GLADMAN

As appears to have become custom, my annual October wanderings in North Wales are again subject to a prelibation further south, exploring a little more of the Marches and Mid Wales. Now the allure of the latter for an upland antiquarian is perhaps obvious, the wild landscape, dominated by the legendary Pumlumon, an idiosyncratic synthesis of the stark, grassy beauty of South Wales’ great escarpment with the uncompromising rock of Gwynedd. But what of the borderlands, the rolling hills presenting a softer, arguably more classical vision of natural beauty to the passing traveller? Well, appearances can be deceptive, of course. Just as the sublime, scarlet poppy fields of France mask so much past human turmoil, punters looking a little more closely here will notice the shapely green hills of the Marches are crowned by a preponderance of hill forts and lesser fortified enclosures, the valleys dominated by the crumbling stone castles of the Norman Marcher Barons... literally a law unto themselves. Yeah, things clearly weren’t always as serene as they now appear.

One such hill fort occupies the south-eastern extremity of Fron, overlooking the small village of Newcastle, the site but one of a trio (as far as I’m aware) of defended enclosures in the southern locale of the Clun Forest. I approach from Clun itself, the town dominated by the gaunt ruins of its Norman castle, heading west along the B4368. At Newcastle, the name no doubt a reference to the motte sited beside the River Clun a little to the south-west, I follow ‘Church Road’ to park beneath, appropriately enough, St John’s Church. Nowadays churches make me very uneasy with their oppressive death cult vibe... so, without further ado, I ascend the bridleway to the edifice’s immediate right and, veering steeply uphill to the south-west as later directed, arrive at the nicely compact Fron Camp.

According to EH (see link) the univallate defences are (externally) c10ft high to north-west, facing the path of least resistance, and c9ft elsewhere, enclosing an area c269ft (SW-NE) by 344ft (NW-SE). So, not bad at all. Unfortunately the southern/south-western arc is very overgrown. That aside, there are excellent, far reaching views south-east toward the Clun Valley, not to mention a particularly fine section of Offa’s Dyke upon Graig Hill to the north-east. Ah... Offa’s Dyke, that great 8th century earthwork which, to me, represents the physical embodiment of the fault line between the ‘tectonic plates’ of opposing cultures that were integral to shaping the past of this area. Violent times.

Such historic strife seems an almost unfathomable impossibility as I relax upon the northern bank, drink my coffee, get soaked by rain and then bathed in sunshine.... all the while pondering the serenity which reigns supreme here this morning. Yeah, surely human kind, in general terms, has advanced since those days? C’mon, even just a tad? As I wander to the north-west and view the enclosure’s defences from without... I reckon so. The bank is impressive for such a small site. But what a sad reflection upon us as a species that such-like were ever needed. Needless to say still are in many places. However, having – just – survived blowing ourselves and the planet to nuclear oblivion perhaps we have a fragile launch pad available to us now. Not for Minutemen ICBMs, but perhaps an allegorical one to build a better future?

Fron Camp is ‘mirrored’ by another settlement, Castle Idris (I assume name-checking... very unusually for the area... the giant of lore), to the approx west, although forestry negates intervisibility. However I find parking below the site to be an issue so, with time at a premium if I wish to reach Pumlumon by nightfall, decide to pay a visit to the Caer-din Ring instead. Hey, you can take your pick in these parts.

A quartet of large Bronze Age cairns stand upon the summit and western flanks of Carn Fflur, a substantial, afforested hill rising to c1,650ft a couple of miles south of the Cistercian abbey at Strata Florida (Ystrad Fflur). Despite the pedigree of the monastic site – the poet Dafydd ap Gwilym is thought to be buried within its environs, accompanied by numerous Welsh princes of Deheubarth – I’d probably raise a somewhat quizzical eyebrow in surprise... Roger Moore style.... should any member be able to pinpoint Carn Fflur’s great cemetery on the map at the first time of asking. No cheating now. Needless to say we will never know the identity of the Bronze Age forbears once interned within the great stone piles; however I can’t help feeling they should be accorded at least the same respect as their illustrious followers. A naive notion, perhaps?

I approach the ‘Cairn of Flowers’ from Bryngwyn Bach, the unassuming high ground to the west. Now there are at least two good reasons for this; primarily to visit the excellent half dozen Bronze Age cairns located upon the latter’s north-western slopes... and also to avoid sinking, possibly without trace, within the unfeasibly boggy valley separating the western bank of the Afon Fflur from the lower hill. The river, sourced upon the flanks of Carn Gron to the south, certainly appears to be the focal point of this landscape, not least for an almost ‘Pumlumon-esque’ concentration of funerary cairns. It is very difficult not to assume at least some correlation between these monuments and the naturally exuberant, flowing water.... the very epitome of vitality, of life itself. Not that I feel that ‘vigorous’ – at least in the physical sense – as I struggle to cross the deep gulley inexorably carved in the hillside.

Carn Fflur’s western cairn lies just beyond at SN73956233, although not depicted upon the current 1:50k OS map. According to Coflein it is a..“probable ring cairn, c.16m in diameter & 0.75m high set eccentrically within a possibly later turf-covered stony ring, c.36m in diameter”. Although the least substantial and well defined cairn of the quartet, not to mention rather overgrown, the site possesses a large, well preserved cist. Can’t argue with that. Next up is a nice round cairn set upon the north-western slopes of the hill at SN74206245. “10m in diameter & 0.5m high”, the outstanding feature is the “remains of an orthostatic kerb-ring on the S & W..”

So, onward and upward to the summit? Er, not yet. Since set upon the steep rise to the approx south of the northern monument at SN74276228 stands a massive cairn which, to be honest, appeared much more substantial than the dimensions attributed to it by Coflein (“24m in diameter & 1.5m high”). The location is excellent with far reaching views to north, west and south toward Carn Gron, the summit cairn of Carn Fflur rearing up upon the eastern horizon to complete the set. The cairn possesses internal detail, Coflein noting “a central disturbance / hollow revealing possible cist elements”. Yeah, I concur with that. In addition there is “an embayment on the NW side & an annex, 6.0m across on the NE, are thought to be original features”. Clearly this was – is – a complex, enigmatic monument. What is it doing here languishing – or should that be ‘revelling’ – in utter obscurity? I’m truly gob-smacked. And that’s a fact.

I finally clamber up through woodland to the top of Carn Fflur to find the summit cleared of trees. Unfortunately this has resulted in a hill top perhaps resembling a landscape in the devastated aftermath of a hurricane strike. Not a pretty sight. There are compensations, however.... yeah, the large round cairn crowing the summit “25m in diameter & .8m high” is accorded sweeping views, except upon the eastern arc where forestry still prevails. Although by no means the largest such sentinel cairn I’ve had the great pleasure – not to mention privilege – to spend some time upon, this is a fine, well preserved example of the genre. Again Coflein cite “a central hollow shows possible cist elements”. Regrettably I found the internal space defiled by a beer bottle discarded by some individual with ‘issues’. The beer was of classy origin. Very unlike its erstwhile owner. Needless to say it is there no longer. Anyway as I sit several rain fronts sweep in to give me quick ‘working overs’. Soon, however, they are gone and the sun illuminates the scene with a golden glow. Aye, perfection, my perch the ideal spot to observe the surrounding landscape. Carn Fflur might not be the biggest of peaks, even relative to Mid Wales. But it certainly doesn’t disappoint in the vibe stakes.

Walking – nay, wading at times – back to the car (no doubt much to the amused bemusement of the farmer working the field across the river in his tractor) I deliberate upon how Strata Florida has laid claim to the ‘spiritual’ musings of the majority of visitors to this part of Wales. As for myself.... I much prefer the high ground .... of Carn Gron and Carn Fflur. If you decide to come, please make sure you don’t lose your bottle.

[Note: all Coflein quotes are courtesy of J.Wiles (22.07.04)]

To my mind the best way of appreciating the layout of an upland landscape – in the absence of the personal aircraft piloted by an Honor Blackman lookalike clad in black lycra – is simply to climb a section of it and use the Mark I eyeball. Admittedly this particular observer may need to conclude his observations a bit sharpish on occasions, courtesy of hill-fog, but such frustrations literally come with the terrain..... and are a small price to pay for such insights as a distant glimpse of Carn Fflur’s massive summit cairn from Carn Gron the other day. Some – myself included – may well argue that such experiences were possibly an orchestrated facet of The Bronze Age upland experience... intervisibility... an ancient, albeit no doubt much more profound predecessor of those tours of celebrities’ houses we have nowadays. Maybe, maybe not. There are also completely unexpected bonuses. Yeah, while Carn Fflur is therefore today’s primary destination, a group of (apparently) small cairns depicted upon the north-western flank of Bryngwyn Bach (on the 1:25K OS map, not the 1:50K) appear worth a short diversion en-route.

Heading toward Pontrhydfendigaid on the B4348 from Tregaron look for Old Abbey Farm on the right after about four(ish) miles. Duly noted, ignore the next left, instead taking the right hand turn soon after. There is currently plenty of room to park near an old chapel (I think) undergoing renovation at the approx limit of the tarmacadum. A public footpath leads from here to a footbridge across the idyllic Afon Fflur, the c1,295ft hill top of Bryngwyn Bach but a short walk to the south. Ok, the intervening landscape is a trifle boggy, but in retrospect about as dry as it gets around here! Ascending the hill to the north-east (duh!) I note what look more like rather poor clearance cairns. Never mind, the view north is worth the effort, that it is. True... but so are the half-dozen excellent Bronze Age cairns I suddenly encounter, funnily enough, just where shown on the map.

The southern trio are of most – hey, considerable – interest, two featuring cists, that within the higher (eastern) monument proving to be very well preserved, merely lacking capstone. In addition, examples of kerb orthostats, a few pretty hefty, remain in situ to further enhance structural form. These are fine upland funerary cairns indeed. In comparison the northern three monuments are less well defined, retaining less internal detail. Nevertheless the opinion is relative to the excellence of the southern grouping; taken as a whole I reckon this is a fabulous Bronze Age cemetery with reasonably straightforward access and great views to boot. Not to mention great vibe. Silence may be golden, but here it is made of stone.

Bryngwyn Bach is impressive for such a seriously obscure site and I would’ve liked to have stayed longer than a couple of hours... but thoughts of that massive cairn crowning Carn Fflur resurface. As Mick Jones once (sort of) sang, the question is ‘Should I stay, or should I go?’ I decide upon the latter, inquisitive Citizen Cairn’d that I am.

This archetypically diminutive – not to mention obscure – Mid Walian ‘ritual’ complex has been on my radar for a few years now... however since my radar is often a bit wonky I guess that’s not so bad. Can’t even send a text message on my mobile phone, so no real surprise there. Anyway, following the procurement of a new tyre in Tregaron to replace that shredded in last evening’s blow-out (incidentally D J Tyres did the job with minimal fuss, should you ever find yourself in similar need) I drive south on the B4343 to the small village of Llanddewi-Brefi. Here a minor road, signposted ‘Youth Hostel’, or something like that, heads approx east along the beautifully rugged Cwm Brefi. I experience the sensation of deja-vu until the subconscious recalls this is also the way to the enigmatic Bryn y Gorlan complex. Fork left after approx 5 miles if that’s more your bag.... however I veer right to eventually park, overlooking the Afon Pysgotwr-Fawr, at the road’s terminus.

I set off toward the farm of Bryn-glas perched upon the hillside to approx south-west, the forestry-clad Pen-y-raglan-wynt (hopefully) rising above. The farmer happens to be emerging in his land rover, so I decide it’d be rude not to stop and have a chat with said gentleman and the lady occupying the pre-fab home opposite. Seems he remembers when the forestry people first came to the area years ago.... and confirms there is indeed a stone circle within yonder trees. Both lament the damage being wrought upon the landscape by groups of tragi-comic 4x4 ‘armchair mountaineers’ who, by all accounts, frequently get mired in the mud like prize muppets. But I digress. Enough talk of motor-related muppetry for one day. Following the green track to the south past Bryn-glas, shepherded by the resident (friendly) dog as forewarned – think of him as an ‘organic alarm’ – I undertake the brief ascent to emerge upon the open moor beyond. The track is easily followed to the near bank of the Afon Pysgotwr-Fach.... where my navigational difficulties begin in earnest.

It looks easy enough on the map. However transposing OS data to the real world can be tricky, particularly when trees are part of the equation. Yeah, if only people wouldn’t keep chopping them down and planting new ones in different places! In retrospect I would (very tentatively) suggest that, after fording the river at the obvious spot (as I did) one should trend a little to the left and ascend one of the breaks in the forest line from there. Or simply ignore the breaks and take a compass bearing, although that would probably prove very hard going due to close-set branches. As it was... I took the direct line and, perhaps inevitably, struggled to locate the evocative ruins of Pen-y-raglan-wynt. From the shattered remnants of this smallholding, complete with natural water supply, I stomp south along the track and, arcing ‘round to the east, take the first right heading south-west. This track ends in a T-junction; a little beforehand, strike off to the left.... and see if you can spot any ancient monuments!

The round barrow is by far the most obvious component of this truly magical (I can’t think of any other suitable adjective off the top of my head) complex... simply because the others are very much conspicuous by their absence. Oh, they are here all right. Just takes a bit of effort, you know? Although by no means large, the barrow is still pretty substantial and, long grass notwithstanding, apparently well defined. So where’s the stone circle, then? The map reckons immediately to the east... however I initially only manage to locate three, possibly four orthostats overwhelmed by probably the most verdant of pastures I’ve ever seen. Seriously, I reckon cows let loose here would be able to leave Usain Bolt standing in no time. It’d be a bizarre race. But I’d pay to see it.

Perseverance sees me uncovering many more stones – I hesitate to call them ‘orthostats’ or ‘standing stones’ – more or less tracing the entire circumference of the ring. Some are so tiny they barely break the surface, a number only located with the hand. Any attempt to arrive at a definitive number would surely be splitting hairs. Clearly there was no attempt made here whatsoever to overawe the visitor, to impress with the force of brute construction.... this was simply a space demarcated for some important purpose. What that represented we will never know. However I’m with Tuesday .... “what could you do here but meet and dance?” What, indeed?

It begins to rain.... then absolutely bucket down. But no matter. The vibe here is simply exquisite, as if the very earth has soaked up so much energy from untold generations of profound human interaction it can’t keep it all within. A deep and utter sense of peace permeates the forestry clearing as completely as the precipitation falling from the sky. As mentioned earlier the outlook has changed within living memory, although I’m ignorant as to whether this hilltop would have accorded distant views back in the day when people (presumably) came to dance. Or whether it would have been similarly wooded?

There are apparently several other monuments completing the complex. I say ‘apparently’ since only a marker post gives any conclusive indication of the presence of a further cairn to the north-east. However I stumble across a small standing stone outside the ‘circle and – last but certainly not least – a very fine little three stone row. Well large stones would have been very much out of character, wouldn’t they? Very much contrary to the minimalist ambience. Yeah, less is very, very much more at Cefn Gwernffrwd.

Nicely located below and to the west of Castell Rhyfel, I was unfortunately only able to spend a short time at this denuded round cairn. Nevertheless it was well worth the diversion whilst returning to the car from Y Garn, despite the traveller being much wetter than he would have liked, courtesy of a previously undetected flaw in the over trouser department. Indeed, I reckon a fine low level walk could be enjoyed if a sojourn was scheduled here in conjunction with visits to other cairns (depicted upon the 1:25K map) along the course of the Groes Fawr. It certainly is a beautiful cwm.

As mentioned, the cairn appears quite badly robbed and hard to define, although a grassy mantle might well have made it appear worse than it really is to the by now very sodden amateur antiquarian. However as I approach it becomes apparent that the monument possesses a ‘golden centre’ in the form of a well preserved cist, albeit one disguised by a superimposed dry stone shelter... presumably for sheep. According to Coflein what we have here is:

“A round cairn, 6.0m in diameter, showing a cist, 1.5m by 1.0m, roofed to form a shelter, apparently attached to a further cairn, c.10m by 6.0m; there are remains of sheepfold to SW (second cairn?).... [J.Wiles 22.07.04]”

As I stand and take in the landscape context I notice the cloud base sweeping across and engulfing Castell Rhyfel. Hmm. Time to go. Reckon Mother Wales wants to put her landscape to bed.

Castell Rhyfel is an Iron Age hillfort uncompromisingly located, at an altitude of c1,650ft, upon the ridge separating the valleys of the Groes Fawr and Groes Fechan... tributaries, or so I believe, of the Afon Groes. From a military perspective it would no doubt have proved virtually impregnable, an assumption given practical credence by the simple act of attempting to climb up to the thing! However the position is so exposed that, noting the relatively insubstantial defences – not to mention the nascent watercourses and the myriad surrounding Bronze Age cairns – I can’t help surmising whether there might have been an overriding ritualistic aspect to the site that may need to be taken into account?

Approaching from Tregaron [see Carn Gron fieldnote] I choose the natural line of ascent along Banc Mawr. Naturally enough, I guess. As I gain height I soon encounter a relatively significant crossbank and ditch. The immediate conclusion is that this forms an outer defence for the ‘fort. However something does not seem right; firstly all the collapsed stonework lies on the inner flank of the bank; secondly, and arguably more to the point... the ditch lies behind the bank! Furthermore the feature extends all the way down the slope to the Groes Fawr, suggesting some landscape boundary. But of what period? Hmmm.

A further uphill slog brings me, not before time, to the hillfort. As mentioned the enclosure occupies a fabulous setting, the views wondrously expansive, particularly toward Tregaron, looking down to the Groes Fawr.... and north to Y Garn and Carn Gron (my ultimate destinations today). Pretty much everywhere save straight up the ridge, then. In fact the only disappointing aspect is the lack of definition of the apparently univallate defences. According to the now familiar Toby Driver [2005]:

“The enclosure is roughly pear-shaped, with overall measurements of 133.0m west-southwest to east-southeast by 110m transversely (dimensions from NAR). The defences, such as they are, comprise a low earth and stone bank up to 4.0m in width, and varying between 0.5m and 1m in height externally... the `rampart’ was probably only ever intended as a low footing for a palisade”

So, perhaps light defences were all that were considered necessary owing to the inherent natural strength of the site? Or does a ritualistic interpretation hold water? Then again..... back in 1988 the then CADW warden (Burnham) noticed what might be termed a natural ‘chevaux-de-frise’ arrangement to the south-east, possibly a sufficiently powerful portent to found the enclosure per se? Perhaps a citadel fortified by Nature itself might have been just what the local Druid ordered? Whatever the truth of the matter, Castell Rhyfell is certainly just what the Drude ordered. So many questions to ponder as I reluctantly leave and continue my quest for Carn Gron....

P.S. – Prospective visitors might be interested in taking a look at a prostrate stone laying a little below and to the east of the enclosure at very approx SN735599. Probably a naturally occurring erratic... but perhaps someone might know otherwise?

It might initially seem rather odd to find what I consider the finest of Carn Gron’s quartet of Bronze Age cairns located upon the hill’s lower south-western spur. However the more of these upland sites I visit, the more such apparent inconsistencies recur. To be honest, Carn Gron is probably not the best example I could cite in support of this assertion, the actual summit also being crowned by a very large cairn, likewise the secondary, western height. Nevertheless it seems a pretty good assumption that, if size of cairn represents anything at all, whomever was interred within Y Garn was not considered that subordinate in the Bronze Age social hierarchy....

I approach the great stone pile from the aforementioned western summit monument, the cairn, looming large through primeval swirling mist and driving rain, proving a welcome sight confirming the validity of my compass bearing, albeit one aided by fenceline and (apparently) nameless nearby lake. The inclement nature of the weather, although more or less guaranteeing an ethereal vibe, is a pity since, assuming the views obtained from Castell Rhyfel earlier in the day are anything to go by, the outlook from the cairn, located at 1,633ft, is surely exceptional? Needless to say, however, this traveller must take what he is offered.... like it or lump it. Fortunately what is presented here happens to be a very fine upland cairn, indeed. Well worth a considerable effort, whether associated with expansive vistas.... or a monochroic backdrop of clammy vapour. Yeah, according to Coflein it is:

“A subcircular cairn, 18m north-south by 16m & 1.4m high, in which a central disturbance shows a ruined cist, 1.3m in length, partly formed of living rock [J.Wiles 23.07.04].”

Note, once again, the existence of a ruined cist still remaining in situ, the presence of which is always welcome, if only to render any doubts of ancient origin superfluous at source. Unfortunately, in my experience, such surviving detail represents the exception rather than the rule, at least outside of this locality! Unfortunately time advances at a rapid pace.... or at least appears to.... and the trusty compass is all too soon once again required to safely descend southwards to the Groes Fechan. Emerging from the cloud base into relative clarity, a short, lateral traverse of Banc Mawr brings me to one final cairn standing above the more substantial Groes Fawr at SN72735986.

No doubt reversing this route would make a good ascent of Y Garn? But hey, the possibilities are endless. Go your own way and improvise, why don’t you?

A low cloudbase precludes further exploration of the uplands of Y Elenydd prompting an onward drive through Cwm Ystwyth, a beguiling valley of extremes... part sublime natural beauty, part industrial wasteland; a landscape microcosm arguably analogous to Wales itself. But what to do next? Heading south at Pont rhyd-y-groes I eventually settle upon one of a myriad possible options, an ascent of Carn Gron, near Tregaron, in order to investigate Gwys-yr-Ychen-Bannog, an intriguing linear feature (stone row?.... er, actually, no) depicted upon the map, not to mention several cairns. Oh, and just for the hell of it, too.

Orientating myself at Tregaron – after managing to avoid some psychopathic old bint trying to force me off the road, face contorted with unfathomable rage – I drive north on the B4343 and, taking the first turning on the right, incidentally pass below the Sunnyhill Camp.... some other day, perhaps? The road forks to the right and, passing Penffordd, arrives at the terminus where I manage to park in an appropriate manner. It’d be rude not to. A  grassy track leads off to the south-east above the northern bank of the Groes Fawr. There are a number of cairns marked on the map in the river’s locale; however my initial focus is Castell Rhyfel, an Iron Age hillfort dominating the valley from upon the ridge to my left. Although the enclosure’s ramparts aren’t that well defined – were they ever? – the siting, from an aesthetic perspective at least, is exquisite, according magnificent views only enhanced by an utterly unexpected interlude of fine weather.

Carn Gron rises across the Groes Fechan to right of Y Garn, the latter, as the name suggests, also bearing an ancient cairn. I decide to go for it, the benign conditions promising a fine summit hang, duly circling the headwall of the cwm to the north. As I do so I encounter a suspiciously ‘fallen standing stone-like’ prostrate erratic at (very) approx SN735599. It certainly does look out of place, but then again I guess most erratics, by definition, do. My chosen route necessitates losing height before the final ascent... not ideal, but allowing the replenishing of the water bottle (from the Groes Fechan) as compensation. I arrive at the 1,774ft summit in surprisingly short order (for me) to discover that Carn Gron’s cairns are the real deal.

The OS trig pillar stands between two monuments.... a large, sprawling cairn at the actual summit of the peak... and a smaller, modern construct to the north-east, the latter almost certainly sourced from a significant ‘bite’ missing from the former. Despite the significant damage (including obligatory ‘muppet shelter’), the summit cairn remains a substantial stone pile, morever with what appear to be remnants of central cist elements in situ. As for the smaller.... it appears Coflein reckon the modern erection stands upon an ancient base (steady now). Which is nice. And more than can be said about the weather, the warm sunshine of half an hour previously progressively – and irrecoverably – superseded by a vicious front sweeping in from the north-west.

I head west to, appropriately enough, the western cairn and determine that this is by far the finest of the trio. Slightly smaller than the summit monument it is, to my eyes at least, much better defined. It also features the probable remains of a central cist, highlighting the apparent unfrequented nature of these seemingly obscure hills. In addition, the views are more expansive here although (sadly) I have little time to appreciate them before the full force of the weather front arrives... and I’m engulfed in thick, opaque vapour and assaulted by driving rain in the horizontal plane. In a curious way this claustrophobic ‘world within the clouds’ only serves to emphasise the ethereal vibe I often experience at upland cairns, the senses disorientated, the mind reeling at the relative unfamiliarity of it all, eyes attempting to focus upon something with no background. Oo-eer.

Speaking of focus, I recall the Gwys-yr-Ychen-Bannog and go have a look. Whatever the feature represents, it certainly does not resemble a stone row [it appears, retrospectively, to form a boundary feature of indeterminable age (medieval?), the devil being in the translation]. Never mind, it brought me to Carn Gron. Enough said. I am forever in the ‘furrow of the horned oxen’s’ debt. Anyway, I subsequently descend to Y Garn, courtesy of a compass bearing, this proving to be another fine cairn with the obligatory remnants of cist, finally dropping in on (yet) another beside the Groes Fawr, this ‘un with a more-or-less intact cist. Jeez, what more has the day to offer?

Back at the car I meet the old farmer and his mate, the former stating that he couldn’t care less about the cairns himself.... ‘but at least it isn’t snowing’. Er, yeah. Whatever. With darkness approaching I set off to find somewhere to ‘crash’ for the night.... and thankfully avoid taking things way too literally, courtesy of a front near-side blow-out. Suffice to say it has been some day.

It would appear – according to our friends at Coflein, anyway – that the grassy, round cairn which surmounts the modest 1,581ft summit of Y Foel is (somewhat confusingly) known as Carreg Bica... that is ‘Bica’s stone’, perhaps a reference to the erstwhile giant of Welsh folklore said to have done the rounds locally. Probably a bit grumpy, too. Not to mention jealous, seeing as Idris, similarly endowed with gianthood, had the dramatically eponymous Cadair Idris to call his own. Legend can be so unfair.

However relative merit is, funnily enough, relative, Y Foel proving a rather fine rocky ‘perch’ towering above an abrupt volte-face by the Afon Elan to the south, a movement albeit somewhat protracted by the creation of the reservoirs. I’d recommend an ascent from the west, via the Beddau Folau chambered cairn, although it may well prove difficult to vacate the lower monument, once encountered. If successful.... carry on along the path and, ignoring the obvious left hand fork (likewise a number of lesser sheep tracks), keep heading east before veering right to ascend the shallow northern ‘ridge’ – for want of a better word – of Y Foel to the cairn.

Carreg Bica is a deceptively substantial monument. Upon arrival, no doubt seduced by the excellent Beddau Folau earlier, I initially think ‘not bad’. But it is better than that, as time and a succession of differing viewing angles make clear. Perhaps there are even remnants of a now trashed cist in situ? Perhaps. Anyway, according to Coflein the round cairn is a:

“Cairn of stones and slabs. Mostly grass covered. Approx. 9.8m x 10.7m x 1.5m high. Summit occupied by modern cairn and boundary post. Cairn appears to act as viewing site giving clear vistas toward other cairn sites across valley N/S/E/W (RSJ 2000)”

The reference to the monument appearing to function as a ‘viewing site’ is perhaps assumptive; however I can confirm that the spot chosen is indeed an excellent viewpoint, particularly when scanning the southern arc... and identifying numerous other prehistoric sites, including the Crugian Bach complex and the highest summits of Y Elenydd. Such a focus upon the surrounding uplands, as opposed to the lowlands, does seem to be a recurring feature of these high Bronze Age cairns in my experience.

Following a wander south-west along the mightily vegetated Craig Y Foel... excellent views.... I return to the summit to endure a bit of a kicking from the weather, to be honest. Nevertheless the compass reassures as cloud engulfs all and subsequently leads me back down to Beddau Folau. Yeah, despite the dodgy weather it is a great place to end a fine day.

Despite the weather having taken a pronounced turn for the worse – or, arguably, reverting to Y Elenydd’s uncompromising default position – dawn ushers in no compulsion to leave. Far from it. So, what to do upon a grey day heralding... not a lot, to be honest? Munching a (blue plastic) bowl of Coco Pops for inspiration – although apparently an 18 year old Shelley stayed nearby in 1811 (clearly not Pete from The Buzzcocks, then... but the other poet) – the answer arrives, courtesy of the old OS map. Yeah, a brace of cairns in the vicinity of Y Foel, the craggy hillside overlooking the southern extent of the Afon Elan, the river’s course somewhat, er, interrupted here to form the famous reservoirs. That’ll do.

Upon driving south past the uncomfortably substantial tourist facilities below Pen-y-Garreg Reservoir, the Creigiau Dolfolau immediately present a reassuringly wild ‘n’ rocky facade above to the left. The Nant Dolfolau breaches the cliff line midway(ish) along, so allowing a public right of way to head steeply to the approx north-east... but not prohibitively so. Parking is possible beside a roadside cascade. Which is handy.

To be fair, the path is still a tad on the ‘uphill’ side; but nevertheless enjoyable, traversing a quality landscape. Easily fording the aforementioned Nant Dolfolau, the route swings more or less directly east and, with the crags of Y Glog Fawr rearing to the north, in short order I literally stumble across the chambered cairn of Beddau Folau. The monument, although large, is not exactly ‘in yer face’, then. Although having said that it might well have been with a touch more slippery mud under foot. The big surprise is a number of large orthostats standing upon the heavily overgrown, grassy cairn. Hence Coflein citing Beddau Folau as being a ‘chambered cairn’, the structure clearly far too substantial to represent a cist, and to my mind, the orthostats too central to represent the remains of a kerbed cairn or cairn-circle:

“Situated below rocky outcrop. Approx. 8m diameter. Central sub-rectangular hollow approx. 3m wide.. 4 upright stones each c. 0.8m high x 0.8m width x 0.1m-0.2m depth. Stones in round flat central chamber area with 1 fallen? stone on base(RSJ 2000).”

Just goes to show that the impulsive antiquarian traveller can never really be sure what the ubiquitous ‘cairn’ depicted upon the OS map actually represents on the ground. What a wonderful location this is! A short distance above a major tourist location.... yet it might as well be in the middle of nowhere, such is the vibe. Furthermore, one of the orthostats is mightily impressive for an upland cairn.

Speaking of which... there’s another apparently ancient cairn, Carreg Bica, located upon the summit of Y Foel to the approx south-east. Worth a look. Indeed, with the weather appearing more ‘doubtful’ by the minute, I decide to make the visit to the higher monument sooner rather than later to (hopefully) catch some views before they are subsumed within a mass of vapour. However I determine to return to hang out awhile at Beddau Folau in the afternoon. For once, that’s how things actually pan out. Whatever next?

This cairn lies a little downhill from, and to the approx south-west of the 1,765ft summit of Esgair y Llwyn (’ridge of the grove / bush’ ... an indication of how the topography of Y Elenydd has changed over the years, I guess, since tussocky grass reigns supreme nowadays). It is not indicated upon either the current 1:25K or 1:50K OS maps.

As I approach, the initial impression is that of modern ‘marker cairn’ occupying a classic Bronze Age location overlooking the Afon Elan, arguably the finest such position in the immediate locality. Pity. However, what’s this? Yeah, closer inspection strongly suggests – to myself, as well as (retrospectively) Coflein – that, although the marker cairn is no doubt modern, it is actually set upon a much larger, grassy footprint of probable ancient origin. What other credible explanation is there up here upon such an obscure hill? Furthermore, it could be argued that the ‘greener cairn’s’ circumference is, albeit intermittently, defined by traces of a kerb.

To be honest I wish I had more time to spend here, the vista south beyond Pont ar Elan toward the Graig Goch Reservoir and Cwmdeuddwr skyline proving to be excellent, as is that looking north-west to the Gors Lwyd wetlands and distant Pen-y-Garn. However I’ve promised myself a short sojourn at the superb Rhiw Afon cairn before the final descent back down to Pen-yr-ochr farm.... such is life.

Needless to say Banc Cynnydd is not at all bad for a bonus site and, in my opinion well worth primary focus. From the south, perhaps? I would say instinct brought me here. But there are enough gobshites in this world already, thank you very much.

Less than 300 yds – I think – to the approx NW of the shattered Carn Wen stands this beauty near the ‘brook of the fold’. An historic reference to sheep husbandry, perhaps? Carn Nant-y-Ffald is by no means a massive monument, but, for me, possesses an inherent quality that is not immediately apparent during the short approach walk from its dishevelled neighbour. The grassy cairn is well defined and shapely. However there’s more, the centre possessing a well preserved cist – albeit lacking capstone(s) – shielded by a small dry stone sheep shelter. Yeah, that’ll do nicely... well, at least the former, although the shelter is perhaps appropriate, bearing in mind the nomenclature.

The location is archetypal of Y Elenydd, the monument set upon a bare, windswept ridge that, even when basking beneath today’s periodic blue skies, or illuminated by sunbursts, exudes a somewhat primeval, potentially malevolent vibe. Yeah, this is a brutal, unforgiving landscape. In some ways perhaps that is one of its key attributes.... the area representing an ever-shrinking oasis of unpredictable wilderness within a cultural desert of pre-programmed ‘life experiences’. Or something like that. Anyway... by all accounts the modern world seems to have passed Carn Nant-y-ffald by. Consider Coflein’s RCAHMW field report from 1913... when the monument was described as:

“... a grass-covered stone mound.. some stone protruding through the vegetation. Some cairn material has been used to construct a sheep shelter.. enclosing the open central cist, which survives in remarkably good condition...1.3m east to west by 0.6m and..0.4m deep. It is stone-lined and of solid construction, but its covering stone or stones are no longer present. [RCAHMW 1913]”

As I said, very little seems to have changed upon this hill side in the intervening years. Odd, when you consider it. As I sit and ponder... the aforementioned vibe works upon my consciousness and I subsequently decide to have a wander westwards along the ridge (Gwar y Ty), veering south toward Esgair y Llwyn, searching for views. It seems like the only proper thing to do. How was I to know that Banc Cynnydd also possessed a probable Bronze Age cairn not marked on the map? How, indeed? Well, for what it’s worth, it’s where I’d have put one, overlooking the Afon Elan.

A short, steep onward climb from the mightily impressive Rhiw Afon cairn brings me to the ‘White Cairn’, although, to be fair, ‘Grey Cairn’ would arguably have been more appropriate. Sadly the monument has been well and truly trashed, any lingering remnant of internal detail now lost for ever through the superimposition of a parasitic dry stone shelter. Whether my assumption that the latter was probably erected for the benefit of sheep – those of the Ovis genus, that is, and not ill-equipped walking muppets – makes it any more palatable is perhaps a moot point. The damage has been done, regardless.

Nevertheless enough remains to encourage the visitor to focus upon the positives, to look on the bright side in true Eric Idlian style. Yeah, according to Coflein the monument is:

“A disturbed, grass-covered, stone cairn, which is still a prominent landscape feature, partly due to the use of the cairn material to build a solid stone shelter... Nevertheless the essential form of the cairn is still easily understood being a stone cairn 14m in diameter and a little over 0.5m high [J.J. Hall, Trysor, 8/9/09].”

Mutilation, hey, desecration notwithstanding, the monument is still a substantial stone pile affording a superb view looking south toward the Graig Goch Reservoir and the (relative to these parts) high peaks of Cwmdeuddwr. Not that the cairn’s founders would have recognised it, of course! The primary focus here is upon the sky, an impressive cloudscape providing welcome definition to what is all too often a featureless, opaque, grey mass of vapour. But not today. No, today I feel an overwhelming sense of ‘space’, – of place – of being but a small component of a very large ‘whole’ indeed. Hey, an infinitely large cosmos! The Great Outdoors, to coin a phrase.

As I sit and ponder a-while the eyes are inevitably drawn to the approx north-west where another, seemingly minor cairn stands some distance away across rough.... very rough... grassland. Checking the map I reckon this must be Carn Nant-y-ffald.... (you don’t say Sherlock?) and, since the ‘burial chamber’ mentioned by the farmer at Pen-yr-Ochr has yet to manifest itself, I guess it must be there. No rest for the inquisitive, then.

Awaking to a (rare) fine dawn upon the Elenydd, the myriad green hills overlooking – not to mention channelling the area’s copious rainfall into – the picturesque Elan Valley reservoirs was not what I envisaged today. But there you are, the complete closure of the Tal-y-Bont/Ponterwyd road across Pumlumon yesterday afternoon (and for much of September, as it happens) dictated otherwise. Such is life. But hey, there are much worse places to be.... particularly since, for once, I’ve a walk lined up on my ‘list’ should the opportunity arise. In retrospect, however, taking the very minor, exceedingly narrow road following the western bank of the River Wye north-west from the hamlet of Dderw was not the best of options, the road barred by four gates. Yeah, it does become tedious, so suggest the A470 in lieu. Thankfully, however, I meet no one coming the other way and duly arrive none the worse for wear at a T-junction, the road branching left to the farm of Pen-yr-Ochr, right to (eventually) join the A470. I decide to park here and am just locking up when the farmer materialises at the wheel of a massive lorry.... and, upon hearing my intended destination, rhetorically ‘suggests’ I would be better off parking within his yard. Don’t mind if I do, my friend.

The gentleman is clearly very proud of his cairns and enthusiastically furnishes directions... which of course I inevitably make a hash of, the traveller obliged to revert to the map regardless. To cut a long story short (as Tony Hadley once crooned) I would recommend keeping with the official track shown on the map, so avoiding the very steep ascent to the summit of Cefn Bach I undertake. The mocking irony of the ‘Small Ridge’ translation was noted as my dodgy ribs ensured I made very hard work of these ‘mere hills’. Yeah, don’t listen to the muppets who delight in telling you Mid Wales is not worth the effort. What bollocks. Bronze Age humankind knew better, for a start.

The compass sorts out the confusion, the first of a quartet of monuments visible below to the approx north-east. The location is understated, yet exquisite, the cairn commanding a magnificent vista of – indeed focussed upon – the River Wye. Seems the Pumlumon connection is established after all. What’s more, the monument appears more or less intact, a small, presumably modern marker cairn a minor irritation. According to Coflein:

“A well-preserved stone cairn, measuring 9.25m in diameter and up to 0.75m high.... There is a slight dish in the centre of the mound, possibly an original characteristic. It does not appear that the cairn has been disturbed to any great extent....” [J.J. Hall, Trysor, 8/9/09]

The lack of pretension is striking, the monument subservient to the surrounding hills, but all the more poignant for that. I resolve to stop and hang out for a while more upon my return... but, for now, the higher cairns call.

Two substantial round barrows crown the large summit plateau of Bryn y Fedwen providing (on an unexpectedly fine morning such as this, anyway) wondrous panoramic views to the north and north-west of Cadair Idris and southern Snowdonia. Assuming my understanding of the vernacular is not that limited, it wasn’t always such a great viewpoint, the reference to birch trees (I think) suggesting a fundamentally different prevailing landscape context in the past. I find it difficult to visualise. But there you are. Times change. Nevertheless the traveller is here presented with an opportunity to experience an excellent upland vibe with relatively little effort, the latter courtesy of the minor road which traverses the moorland to the west before sharply descending the escarpment edge. It is possible to leave a car at the entrance to the impressive Glaslyn nature reserve (needless to say don’t block the cattle grid like the mindless muppet I encountered).... and simply step over the fence across the road. If not, try the Vaughan-Thomas memorial a little further down the road (not forgetting to tip your hat in posthumous tribute to a true outdoorsman and raconteur) where it is ‘just’ possible. Incidentally this is also a convenient starting point for an ascent of Foel Fadian, the shapely mini-mountain featuring a large barrow mid-way along its eastern flank.... and a quite wondrous skyline of Pumlumon rising across Uwch y Coed and Glaslyn.

Anyway, I digress. The ascent of Bryn y Fedwen from the road is short, the angle of attack shallow, an audience with the first of the barrows soon attained. According to Coflein this measures “20m by 18m and 1.5m high, foreshortened to the NW by a track and bearing the scars of excavation, an inurned cremation being recorded in 1938 [J.Wiles 15.04.02].” So, no doubt about this being the ‘real deal’, then. The monument is surmounted by a standing stone almost obscured by the long grass which, unfortunately, turns out to be a boundary marker. Shame, but not unexpected in these parts.

A touch of low cloud, formed by temperature inversion, begins to peel away from Cadair Idris resplendent upon the northern horizon. Closer to hand Foel Fadian lies enticingly to the immediate west, its barrow particularly well defined from here. I quickly come to the conclusion that a visit is required later, a brief interlude at the Gladmobile to replenish coffee stocks notwithstanding. In the interim there is also the magnificent vista of Pumlumon to enjoy prior to the gaze being duly drawn to the east to focus upon the second round barrow to grace this hill top. The short walk across the intervening distance requires negotiating another low fence (or perhaps two?) but, despite the damage suffered by the monument, it is worth the effort. Again according to Coflein... this barrow is actually a little taller than its western neighbour, but, in my opinion, less upstanding. If that makes any sense? Probably not. Anyway the dimensions are given as “18m in diameter & 1.7m high”, the monument “...devastated by profitless excavation.” Well, one out of two aint bad.

As I sit and revel in the conditions upon my little hill top, convex, grassy contours within pastureland to the south-east suggest to me the possibility that Bryn y Fedwen’s Bronze Age cemetery was once more extensive than currently supposed. Whatever, I leave Bryn y Fedwen impressed by what I consider an important addition to the Pumlumon prehistoric canon.

The adjective ‘obscure’ could well have been devised for the location of this long cairn, although, to be fair, much of the ‘secret garden’ vibe is no doubt due to the wooded environs.... and the fact that the monument is conspicuous by its absence from both the 1:50K and 1:25K OS maps. This is not a site to accidentally stumble across on walkabout (although stumble the visitor will, believe me) but instead a temporary haven from the more annoying manifestations of what we term the ‘modern world’. Yeah, I would rate the chance of an undisturbed hang here close to 100%, since I reckon even the Coflein people must’ve sourced local knowledge to find it. Surely? As for myself... I simply asked the Postman.

It is true to say that the locality does not exactly display a paucity of Bronze Age and Iron Age sites. Oh no. A little to the approx NE a cluster of round barrows duly, well, cluster around the small village of Staylittle, whilst the looming, soggy heights of Pumlumon – Itself – are crowned with perhaps the finest extended concentration of upland cairns in the UK. There are hill forts and lesser enclosures, too. But what of the Neolithic, you may ask? Well....the long cairn is set in a classic location for the type, a short distance east of Cwmbiga Farm overlooking the Afon Biga, one of the lesser rivers sourced upon the aforementioned ‘Mother of Rivers’. There are, er, others. Only a couple of hundred yards from the road it may be, but to all intents and purposes it might as well be on the moon for all the likelihood of a casual visitor venturing here. Needless to say Michael Stipe won’t be coming, then. Pity.

Speaking of REM, assuming you manage to cross the ridiculously mossy ‘lost world’ landscape eloquently described by Postman and actually locate the monument, the vibe here is so ethereal the scope for day dreaming is extensive, to say the least. I’ve no idea how long the Hafren Forest has hidden the long cairn from prying eyes, but assume such a state of affairs was not the original builders’ collective intention, something the visitor should take into account. Nevertheless the cairn’s grassy ‘crust’ suggests it’s been a while; in fact only a couple of (excavation?) pits and a small area of stone breaking the green mantle confirm that this is indeed a cairn. Definitely a long one, too.

So.... visitors in search of high drama should look elsewhere. Hey, venture up to one of Pumlumon’s great round cairns, why don’t you? But if an understated, slumbering woodland vibe appeals, make your way to Cwmbiga Farm and follow the southern bank of the Afon Biga – very, very rough going – to the approx east. The monument is not obvious, but isn’t that all part of the appeal?

Although ultimately failing to deliver the total isolationist vibe the Mam C and I crave when out and about in the South Walian uplands – and indeed I had erroneously anticipated – a visit to the great Garn Wen nevertheless proved to be a very worthwhile experience. Yeah, not sussing that the Beacons Way (unfortunately another of those long distance marching routes) passes right by, en-route to 2,000ft(ish) Bal Mawr and Chwarel-y-Fan, I reckoned I had a cunning alternative destination avoiding the brightly-clad hordes sure to be upon the Offa’s Dyke path today. Not quite, one frightfully upper class young ‘laydee’ exclaiming to her father .... “but, but ... there’s nowhere to go to the toilet... take me on a proper walk next time!“.... or words to that effect. Suffice to say there appears to be no evidence of excrement here, Mr Holmes. I swear I can almost hear the old stones sigh, although, to be fair, such people were never going to stay long, huddled within the ‘muppet shelter’ as they were.

Following TSC raising the profile of the site with the pioneering TMA visit, I actually deferred a pilgrimage to Garn Wen twice during March. You can’t hurry love, as they say. As long as ‘they’ doesn’t include Phil Collins, that is. However the Mam C has a ‘pass’ today, so... why not? Approaching the serene Vale of Ewyas with John Foxx’s, er, idiosyncratic take of ‘Have a Cigar’ upon the car stereo, is probably not the norm, but then neither is our intended route.... starting from the small hamlet of Lower Henllan, complete with its own chapel.... although I’d recommend parking a little beforehand (assuming you approach from the south) where the road achieves a quite inconceivable width for these parts. Ascending the farm track to, appropriately enough, Upper Henllan, we are greeted with a beaming smile from an attractive middle aged woman driving downhill, the response at odds with the ‘keep to the path etc’ notices. Class act. At the farm, however, with are met with a dismissive discourtesy for being courteous enough to ask for permission to walk through the farmyard, albeit upon a public footpath. Whatever. The track veers right across a ford and... technically... proceeds along a sunken bridleway, swinging left to ascend above one of the tumbling streams feeding the Afon Honddu. We, however – not being able to read a map after 25 years of practice – cut across a beautiful, if ‘undulating’, meadow, the retrospective view of Hatterrall Hill, site of a promontory fort, quite exquisite. How can this field archaeology-lark be so beautiful? If you take our diversion be sure to veer right at the stile to gently (luckily, since it is way, way too humid today) ascend the path toward the head of the cwm.

The flora is impressive, particularly the rowans, branches heavy with scarlet berries, Nature’s bounty for the local birds. We had to cut down our rowan at home in Essex since it grew way, way too large. The tree found it too easy. No need here, however. Not in its proper habitat.... an example of natural selection achieving the optimum. A dung beetle of the most glossy black hue I can imagine – and, hey, I can imagine black – labours with its load beneath my boot, the latter held aloft just in the nick of time. Sensing its imminent death, it freezes.... and then moves on. Instances of everyday life.

At the head of the cwm we encounter several ‘bubbling brooks’, marked as ‘springs’ upon the map. Pure water issuing forth from the hillside. Looking back (to the left) I recollect that Graig-ddu possesses the remnant of a cist within a cairn... but what of Garn Wen? The path leads us astray, so I’m obliged to take a compass bearing to lead us through deep fern to the crest of the ridge above. Here the modern beehive cairn acts as a homing beacon. As we approach, the circumference of the monument fills my DSLR viewfinder. Yeah, this was once – hey, is – a very substantial cairn indeed. As TSC relates, not particularly high, but the area covered is significant. We sit down upon the rim and.... well... don’t do an awful lot, to be honest... except try and take it all in. The Mam C does whatever she does, whilst my mind drifts back to past times upon distant peaks... and comes to the conclusion that, far from being placed upon some minor, outlying hill, the great cairn of Garn Wen actually possesses a complete 360 degree vista of hills. In short it is set within a natural amphitheatre, arguably the greatest stage hereabouts, perhaps? I agree, it seems unlikely, what with today’s accepted mentality of ‘biggest is best’. But nonetheless here it is. Why not come and see, and judge, for yourself?

My watch shows that some three hours have elapsed and we must leave. More’s the pity. With a great beehive cairn on.

According to my old map I first had the ‘presence of mind’ to ascend this rocky, southern outlier of Y Mynydd Du way back in July 2003. The reason is now lost in the mists of time. Or rather more prosaically, perhaps, the low cloud base that it seems covered the hill that day. However a likely supposition is that I was looking to return to the excellent Saith Maen stone row.... and, er, sort of got a little bit lost. That, as they say, was that until the craggy height happened to catch my roving eye whilst hanging out at the wondrous, if reclusive Llorfa stone circle a couple of years back, duly noting the profile could be said to resemble a recumbent figure from some angles. Why, I’d say it’s a near certainty after several pints of Reverend James. Not that I’d infer participation in any such behaviour upon any of a number of South Walians subsequently confirming that Cribarth is indeed known locally as the ‘Sleeping Giant’. Nice.

In retrospect Cribarth has been on the periphery of my South Walian wanderings for a while now.... too long... without ever taking centre stage. I guess the surfeit of quarrying upon its southern flank had a lot to do with that. Nevertheless prevailing circumstances see me finally parking once again outside Craig-y-Nos country park (there is a large, free layby) and following a signed, gated public footpath leading to a ‘Heritage Walk’. A little way in there is an exhibit of a modern standing stone, but naturally that needn’t detain a TMA-er, there being a number of kosher examples in the area worthy of attention. Follow the path as it forks to the right – as I recall it is signed ‘to the open hill’ or something similar. Yeah, I’d recommend prospective visitors (for once) ‘do as I say, not as I do’ since I carry on ahead and have to cross a wall, prior to ascending, very steeply, to the crest of the ridge above to the right. Too late, I conclude that this is not a good idea, seeing as I’m badly out of sorts today, consequently making very heavy weather of the climb. But there you are. Getting old, I guess.

Cribarth, as would befit a giant, recumbent landscape figure, consists of an undulating, elongated – OK, somewhat ‘industrial’ – ridge aligned roughly south-west. As mentioned above, its southern face will not win any beauty contest – but then no self respecting giant would wish to, surely? – having been ravaged by quarrying over the years. Not my pint of James, to be honest, particularly since the leaden sky suddenly erupts in one of those ‘I’ll soak you in 30 seconds’ downpours. Hey, these damn cairns better be good. Suffice to say, they are. Initially I head for what I take to be the summit at the southern extremity of the ridge, not an unreasonable assumption, bearing in mind the location of the OS trig pillar. This is crowned by a perfectly respectable upland cairn, albeit one subject to the usual ‘hollowing out’ in order to create an internal muppet shelter. At least it does not have to suffer the additional indignity of supporting the trig point, this standing nearby and, incidentally, being perhaps the most pristine I’ve ever come across. I’m almost expecting Danny Baker (it was him, wasn’t it?) to appear with a box of Daz. Almost. The views are pretty good, too, looking north to the obscured mass of Y Mynydd Du, west toward the site of what I believe to be a ritual complex upon Llorfa, south-west(ish) along the Tawe valley to Ystradgynlais.... and, most interestingly, approx north-east, whereby another cairn can be seen perched across the way....

As I approach, it is actually quite difficult to distinguish the northern cairn from the rocky chaos constituting what the map actually cites as being Cribarth’s summit (this certainly does not seem to be the case to me, but I won’t argue with the OS... optical illusion). In fact it is only upon moving beyond – and looking back – that the monument is revealed, in all its definition, as a truly substantial cairn indeed. What’s more, the southern arc is retained by a section of very impressive kerbing. Now that is unusual for South Wales. As TSC’s miscellaneous post states, the cairn is actually not so much a cairn as a large mass of stone blocks arranged in ‘dry-stone configuration’, if that makes sense. And to think I neglected to come here all these years? As I sit and have lunch the weather begins to deteriorate.... further and further. Paradoxically, this only serves to elevate the somewhat surreal vibe to a level whereby I abandon plans to revisit the nearby Saith Maen stone row. Yeah, so much time has elapsed I decide Cribarth should take all the plaudits this time around.

The sloping flat top of Langloch Knowe almost seems (to my idiosyncratic mind, anyway) to represent the fledgling offspring of Cow Castle, the latter overlooking the site to the immediate north-west. Calf Castle it is, then.

According to Canmore Langloch Knowe represents:

“The slight remains of a fort.... Stone-robbing and cultivation have severely reduced the defences but enough remains to distinguish two structural phases, the earlier represented by two ramparts... and the later by a single wall which partly overlies [the earlier] rampart IA [RCAHMS 1978]”

Sure, there isn’t a great deal of wall, rampart, or any other surviving archaeological detail remaining in situ. However Langloch Knowe is so compact it’s impossible not to feel a direct human attachment with those occupying it in days of lore. Hey, perhaps the people of Cow Castle sent their children here to learn how to do ‘adult stuff’, whilst still keeping a beady eye on proceedings from across the way. And no doubt garrisoned some of their best marksmen (be it with bow or sling?) here in times of unrest to help guard the track through these hills with some lethal crossfire. Yeah, wish I’d brought my tent now. Always fancied being Ray Winstone in Beowulf... must be the six pack, I guess. But enough of that. The site accords a superb profile view of the mother enclosure rising above, whilst the steep flanks of Black Hill – or is it Gawky Hill? – tower above to the south. Not the place to stand a prolonged siege then, but handy to give that raiding party a damn good hiding.

As I sit in the sun, gazing toward the superb panorama of hills to the north-east, the farmer from Nisbet Farm comes careering along the track on a quad bike, with collies riding shotgun – as seems to be their modus operandi nowadays – engaged with moving sheep further along the valley. I’m relieved since I wasn’t looking forward to stopping by and making him aware of the maternal distress of the ewe encountered earlier upon the Nisbet enclosure... nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course.

Cow Castle. Don’t you just love the name? I mean, you wouldn’t want to attempt to storm any high ground occupied by the cantankerous creatures... but at least you’d die laughing, the slapstick comic possibilities being endless. Now, as it happens, I’ve visited another Cow Castle, the one way down south upon Exmoor, the wondrous siting of which is probably – in my opinion – superior to this. But not by much. In short, the South Lanarkshire version is superb, even when such contemplation follows a visit to the spectacular Whiteside Hill earlier in the day.

I approach from the west, from the village of Coulter, to be precise. Follow the minor road (approx SE) past the school and take the left hand fork beyond Snaip.... i.e not Birthwood Road... where Culter Water suddenly swings sharply, decisively south. I park here and walk down the narrow track to Nisbet Farm, although, judging by the cheery demeanour of the farmer, it might well be possible to park there with permission. The track continues beyond the farm, ascending the hillside to the left to subsequently fork right toward Cow Castle beckoning upon the skyline (incidentally this track eventually passes below Mitchelhill, site of another fabulous hillfort.... but that’s another story). The slope, emphasising the defensibility of the location, is too steep to contemplate a full frontal assault, cows or no cows lining the ramparts. I’d therefore recommend persevering with the track a short while longer and ascending ‘round the back, so to speak.

The defences are far more substantial than I supposed. According to Canmore:

“The complex remains have been damaged... and in consequence are difficult to interpret .. However, at least two structural periods seem to be involved... The earlier period is represented by two ramparts....which have enclosed a roughly oval area measuring about 85m by 46m. In a later phase the size of the fort was reduced by the construction of two new ramparts.. to enclose an area measuring 43m by 27m....best preserved on the SW [RCAHMS 1978]“.

However, like its Somerset namesake, ancient archaeology very much plays second fiddle to the exquisite landscape context here. For starters it suddenly dawns upon me that the mountain rearing its massive bulk to the west is Tinto, home to, as far as I’m aware, the most massive upland cairn in all Scotland. Then, looking north-east past a small settlement, White Hill holds the eye, crowned by its own hillfort, whilst beyond Nisbet Farm can be seen Snaip Hill featuring... yep, another hill fort. Oh and just across the valley to the approx south-east is the small Langloch Knowe ‘fort. There are others upon distant skylines, the whole forming perhaps the most concentrated and extensive area of Iron Age upland settlement I’ve yet come across.

What a great place to simply sit and watch people go about their daily business down below. The vibe is peaceful, the sun breaking through cloud cover glorious. In fact only the curiousity of seeing the Langloch Knowe and ‘Nisbet’ enclosures is just cause to eventually move on.

The day dawns heavily overcast... so much so that the very sky seems to be inexorably forcing the landscape into a uniform plane more reminiscent of Essex, my home county, than the Scottish Borders. Trouble is I’ve set my heart upon visiting Cow Castle, seemingly impressive when viewed from White Hill late yesterday afternoon, but its c1,000ft summit currently obscured by a thick, impenetrable wall of grey vapour. What to do? The answer comes to me from Anna and Graham Ritchie’s well-thumbed ‘Oxford Archaeological Guide to Scotland’... or what’s left of it. Head approx north-east toward Romannobridge and Whiteside Hill. Apparently another rather good hillfort and might, perhaps, be clearer. So that was decided upon.

At Romannobridge the B7059 heads south to follow, approximately, the course of Lyne Water, a tributary of the iconic River Tweed, no less. After about a mile I park opposite a church at Newlands Bridge and set off up the signed farm track to its right, heading for Whiteside Farm. Well, wouldn’t be a farm track otherwise. If you decide to come hopefully you will see Whiteside Hill rising above to the east (your left), as I later do upon returning to the car... however.... the cloud base is no higher here this morning, forcing me to either rely on the compass or back down. I decide that if I’m unable to reach and identify a bloody great hill fort in mist I should really hang up my boots immediately. Start playing Grand Theft Auto, or something. Fair enough. On we go, then. The track continues past the farm for a fine view of Lyne Water receding into the distance, whereby I veer left (approx east) to ascend – hopefully – to the summit of Whiteside Hill alongside a substantial drystone wall. Before engaging upon the final, very steep ascent, I come across what looks very much to me like the grassy remains of a relatively large, overgrown cairn. Sadly it’s not marked on the map and I can find no reference in Canmore.

So, up into the mist we go.... unfortunately not metaphorically, but meteorologically speaking. Eventually the angle of attack eases and then relents, massive ramparts suddenly looming out of nowhere. Granted, not quite the derelict spaceship materialising from the fog in Alien – you know the scene – but no doubt the nearest I’ll get to such a Geigeresque otherworldly vibe. These banks are much larger than I anticipated and appear of tri-vallate configuration, with ancillary enclosures to north and south... although I found the latter to be quite difficult to define coherently, possibly since the northern is apparently ‘unfinished’. Then again I wouldn’t be surprised if the swirling vapour induced a mildly claustrophobic disorientation. There is also an ‘cross-bank’ upon the col separating Whiteside Hill from White Knowe to the north-east. According to Canmore this latter defensive feature is “45 yds long, consisting of a ditch about 15ft wide with a bank on its SW side. The earthwork is probably contemporary with the pre Roman fort [RCAHMS 1967]“.

As I walk the substantial earthworks – well, it makes a welcome change to walk around in circles intentionally – the cloud base begins to peel away, enabling this latter day visitor to appreciate the fantastic landscape context of this top drawer hillfort. Yeah, set overlooking the confluence of Flemington Burn with Lyne Water, I wonder, perhaps with some degree of justification, whether there were other than just military aspects taken into consideration when choosing to establish the enclosure here? Yeah, nicely defensive.... but is there more to it than that? An attempt at inducing some metaphysical protection, too? Is that really a Bronze Age cairn down below?

Whatever, by all accounts people appear to be have been quite taken with Whiteside Hill, a later walled enclosure being erected partly overlying the innermost rampart, presumably following the Roman withdrawal from these Isles. It seems that a final phase of occupation saw a small earthwork being established within this enclosure. I can picture the Dark Age wife now.... “Is that the best you can do. Haven’t you heard what the great lord Vortigen has built in the far away land of the Cymry. And I’ve got to live in this?” Dark Age warrior (mumbling)... “at least his dragons are inside the rock”....

Following on from the excellent Mitchelhill Rings, I guess the White Hill enclosure had an awful lot to live up to in my perception. That, in my opinion, it does not – at least in terms of archaeology – is therefore no great shakes... and certainly no reason not to come and enjoy this well located, highly defensible hilltop. In fact I’d suggest the inherent natural strength of the site, the ground falling sharply away except to the north-east, may well have been the overriding factor in the relatively low-key, insubstantial ramparts to be found here. These, it would appear from excavation, were most probably designed to support a palisade as primary defence. Walking around the site I’m of the opinion that might well have been enough, an assumption the occupiers were no doubt more than qualified enough to make as their lives may well have depended upon it. Much more than I, of course

Anyway, enough of this supposition. According to Canmore the summit of White Hill is crowned by:

“...a fort whose principle lines of enclosure have been timber palisades. These have been supplemented on the shallower slopes around the E, N and W by a dump rampart on which the palisade probably ran, and an external ditch. There is no reason from the visible earthworks to assume that this is an unfinished work...Limited field survey in the interior of the fort has identified....An additional palisaded enclosure... is visible in the interior of the fort, predating the previously recognized palisade [RCAHMS (DCC) 28 March 2002]“.

Archaeology aside, White Hill is a fabulous viewpoint, even taking into account today’s murky conditions. I tell you these Border hills are really impressing me with their rounded contours and ethereal vibe. Not to mention the fact that almost every one seems to have been the home of people back in the day. OK, slight exaggeration, but a glance at Landranger 72 tells its own story. For example... looking south-east as I eat my lunch, tell tale, regular contours upon the hillside beyond give me cause to refer to the aformentioned map. Yeah, Cow Castle and subsidiary enclosures. Only the three?

Feeling somewhat tired and jaded... as you might expect following the long, long, long drive from Essex... I park below Gosland and follow the farm track toward the Kilbucho valley, the overcast conditions not the best, to be honest. But at least it isn’t raining, something that is never welcome upon the first day of a two week wild camp. The track veers right to ascend through trees, a subsequent left hand fork accessing the ruins of a church suggesting a larger resident community in times past. Ignoring this, at least physically, I pass farm buildings to arrive at the foot of Mitchelhill. Guess the ‘fort must be up there, then? Not the most inspired of deductions, perhaps, but at least it is accurate.

A short, but tiring scramble later, my mood rises sky high, unlike the low cloud base which resolutely refuses to permit passage to even a solitary ray of sunlight. The swine that it is. How could it be otherwise when faced with such a fine hillfort as this, perched airily upon the eastern flank of White Hill, the summit of which, also crowned by a hillfort, rises to the approx south-west?

According to Canmore the compact, bi-vallate enclosure is a “roughly circular fort measuring internally 175’ by 160’, with a secondary settlement inside it.... The entrance, measuring 10’ in width, is on the SE (RCAHMS 1967).”

It’s a great viewpoint, too, no doubt even better than I suppose under clearer conditions. Even today the vistas, particularly of the narrow glen carrying the Mitchelhill Burn between the left-hand brooding flanks of 2,000ft plus Cardon Hill – together with the not far off that Scawdman’s Hill – and the lower, but nonetheless substantial enough White Hill (anything but ‘white’ today, it has to be said), are inspiring. In actual fact so much so that, duly picking up the evocative vibe, I decide to go have a look at the summit of White Hill itself. Hell, why not?

I neglected to come here when visiting the seriously be-cairned Greens Moor and environs a couple of years back... probably since the map, highlighting a nearby gravel pit and old railway cuttings, conjured up mental images of a more or less ploughed out remnant of a henge in less than salubrious surroundings. I mean, it’s not exactly famous, is it? However finding myself likely to be in the shadow of Tinto again this year, I duly reappraised Tiompan’s (and Bladup’s now deleted) images and concluded my initial assumption might well be wrong. Suffice to say it was. Fair’s fair. Yeah, in my opinion this is an obscure gem of a site, well worthy of consideration if a couple of hours of time out from the world floats your boat. As it does mine.

The optimum approach might well be from Newbiggingmill to the approx south-west, along the route of the disused railway line alluded to above. However, finding nowhere to park that wouldn’t piss me off if I was in the landowner’s (no doubt muddy) shoes, I take the Weston road at Newbigging itself and squeeze onto the verge near a track heading off into Firpark Wood... that is not the track crossing the clearing near the Firpark buildings further along. Seems this a haunt of local dog walkers, one such man returning to his car confirming that I’m literally on the right track. Incidentally he adds that there’s also a monument to covenanters nearby I should see. Won’t have time, but interesting nevertheless. The track emerges from cover, whereby I veer right toward the OS trig pillar, the trees here apparently recently cleared. From here the henge lies to the left of a prominent copse to the south-east.

As I approach the site it looks, for all the world, a reasonably upstanding defended settlement. Closer inspection, however, reveals there to be no ditch.... well, not encircling the earthworks, at any rate. There is one within, though, a demarcation of bank and enclosure. Yeah, clearly this is no hillfort but a well preserved henge featuring, as Tiompan notes, a pretty substantial surviving circumference, not only in terms of diameter, but also bank height. OK, a knackered old fence does bisect a section of the monument to the south-east... and there is significant evidence of damage apparently resulting from animal husbandry. But, all things considered, for a henge this size it is in remarkably good nick indeed. Most certainly not a virtually ploughed-out ghost in the landscape! Speaking of which, despite the gravel pit to approx south drawing parallels with the magnificent Thornborough trio, the monument’s landscape context – and thus vibe – is far better than I anticipated, too, said workings being some distance away, albeit still noticeable. And of course I find that vibe is always enhanced with the sun periodically streaming through the cloud base and cows getting up to all kinds of bovine shenanigans in the next field. Some noises just sort of ‘blend in’, do they not?

Sometimes being proved completely wrong is good for the soul. Helps to feed my rock n’roll!

Carl can’t exactly admonish himself for failing to spot this pair of chambered cairns since the hillside falls so sharply away from the road as to be verging upon the vertical. In short, no-one will be seeing these from the car. As for myself, with the mind reeling from the after effects of a day spent visiting a veritable procession of chambered cairns, I am on the verge of giving up when.... hey, you know the cliche. One last look before retiring to Loch Lurgainn for the night. So, upon parking just before (east of) the impressive-looking Knockan Crag, I peer over the precipitous edge and, funnily enough, there they are. I was shocked, too, so it would have been rude not to have a look, despite the passing heavy shower.

The barbed-wire fence supplementing the crash barrier is, naturally, a pain, but I’ve no time to head back to the nearest farm for a chat and lower approach. Consequently I take the plunge, trying not to invoke a literal, involuntary response, you understand, and just about avoid a 10 from the Russian judge. It is worth the effort. OK the cairns aren’t the largest to be found in these parts, but I’m in agreement with Canmore.... both are – or rather were – chambered.

That to the west is the larger of the pair and possesses a reasonable volume of cairn material in situ. Not to mention two – I think – orthostats protruding through the cairn. Triangular, too. That’ll be the remnants of the chamber, then. Always a welcome sight. An unwelcome addition, however, is the wooden telegraph pole (or power line, can’t recall now) subjecting the monument to an unwarranted, and quite disgraceful indignity. But there you are.

The second monument is less substantial. However at least four orthostats stand proud upon the summit of the grassy cairn as ample compensation. Cul Mor towers above lesser hills to the approx west and the vibe here, accentuated by the fading light, is very positive. Ironically it is the approaching nightfall, such as it is here, that duly truncates the visit.

Thelonious’s lucid comments succinctly capture the appeal of this megalithic Inverpolly wonderland for this curious Citizen Cairn’d. Take out the map, choose something on said map.... and go see what’s there. If it’s a little underwhelming – possible; but, I’d wager, unlikely – there’s no need to fret. Just move onto the next one nearby. Simples. Oh. And you may well get a glimpse, or two, of some pretty special landscape into the bargain.

Having said the above, however, it would be remiss of me to claim any pioneering TMA intention for this pair of cairns. No, I’d seen the previous notes, well, previously, and consequently scribbled this one down on the list. So, awaking from an overnighter just east of Loch Borralan, I make my way to the co-ordinates mentioned by thelonious a little west of the Ledmore River cairn on the A835. As I arrive, two very fit looking Germans (men, unfortunately) speed off down the track in the direction of the Cam Loch leaving me floundering very much in their wake... more or less literally, since I doubt whether the landscape could take any more moisture, to be honest. But hey, there’s no denying Mother Scotland ‘knows’ a thing or three about how to use all this excess water to great aesthetic effect. Consider the sight of Suilven rising across the relatively placid surface of Cam Loch as I slither down to the near shore. Surely a spot to spend all day at relaxing under the watchful gaze of Suil? Er no. Not when the standing stones exert a magnetic attraction upon the visitor so difficult to define. Much like my inherent sense of (mis)direction....

So... abandoning the track (as usual) in search of legendary views, I  discover, as (I think) Prof Cox once said, that ‘things can only get better’ in that respect. Truly exquisite. I really do not think the traveller can experience many finer for the effort required. Then... I come face to face with a seemingly impassable deer fence. Ha! Apparently they have these in Scotland to keep the sassenachs in check. Once across – not being a deer – I proceed to make a bit of a hash of locating the ancient monuments, only to suddenly see an ‘obvious’ chambered cairn standing upon a prominent knoll a lot further below my position than I had anticipated from the 1:50k map. Clearly from the ‘Cam Loch’ nomenclature I assumed the monument would overlook the loch. Guess the assumption to take from this is to never, ever.... assume. Nevertheless, despite the lack of altitude, the location is superb. As is the archaeology, the cairn possessing an apparently polygonal chamber, entrance passage and very substantial lintel. Amongst other stones. A top-class site, in fact.

The vibe kicks in and it is time to sit down and enjoy the light, enjoy the colours, the textures of the stones... enjoy the moment. The cairn – actually ‘cairns’ since there is another a little to the approx south-east, albeit lacking the orthostats and inherent detail of its near neighbour – overlooks the Ledbeg River flowing below to the east, as you might have expected of a Neolithic monument. OK, the vista is not as overwhelming as those experienced earlier. No, a quarry across the valley emphasises this is very much a ‘working landscape’. Yeah, people still live and work here attempting to tame this brutally uncompromising corner of Scotland. Guess they always have, the Cam Loch chambered cairn still remaining upon this barren hillside in mute testimony to past human endeavours. I like that.

How good is this? Although close by the busy A894 – and apparently damaged by its construction – the shattered remains of this chambered cairn literally rise above such an appalling indignity, according the visitor a wondrous perspective of what surely must have been an ancient route across the gloriously brutal, mountainous landscape of The Quinag. Perhaps not so ‘glorious’ to the sodden Neolithic traveller, perhaps, but full of inherent meaning nevertheless? The situation is dramatic, to say the least, the towering mountain mass, rising beyond the Allt Sgiathaig, sculptured by the greatest forces of all to form the enigmatic, strikingly elegant summit of Spidean Coinich. Not the highest of The Quinag, but suffice to say it catches the eye.

According to Assynt’s Hidden Lives Project [2009] the monument is:

“An uneven, sub-triangular grass covered cairn.... the W side has been completely truncated by the road. The cairn sits on a slope....3.5m high at the W and 1m high on the E.....Large stones are present on the top which are perhaps displaced lintels or capstones”.

Yeah, I’d concur with that. I also agree with Carl. The chambered cairn can not be seen from the road. Having said that, I approached from the steep hillside above, the monument presenting an iconic foreground image to such a desolately beautiful, watery landscape. Unfortunately the lack of internal detail within the cairn did not allow me to come to any firm conclusion regarding any correlation between alignment and the aforementioned Spidean Coinich... as I would suggest is reasonably obvious at the Ardvreck cairn down the road. But hey, despite the arrival of a pretty hostile rain front, I enjoyed myself here gazing down upon the camper vans heading for Kylesku, the mind drifting back to a much more serious ‘working over’ upon Spidean Coinich a decade ago. It’s good to return and gain a different perspective, to close the loop.

Ascending the A894 from Loch Assynt there are numerous parking spaces to be had before passing the track to Achmore Farm... should you be arriving by car, of course. As mentioned I climbed the hillside to the right and worked my way along. However if you’d rather stick to the tarmac – and why not? – look out for a solitary tree to your left... I think there was only the one. If located, the cairn lies, unseen, upon the steep rise to your right.

P.S – if your onward route happens to take you to Kylesku it is worth considering a boat trip along Loch Glencoul to see Eas-Coul-Aulin, Britain’s highest waterfall. As the local who took me said of his craft... “one careful owner... can’t speak for the other dozen, though!” Nice.

Sadly – unlike the Ledmore River monument to the south-east – the proximity to the road here ensured the thought of an extended stop at the shattered remains of this chambered cairn was less enticing than it perhaps should have been, particularly bearing in mind the presence of a couple of substantial uprights. Hey, in retrospect I’m quite ashamed of myself now. But there you are. A glance at the map will confirm there are many other sites vying for the attention of the megalithic traveller around these parts....

Having said that I was treated to some wonderful light, courtesy of some pretty unpredictable, inclement weather... which I reckon amplified any residual vibe lingering down the millennia. Echoes of the past, so to speak. And the couple of remaining chamber stones are indeed rather impressive, well worth a look, particularly when starkly silhouetted against an overwhelming cloudscape.

And, of course.... if the Lyne cairn was anywhere else but here I’d be quite prepared to drive a hundred miles to see it. And drive a hundred more... to paraphrase those wondrous twins from Auchtermachty, Fife.

Despite the relative proximity of the A835, I found this large chambered cairn, overlooking the Ledmore River, to possess an inherently rewarding vibe. OK... the succession of sunbursts periodically illuminating both monument and landscape naturally had a positive effect upon the mood of this antiquarian punter, fresh from the great Cam Loch chamber. I’ll have to concede that. However the substantial nature of the cairn undeniably had a bearing, too.

According to Audrey Henshall it has (or at least ‘had’... back in 1963) “a diameter of about 55ft... 6ft in height”.’ Furthermore .... “At centre of cairn, tops of four large stones can be seen, and suggest the presence of a polygonal chamber about 8 ft wide”. She mentions the presence of numerous other slabs on site “probably from the roof”. Quite a few of those around.

As mentioned, the monument is well placed above the Ledmore River, more or less mid way between its confluence with the Ledbeg River to east and Na Luirgean to west... and boasts a fine view of the haunting profile of Cul Mor. Perhaps this was intentional? Of significance to those who, having laboured to create such a vast rock pile, took subsequent spiritual solace in the knowledge that, according to their customs, they had done right by their Big Man and gods. Although, to be fair, it would probably have been quite a challenge to erect a chambered cairn around these parts without it being privy to a sublime landscape context!

Access is simple enough... there is limited parking at the entrance to the track heading for the south-eastern shore of Cam Loch, just a short walk and ‘step-over’ of the fence away.

Foel Fadian is a shapely large hill/small mountain (depending on your point of view) standing point to the NE of the central Pumlumon massif, overlooking the awesome crags of Uwch-y-Coed and the lovely mountain tarn of Glaslyn. As such it is a first class viewpoint, particularly looking toward the great Bronze Age cemetery – not to mention ‘Mother of Rivers’ – that is Pumlumon itself.... and north to the sublime skyline of Snowdonia. To be honest that would be more than enough. With knobs on. However the 1:50K OS Landranger map also shows an ubiquitous ‘tumulus’ sited upon its eastern shoulder...... always a welcome discovery for a TMA Citizen Cairn’d partial to the odd earthen mound, too. Coflein concurs, describing the monument as:

‘a round, ridge top, earthen mound, 22m in diameter and 2.0m high, apparently undisturbed barrow’.

Now my last visit here was some 14 years ago, incidentally coinciding with some absolutely appalling weather, winds gusting in excess of 50mph. Not so this time around, the slumbering mound just about the perfect perch to sprawl and think about ‘stuff’ under a pristine blue sky bearing clouds of a much more benign, serene nature than all those years previously. Yeah, this is a somewhat understated monument, residing these millennia past far from the mountain’s summit, a visit to which is highly recommended for further excellent views. However I feel a brooding presence here.... no need to be flash when you are the real deal.

The site is perhaps best approached from the Vaughan-Thomas memorial on the minor road to the north-east (the gentleman, a former war correspondent, was quite a dude who walked the length of Wales aged 70 – right on! – having earned his walking spurs upon the flanks of Y Mynydd Du as a youngster). This is not a difficult walk considering the terrain, the height gain a lot less than you may expect. However today, coming from a sojourn upon the pair of barrows upon Bryn y Fedwen to the east, I make my way directly to the round barrow from the entrance to the Glaslyn access track.... where it is possible to park a car without blocking the gate.

P.S – OK off topic – however you might also want to take a look at the excellent waterfall of Ffrwd Fawr a little to the east of nearby Dylife..... but careful now. Keep a watch upon any children since the cascade is ‘shy’.... no viewing platform. Again, the real deal.

In stark contrast to a number of other monuments in the area..... there is actually a fair volume of cairn material remaining in this, the lower of the two chambered cairns sited to the north of Loch Borralan.

According to fieldwork undertaken for Assynt’s ‘Hidden Lives Project’ [2009] the cairn is “...approximately 15m by 12m, aligned E-W with a maximum height of 2m.” Sadly the report adds “The site has been described as a round cairn of Orkney-Cromarty group with a polygonal chamber [by Audrey Henshall – Gladman]. There is no evidence of the slabs of the bi-partite chamber as described in 1911 and the site appears to have been considerably disturbed since the last report from 1962”. Pity. No, more’s the pity, but there you are. No one died. In historic times, anyway! However, for what it’s worth – needless to say more opinion required – I was less than convinced that no trace of the ‘former’ chamber is visible, this layman noting a couple of ‘slab-like’ orthostats upon the approx southern arc. Splitting hairs, perhaps.... and, from my perspective, Nick is correct to assert that there is not a great deal of ‘proper’ structural archaeology to see. But....

There is more to these great northern Highland sites than the surviving archaeology... the location upon the shore of Loch Borralan is, in my opinion, truly exquisite. Oh, come on! What is not to like? Particularly with a large, well defined crannog visible within the loch to the north-west, that serrated Inverpolly skyline.... including Suilven (!!)... and, last but not least – to my mind – one of Scotland’s most enigmatic chambered cairns keeping watch above, perched, almost incognito, upon the steep hillside to approx north-east. Taken as a pair the Loch Borralan chambered cairns are surely ‘the business’. The lower, at the very least, is a worthwhile apperitif.

I reckon well worth a visit, then. If you fancy it, drive past the Altnacealgach Motel (heading north-west, that is) and the site will be found lochside, opposite the second main house encountered (I think). The great eastern monument stands above and to the right of said house.

Archaeologically speaking this site rising to the north of Stratheskie farm possesses, in my opinion, the finest surviving remains of the three chambered cairns located in the immediate vicinity of Cnoc Chaornaidh. As such, it was perhaps inevitable that it would occupy the position with (arguably) the least intoxicating views, set upon a saddle between the aforementioned craggy eminence and the terminus of its western spur, the latter obscuring that utterly wondrous Inverpolly skyline. What a drag! However the disappointment is relative, of course, the sweeping vista to the south-east, not to mention that northwards toward Benmore Forest, well worth an eulogy or two in their own right. Yeah, if only I had the words.......

According to Audrey Henshall (1963) this monument represents another chambered cairn of Orkney-Cromarty type – albeit lacking the cairn, yet again – with the majority of the uprights of a polygonal chamber still in place, together with “a number of considerable and apparently widely spaced stones on the periphery”. J M Howell [1976] reckoned the cairn was originally heel shaped, as opposed to round. To be honest it is a surprisingly substantial monument to ‘stumble across’ upon a Scottish hillside, raising the question of just how much more is ‘out there’ awaiting (re)discovery by the amateur punter? I would surmise ‘quite a lot’, to be fair. Although the chamber stones are not as large as those forming the chambered cairn below to the south-east, the structure here is more coherent. If only some of the accompanying cairn had survived this would indeed have been a classic to rival the upper site at Loch Borralan to the north-west.

But there you are.... what might have been, eh? However with brilliant washes of golden sunlight streaming through a gloweringly dark cloud mantle to illuminate chambered cairn and landscape as one, this is nevertheless still a hauntingly evocative place to rest for a while. Quality. Even if the traveller is denied a view of the splendid Suilven accorded visitors to the other cairns. Needless to say I guess we’ll never know what the intentions of the people who erected these monuments to their dead truly were? No. And how infuriating for us modern people who think we know everything to realise that... in actual fact.... it seems we don’t, after all.

Located approx midway between the two other monuments completing this fine trio clustered beneath Cnoc Chaornaidh, this enigmatic stone pile is depicted as simply ‘cairn’ upon my 1:50k OS map. As such I was (shamefully, it has to be said) settling for merely a passing view en route from the superb north-western monument back to the car .... until a number of prominent protruding stones decided otherwise, that is. I am glad I saw sense since this one also blew me away.

Not for the first time, I concur with the fieldwork of archaeologist A S Henshall way back during 1963.... “A probable chambered cairn, 13.0m in diameter and 2.4m in maximum height, partly ruined on the south and SE but otherwise undisturbed and grass-grown. Two large slabs are visible on the south side, neither at nor leading to the centre and behind them to the NW is a cavity with a side slab and lintel just visible. Other large slabs lie about. The cairn seems to have been chambered but the present remains are impossible to interpret.”

So, not a certain chambered cairn, then. But I will add the weight of my experience, such as it is, to that of Audrey 50 years before me. Suffice to say that the substantial orthostats remaining in situ in no way suggest that the cairn originally possessed a kerb... and if they represent field clearance, hell, I’ll eat my hat. And that is not a very appetising thought, believe me. Although perhaps with a touch of garlic? So what else could these (more or less) upright stones represent, save the remnants of a collapsed chamber subsumed within the cairn?

But perhaps this is a moot point, what with the sensational view toward the jagged tops of Cul Mor and the landscape representation of Suil, the ‘Eye Goddess’ of lore – the unique Suilven – making this such an enigmatic location for a cairn, such a memorable visit. I wish I had longer to linger, but Loch Borralan is just up the road! It is all too much. Really, it is. Still, no rest for the inquisitive.

This, the first of many chambered cairns encountered along the A837 by the megalithically-minded traveller salivating in anticipation of sampling the wonders – natural or otherwise – of Coigach and Assynt is, in my opinion, a worthy introduction to the area. OK, as Nick states, there is very little cairn remaining; however it would appear that the majority of a series of impressively substantial orthostats remain in situ forming a polygonal chamber archetypal of apparent immovable permanence. Or so it would appear to me today... a constant reference point in an ever changing world often verging upon the ludicrous. But there you are. We must be thankful – although to what, if anything, I do not know – that some such ‘anchors’ continue to survive as bench marks to (arguably) preserve the sanity of an oft’ bewildered homo sapien such as I. Anyway....

An initial glance at the map is not promising, the monument depicted as being set only a little back from the A837, occupying a shallow rise to the approx SW of the antennae-crowned, craggy summit of Cnoc Chaornaidh. Noisy, then? Er no. Prospective visitors should bear in mind that, although designated an ‘A’ road, the A837 at this point is one of those ‘single track with passing places’ so idiosyncratic of the northern Highlands. Yeah, things are different up here. If approaching from the SE, note Loch Craggie and the more diminutive Loch Eileag to your left.... then, just after crossing the Allt Eileag (river), look for the stones rising from the hillside to the right, a little beyond the existing forestry boundary. Incidentally the map shows another chambered cairn within said trees... Handily there is a layby nearby which is just about ideal to reverse into. Hey, or nose into. Your prerogative. Then hope over the fence, negotiate the rough grassland and hang out for a while.

As mentioned there is a real sense of solidity at this monument – the slipped cap stone notwithstanding – the sweeping view NW toward the beckoning uplands of Inverpolly hinting at what is to come. Speaking of which, these bare bones of a chambered cairn are just for starters, two more beauties lying just beyond Cnoc Chaornaidh. It’d be rude not to go and have a look while I’m here.

Despite entering Scotsburn Wood to the south-west.... this is the first of the immediate area’s trio of obvious (or perhaps not so obvious) great cairns that I end up visiting, if only by default. Yeah, having summarily failed to locate the western monument at the first time of asking, a distant glimpse of stone shining through trees above and to the north of the main west/east forestry track ensures there will be no such issues finding the eastern cairn.

Standing within a clearing upon the southern flank of Beinn an Lochain the cairn, according to the wondrous A S Henshall [1972], “...has been c.50’ in diameter and the remains are 3’ to 4’ high.” It is most certainly ‘chambered’, too, although I found it difficult to discern any coherent detail from a series of orthostats remaining in situ within the surviving stone pile.... aside from the odd capstone. Or two. Again according to Henshall... “the passage is 10’6” long and the chamber entrance 1’9” wide, The chamber, c.14’6” long, has two compartments divided by a pair of transverse slabs with an entry between them”. So, all in all this is a pretty decent, substantial monument, if lacking the wildly overgrown vibe of its western neighbour. In fact it might be suggested that the pair complement each other perfectly. Like Manic Street Preachers and Nina Persson, perhaps?

Speaking of vibe... that experienced today in this isolated forestry clearing is unfortunately not all that I would have wished due to tannoy announcements emanating from a gymkhana being held down in the valley. However since this is a local event, for local people, the annoyance is limited and most probably not justified. Whatever, my indignation soon more or less dissipates and I enjoy my time in the company of the great cairn. [Interestingly, I later discover that Strathspey was in attendance at said event.... small world, is it not?]

So please come to Scotsburn Wood. If – unlike myself – you manage to locate the western monument beforehand... head north until you bisect a major forestry track. Veer to the right (approx east) along this for a short distance, keeping eyes a’peeled for a hint of path ascending the hillside to your left (north). This should (ahem) lead you to the wondrous megalithic oasis within the trees. Or something like that.

Owing to the unanticipated (duh!) excellence of the nearby Kinrive cairns.... consuming much more time than I reckoned ... I ended up kipping overnight at Newmore Wood in order to facilitate a megalithic foray into Scotsburn Wood this beautiful, sunny morning. Well, I might never come here again, you know? No time like the present. So, parking up to the east at Dalnaclach, as suggested by Greywether, I duly follow the track skirting the southern fringe of the wood, heading west. Upon negotiating a stile set overlooking extensive buildings in the valley below, I veer right to ascend a forestry track defining the western localised limit of the wood... assuming that makes sense? The chambered cairn lies a little way up this track, just within the trees, that is more or less to the north. Not that there is any indication of its existence to the (increasingly exasperated) traveller whatsoever. At least in late Spring.

Yeah, it looks ‘relatively easy’ upon the map. But appearances are often deceptive. Suffice to say I struggle... greatly.... to find the monument, only succeeding after a number of ‘sweeps’, and then after having blundered into the presence of Scotsburn Wood East first of all, this happy eventuality allowing me to fix my position and take a bearing.

In retrospect my difficulty was not surprising, the monument more or less completely engulfed by vegetation, so much so that camouflage netting would’ve probably made it more visible! Having said that, once located, I found myself revelling in the unkempt state of this hidden gem of a site boasting a quite substantial surviving chamber. As for cairn.... I didn’t see much evidence, although, of course, that could have been hidden under the extensive vegetation. Tell me about it. But no matter. Persevere to find this ‘un since I reckon it is the ideal companion to the better defined site to the approx north-east, that obligingly set within its woodland clearing. Yeah, there is no clearing here, it being no small feat to see the monument for the trees. But I can live with that.

As with local man Strathspey before me... I struggle to devise a coherent reconstruction of this fabulous site in my ‘mind’s eye’ since, unlike the nearby long monument, cairn material is very much notable by its absence. The orientation of the chamber is perplexing, somewhat paradoxically so since a great deal of the skeletal structure remains upstanding. These are substantial stones, too. Perhaps this mild sense of disorientation has its source in the intimate environment of this sun-dappled wood... the trees – birches, or so the Mam C would no doubt have informed me if she had been here – all but negating what would have been a fine view toward the Cromarty Firth to the approx south. Guess the entrance would’ve faced that-a-way, then... what I initially took to be part of a facade, on second thoughts constituting the rear of a very large chamber.

Best hear from the experts, Canmore citing the King’s Head cairn as being:

‘Round with polygonal chamber of Orkney-Cromarty type. The cairn itself is almost entirely removed but its edge is quite distinct showing a diameter of 85ft EW and 75ft NS. The chamber is constructed of large slabs and stands clear and almost intact..... Seven feet NW of the back of the chamber is a cist with four side stones measuring 3 by 4ft and at least 3ft 6ins deep. [A S Henshall 1963]‘

The cist mentioned above is a beautiful example of the genre, albeit without cap stone. Well worth a visit in its own right and no mere supporting act, even to such an impressive, if dishevelled chamber as we have here. Dishevelled? I reckon so, but in such a manner as to impart oodles and oodles of vibe of the highest order. Thankfully a birch tree formerly mentioned by Canmore ‘whose roots envelope the structure’ is no more, suggesting consolidation. Or perhaps it simply expired of old age? Whatever the truth, the sum of the King’s Head’s parts, to me, represent the best of all worlds. Again, as with Strathspey, I am compelled to sit and simply do nothing except watch trees throw shadows across ancient stones... which I can do all day, to be fair. Oh, and silently curse that bloke from Boyzone – I think – for being right all along. The chambered cairn within Kinrive Wood certainly does say it best.... by saying nothing at all.

To sample the delights of this excellent site head downhill from the equally fine long cairn to follow the fence line to the approx south-west. Exquisite.

Easter Ross – that part of Scotland lying between the Cromarty and Dornoch Firths – presents a softer, less brutal aspect to soothe the ragged psyche of a traveller perhaps overwhelmed by the dramatic, mountainous landscape to the west. There are no towering crags of Torridonian sandstone here, no surfeit of sedimentary cliff face to conjure up introspective images of grandeur perhaps more relevant to the so called metaphysical word than the here and now. In lieu Easter Ross possesses contours of a more subtle, less abrasive nature.... greener, too. More welcoming, more ‘feminine’ perhaps? Ripe for settlement by wandering family units of homo sapiens content to reserve the uplands of Wester Ross as the ‘abode of the gods’, if only out of practical necessity. Thankfully the archaeological evidence remains to bear mute testimony to such musings, the low, afforested coastal hills liberally endowed with ancient rock piles, focal points of individual communities’ pioneering attempts to cut the apron-strings of Mother Nature. The foci of the landscape no longer, these monuments appear unknown to all but a few locals... and the odd (no pun intended!) inquisitive traveller possessing OS map, attitude and a perchance to dream.

The long cairns upon the eastern flank of Kinrive Hill, a few miles north of Invergordon, are a case in point. They do not advertise their presence to the casual passer by nowadays, as I assume – if only to judge by their landscape context – they must have done back in days of lore. In fact I’m none the wiser as I approach Kinrive Farm along its extended, very straight access track. Signs warn the pedestrian to beware of that idiosyncratic breed of person to be found brandishing firearms for fun. And therefore to check in at the site office, or words to that effect. I notice the farmer working a nearby field in his tractor, so go have a word. Contrary to expectations, he’s very friendly, points out I’m actually on a right of way (so don’t need his permission) and that the cairns do indeed lie beyond the farm buildings further along the track. At these buildings I encounter a trio of men engaged in moving sheep to the upper slopes.... the broad age range represented provides for some interesting banter, the elder man confirming that there are indeed ‘standing stones’ located in the trees beyond, if his memory of events 30 years ago hasn’t failed him (it hasn’t). Leaving them to their work – I’m on holiday! – I ascend the final section of the track to find a veritable behemoth of a long cairn upon the crest of the hill standing in tandem with a sadly more or less completely trashed example a little to the east.

The western is a magnificent monument, Strathspey’s assertion that it is in ‘excess of 200ft long’ appearing perfectly feasible. Light woodland obscures what would have been a fantastic panoramic vista toward Cromarty Firth... however the trees compensate by creating a cool, intimate vibe, welcomingly diffusing the harsh mid-morning sun of late May. As well as preserving length, an overwhelming volume of stone remains in situ to engender a feeling of timeless permanence, although I have to concede that a number of very large boulders lining the northern flank – presumably field clearance – do detract somewhat from the overall symmetry. But there you are. Given the choice of ancient cairns being used as sources or depositories of stone.... I’ll take the latter option.

As I sit upon the eastern extremity of this fabulous long cairn, the youngest of the trio of farm workers arrives to send a stream of sheep cascading into the field. The (unintended) water analogy is fitting, perhaps, it being difficult to think of a more appropriate scene at that precise moment. The young man is superseded, in short order, by a couple of Forestry Commission men in a land rover. Initial mutual distrust instantly dissipates as I explain why I’m taking pictures of a pile of old rocks. For their part, it seems the gentlemen are keeping tabs on reports of Capercaillie... not the wondrous golden-throated Karen Matheson and chaps (sadly) but the elusively enigmatic species of grouse. Unfortunately I don’t make the acquaintance of the little blighter(s); but knowing they might have chosen to set up home around these parts just seems right, you know?

Yet another ‘Greywether special’, modern antiquarians partial to the serenity inherent in the ‘woodland clearing vibe’ could do a lot worse that to pay a visit to the slumbering chambered cairn of Bealachnancorr. In fact it’s not so much ‘slumbering’ as downright comatose. Hey, bring your insomniac friends and bank a fortune in deferred future goodwill, such is the tranquility on offer here.

Travelling on the A834 from Contin toward Strathpeffer, I take a minor road to the right at Jamestown and head approx east to locate the access road for Beallachnagore Farm. As intimated by Greywether I found parking to be less than straightforward initially; however I eventually squeeze in roadside beside an ‘electricity station’ (for want of a much better term) near the point where tarmac merges to dirt track. The farmer soon drives by, his friendly demeanour positive mute acceptance of my actions. So, walking up the aforementioned track to the farm, a footpath continues to forest’s edge and stile. Once across I follow Greywether’s simple directions; turn left, then right... hey, even I can follow those... and suddenly everything’s all right with the world, at least for a few hours.

OK, for a chambered cairn there’s not a lot of ‘cairn’ in situ, assuming there’s not a volume of stone within the moss. Which is always a possibility, I guess. However a significant number of chamber orthostats still remain erect. Pretty substantial examples of the genre, too, the impression formed by this ‘blissed out’ traveller that of the bare skeleton of a very impressive monument, albeit lacking capstone(s). ‘Blissed out?’ Hell yeah! I lie within the chamber and time seems to, well, do whatever the appropriate cliche dictates in such circumstances. Unless you happen to be an insect or bird, of course. No rest for such creatures, or so it appears, the former scurrying all over the place, the latter engaged in full on, noisy mating ritual. Yeah, everything’s in its right place, then. Check.

So, Bealachnancorr chambered cairn is more ‘chambered’ than ‘cairn’. But highly recommended to all heads nevertheless. Come and lose yourself for a while in the shadow of Cnoc Mor... and then go and ‘vitrify yourself’ upon the nearby Knock Farril. Simple pleasures, eh?

Well sited within rocky pasture overlooking the north-eastern end of Loch Craignish, with the wondrous Kintraw monolith and associated cairns located across the water to the approx east, I found the exposed chamber of Clach an t-Sagairt a joy to behold. Truly I did. As mentioned by those who came before, access is complicated a little by the proximity of housing. Although I’m not exactly enamoured with the thought of knocking on people’s doors, being a somewhat typically reticent Englishman, I would nevertheless recommend doing so here since this is a spot to simply chill out for a while without distractions.

Travelling south-west upon the B8002 at Adfern, take the ‘Soroba road’ uphill to the right near the bus stop. A little way along this look, again, to the right for ‘Bluebell Cottage’ (hopefully I’ve recalled this correctly) and duly ask at the house at the top of the cul-de-sac for access... i.e. not any of those beyond further to the right. The young lady answering the door knew what I was after before I had the chance to utter a word.... the ‘standing stones’, before you have the opportunity to infer any ungentlemanly motive ... readily agreeing to my pre-empted request, as of course a charming young lady would. Now this could have been due to my ‘devastating charm’. But I doubt it. Why, she’s even left a short length of her back fence free from the dreaded barbed-wire to kindly ensure stoneheads avoid damaging the soft bits when entering the meadow.

The monument is worth the effort, three uprights supporting a capstone (’1.8m by 1.6m and up to 0.3m thick’ [RCAHMS 1988]) to form a pretty substantial chamber within the remains of what appeared to be a circular cairn, albeit not that well defined a cairn. A chambered cairn, then. A couple of other stones stand close by including an ‘upright slab.. 1m by 0.15m and protruding 0.45m’ [RCAHMS 1988], together with what I took to be evidence of a secondary burial within the cairn. Then again maybe not? What is beyond dispute, however, is the manner in which the teeming downpour that greeting my arrival morphed into a beautiful, sunny late morning. Yeah, there are certainly many worse places to be than sat above Loch Craignish at Clach an t-Sagairt, hidden away in semi-obscurity. It seems the chamber was ‘cleared’ – as opposed to excavated – in the 1920’s when ‘ashes and splinters of bone’, together with fragments of pottery ‘said to resemble Food Vessels’, were discovered.

The monument deserves to be better known, I guess. But then again is doing pretty well as it is, thank you very much.

I guess it’s something of an irony that such a massive – apparently unexcavated (?) – cairn, overlooking one of the UK’s premier concentrations of prehistoric monuments, should have slumbered in TMA obscurity thus far – Greywether’s tantalising zoomed image notwithstanding. But there you are. The site has been on my list for years; however I always seemed to drive on past. As you do. To be fair, there is much else to see ‘round-abouts, particularly within Kilmartin Glen itself. Tell me about it.

This year, however, I find myself in Carnassarie Castle car park struggling into waterproofs in order to meet the challenge of lashing rain, precipitation which has seen fit to give Argyll a fair old pounding this afternoon, a few curious/bemused tourists looking on with a combination of pity/concern from within the sanctuary of their own vehicles. I follow the path to the castle – well worth a visit by the looks of it, I’d say – before carrying on toward Carnassarie Farm. As I approach a lady emerges from the farm house. But no need to fret... Gladman isn’t in for yet another tongue lashing. Quite the contrary, in fact. Yeah, it transpires she thinks I’m one of the frequent visitors who try to locate the nearby rock art unencumbered by any map reading skills... and is therefore, by all accounts, pleasantly surprised when I tell her I’m heading for Carn Ban.... if that’s OK? It is. The monument resides upon the well defined ridge rising straight ahead and requires quite a stiff, albeit short, climb. It is worth it, however. Carn Ban is a classic upland cairn of considerable dimensions, measuring (according to Canmore):

‘20m in diameter and over 3m in height with intermittent kerbstones in position throughout its perimeter. The height of the cairn is accentuated by the incorporation of natural outcrops, some of which protrude on the W, and it is now surmounted by a modern cairn. [RCAHMS 1988, visited June 1982]‘

As I arrive a further storm front blasts down the glen to give way, in ten minutes or so, to blue skies. Crazy, wonderful weather indeed. Such light, such an sublime sensation of ‘freshness’, the very atmosphere ‘washed clean’. The views to be enjoyed from the summit of the cairn are equally exquisite, none more so than that toward Kilmartin Glen itself to the south(ish). Mind you the excellent, hillfort-crowned Creag a’ Chapuill is also notable, rising beyond the A816 to the approx north-east. I guess I need to undertake more fieldwork – what a drag – to ascertain just how visible Carn Ban is from the more popular monuments within the Glen. However my impressions from up here are that Carn Ban was sited to ‘see’ rather than be seen, set back from the southern edge of the ridge, yet possessing an unrestricted view of the landscape beyond. Just keeping an ‘eye on things’, you understand?

Yeah, as I sit and ponder I reckon Carn Ban might possibly be the most important piece of the Kilmartin jigsaw. Only the thought of a visit to the wondrous Brainport alignment drags me away whilst daylight remains.

It might appear somewhat perverse... odd, even – here upon a Scottish island of superlative natural scenery, boasting the magnificent Black Cuillin, Britain’s finest mountain range – to direct the gaze of prospective visitors towards what are, in effect, mere ‘minor hills’. However, please bear with me. For while an ascent of, say, Sgurr Alasdair represents a classic expedition under the right conditions, an experience never to be forgotten... there is more to this magically diverse isle than the copious distribution of soaring aretes of naked black gabbro rock, the preserve of ‘roped-up’ mountaineering muppets steadfastly refusing to look around them. Much more.

For, just as subtle nuances of light, shade and colour; of texture, smell... of sound... inform sensory perception, so it is the juxtaposition of different landscapes which ensures Skye, in The Citizen Cairn’s opinion, is wondrously unique. Yeah, is not the supporting actor as integral to any great story as the headlining star? Consider: Picard and Riker (or Kirk and Spock, naturally); Holmes and Watson; Mainwairing and Wilson; Ted and Dougal? Hence, despite rising to just c1,604ft at the higher southern summit (Healabhal Bheag), MacLeod’s Tables exert a dominating presence over north-western ‘lowland’ Skye. Notwithstanding that a mountain/hill’s size is, of course, relative to its locale, it is surely the distinct ‘decapitated’ profile of the twin heights, the result of horizontal strata of basalt which helps elevate them (ha!) to iconic Inner Hebridean status. They just stand out, right? The effect is almost unique in my experience, the exception proving the rule the twin sentinel tops of The Brecon Beacons – Pen-y-Fan and Corn Du – located many miles distant in South Wales. Here, however, MacLeod’s Tables rise in splendid isolation, ripe for association with local legend and lore aplenty, this only enhancing the vibe to be experienced by those travellers prepared to venture off the beaten track, far from the tourists and chattering school parties. Clearly, our ancient predecessors concurred with this view. But don’t take my word for it: the northern summit, Healabhal Mhòr, is crowned by the remains of a Bronze Age cairn.

I approach Duirinish upon the A865 heading towards Dunvegan, its castle still the seat of the chief of Clan MacLeod... but more of that later. The day having dawned fine, the notorious banks of grey vapour informing Skye’s ‘Misty Isle’ epithet conspicuous by their absence, the fabulous coastal views across Loch Bracadale are but a teasing prelude to what is to come. Passing the small hamlet of Ose, a pair of large cairns appear in profile surmounting the rise beyond Loch Caroy. These are the Cairns of Vatten (or Feolaig, if you prefer), two mammoth Neolithic (presumably) chambered cairns well worth hanging out at for a while. The northern monument is, by far, the better preserved nowadays [NG2979 4408], rising to c20ft in height, with an approx 90ft diameter. Sadly its southern neighbour is much depleted in comparison. Nevertheless, despite the ravages of time... and more destructive human agency, visitors may well discern a perceived correlation, an association, between the great ancient stone piles and Macleod’s Tables looming beyond? An intentional ‘mirroring’ of the latter by an ancient people seeking to link their lives to the surrounding landscape, perhaps to impart legitimacy, meaning? Those of us who enjoy all too brief sojourns in such wild, uncompromising places might well be understanding of such intentions? Indeed, Cope makes this point within his seminal day-glo orange tome. Whatever the truth, the possibility is intriguing. Moving on, as one eventually must, the B884 exits left to cross the Osdale River as it flows into upper Loch Dunvegan, the road in due course arriving at a crossroads overlooked by the collapsed remnants of Dun Osdale. This is one of many examples of Iron Age brochs still to be found upon Skye, defensive drystone towers, circular in plan and synonymous with Scottish prehistory. There is another, finer example to be found at Dun Fiadhairt to the northwest of Dunvegan Castle [NG23115042].

Enough remains of Dun Osdale to afford the visitor a glimpse of what life within these ancient strongholds may have entailed, several courses of walling still remaining in situ, together with evidence of the trademark ‘double-skinned’ construction technique employed by Scottish Iron Age society. Furthermore – this being Skye – tales of the supernatural are never far from the surface. Yeah, legend has it that a curious local happened to chance upon a group of ‘faery folk’ having a good time here and, rather stupidly (ahem) decided to stay and watch. All was well until said ‘gentleman’ happened to sneeze and, thus discovered, was dragged inside.. only to be given a slap-up feed by the Daoine Sithe intent upon bewitching him. Our ‘hero’ was apparently wise to such shenanigans (his mother being a witch) and, instead of partaking of the copious wine proffered, instead made off with the goblet across the River Osdale. Job done, right? Never underestimate the power of faery retribution, however, for although his canny witch/mum applied an anti-faery vengeance charm, the little people were one step ahead. The goblet was, of course, cursed, the man being subsequently murdered for it by a former friend. The cup can apparently now be seen on display within Dunvegan Castle.... amongst ‘other stuff’. More of which later.

Such is the nature of the base camp chosen for The Citizen Cairn’s attempt upon Healabhal Mhòr today. Such is the Isle of Skye, to be fair. By all accounts, the easiest, direct approach would appear to be along the access track for Osdale Farm within Osdale Glen and hence ascending the peak’s eastern shoulder. However, since our ‘Faery broch’ stands at the base of the hill’s north-eastern ridge, my route is at least – for once – logical.... if very hard going in places, trackless rough moorland/bog ‘enlivened’ with peat-hags making a mockery of the ostensibly modest height gain. Indeed, the final ascent of Healabhal Mhòr’s northern face is brutal in the extreme, the sheer effort demanded of me, particularly under a now peerless royal blue sky, out of all proportion to limited expectations derived from a perusal of the map. When I eventually do reach the summit plateau I’m twice blown away..... quite literally, upon leaving the lee, by the freezing wind.... and metaphorically by the mesmeric coastal views.

The summit plateau is extensive, to say the least, and larger than the somewhat higher Healabhal Bheag looming across the glen to the south, this perhaps explaining the otherwise somewhat contradictory nomenclature (Mhor means ‘big’ in Gaelic). I make my way westward toward the summit (1,545ft), this crowned by a rather well-built cairn which, to be honest, looks too good to be true. As it happens, the professionals at RCAHMS agree, describing the cairn as ‘cone-shaped and probably an old trigonometrical station (1928)’. The prehistoric cairn I’ve come to see lies at the extreme opposite, south-eastern end of the decapitated hilltop, the view across Loch Bracadale toward the serried summits of The Black Cuillin utterly sensational – there is no other word for it. Aside from ‘magnificent’, perhaps? Or ‘wondrous’? OK, you get the point. As is sadly often the case with upland funerary cairns, however, the surviving archaeology is not in the same league. Although presenting a very substantial footprint, the centre of the cairn has been decimated by the excavation of three (count ‘em, the idiots) muppet shelters.... its very heart torn out by vandals unable (or unwilling) to dress appropriately for conditions. As if to underline the point, I’m briefly joined by a young couple clad in shorts and T-shirts, neither in any position to remotely deal with the brutal wind whatsoever. No wonder the British uplands claim so many victims...

I sit back and attempt to take it all in, to absorb the natural melodrama that is Skye. Yeah, despite the aforementioned Black Cuillin rising to double the height of my not-so-lofty perch, I reckon only a fool would dismiss MacLeod’s Tables as being an inferior viewpoint, such is the quality of the far-reaching coastal views. I note the relative positions of the various brochs, chambered cairns and other ancient sites that infuse the island with such a deeply ingrained sense of human continuity, the notion that the viewer is somehow witnessing time divorced from the constraints of linear progression... that somehow the past, present and future are in a state of flux. What IS it about this small corner of Scotland that such sentiments somehow do not seem trite?

Time to eat as my gaze settles upon the Fiadhairt peninsular and, to its right, Dunvegan Castle itself. Yeah, The Clan MacLeod. What is it with this ‘table’ business, then? Surely not tales of giants to mitigate the little folk? Well, funnily enough, it would appear Healabhal Mhòr and Bheag became known as ‘MacLeod’s Tables’ following much more anthroponotic antics: a case of said clan chief having had to extricate himself pretty sharpish from the potential repercussions of some farcically over the top blagging. To none other than the King himself.... D’oh!

According to legend – presumably based upon a degree of truth – it would appear that Alasdair MacLeod made a visit to the court of James V in Edinburgh and, somewhat peeved by the condescending attitude shown to Highlanders there during the 16th Century, boasted that – as fine as the King’s facilities were – he, MacLeod, possessed a larger ‘table’ than James back home on Skye. Not to mention ‘brighter candles’ and even a higher ceiling upon his banqueting hall! Err, oh dear. Naturally assuming our Alasdair to be what the Irish would term a ‘gobshite’, the King no doubt decided to come see for himself and take this insolent braggart down a peg or two, so to speak. Anyway, MacLeod somehow – since The Citizen Cairn assumes he didn’t chuck James a pair of boots saying ‘It’s not far, just up there... see you at the top’ – managed to convey the bemused monarch to the summit plateau of Healabhal Mhòr at dusk, whereby a lavish banquet was laid out surrounded by torch-bearing clansmen... in lieu of candles!! Hopefully minus the dodgy Mariachi band, since that WOULD be going too far. To be fair, as far as face-saving/neck-saving exercises go, this was a pretty good attempt in the circumstances. Certainly enough to have given Hitler’s architect Albert Speer and his Nazi goons wet dreams back in the day. ‘Cathedrals of Light’? Ha! You obviously haven’t been to Scotland, fool. Maybe that weirdo Hess might’ve done better? My own luncheon is somewhat less ostentatious in comparison. Nonetheless, there is simply no faulting the outlook here.

By all accounts, the 8th Clan Chief MacLeod – known as Alasdair ‘Crotach’ (’humpback’) – wasn’t exactly a pillar of the community, at least not if one prefers one’s leaders not to be consumed by religion and responsible for mass murder upon neighbouring isles such as Eigg. However, at least his mad antics have overridden the alternative famous association: that of St Columba. According to legend, the 6th-century inhabitants of Skye saw fit to refuse the holy man lodging – for an undisclosed reason – whereupon God (apparently) sliced off the tops of Healabhal Mhòr and Bheag so the poor saint could have a place to sleep and a table for eating... and other stuff requiring a flat surface. One is left wondering why such a giant of a man was bothering the poor islanders in the first place, given his somewhat, er, ‘excessive’ requirements? But there you are. And, to be fair, he was never going to compete with the fairy folk, was he?

Speaking of which... Alasdair MacLeod’s descendant apparently still resides within Dunvegan Castle today. A scan of the estate’s website reveals at least one more treasure of note: Am Bratach Sith – “The Fairy Flag of Dunvegan”. ‘Yeah, right’, I hear you say? However, it would appear this faded yellow/brown silk banner is credibly thought to have originated in Syria or Rhodes during the 4th Century AD and, furthermore, is linked to Harald Hardrada, ancestor of Clan Macleod and the very same Norse nutter defeated by King Harold at Stamford Bridge during that fateful year of 1066. Yeah, apparently the infamous warrior brought a ‘famous banner’ (The ‘Land Ravager’?) back from Crusading escapades in The Middle East said to possess ‘mystical powers’ and the ability to snatch victory from defeat etc. (so presumably never possessed by Tottenham Hotspur, then?) Although it’s fair to say it didn’t exactly help our Harald, did it? Perhaps, dear reader, you may therefore choose to believe in the connection to the Daoine Sithe? Well, this is Skye after all. Behemoth 6th Century saints, extreme 16th Century alfresco dining.... fairy cups and flags? As I said, expect the unexpected upon this magical island. There can be only one, MacLeod.

First-time visitors to the wondrous Isle of Skye may, upon heading west from the iconic, graceful bridge spanning Kyle Akin, be forgiven a certain sense of initial deflation – perhaps even mild self-admonishment? – at having apparently been seduced by the legend, the myth... the mystique... that clouds any rational appraisal of ‘The Misty Isle’... as comprehensively as the all too frequent cumulo-nimbus obscures its landscape. Where is the all too keenly anticipated scenic splendour? Where, indeed?

Persevere, however, for such disappointment is but short-lived, a brief aberration, for Beinn na Caillich soon reassures any initially bemused punter, the mountain offering a strikingly elegant, granite domed – dare I say ‘mamillar’? – profile to travellers approaching the bustling town of Broadford. Some will pause here to replenish petrol and provisions; many more tourists will take the B8083 traversing Strath Suardal towards Loch Slapin and Elgol, enjoying some of the finest coastal scenery these British Isles have to offer en route; while other, more intense types (ahem) with a penchant for prehistory may well choose to divert in search of the four chambered cairns which cluster around the peak like chicks to Mother Hen: the massive Liveras cairn overlooking Broadford Bay beyond Corry to the north; Achadh a’Chuirn, hidden away in a local backyard at Waterloo; the excellent An Sithean beside our aforementioned sightseers’ Torrin road; or even the monuments subsumed within forestry near the electricity substation at Old Corry. Whatever their bag, all visitors, regardless, cannot fail to notice the ‘Hill of the Old Woman’ looming high overhead, its red-granite eroded flanks rising straight from sea level and thus appearing much taller than its unexceptional (for Scotland) 2,402ft. I, for one, have rarely seen such an aesthetically pleasing mountain – so graceful, so curvilinear of line. Ironically, perhaps, so unlike the jagged black gabbro summits of The Black Cuillin for which The Isle of Skye is justly famed?

It is therefore easy to see why Beinn na Caillich might have been referred to as a ‘sacred hill’ by some, such is its complete physical dominance of the locality. However, arguably its most intriguing feature is not its enigmatic, seemingly unscalable profile, but rather the placement of a massive cairn near its summit. OK, some muppets, particularly those card-carrying, peak-bagging ‘mountaineering’ types, might tell you that ‘every mountain has a cairn, so what?’ Well, for one thing, they are in error – in fact, The Citizen Cairn advises that one should pity such fools lacking even a basic awareness of their prehistoric heritage. Yeah, there are ‘marker cairns’ erected by walkers for reasons best kept to themselves... and then there are ancient funerary cairns, the final resting places of our Bronze Age ancestors. And then, to be fair, there is the great cairn said in Scottish mythology to be that of ‘Saucy Mary’ (according to the owner of Achadh a’Chuirn – or did she not say ‘Saucy Sue’?), arguably in a league of its own.

Now should any of the more perceptive of our visitors heading for the delights of Elgol happen to glance to their right as the receding treeline reveals the mountain in all its splendour, they might, perhaps, note a green mound some way distant crowned by a few upstanding stones... the latter arranged as if placed by human agency. This is the aforementioned An Sithean chambered cairn, surely one of the most gloriously sited Neolithic monuments in all The Highlands? Indeed, such is the welcoming, ethereal vibe here that I choose to park up overnight, lulled to sleep as if within the womb, the only disturbance caused by the soft thuds of lambs ‘bonking’ into the car during the depth of night. No damage done, however, the creatures equipped with natural padding for such an eventuality. Truly, Nature thinks of everything, does she not? Anyway, dawn arrives true to forecast, wraith-like early morning mist forlornly clinging to the summit of the mountain before quickly dissipating, succumbing inexorably to the heat of the rising sun to reveal Saucy Mary’s cairn clearly visible far above.

Gazing wistfully at the ridiculously steep-looking flanks and seemingly razor-sharp ridges as I munch my Coco Pops (other cereals are available) I suddenly realise that, like our first-time visitors, I’ve been seduced by ‘Saucy Mary’; find that I’m tentatively discussing with myself the possibility of an approach from the north, or thereabouts. You what? Give me a break.... you want to climb that, you eejit? But the seed, now sown, begins to germinate at a prodigious, accelerating, alarming rate. ‘After all, you ain’t getting any younger’, snipes the outwardly silent voice of introspection. Damn it to blazes.... and – retrospectively, at least – praise it to the heavens. To be fair, I’m by no means the first (relatively) modern antiquarian to wish for an aerial perspective, a certain Thomas Pennant having done so in 1772, noting ‘the prospect to the west was that of desolation itself; a savage series of rude mountains, discoloured, black and red, as if by the rage of fire. The serrated tops of Blaven affect with astonishment: and beyond them, the clustered height of Quillin (sic)’. I’m suckered into accepting the challenge. Hey, what could possibly go wrong?

So... a minor road signposted ‘Old Corry’ leaves the A87 a little Sligachan-side of Broadford, plenty of parking space available before the electricity sub-station (incidentally, also the starting point for a visit to the nearby chambered cairns). The mountain rears disconcertingly far above, prompting last-minute thoughts of backing out. ‘Only’ 2,402ft eh? Ha! As any experienced upland wanderer will confirm, starting from near sea level makes all the difference to those that are – OK – ‘not getting any younger’. Before I can countermand my decision, I set off through a break in the forestry cloaking the rough north-eastern slopes, the route an assault course of ankle-twisting tree stumps and timber residue, but nonetheless passable. As is the deer fence which has clearly seen better days. Traversing open hillside now, a westerly bearing sees me arrive at the prosaically named Lochan Beinn na Caillich, a pleasing body of water set within extensive bog. The eastern flank of the mountain overwhelms above and beyond, two steep ridges defining Coire Fearchair.

I decide to go with that to the right, for better or worse, although in retrospect a direct approach across boulder fields is probably not the best option, there being a more grassy alternative a little further on. Cresting the ridge, the magnificent vistas northward to Scalpay and northwest towards the fabulous Glamaig (and cohorts) ensure the sweaty struggle is more than worthwhile. From here ‘the only way is up’, as Yazz euphorically sang back in 1988, the obvious onward route very steep and narrow, particularly during the final stages. However, what with the absence of what the more tedious mountaineer would term ‘technical difficulties’, the frequent pauses to drink in that scenic grandeur is not a hardship. Clambering – at last – onto the curving summit plateau, the pent-up anticipation of arrival, of seeing the cairn at close quarters, immediately evaporates as like Pennant before me, I’m totally awestruck, completely blown away by the stark, magnificent vista to the west. Sinking to the ground I stare, spellbound, the sheer overwhelming impact of the imagery akin to being hit by the allegorical freight train, the curvaceous Red Cuillin drawing the gaze, beyond Bla Bheinn, to the magical, serrated skyline of Britain’s finest mountain range, bar none: The Black Cuillin.

If ever there was a vision to enjoy for eternity, this has a pretty good claim. Speaking of which.... ah, yes, the cairn. Regaining my composure I head toward what is clearly a very substantial monument indeed. The approx northern arc is held in situ by several massive blocks of what I assume to be natural outcropping, smaller slabs having apparently been utilised at other points of the circumference as kerb stones. Folklore holds the monument – according to Canmore apparently never ‘opened’ – to be the final resting place of our ‘Saucy Mary’, said to be a Norwegian female dignitary of some description, dependent upon source, with a nice little earner on the side (that Arthur Daley would’ve been proud to call his own) involving levying tolls upon passing ships from her Caistel Maol...and flashing her breasts to reward supplicant sailors. Effective, perhaps, but not very PC. However, bear in mind that QE2 Crossing at Dartford, way down south, has been extracting money from us for over 30 years now. Go figure?

Moving swiftly on... while The Citizen Cairn believes there may well be more than a grain of truth in such a legend – the Norse were, of course, hereabouts back in the day and certainly not averse to such extortionary practices – if someone was ever interred (and perhaps still resides?) within Beinn na Caillich’s behemoth of a cairn, he/she would surely date from a much earlier epoch in what was to become Scotland’s story: The Bronze Age? On balance, The Saucy Saga appears to me reminiscent of the appropriation of the sentinel peaks of Snowdonia’s Y Carneddau (Carnedd Llewelyn and Carnedd Dafydd) to the memory of the medieval Welsh Princes, notwithstanding those mountains’ confirmed prehistoric pedigree. Whatever the truth, significantly placed a little to the approx north-east of the OS trig pillar, this is clearly no walker’s cairn, certainly, when bearing in mind I quite literally see no other soul during c10 hours upon this mountain, time spent under peerless conditions. You do the maths...

The sun beats down from a pristine blue sky (yeah, I know, in Scotland?), yet it is bloody freezing up here in the company of the Norwegian ice maiden, a forceful wind requiring the wearing of full winter kit. Wandering around the summit plateau of shattered rock attempting to take it all in I note how the fabulous coastline of Skye offsets the predominantly green and grey of the landscape to great dramatic effect.... drama.... yeah, that is the keynote here, what this mountain is all about. Such theatrics needed to be artificially contrived at places such as Stonehenge, far to the south upon Salisbury Plain – and, to be fair, how! – but, clearly, there was no need, indeed no possibility of improving upon Mother Nature here upon this brutal mountain summit. Isolated from the main
bulk of The Red Cuillin and significantly lower than The Black Cuillin’s numerous, jagged munros, the location of Beinn na Caillich accords the spellbound traveller a unique, privileged, bird’s eye view of this wonderful Isle... a view fit for a king. Or princess, perhaps?

.. land and sea in such close proximity as to appear – no, to BE – mutually inclusive. Reluctant, in the extreme, to leave, I note another craggy height overlooking Kyleakin to the east, beyond the seemingly toy town rooftops of Broadford. I check the map, then double-check – surely some mistake, or perhaps the locals having a good-natured laugh at gullible tourists driving around in circles? – since this is ALSO named Beinn na Caillich. The thought occurs; well thoughts actually: 1) does this one possess a cairn (it does, but that’s another wondrous story); 2) since Caisteal Maol lies immediately below to the approx northwest, perhaps this was actually the last abode of Saucy Mary? No, on second thoughts, let’s leave things as they are since it appears this Beinn na Caillich is
actually eulogised as the last resting place of Grainnhe, wife of Fionn, whom students of Celtic mythology will immediately recognise as head of the mystical warrior-giant clan The Fiennes... assuming that, being students, they weren’t down the pub during that particular lecture? Goes without saying, right? Also, that there is clearly a touch of local brinkmanship – or rather brink-womanship – inherent here in this corner of Skye. “You say tomato, I say tomato”. Pah! Who needs a legendary Norwegian sexpot princess when you’ve a goddess warrior giant like Lucy Lawless on steroids? Next, they’ll be saying the pathetic little French dude with the silly hat is actually buried at Waterloo?

Time does its thing, refusing to advance such seemingly epic moments in a frame-by-frame motion, as is the custom of dodgy Hollywood blockbusters. There is no overbearing soundtrack, either, simply an all-pervading silence.. assuming one discounts the curiously synthetic sound of wind upon Triplepoint Ceramic. Consequently, a full six hours spent upon this wondrous spot seems to evaporate into the void, here where the landscape intrudes into the upper realm. Here, where the Bronze Age inhabitants of this idiosyncratic, magical Isle chose to (probably) send their VIPs upon the journey to eternity. I finally bid the great cairn and its magical environs, plus whoever might be lingering around from times long passed, a fond farewell to begin my descent. No need to rush, right?

Following a reasonably satisfying hors d’oeuvre at Torran a’Bharraich I continue loch side upon the minor road as it winds through the village of Letterfearn.... only for progress to be abruptly halted at a locked gate beyond Druidaig Lodge. Despite the appropriate name, I’m confused since the map shows this road terminating at the hamlet of Totaig. The usual self doubt regarding navigational prowess – or rather lack of it – rears its ugly head. Surely I haven’t made a mess of this? I decide not. But there’s only one way to find out conclusively..... so, boots donned, I step out into the deluge (after parking a little way back up the road). It is actually a rather good, scenic walk to Totaig offering excellent views across the water to the gaunt, albeit restored, fortress of Eilean Donan. Totaig’s few buildings appear deserted, uninhabited nowadays, although those with a bit of spare cash – OK, perhaps more than a ‘bit’ – could find themselves a perfect, idyllic hideaway here. Any rich widows fancy some company? The track, now unmetalled, ascends the hillside to the left as the traveller approaches. I head for what is ‘obviously’ the site of the broch – where I would have placed it – across the inlet (Eilein Aoinidh) only to discover I am just as obviously wrong, the broch visible set into the hillside to the approx south-west [although, to be fair, a reconstruction drawing at the broch depicts round houses here, presumably the dwellings of lesser kinsmen].

Caisteal Grugaig occupies a fine, strategic location above a cascading stream (that’s the water source sorted, then) commanding the confluence of Lochs Duich, Alsh and Long below to the approx north-east and thus, presumably, the maritime traffic back in the day. The relationship with Eilean Donan, the island apparently featuring traces of vitrified stonework beneath the restored castle, is intriguing. Did one family occupy both sites, assuming they were contemporary? Or were they rivals? Sadly, as far as I’m aware, the Iron Age remnants surviving upon Eilean Donan are minimal. Not so this broch, the substantial nature of the remains of which come as a very welcome surprise. Very often in this game the archaeology doesn’t match the scenic splendour, or vice versa. But not here. OK, the structure is nowhere near as tall as the wondrous, not too distant Glenelg brochs, but nevertheless bears very favourable comparison with most other mainland brochs that I have seen to date. Furthermore many of those idiosyncratic hallmark features of these iconic structures are very much present and correct. All the boxes ticked, so to speak.

Firstly, starting logically at the entrance, there is a fine, triangular lintel reminiscent of that at Dun Dornadilla, sited below Ben Hope far to the north. Yeah, perhaps this detail was de rigueur amongst fashionable broch owners? The entrance passage retains draw-bar holes to secure a heavy door and a guard cell formerly housing, er, guards visible to the left (albeit more or less now inaccessible). Within the broch irregular outcrops of bedrock remain in situ suggesting the ground level was used for storage. A trio of internal doorways allow access to a mural passage and staircase servicing the upper floor(s?) and a couple of mural chambers. It is possible to clamber up the stairs to the wall top, lethally slippery in the rain, and muse upon the mentality, the differing hopes and dreams of the people who occupied this defensive dwelling two millennia ago.

Surprisingly the broch plays host to several more visitors during my stay; a quartet of middle-aged hikers seemingly quite ‘taken’ by it, to be honest (good for them, I say); and an older dude, white hair pulled back in a pony tail, together with his wife and dogs... with whom I shared Mam Ratagan last night. Good, proper people. See, they do exist.

Before leaving Caisteal Grugaig it is worth ascending the track a little further to the hill top above and to the right, passing an information board en route. This affords an excellent view of Loch Alsh and the magical Isle of Skye to the west, together with a grandstand panorama of ‘the meeting of the lochs’ – and Caisteal Grugaig’s place in the landscape – to the east. The mind races as I imagine the scene as those three Hanoverian frigates pounded Eilean Donan to rubble in May 1719....

Dawn arrives at Mam Ratagan heralding a significant change in weather, assuming the cloud obscuring the summits of the ‘Five Sisters’ is not a passing anomaly. The assumption is correct, the placid surface of the southern end of Loch Duich, reflecting the ancient defensive remnants of Dunan Diarmid, all too soon disrupted by rising wind spilling down Glen Shiel, the vanguard of a storm front. I’ve spent the night at this wondrous (and strangely midge free) viewpoint with the intention of visiting a couple of the lesser known ancient fortified dwellings in the area before the drive to Kilmartin this afternoon. There are worse things to do.

At Shiel Bridge a minor road heads beyond the Youth Hostel at Ratagan along the western shore of Loch Duich to the north-west, passing the apparent location of a Class II henge at NG 93081868 (I didn’t see anything in passing, but may well return some day, given the opportunity). A little way past Duich House a jetty extends into the loch to service a salmon fishery. Opposite (to the left) a path ascends the hillside beside a fenced storage yard toward a small, rocky knoll offering no hint of ancient fortifications, hardly surprising given the overwhelmingly vivid carpet of late blooming blue bells so abundant this final day of May. I manage to squeeze the car off the road beside some nearby stables, to the apparent bemusement of the equine occupant.... ‘who are you, Sassenach?’.... and clamber up to find the shattered remains of a small dun set in a wonderful position overlooking the loch. ‘Shattered’ and ‘small’ are the adjectives to note here, although, to be fair, the footings of the curving wall defending the easiest approaches upon the north/west arc do suggest a pretty substantial work in its day.

As mentioned the siting is magnificent with a clear view up and down the loch. That to the north-west, looking toward Eilean Donan (the island featuring a restored castle that has no doubt graced a thousand biscuit tins, yet also possesses traces of a vitrified fort) is pretty good by any standards.... unfortunately, however, the visa to south-east is marred somewhat by the aforementioned salmon fishery and supporting infrastructure. But hey, this is a working landscape. So no complaints. And needless to say the misty, driving rain inevitably puts a literal dampener on proceedings, although nothing can detract from the sheer wonder of those blue bells. Yeah, visit on a fine day and you may well be blown away.

So, perhaps not quite the hang I was anticipating, but nevertheless it’d be rude not pop in on the way to the utterly wondrous Caisteal Grugaig.

Travellers engaged in a serpentine journey southwards along the north-west coast of Scotland might well do a lot worse that to pause for a while – take a cerebral breather – at Gairloch... in order to prepare for the scenic onslaught that awaits receptive minds at Loch Maree and Torridon. There is another reason, however. For perched upon the rocky headland of An Dun, rising at the southern end of the beach (Gaineamh Mhor), are the remnants of an ancient fort. Now I’ve never been one for lounging upon sand in the sun... however lounging upon a possible Pictish fort overlooking a sun-kissed beach? Well that’s a different matter. Gairloch is an attractive enough town catering for the traditional genre of seaside holiday maker, the fine sandy coast complemented by a backdrop of rugged hills softened somewhat with greenery. It also possesses an award winning heritage centre housing a Pictish stone, apparently featuring the likeness of a salmon (sounds a bit fishy to me), found locally in 1880.

I park by the memorial to the crew of a USAAF B24 Liberator which crashed nearby on June 13th 1945 with the loss of all the brave gentlemen on board... lest we forget. Hell, we must never forget, no matter how much Uncle Sam may annoy us nowadays. An Dun and its fort are visible at the far end of Gaineamh Mhor, although I would advise against clambering down the headland hereabouts as I did, but instead walking a bit further toward the golf course – yes, I’m afraid Gairloch has one of those, too – and taking a path there.... particularly if you have little ‘uns. Which ever way you approach note that the fort crowns the inner section of the rocky promontory, this separated from the outer by a deep, natural cleft.

The site is isolated from the hinterland by what appeared to me to be the remains of a cross-wall with rock cut ditch, although there are suggestions this could relate to a later castle which local folk tradition infers once stood here (J H Dixon 1886). The enclosure itself is small (20m N-S by 14m E-W according to Canmore, only large enough to accommodate an extended family, perhaps?) defended by the grassy remains of a single wall. Not large, but it is enough since the flanks of the promontory are quite precipitous.

As I sit and take in the glorious sweep of Gaineamh Mhor the sun breaks through the afternoon cloud cover drenching this coastal landscape with light. The sound of children playing with bucket and spade below me seems in keeping with the vibe here; in fact I can imagine a guard standing sentinel hearing the same thing several millennia before. Certainly makes a lot more sense than the metallic ‘thwak’ of a bleedin’ golf ball, but there you are. Yeah, some ancient forts, particularly those sited upon inhospitable hill tops, leave the visitor in awe of the apparent resilience of our predecessors... ‘rather you than I, my fore bearing dude friends’. But not here upon An Dun. Yeah, I could see me building a little hut and seeing out my days here. Bit chilly in the winter, but then the gulfstream is pretty favourable around these parts.

N.B. In the absence of OS map I originally believed this site to be Dun Lagaidh, actually located just under a mile to the approx north-west, beyond the terminus of the minor road at Loggie. Oops. One to come back for, then. And bring a bleedin’ map next time. Having said that, I was more than happy with this broch in the time available.....

Now allocating a whole day to drive the not excessive distance between Coigach, a little north of Ullapool, and the Isle of Skye to the south may seem a little, well, excessive. However choose the A832 coastal road at Corrieshalloch Gorge and I’d wager many will conclude a mere week would not suffice, such is the sublime scenery on offer. Yeah, Mother Scotland truly surpassed herself here-abouts, did she not? Incidentally ‘Heads’ new to the area are strongly recommended to pause to gawp – hopefully in not too vertiginous a fashion – at the aforementioned box canyon, the viewing bridge offering arguably one of Scotland’s finest ‘near roadside’ experiences, furthermore graced with the 150ft Falls of Measach.

It is therefore perhaps a little ironic to note the paucity (as far as I’m aware) of prehistoric monuments located along the coastal route, particularly bearing in mind the rich canon of sites to be visited further north. Nevertheless there are still a few man-made gems to be unearthed, none more so than Dun an Ruigh Ruaidh wondrously located overlooking the western shore of Loch Broom. It is all too easy to pass on by.... however ..... a minor, literally ‘dead-end’ road leaves the A835 at the southern extremity of the loch, skirting the far shore to connect a linear sequence of small hamlets. The final such is Loggie, travellers glancing up to their left, immediately upon entering its environs, perhaps discerning the site perched upon its steep, craggy hillside. I didn’t, but for once I had an excuse having no OS map. Consequently I parked up a little further north, taking the opportunity to replenish my water levels from a tumbling stream, whilst two alternative camping dudes looked on from within the open sliding door of their van. Excellent! Better than a B’n’B, my friends. Looking back up the road I realise my mistake, Dun an Ruigh Ruaidh standing silent sentinel above the shimmering loch. Excellent again.

It’s a short, yet very steep ascent up a grassy track from roadside to a broch which, according to Anna and Graham Ritchie (Oxford Archaeological Guide to Scotland) still stands approx 3.5m high in places, although the eastern arc did appear to have collapsed downhill. Excavation during the 1960’s discovered a ring of post holes evidencing an upper floor, together with a central hearth. It seems the original entrance was to the south-east, although this is now blocked.

All in all, then, not a bad broch. The archaeology, however, is more than matched by the exquisite location offering superb vistas NW(ish) toward Ullapool and, looking ‘upstream’, the towering skyline of Beinn Dearg and cohorts rising above the water. There are worse places to hang out for lunch. Yeah, Dun an Ruigh Ruaidh may be a little off the beaten track nowadays, but I reckon it was smack on centre stage when the water ways were the arteries of this landscape.

What new madness is this? A Scottish site I’d actually heard of before donning the boots this time around! OK, that’s not strictly true since it appears the hill fort is referred to locally as ‘Knock Farril’.... but I’m assuming it’s probably pronounced more or less the same. Correct me if I’m wrong. Regardless of nomenclature, it’s certainly a good ‘un requiring precious little introduction – thankfully – to the hardened Scottish ‘hill Head’, not only due to the fine location, straddling a narrow NE-SW ridge approx midway between the spa-town of Strathpeffer and Dingwall (the latter upon the shore of Cromarty Firth looking across to those curiously alien oil platforms), but because of the extensive vitrification of the defences. Ah, ‘vitrification’, that seemingly almost mystical process whereby dry stone walls of hill forts, most particularly in Scotland, were subjected to severe, uniform heat – aka fire – causing the stone to fuse to a hard glass-like substance. Or something like that. The reasoning behind such acts has, not surprisingly, been the subject of much academic debate... for what it’s worth I favour the ‘ritualistic decommissioning’ option at time of typing. So that’s that settled, then.

The hill fort towers impressively above the aforementioned Strathpeffer, which incidentally possesses a Pictish Clach Tiompan, or ‘sounding stone’. Needless to say, however, I approach from Loch Ussie to the south, a rough track actually allowing visitors to park upon the ridge to SW, if they so wish. In my ignorance I leave the car a little further down beside the farm house and make my way on foot... in retrospect it is more appropriate, I think. The ascent to the ‘fort is quite steep, passing a vitrified outwork described by Canmore as a ‘look-out post’; there is another to the NE of the main enclosure, so my interpretation is they might have also functioned as ‘barbicans’ protecting the main approaches from sudden assault? There is certainly quite a substantial volume of vitrified rock remaining in situ from what must have been a very powerful univallate defence in its day (Canmore gives an average of c4.5m for wall thickness).

Interestingly.... Anna and Graham Ritchie (Oxford Archaeological Guide to Scotland) cite Knock Farril as being the location of the earliest recorded excavation in Scotland during 1774, the dig resulting in the trio of ‘distinct troughs’ to be seen. More interesting still, perhaps, they also state that analysis of the vitrified rock yielded a destruction date of c1,100 BCE. Blimey, that is early, is it not? As I wander around taking in the fabulous views, special mention accorded the vistas looking eastward toward Cromarty Firth and north to Ben Wyvis, Auld Alba decides to add a primeval vibe by introducing fast moving fronts of violent hail, tempered by exquisitely sublime rainbows. Just to make the visit to this wondrous hill fort even more memorable, you understand, and not to give me a randomly generated kicking. Thank you Mam.

Incidentally I learn later that my nephew’s little girl, Evelyn, upon seeing a rainbow at home in South Wales asked the Mam C whether she could ‘go for a ride on it’, or words to that effect. You know, up here on Knock Farril, I think I know what she meant. Never lose the child inside, my friends. Never!

I was expecting this excellent little hill fort to be anything but the obscure eyrie it would appear to be, at least assuming my experience is anything to go by. Set above (a tiny length of) the western shore of Loch Ness, the site overlooks the ‘Great Glen Way’ as it contrives to ascend from near water’s edge to the small hamlet of Grotaig, the latter complete with large car park and an establishment selling – and presumably making – pottery. Likely to be pretty busy, then? The immediate area certainly is, long distance walkers trudging uphill, heads down with seemingly not one iota of interest in their surroundings, to link with the minor road which doubles as the path to Drumnadrochit. Dun Scriben is not. Busy, that is. No, not at all.

The first task upon arrival along the aforementioned road is to work out exactly where the tree-clad ancient fortress is located; the second, a much more difficult challenge, is to figure out a way to ascend it without being lampooned into buying a vase or two... lovely as I’m sure they are. The Grotaig Burn duly frustrates any attempt from the north or west... and a southern approach would seem to entail descending toward the great loch below. So, the east it is. It is immediately apparent that this is clearly not a very good idea, a great earthy chasm excavated by running water over the course of goodness-knows-how-long isolating hill from path. But since the clock is ticking on for what was supposed to be a quick ‘n’ easy visit, I conclude that I should have a go regardless. How hard can it be? Erm, to be honest it’s not to be recommended from this direction – very steep, very unstable and there appeared to be a path coming up from the south as I gained the crest – but there you are. The final ascent to the summit is, if anything, worse and I resort to hauling myself up with the help of tree trunks. My Lord Greystoke I am not, so my poor knees take the brunt. Yeah, this had better be worth it, or.... or nothing, I guess.

It therefore comes as a very welcome surprise to find the tiny wooded summit defended by the remains of a substantial dry stone wall, most impressive upon the western flank where courses of original facing can still be seen in situ. The defences are also pretty upstanding to the south, whilst the extreme angle of the plunging hillside to the east and (approx) north might well have called for less original stonework upon those arcs anyway, promontory fort-style? Although the enclosing woodland restricts views, except toward the shapely ridge of Meall Fuar-mhonaidh to approx south-west, Loch Ness can still be seen stretching away to apparent infinity occupying the Great Glen. Nice strategic siting for a hill fort. Iconic, too. Assuming anyone knows it’s here! Or cares, for that matter. Yeah, the thought occurs that – ‘possibly’ – more people have seen poor old Nessie in recent times than have viewed the ancient defences of Dun Scriben hidden away, ironically in plain sight, upon this hill top.

I am more than glad I did. However... surely... there must be an easier way up? And down.

Travellers seeking to be overawed by towering ancient ramparts should perhaps look elsewhere .... since here at Craig Mony it is the natural defences – the perpendicular rock face, the wooded hillside plunging steeply to valley bottom – that impress the visitor. Or at least this one. However that is not to say artificial defences are entirely absent, the fragmentary remains of a dry stone wall still to be seen running across the neck of this promontory, isolating the rocky eminence from the hinterland to the west. But, as far as I’m aware, that’s yer lot (and unfortunately I left the site without taking any images, I guess due to the pretty unpredictable weather.... a poor excuse, to be honest).

Nevertheless I would highly recommend a visit to Craig Mony, the natural aesthetics a joy to behold. The enclosure is depicted upon the 1:50K OS map as a ‘viewpoint’, which, I confess, was what caught my eye in the first place. I approached from the south, a road signposted for ‘Divach Falls’ (incidentally well worth a look for aficionados of plunging cataracts, having seen them myself a decade back) heading approx south-west from Drumnadrochit toward Glen Coiltie. A little before the bridge carrying said road across the River Coiltie it is possible to park at the start of a ‘forestry road’ to the right, overlooked by houses to the north. I head uphill toward these and, keeping to their left – and to the right of a reservoir – follow the ridge to its highest northern point. Well eventually, anyway. Which is what matters.

The promontory is heavily wooded; hence I initially mistake the remnants of defensive cross wall for a field wall. As you do. Clarity is not forthcoming as I ascend to the summit of the enclosure, either, it being difficult to decipher whether the numerous rocky crags were utilised for defence or not. Then, however, I arrive at the eastern extremity of the site, crags falling vertically to forestry, and decide to sod all that and just enjoy the moment. Yeah, the occupiers of this ancient enclosure chose well since it was clearly more or less unassailable from any direction save the west, that being duly defended by the dry stone wall. For me the piece de resistance, the crowning glory, is a fabulous vista toward Urquhart Bay and Loch Ness. Yeah, that’ll do nicely. Well worth periodic pastings from fast moving weather fronts ushered along Glen Urquhart by a pretty substantial wind. No point in removing waterproofs, there’ll be another along in a minute.....

Truly there are worse places to ride the storm than an ancient enclosure overlooking Loch Ness.