, head first, in homage to past heroes. As you might expect the centre of Carn Owen has been badly disturbed over time, a notable volume of material subject to slippage. However there is a welcome, unexpected detail in the form of a small stone setting (a cist perhaps?) to the immediate north-west. Nice. What’s more, the sun sees fit to break through for a while and make doubly sure I’m truly glad I persevered with Carn Owen. It may well be upon Pumlumon’s periphery – and not rise much above 1,500ft – but this is surely a final resting place for heroes.

If you fancy it the easiest approach – although, as mentioned, not necessarily the most salubrious – entails parking above the northern extremity of the Nant-y-Moch Reservoir (same place as for Drosgol), that is a little before the cattle grid and track leading down (eastward) through woodland toward the water, assuming arrival from Ponterwyd. A prominent track heads diagonally uphill here (approx south-ish). Follow this and, upon reaching an abandoned quarry, veer very steeply uphill to the right. Worth the effort. Incidentally it would also appear possible to combine a visit to Disgwylfa Fawr if you fancy making a full day of it?

Following on from a morning spent at the excellent Fron Camp, early afternoon is characterised by a series of very heavy showers. Nevertheless, with an hour or so available before I must push on to Pumlumon for the night, the Caer-din Ring, sited immediately west of a high level moorland road penetrating the Clun Forest uplands, appears to fit the bill nicely, thank you very much.

Heading east(ish) past St John’s Church (below Fron Camp) I take the very steep first left (Mardu Lane) subsequently veering left again soon after. The road climbs toward the summit, providing some excellent panoramic views as it does so, the ancient enclosure eventually seen crowning the rise to the left. After a bit of customary indecision I park at the entrance to the access track for Foxhole farm, more or less opposite the site. Another torrential deluge hammers upon the car roof.... but unfortunately I’ve no time to lose. A couple of farm workers career by on quad bikes flashing each other a smile as if to say ‘what a nutter!’ Hey, the thought had crossed my mind as well, to be fair. Mindful that barbed-wire fences and expensive waterproofs are mutually exclusive, I head down the road a short distance to use the gate before making the short ascent to the enclosure (as it happens there is another gate near the cattle grid to north-west).

The initial bank encountered is not part of the main enclosure defences, appearing to have been erected to provide additional screening protection to the most vulnerable eastern flank of the site, therefore suggesting that the Caer-din Ring was indeed a serious defended settlement... and not a fortified animal pound as I tentatively surmised from earlier conjecture. Always nice to be proven incorrect in such a manner. The main bank rises to approx 6ft and encloses a significant area (see TSC’s misc note). However it is the location, not the archaeology, which is surely this settlement’s primary asset? The downpour having taken an appropriate rain-check, the sun takes the opportunity to break through the cloud mantle to periodically illuminate the landscape. In such light the views to be had from the Caer-din Ring are found to be truly wondrous indeed, particularly looking toward the southern and western arcs. Hey, I’m even able to pick out Castle Idris, a visit there having been abandoned earlier in the day. Looks well worth another attempt, to be honest. As I walk around the circumference, breathing in the oxygenated goodness, all manner of land rovers, 4x4s and quad bikes pass by on the road returning from somewhere or other. Clearly something’s been going down in the locality. Nothing to do with me, of course. But then why would any decent person have an issue? Exactly. It would appear the people of Clun Forest are just that. Decent.

Yeah, pity I’ve not more time, but there you are. ‘Take what you can get’ would appear sound advice. Now, however, Pumlumon beckons.... and I can not resist the siren’s call.