GLADMAN

Heading west from Drumnadrochit along Glen Urquhart the A83, following the course of the River Enrick, is obliged to veer sharply north a little before Loch Meiklie. The movement is significant, although a traveller without the benefit of OS map or local knowledge will probably be unaware that an ancient fortification was once constructed upon the hill towering to the east, presumably to exploit the natural protection according by the looping river, not to mention exact a toll or two in the manner of a Rhineland castle. Such is the density of the woodland cloaking An Torr, obscuring all form, all detail.

Dawn breaks at Lochletter Wood, my overnight stop below and immediately west of the site, rays from the rising sun streaming evocatively through the trees rendering any thoughts of a ‘lie in’ less attractive than they would normally be. Looking toward An Torr I’m intrigued by what might reside upon the hilltop.... enough to decide upon a quick visit before breakfast. The ascent is very, very steep – a rude awakening, you might say – but mercifully truncated enough to see me standing at the summit in relatively short order. First impressions initially appear somewhat mutually exclusive.... ‘there’s not much left here’..... and.... ‘wow, what a magical place!’ Further deliberation, as I regain my breath, reconciles the apparent paradox. Although the hill fort’s univallate(?) defences appear to my layman’s eyes more pronounced, more powerful – particularly to the north – than suggested by RCAHMS reports, the surviving archaeology to be found here would surely fail to set the heart racing of none but the most obsessed modern antiquarian. So, not much left then. Check.

And yet.... despite woodland ensuring An Torr is certainly no great viewpoint (save to the north-east, to be fair) ... sunlight filtering through the foliage, the sweet aroma of damp vegetation hanging in the cold, early morning air.... these natural phenomena combine with others, far less definable – if at all – swirling around in introspection, to arrive at the inescapable conclusion. Yeah, what a magical place this is! Worth delaying the Coco Pops an hour or so for.

Upon (reluctantly) leaving Kinchyle of Dores the weather turns progressively more violent – unpredictably so – as afternoon merges, almost imperceptibly, to the onset of a typically prolonged highland evening. No rest for the antiquarian traveller in these parts, it has to be said. So, where to next? Well, the map depicts a ‘fort upon Ashie Moor which, as I recall from TSC’s photos when browsing TMA, appeared worth a visit. Yeah, Caisteal an Dunriachaidh. The assumption is duly proved to be valid as I approach and park at the B862’s junction with the (even more) minor road bisecting the moor to the north-east.

Initially the location strikes me as a forlorn, desolate spot, the isolated crag bearing ancient fortifications looming above the long, tussocky grassland of the moor as if a solitary ship overwhelmed by the vastness of the unforgiving ocean. Suddenly, however, a great fracture is rent in the jet black cloudscape, sun rays streaming through to flood the landscape with light, illuminating all in a golden glow. Hey, who turned on the lights? Not to mention the waterworks, a front of hail arriving out of nowhere to give the windscreen a severe lashing. Perfect conditions to visit a hillfort and lose yourself in the melodrama! It is a short walk to the south-western corner of the site, a correspondingly easy ascent to view the drystone walls – or at least what remains of them – that still girdle this flank of the crag. These are quite impressive; not overwhelmingly so, but still substantial enough to impart a sense of having been built to last. Clearly they must have done the job required of them back in the day when people actually lived up here. Much more striking, however... of far greater and lasting impact upon the memory... are the defences Mother Nature saw fit to assign to the eastern flank of the fortress. Here a steeply angled ‘wall’ of naked rock plunges to the soggy surface of Ashie Moor below forming a quite extraordinary natural ‘glacis’ rampart. How good is that? Made to order.

Conditions remain somewhat, er, volatile, the light show created, choreographed and orchestrated by duelling sun and cloud mantle culminating in a succession of multiple rainbows arching overhead, arguably – no, surely? – one of Nature’s most fragile, insubstantial, yet nevertheless finest creations. All too soon they are gone, superseded by further hail fronts sweeping along a glowering Loch Ness to the west. For me it is times such as this when Loch Ness, otherwise a pretty benign, massive body of water, lives up to iconic status accorded it.... a gigantic rift in the very fabric of Scotland brooding beneath similarly immense cracks in the sky. A magnificent symmetry. Perhaps only Turner could’ve conveyed the scene in any meaningful manner.

Curiously such ‘Wagnerian’ imagery seems to harmonise with more random, abstract thoughts generated as I sit near the modern cairn crowning the highest point of the enclosure... clansmen fleeing the not so distant battlefield of Culloden, plaid discarded in their desperation to escape, perhaps turning for last ditch stands against pursuing government troops here? Yeah, truly monumental events occurred in this corner of Scotland, events with far reaching consequences which sometimes seem to have permeated the very landscape itself. An illusion, no doubt, but what is the past if not to help us focus upon what may come?

Caisteal an Dunriachaidh is a good place to linger for a while.

Poor Kinchyle of Dores.... hasn’t had a good press, has it? Well, what there is of it. The ‘press’, that is.... since there’s quite a bit of the monument left. Too overgrown, difficult of access. Oh come on gentlemen! Greywether and The Burl clearly did not take to this pretty well preserved clava, but I beg to differ. Aldourie was the site pre-selected for a visit upon my (pretty hurried, poorly researched) area notes; however the word ‘relocated’ caught the eye. Er, on second thoughts, no thanks. Kinchyle of Dores it is, then.

The reason for such dismissive obscurity is pretty obvious... if not understandable... upon arrival at apparently the right co-ordinates the clava cairn is very much conspicuous by its absence, hidden away in a woodland copse and protected from the casual glance by a lethal shield of gorse. Yeah, painful it might well have been, too. But having driven a not insignificant number of miles to be in the area I duly stick on the over trousers to protect the bits. Job done. It is possible to park more or less opposite at the entrance to Ballindarroch off the B862 (I left a note within the windscreen in courtesy) and, in retrospect, head through the field gate and cross the fence to the left if you so desire.

As noted by Greywether five relatively large stones still stand around an admittedly incomplete, but not inconsiderable kerb. According to Burl the tallest upright, to the south, is a full 6ft high, which seemed about right. Funnily enough. A towering front of hail clouds, a natural cathedral of vapour advancing with unnerving haste across a pristine blue sky, for me summed up the appeal of Kinchyle of Dores.... by all accounts, set just off the busy B862, the vibe here should be rubbish. But it is not. Far from it. Noise is minimal, visitors even less. Nature has reclaimed the environs, no holds barred. However the centre of the monument is carpeted by lush grass. I recline against an upright, brace myself against the periodic onslaught... and revel in the blinding light that follows, the atmosphere so clear and fresh I can literally taste it, colours so vibrant. It seems cremated bones were recovered from this loction. Now I won’t for a moment pretend I could ‘feel’ any presence. Don’t believe in that. However I am comfortable here. At peace, albeit in an invigorated, challenged way, something I do not see as a contradiction. Perhaps ‘content’ is a better adjective, the experience ‘life affirming’? Yeah, that sounds about right. An oasis of calm within the eye of the storm.

Come to think of it what better memorial to the ancestors could there be?

Blimey, this was a turn-up for the books. And no mistake. Following a violent night – meteorologically speaking – spent beside Loch Ceo Glas, the site catches my not-so-refreshed morning eye scanning the map as I munch my Cocopops, despite not featuring on my scrawled ‘to see’ list. The criteria are succinct. Quite near the road, probably not much left but worth a quick look as I head toward Dingwall way, perhaps? Yeah, let’s go for it. How was I to know that it, in my opinion, probably rates a close second to the great Balnuaran of Clava in any local comparison of sites.... only featuring oodles and oodles more vibe? But there you are.

‘General Wade’s Military Road’ – a tangible and, for me, somewhat unwelcome reminder of the more recent history of these Isles – makes short work of the journey across Drumashie Moor to Essich undertaken ‘neath leaden, threatening skies soon to dispense a violent allocation of hail. Very appropriate. Here a much more ‘serpentine’ stretch of tarmacadum climbs away to the south toward power pylons, the latter striding across the landscape with the purposeful, almost otherworldly assurance denied the earthfast route bound to the contours of the earth. Note the power lines .... I was able to park roadside, without issue, a little way beforehand near multiple field gates and a small lake... that’ll be a ‘lakelet’, then. The left hand gate was open, so in I ventured to find the terrain very boggy due to the presence of a little stream. Hence, in retrospect, it’s probably better to stick to the higher ground to your left en-route to the cairns which crown the narrow north-south ridge to the approx west. Negotiating a barbed-wire fence – the farmer, who had earlier been tending his sheep, had unfortunately buggered off by now so I couldn’t have a chat – and having ascended the very large cairn standing before me... the penny suddenly drops as to the magnitude of what we have here. Yeah, two more substantial chambered cairns set in linear progression to the north.

According to the splendid A S Henshall (1963) this wondrous trio of monuments are of ‘Orkney-Cromarty’ type, the first encountered, the southern, measuring 124 ft long by 94 ft wide. In common with its neighbours this cairn features the trashed, yet still pretty substantial remains of a rectangular chamber, albeit with some embedded barbed-wire... so watch out for that. The centre cairn, possessing arguably the most decent chamber of the three, measures ‘76ft by 47ft’. The final monument occupying the northern end of the ridge is (currently) heavily overgrown by gorse and other such painful, prickly stuff, ensuring its chamber is pretty hard to define. Henshall gives the dimensions as ‘120ft north to south and 57ft across the chamber’. So there you are, pretty impressive once again, then. An additional point of interest concerns the fact that although ‘the areas between the cairns are turf-covered.... there is a low neck of cairn material below the turf connecting the cairns proper’. In other words the three cairns could well have been regarded as one ‘super long cairn’ some 380ft in length!! As I recall a similar thing was said to have occured at Camster, further north in Caithness. Whatever, there is a lot of cairn material here.

I wander, or rather clamber and stumble, along the length of the monument and gaze at the surrounding hills and small nearby loch trying to rationalise how such a massive monument with such overwhelming vibe could escape our attention for so long? Returning to the southern cairn I partake of lunch, the early morning hail having moved on with the strong, prevailing wind to be superseded by washes of light. It is quite bizarre how such a seemingly bleak, inhospitable landscape seen through eyes shielded against driving hail can suddenly seem so utterly magical, so beguiling when the sun does its nuclear thing.

Note: upon returning to Essex I determine the reason this excellent site had not featured on TMA before. Yeah, that doyen of Scottish chambered cairns, Greywether, had mistakenly posted an image of the site to another Carn Glas at Kilroy. Probably the only error he ever made.

Not shown upon the current 1:50K map, and depicted as ‘cairn’ on the larger scale 1:25K version, this site is nicely positionned upon the western bank of the fast flowing River Shin, just south of the dam. Well worth a visit, extended or otherwise. Burl disagrees with the classification and reckons the sites – aye, there are apparently two – are both the disrupted remains of stone circles.

Unaware of the existence of a second stone setting to the south-west (according to Burl ‘some 20ft across. Only three low stones still stand’) I focus upon the obvious monument of four low stones. The tallest upright is just ‘2ft 3in’ high, but nevertheless I have to admit I’m impressed and, if not for the promise of the chambered cairns of the north-west looming in my mind, I could have happily spent a couple of hours here, watching the water rush by beneath the great cairns of the Ord, rising to the north-west.

Access is easy.... take the B864 heading south on the A839 at Lairg and immediately park by a stile to the left. There is a sign here warning fishermen to take care when casting due to overhead cables. Ha! Or else it might be them ‘frying tonight’... and not the poor fish. I know which side I’m on, but guess that’s by the by. Head for water’s edge and there you are. As for the south-western ring... sorry, no idea whether it can still be seen or not. More’s the pity.

It’s probably fair to say that, although standing overlooking the River Shin a little way south of Lairg, the proximity of the A836 and power lines will ensure the ruined stone circle of Achinduich will not sweep the visitor off his/her feet in the manner of the not too distant Cnoc an Liath-bhaid. Perhaps this is for the best since the rough moorland site was seriously boggy – nay, underwater! – on the occasion of my late May visit. OK, I could have done with the wash, but.......

Ruined? Well yes. Although the monument appears a classic upland stone circle when approaching from the road, presenting an enigmatic profile when viewed from what could be an outlier – or perhaps erratic (?) – I was nevertheless perplexed by my inability to find any credible trace of orthostats aside from the surviving arc.... either in situ or now lost. In addition, a slender upright standing just within the arc beside a shallow depression, far too slender to be the remnant of a kerb, suggested some internal burial, perhaps within another northern Scottish ‘U’ shaped stone setting. Burl, however (page 157, Stone Circles of the British Isles) cites an ‘Auchinduich’ in Sutherland as being a ‘concentric’ stone circle. In retrospect that seems far more plausible, duly providing a logical explanation for the elegant orthostat within. Yeah, guess I’ll go with that, then. Note also the radial setting of the uprights to circumference – as at Cnoc an Liath-bhaid – which is an interesting idiosyncrasy, is it not? Clearly the local inhabitants wanted to be different... at right angles to tradition... whilst still keeping up with the neighbours.

So.... all in all Achinduich is, to my mind, a fine hang.... Yes, the presence of the aforementioned pylons is not ideal, but then again by no means prohibitive, the views, save that of rising hillside to the east, pretty expansive with skyline peaks, not to mention the great Ord passage graves, adding additional vibe. Field systems and hut circles also surround the site, neatly answering the question ‘so who built this and gathered here, then?’ Yeah, worth a visit if obscure monuments more or less guaranteeing solitude for a while are your thang. They are mine.

If Achinduich appeals, head south from Lairg on the A836 and, a little before the buildings at Achinduich farm (funnily enough), keep a look out for an official layby below pylons striding across the low hillside to your left. Either park here, or beside access to a metal field gate a little way past, the circle standing, unseen, beyond the obvious pylon top left. There are a couple of fences.... not forgetting those field systems.... en route, but nothing to cause any trouble.

Oh, and don’t forget the nearby (and rather good) Achany chambered cairn, Ord passage graves and the River Shin ‘circles!

Strath Brora is not a name that had featured in my somewhat limited vocabulary prior to Cnoc an Lliath-bhaid appearing upon the TMA database recently. To be fair there are no valid excuses for this oversight; the stone circle is listed in Burl’s ubiquitous guide to these Isles, favourably, too. However awareness of a site... and actually getting to see it first hand are two entirely different concepts. Tell me about it. Firstly I had to get out the map to determine where it actually was. Ah, the middle of nowhere. That’ll be Sutherland, then?

It’s not, of course. In the middle of nowhere, I mean, the hamlets of Dalreavoch and Rhilochan lying not that far to the approx south east, the farm of Braegrudie less than a mile to the west. However, despite being more or less at home within the wild, inhospitable landscapes of the UK over the years, I guess it’s true to say that, for me, the north of Scotland epitomises that perhaps indefinable sense of ‘untamed wilderness’ better than anywhere else I know. Maybe that perception is coloured by the realisation that I’m a very long way from home? Yeah, sometimes I feel like a motherless child...

The most straight forward option for a visit to Cnoc an Lliath-bhaid centres upon the aforementioned Braegrudie, lying upon the northern bank of the River Brora at the terminus of a gated, rough, single track road from Rhilochan... even more ‘single track’ that seems to be the norm in these parts. Crossing the impressive water course by a foot bridge (marked upon the map) I arrive at the house to find no-one at home, stark windows glaring at the unsolicited visitor to, in turn, solicit unfounded notions of being watched by unseen eyes. Oo-er. Just a’ passing through, gates duly tied shut after me. The hinterland is rough, a large sheepfold some distance to the approx east a convenient ‘staging-post’ en-route to the stone circle, the monument standing above, obscured by the rising flank of the hillside eulogised by Burl as ‘wrinkled like chilled skin’. Marvellous. Just make sure he’s never let loose near an ageing supermodel or there’ll be hell to pay, I tell you now. Anyway, the correct way forward is to continue in the same line as from farm to sheepfold, but, needless to say, I deviate somewhat and have to double-back from above. This is not such a drag as there is copious evidence for ancient settlement up here. Look at the map.

Then there it is, a disrupted ring .... circle is perhaps too ‘tidy’ a description... standing glorious, mute sentinel overlooking the river valley, the winding course of the River Brora highlighted by rays from the evening sun breaking through the cloud mantle. Truly it is a classic location for a stone circle (sorry, ring); nay, one of the best. Surely? Aubrey cites five stones still remaining erect, the tallest (6ft 6in) a ‘gaunt, grey column’ to the WSW, plus three fallen. Unbeknown to me at the time, the disturbed interior features the trashed, overgrown remnants of a cairn. However I’m more intrigued by the radial setting of the orthostats upon the circumference (that is at right angles), seemingly a local eccentricity if a similar arrangement at Achinduich is anything to go by. And of course there is the wondrous deployment of the technique at Achanvanich’s great ‘U’ further north. Cnoc an Lliath-bhaid, however, beats both sites hands down in terms of placement within its landscape. The vibe here this evening is simply too evocative for words – or at least my words. Hauntingly ethereal, overwhelming in its silent intensity, overpoweringly ‘real’ without a hint of false pretension... stripped down to the bone... and any other adjectives I can’t think of. Truly one of Scotland’s hidden jewels.

The inexorable passing of time finally forces me to leave and descend back to the road.... only to find that my plan to sleep here in the car tonight is a non-starter. It’s those staring windows, see? Truly they give me the creeps. But no matter.

Every now and again the dedicated Citizen Cairn’d may – if he/she is lucky, that is – come across a monument that utterly confounds any preconceptions that may have been entertained beforehand. This is such a case and, suffice to say, mine are blown asunder. How could this Orkney-Cromarty chambered cairn have not graced this web-site years ago?

Whatever. I’m here in the North-West Highlands as a sort of tribute to the exquisitely sardonic Greywether, making an attempt to visit as many of the myriad chambered cairns shown on my old 1:50k OS Sheet 15 as I can during the two days I’ve allocated myself here... to build upon the legacy in my own way. Following a sojourn at the badly damaged, yet still vibey chambered cairn sited magnificently upon the shore of Loch Borralan – under the ever watchful gaze of the peerless profile of Suilven – I guess I’m pretty chuffed, to be fair. Ready for bed, even if my nightly abode is the back of the new(ish) Focus estate replacing the much lamented Rover. However the aforementioned map depicts another chambered cairn located upon the steep hillside rising above and to the right of the house looming behind. Guess I’ll take a quick look whilst I’m here.

The ground is churned to oblivion, I assume by the local bovines.... probably not much left, then? Er, there is.... Girdled by an electric fence stands a rather high, rather scruffy grassy/stony mound. I clamber up and stand, gobsmacked, looking down into a polygonal chamber seeming lacking only roof. Sure, the passageway is blocked with a chaotic jumble of large stones, but.... hey, I do declare what we have here is more or less the equivalent of Skye’s wondrous Rubh an Dunain. Only without the 8 mile walk. I descend within the chamber, collapse in an overwhelmed heap and savour the moment, the atmosphere so thick with the metaphysical suggestions of millennia past that it would require the allegorical chainsaw rather than the proverbial knife to make any impact. Impressive orthostats form the chamber flanks, drystone walling filling in the gaps, and the springings of a corbelled roof stand where they ought to be, if I’m not very much mistaken. I assume the chamber has been consolidated at some point since traces of that matting material are evident between the stonework. If so, nice work.

I could stay for hours but unfortunately this can only be a relatively short visit... it is nearing 9.00. I poke my head above the chamber wall and note the fisherman I spied standing within the calm waters of the loch earlier returning to shore. Guess I need to do likewise and duly return back down to earth.

Ha! I made it back almost exactly one year on from my previous unsuccessful attempt to find this wondrous solar alignment, sited upon the shore of the equally exquisite, prosaically named Loch Fyne. It is not what I expected, but nonetheless I am enthralled. And that’s a fact.

For a start the two stones forming the alignment are small little things, the inner set within a ‘notch’ or cleft in the rock outcrop chosen by the ancients (whether this is naturally occurring or specially worked for the task I can not say), the outer standing proud above lochside and apparently acting as the ‘sighting stone’, at least according to the fading information panels. Behind the stones stand a series of ‘viewing points’ set at progressively further distances from the uprights. These are comprised of stony platforms, a split boulder (or maybe two close set boulders in parallel) and, lastly, an upper platform now buried within fallen trees. I clamber upon one such tree in an attempt to approximate the view from the latter.... but then realise I’ll probably break my neck if I don’t get down pretty sharpish. The boulder position is better – not to mention safer – offerings of quartzite pebbles indicative that other Heads are well aware of the vibe of this special place.

Yeah, the vibe is incredible, the bluebells dazzling, birds noisy.... the sun throwing shadows around the woodland clearing. I need more time than I have... but I’m so glad I came back. OK, Stonehenge may be the show site when it comes to solar alignments – and much else besides, of course – but this diminutive little alignment is, in my opinion, just as much as real a deal. Much more to Gladman tastes, to be honest.

To get here take the Minard Castle driveway from the A83 and park at the entrance to the first forestry track on the left (ignore that to the right). Follow the track and, forking right, descend to a deer fence, noting the Trafalgar Wood standing stone/alignment within. Follow the fence to the right and entering a gate, trend diagonally left down through the woods to emerge lochside via another gate. Turn left, move around the corner.... and there you are.

Some things are worth coming back for, don’t you know? What a wonderfully moving place.

Good Friday. Despite being a candidate for perhaps one of the most ironic epithets ever conceived... when stripped of its religious connotations, the thought of quality time spent upon the Gower today is nevertheless an appealing one. Needless to say the plan didn’t involve an unscheduled drive along the northern coastline of the peninsular, courtesy of a navigational error in the vicinity of Gowerton; however to my mind there are less salubrious ways to spend time. (Eventually) arriving at Pilton Green there is parking to be had on the verge of the access track for Pilton Green Farm (incredibly, notices appear to indicate that previous punters have actually seen fit to leave their cars upon the track. No wonder some farmers get pissed off with tourists). More or less opposite, across the B4247, a public footpath heads approx south-west (ish) along the border of a cultivated field, slowly losing height as it approaches the dramatic, crumbling cliff-line that constitutes ‘the coast’ in these parts. Where better, by definition, for a modern antiquarian with a penchant for cliff-forts to indulge himself on a sunny afternoon?

In a little under a mile (I think) the path reaches said coastline, continuing down a rocky cove toward the equally rocky foreshore below the famous Paviland Cave... you know, the one that was the last resting place of the ‘Red Lady’. Clearly well worth a look, but some other time, perhaps? Instead I head to the right along the coastal path and, in short order, come face to face with some pretty substantial defences isolating the cliff top from the hinterland to the north-east, demarcating a reasonably sized enclosure. I count three – no, four? – successive barriers which, although obviously now pretty denuded – understandably so after being subjected to a couple of millennia of storms and what-have-you – nevertheless must have proved a formidable deterrent to any marauding war band back in the day. Steep, rocky flanks and plunging, vertical cliff-lines rendered any further artificial fortification superfluous to the other points of the compass. So, that’s the archaeology, then. Or at least my basic interpretation of it. Good, solid, but not overwhelming. Not so the location.... what a glorious place to be!

Having a ‘mooch’ about the enclosure, as you do, trying not to be blown over the edge by the powerful – not to mention freezing – wind (again, as you do), I notice an iron ring affixed to a rock. The mind retrieves the image of Neil Oliver (the hirsute archaeologist chap on TV.... Scottish, apparently) standing in what must be this very spot, trying not to appear utterly terrified prior to abseiling down to the Paviland Cave, the cave therefore no doubt located immediately below me. Yeah, buried in the very bowels of the living rock. Fair play to him, I say... it does seem a very small piece of metal to trust your hopes, dreams and aspirations – your very life – to. As for myself, I lie supine and simply enjoy the moment, the sheer aesthetic beauty of the location matched by an overwhelming feeling of belonging, if only for a short while, to something that transcends the here and now, if you get what I mean? The association of what it is to be human, to be part of humanity (and all the good, bad and humdrum ‘stuff’ that entails) with the imperium of time itself. Hence the need to lie down.... wouldn’t be a good idea to get overly dizzy with all that thinking. Not when perched upon a towering cliff face.

There is more. Much more, the enclosure set above the Paviland Cave but one of a chain of fortified settlements located, like a string of precious pearls, along this wondrous coast. One such example, in fact, lies immediately to the west in plain sight upon the Horse Cliff. It’d be rude not to go have a look while I’m here... a good Friday after all.

Although a deep mantle of snow is blanketing the high tops – but thankfully not the valleys – of the South Walian hills.... and despite a c40mph wind assuring some very serious windchill at altitude... the Mam C is nevertheless in the mood for an Easter upland sojourn. To be honest I’m rather more of a wuss at the prospect of freezing to death upon some godforsaken (right on!) mountain, consequently deciding to play it safer than might otherwise have been the case. Why not pay a (very) overdue visit to the Bronze Age cairn said to stand upon the eastern shoulder of Fan Nedd? Yeah, I’ve no problem with rhetorical questions such as that.

Passing the wondrous Maen Llia – is there a finer standing stone in all Wales? – we park just prior to where the minor road suddenly plunges diagonally down the precipitous face of Llethr to the Senni Valley below... a couple of vehicles can be safely left here, the spot, a great viewpoint, worthy of a visit in its own right. From here a stile crosses a dilapidated dry stone wall heading approx south-west toward distant Bwlch-y-Duwynt rising above the source of the Afon Nedd... and Fan Gyhirych. After a short while, however, we veer left and, upon breeching the snow line, commence the ascent toward the prominent ‘marker cairn’ visible crowning Fan Nedd’s northern prow. Now some ‘experts’ will have you believe the Welsh mountains are a doddle to stroll up, completely failing to take into account the most obvious mitigating factor.... the weather. Well it does has a tendency to be somewhat, er, inclemental on a regular basis. I would suggest you pay them no heed and treat the uplands with the respect Nature demands, commands... and in any event deserves. I like to think we take matters seriously and ‘walk the walk’, although today ‘stagger’, ‘slither’ and ‘stumble’ are perhaps more appropriate descriptions as we do whatever it takes to traverse deep snow and attain an audience with one of South Wales’ more strikingly placed Bronze Age cairns.

Bronze Age? Well, yes, the aforementioned marker cairn, quite well built with an inherent ‘wonky’ charm, surmounts a deceptively large footprint far too substantial – I would suggest – to proffer a credible alternative origin in such a landscape context. Once again placement is everything, the summit of the mountain, without cairn, lying a considerable distance to the south and thus not party to the fabulous northern vista of the fertile Senni Valley to be blown away by here. Furthermore there is an uninterrupted view of the iconic tops of Corn Du and Pen-y-Fan to the east, rising beyond Maen Llia; looking west, those of Fan Gyhirych and Y Mynydd Du fill the skyline. All bear Bronze Age cairns in situ, several excavated to reveal cists. This is truly a location to linger for ... ooh, hours and hours. Except not for quite that long today. The cold is overwhelming, Nature in a most brutal mood indeed. Suffice to say we must move at incremental intervals simply to cope, taking the opportunity to visit the summit and partake of lunch overlooking the nascent Afon Nedd, its waters sourced upon the boggy col before Fan Gyhirych. It’s instructive to ponder this is the very same water course which engages in such spectacular aerobatics further down its eponymous cwm.

So, finally.... after all these years.... we proceed to lipslide (yeah!), with occasionally alarming alacrity, down the eastern flank of the mountain heading for the only position I would have conceivably placed a second, lower cairn. Had any Bronze Age big man been mad enough to put me in charge of operations, that is. Funnily enough I am correct. No, really. In solidarity with its higher companion the cairn is low and, to be fair, we might easilly have walked right over it if the snow hadn’t been somewhat patchy ‘down here’. However I concur with Coflein and reckon it is beyond reasonable doubt, the tell tale covering of moss failing to obscure what could quite probably be the remains of a kerb. Elements of a cist, however, are open to much more debate. Too fanciful, perhaps? Whatever the truth the cairn (once again) occupies a superb site overlooking the Maen Llia, be-cairned and settled Fan Llia providing the riven backdrop. As we hang out in the comparative warmth of this wondrous place a family wander up and seem somewhat bemused by our presence.... although I’ve a feeling the dad was actually a bit of a closet ‘head’. Welcome my friend and spread the word. Leave your cars and take to the hills!

The Bronze Age cairn crowning the summit of Pen-y-Gadair-Fawr can not be seen from the fabulous monolith that is the Maen Llwyd, situated a little under a mile below to the south. Nevertheless aficionados of such monuments will probably require no directions save the prosaic ‘up’, common sense ensuring Citizens Cairn’d keep to the left of the lacerated hillside carved by the numerous sources of the Gargwy Fach. To be fair it is probably a pretty straightforward, albeit steep and tiring climb under ‘reasonable’ conditions, similar to that from the Grwyne Fawr to the east, I’d have thought? However today, suffering from the effects of fatigue having ‘merely’ made it to the standing stone (it is enough, to be honest), the flanks of Gadair Fawr loom.... nay tower... above me overpoweringly, overwhelming any fledgling resurgence of male bravado at source. Nevertheless the call is too strong.... I resolve to see how far I can get, if only to take a few snaps. Making no promises, now.

The early stages are not too taxing, the occasional stumble down a snow-filled gulley notwithstanding, such indignant episodes proffering the opportunity to study the form of icicles in detail – too much detail for comfort, perhaps – exquisite water crystals shimmering in the sunlight. Then, however, the angle eases and the summit duly takes its place upon the horizon... the intervening landscape appearing positively benign, welcoming even, a winter wonderland resplendent beneath a well broken cloudscape advancing with the wind across a startlingly blue sky. Yeah, looks wonderful, but what a bugger of a landscape to try and walk across for those not used to such things, deep snow topped by a crust of ice tough enough to resist a walking pole, but unable to support 12 stones of me.... like trying to stagger across polystyrene, perhaps? Half way there it is time to see if I have another gear in reserve, so to speak. Seems I have... well, sort of.

Eventually, rising beyond a more or less vertical cornice taking a couple of attempts to negotiate without crampons, there it is. The summit, unrecognisable from my visit with the Mam C some years back (but none the worse for that), the full winter raiment truly mind blowing in its brilliant, shining intensity, the upland landscape in complete contrast to the usual ubiquitous upland grass. The conditions are technically not the best for studying the form of Bronze Age cairns.... nevertheless the size of this one can not be camouflaged by a blanket of snow and protective shell of ice. Sure, there is an obligatory small walkers’ cairn on top – thankfully no muppet storm shelter, though – but it is the massive underlying footprint which impresses, the ancient cairn clearly well worthy of the site chosen for it millennia before. It is perhaps noteworthy that Waun Fach, rising to the north-west, is actually the highest point of the Black Mountains’ summit ridge, but, lacking the distinctive profile of Pen-y-Gadair-Fawr, does not possess a cairn. For what it’s worth I reckon it never did so, suggesting the Bronze Age locals had a fundamental, sophisticated appreciation of landscape form. Indeed, the Mam C and I have referred to Pen-y-Gadair-Fawr as ‘the nipple mountain’ for years, the cairn set in profile upon its breast. Check it out for yourselves....

Despite the bitter cold I am in no hurry to leave; no way, not after such a pilgrimage to get here again, the landscape exhibiting a ‘purity’ seemingly not apparent at other times. To the west the Brecon Beacons reside like a veritable cathedral of marble upon a patchwork of green fields, to the east the ridge carrying the Offa’s Dyke path defining the border with England, similarly attired. I think of numerous other cairns.... round, chambered, long... which still stand sentinel upon this landscape together with the ancient settlements, the hillforts where people used to live. Hey, the standing stones, even, and ponder – as you do – that the cairn upon which I sprawl for a couple of hours before starting the long trek back to the car was part of a very Big Picture indeed. Back then. Come to think of it, it still is today.

Solitary standing stones are, I confess, generally my least favourite genre of prehistoric monument. Rules, however, are defined by exceptions.... and I’ve had my beady eye upon the Maen Llwyd ever since the previous posters highlighted the wonderful location it occupies. But how to get there? Forestry complicates matters from the south and west, Pen-y-Gadair-Fawr and its peers rendering an approach from east and north impractical for all but the most dedicated of stonehead. There are other adjectives. Since the other two gentlemen chose the latter option I, in the interests symmetry, you understand – not to mention altruism for those that may wish to come after – elect an low level approach from the Grwyne Fechan.

From the charming, bustling town of Crickhowell, chambered cairns still overlooking both banks of the Afon Wysg (River Usk) as they have done for millennia, the Llanbedr Road heads uphill past the DanyGrug cottages, trending left beneath the decapitated, fortified summit of Crug Hywel to eventually terminate near Hermitage Bridge. A little beforehand it is possible to park several cars – or it would have been if not for the large blocks of ice littering the environs.... the usual – and, covering the final section of tarmacadum on foot, I veer left upon a bridleway ascending the western flank of a forestry plantation, heading roughly north-west. Pen Twyn Gwyn rears up above the Grwyne Fechan, its crest the location of precious finds of artefacts mislaid/deposited (?) by prehistoric hunter dudes way back when.... truly, it is worth the walk simply to follow in their footsteps. As for the other flank of the valley, that is formed by the highest ground in The Black Mountains, my destination today. As mentioned earlier forestry complicates matters of route finding, although, to be fair, the conditions are soon to prove the primary consideration. Initially I elect to head for Tal-y-Maes farm and pick up a forestry track parallel to the Gargwy Fawr.... however the farm track is sheet ice, dangerously impassable unless one happens to possess the balance and grace of a Katarina Witt... needless to say I have neither. Wouldn’t say no to one-on-one lessons, though.

Plan B (no, not the rapper bloke.... that would have been surreal) heads north across fenced fields, west of the farm. Fencelines aren’t an issue, unlike the deep snow which renders progress painstakingly, exhaustingly slow. Not used to this. Nevertheless I eventually manage to struggle up to a forestry track following the near flank of the far treeline to the north. Plan B would have been pretty cunning if it had included following this track all the way to the forestry’s northern limits, leaving just a short ascent to the right at the end in order to attain the stone; however I decide to head for the little hill of Twyn Du and find myself more or less marooned up to my bits in drifting snow, a sad, forlorn figure pondering what to do next... literally out of his depth. Yeah, in hindsight it was a rubbish plan, so it was. In an attempt to make headway I cut back into the trees, but find the interior choked with a twisted mass of organic debris. Emerging into the light once more two shaggy ponies back away as if not wishing to be seen with such a muppet. Not good for the equine image, mixing with the tourists, you know?

Nevertheless the prize is near at hand, albeit still requiring a final considerable uphill effort to attain. I prepare to be distinctly underwhelmed following such an overwhelming approach. But I am not. Far from it. In fact I’m greatly impressed by the elegant menhir which stands before me, more or less human height and leading the beady eye along the forest-line toward the bwlch between distant Mynydd Llysiau and Pen Trumau to the approx north-west. The upper section of the monolith features a ‘step’, an argument connecting this with possible sighting upon the aforementioned landscape feature perhaps not excessively fanciful? Then again I’m no expert in these matters. For me that fact that it is so goddam beautiful here, so peaceful, so serene, possessing such an evocative vibe, is what matters.

The serenity can not last, however..... yeah, there it goes again, insidiously burrowing into my psyche.... the unspoken siren call of the high places. Like a moth unto the flame, as they say.

After almost (but not quite) making it to Dinas Emrys last October – actually ending up on the hill opposite, like a prize muppet... must do better next time – an opportunity to visit another site associated with the legendary sorcerer is some recompense. To be fair the name does give prospective visitors a hint of sorts...

Merlin’s Hill is (very) prominently sited a little to the approx east of the busy former Roman port of Carmarthen, the latter cited by Gerald of Wales, in 1188, as being nothing less than the wizard’s birthplace. Needless to say yer man Emrys wasn’t around to contradict such tomfoolery, allowing Gerald to no doubt dine out on the local innkeepers’ generosity for months.

The locals are still in touch with the Arthurian vibe, the Alltyfyrddin Farm playing host to the ‘Merlin’s Hill Centre’ offering activities (presumably) for those with children – B&B as well if you like, something which would certainly get you in the little blighters’ good books... for a while, anyway. Of course some of the more traditional heads out there (he says) may well tremble at the prospect, like I did... but there is no need to fret... a public footpath ascending the hill from the approx west through woodland. In short everyone’s a winner. The centre is signposted from the A40, those not visiting the farm currently able to park at a left hand junction some way beyond and walk back, the hillfort towering above to the south.

Upon arrival at the summit, following a somewhat steep clamber up the aforementioned public footpath, this visitor initially doesn’t see a lot of ‘hillfort’, to be honest. The site is more subtle than that. What is immediately apparent, however, is the inspired setting, the enclosure completely dominating the Dyffryn Tywi to the south, the Afon Tywi executing a series of wondrous, lazy loops as it meanders its way to Carmarthen Bay to the south-west, incidentally beneath the watchful gaze of another Iron Age enclosure (surmounted by later medieval castle) at Llansteffan. Perhaps the best view, however, is that beside the main entrance to the east looking toward another distant castle at Dryslwyn. Unfortunately the defences of said entrance – pretty substantial, it should be noted – are located behind a barbed wire fence, as are what transpire to be equally formidable (if disintegrating) univallate earthworks upon the southern and western flanks, the terrain here sloping away sharply. Arguably there is a case for some serious conservation activity here? Happily, however, the northern bank – again, apparently univallate – is accessible to everyone and remains very powerful indeed, facing the direction of probable attack in times past.

So, clearly Merlin’s Hill was an Iron Age enclosure of some stature, well worth the diversion if you happen to be in the area. And of course we’re all suckers for legendary tomes of sorcery permeating our past like the wreathes of mist clinging to our mountain tops. Here is a place to linger a while and appreciate why this is so. Hey, why not follow the Twyi’s example and let the mind ‘go serpentine’ for a few hours? And if you do happen to discover the old dude imprisoned up here, kindly inform the local police. Oh, and needless to say keep him away from that J.K Rowling woman... he would no doubt have suffered enough across the centuries as it is.

Situated more or less due west of Twr Pen-cyrn’s summit cairns – the monuments just about intervisible – this smaller cairn possesses a less spartan vibe than its peers owing to the absence of surrounding boulder field. Then again I guess such considerations are relative... the terrain not exactly offering up a staggering diversity of exotic flora. You want tussocky grass? You got it. Anything else, jog on.

Nevertheless with more time at our disposal this would have provided a great place for an extended stop.... I’d reckon the odds on being disturbed here are about as high as a bar of Dairy Milk surviving an afternoon in the Mam C’s rucksack. You do the maths.... All things considered well worth the continuation from the summit of the ridge, then. As TSC notes Nature has clearly taken a greater ‘hands on’ interest here, the central hollow (presumably the work of ‘treasure seekers’ as opposed to walkers?) having been reclaimed by organic matter. Having said that there is enough bare stone in situ to ensure an impression of a fine upland cairn.

Briefly we consider heading directly north to visit (yet) another cairn a little south of Eglwys Faen; however this is duly vetoed so as to provide an excuse to return and enjoy the exquisite northern views some other time. Yeah quality, not quantity... that is the byword for this, Pelagius’s Day.

St David’s Day 2013. To be fair I don’t know a great deal about the bloke... aside from an apparent fondness for a certain liliacaea vegetable and his vehement condemnation of Pelagian heresy. Don’t get me wrong – I can deal with a nice leek soup; but both the Mam and I are firmly with Pelagius in respect of the doctrine of free will, at least to the extent human psychology will admit of such a concept. Which is why we pair of Citizens Cairn’d freely choose to visit the (apparently) great cairns which surmount Twr Pen-cyrn upon this freezing Pelagius’s Day. Yeah, because we want to!

In some respects the shattered ridge of Twr Pen-cyrn could be said to mark not only a physical demarcation between the grim landscape of ‘industrial South Wales’ and the scenic splendour of the Black Mountains to the north, but also that of mindset, too. It goes without saying that the social realities contributing to what appears to me a fundamental division are complex... and very real. Nevertheless the contrast between the two landscapes, the two societies, the two outlooks on life, is striking – overwhelming, even – as we approach the parking area at approx SO209154 from the south, the magnificent vista of the River Usk, backed by the sculptured heights of The Black Mountains rising above Crickhowell, literally taking the breath away.

An old green quarry track heads westward from the car park beneath the soaring crags of Darren before ascending the eroded hillside, incidentally near the location of a cave where it appears the ancestors once took shelter. The usual, then. Once upon the crest the low summit ridge rises more or less due south across what – I guess – would normally be a featureless, boggy plateau. Today, however, it bears a greater resemblance to frozen arctic tundra... not that I’ve ever been to the Arctic, you understand? The ‘going’ underfoot is thus pretty firm – although the resident ponies remain resolutely static some distance away refusing us an audience – so we soon find ourselves scrambling up the left hand (eastern) end of the ridge to discover a pair of very substantial cairns gracing as brutally chaotic a landscape as you could wish to find in upland South Wales. As mentioned by TSC there is actually a third cairn, the Hen Dy-aderyn, sited immediately adjacent to the northern monument and crowned by an OS trig pillar. The parent has unfortunately suffered at the hands of the usual walker muppets; having said that, however, it remains a fine testament to the efforts of its anonymous builders millennia ago. The second major cairn, standing some way to the south-east at the ridge’s terminus is – for me – a superior stone pile with a much more substantial interior than its neighbour. To be honest this is perhaps to be expected, bearing in mind the predictable summit-fixation of the average rambler. Indeed we are paid a fleeting visit by such a walker whom we duly send on his way in short order.... the Mam C is not impressed by ‘know it alls’; even less so by those actually knowing bugger all and reminding us of the current Mayor of London. Cripes! Particularly when there is chocolate to be eaten. Mind you Boris himself would no doubt have been bizarrely entertaining....

Either cairn offers a fine perch to view the far horizons capped by a multitude of further monuments to Bronze Age VIPs... in fact you could say they represent the best seats in the theatre, truly ‘up in the gods’. To the west the eyes are drawn toward the distant high peaks of The Brecon Beacons, beyond Garn Fawr and Cefn yr Ystrad. The dark mass of Blorenge rises to the south-east whilst, best of all, the serried ranks of The Black Mountains fill the northern aspect. Only the vista to the south would (arguably) appear totally alien to the original Bronze Age gaze. My, what have we done? The rape of the land, no less. However it is something that should not.... can not.... be ignored. We must look, no matter how painful it is. Not to mention deal with the resulting inherent issues. Easier said than done.

There is more to be seen upon this windswept – tell me about it – mountain. Firstly an alleged ‘stone circle’ located within a boulder field a little to the approx north-west of the main summit cairn. Hmmm. Suffice to say we agree with TSC here in that the form of the monument – if indeed it is a monument – is subject to confirmation by a member with greater expertise in the field. And secondly.... another cairn visible some way along the ridge to the approx west. Well, it would be rude not to.

This shattered cairn, the eastern-most of a triumvirate of such Bronze Age upland monuments sited to the approx south-east of the Ffawddog Ridge of the eastern Black Mountains, would appear – from the map, at least – to offer a credible approach from most points of the compass (which, of course, any prospective TMA Citizen Cairn’d will be tightly clasping within a hand clammy with anticipation, if not soaked through courtesy of the borderland precipitation not exactly unknown in these parts!). The most direct route is probably that from Llanthony via Troed rhiw-mon, a public footpath rising above the southern bank of the stream cascading through Cwm Bwchel.... however having ‘taken in’ the Cwm Bwchel cairn earlier on in the day I approach from the summit of Bal Mawr, that is from the west across trackless heather. I’ve experienced worse, however, as will have everyone who has ever gone stone hunting in Mid Wales. Needless to say the direct route, although steep in places, proves invaluable during a descent in fading light later on in the day.

The monument, located below and to the south of the summit of the hill, is unfortunately in a sorry state of repair.... Coflein reports of an excavation-cum-ransacking of the cairn – incidentally resulting in the discovery of ‘bone fragments and pottery sherds’ from a centrally placed cist – no doubt tell us all we need to know in this respect. Hey, at least we know for certain this cairn was – hell, is – the real thing. That doesn’t happen very often, to be fair.... to be 100% sure is pretty unusual. In addition, the shattered remains of the cist, as with the monument’s neighbour to the north-west, remain in situ. This means a lot. One of the orthostats is split longitudinally, the cleft of such precision as to render the result an enduring testament to the incredible natural forces inherent in the action of ice upon rock. Exquisite....

So, once again.... here we have an upland Bronze Age cairn – albeit one ravaged by ‘excavation’ – still retaining vestiges of original internal features simply because it lies ‘off the beaten track’, away from the predictable wanderings and destructive tendencies of yer average hillwalking punter. The realisation, at first overwhelmingly positive, leaves a bitter aftertaste. How much more of our Bronze Age heritage would still remain if only ignorant ramblers could keep their vandalising hands to themselves and not indulge in erecting pointless ‘storm shelters’. A rhetorical question, naturally.

The Graig-ddu cairn, though similar in many respects to its counterpart beyond Cwm Bwchel, certainly trumps it when it comes to on site panoramas. Whereas the latter stands in insularity, apparently focussed upon Bal Mawr, Graig-ddu overlooks a classic vista, the glorious southern skyline featuring the distinctive profiles of Mynydd Pen-y-Fal (aka The Sugar Loaf) and the sacred-hill-cum-hillfort of Ysgyryd Fawr, with the mighty Iron Age fortress of Twyn y Gaer rising between. The great promontory fort upon Hatterrall Hill fills the horizon to the south-east, the ridge to the south-west duly crowned by the (apparently) massive Bronze Age cairn of Garn Wen, the third of the triumvirate. It is truly a classic spot, much better than I supposed and worthy of much more time than the cycles of Nature will allow. Sadly I ascend to the summit and subsequently begin the descent to Llanthony, pausing by some grouse butts to enjoy a truly monumental, mind blowing view of the Vale of Ewyas. Suffice to say the irony, being privy to such natural wonder whilst perched upon the haunts of... er... ‘individuals’ who enjoy killing for pleasure, is not lost on me.

Set deep within the beautiful borderland Vale of Ewyas overlooked by the lofty, parallel ridges of the eastern Black Mountains, the little hamlet of Llanthony perhaps represents the very epitome of ‘rural tranquility’. The vernacular settlement name apparently translates as ‘Church of St Dewi on the River Hoddni’... however it is the ruins of the priory, established (according to CADW) around 1100, which provide the architectural focal point nowadays. Turner came here to undertake a preliminary sketch in 1792; less favourable visits include a severe thrashing during Glyndwr’s uprising, not to mention Henry VIII’s dissolution. Illustrious – and not so – names from the past aside, Llanthony has much to offer the modern day traveller, particularly since the large, free car park provides a fine gateway to the aforementioned mountain ridges with all their Bronze Age treasures. I’m here today to ascend The Ffawddog Ridge rising above Cwm Bwchel, the pretty comprehensive cloud cover not ideal, although not an issue as long as the cloud base kindly refrains from descending for a committee meeting with the landscape...

Upon exiting the car park look for a public footpath – signposted ‘Bal Mawr’ – across the main (ha!) road, said path shortly crossing the Afon Honddi, via a steel bridge, prior to beginning the ascent above the northern (right hand) bank of the stream cascading down Cwm Bwchel. The path is steep and uneven, as you would no doubt expect, intermittent icy patches adding an appropriately wintry, not to mention slippery vibe to proceedings. The ‘going’ eventually eases as I reach the headwall of the cwm, the bare ridge of Bal Mawr crowning the bleak horizon ahead. Here it is necessary to abandon the path and veer right (approx north) in order to locate amongst the heather a tangiable reminder of the people who lived and worshipped their gods in this small corner of Wales millennia before The Bastard and his bleedin’ Normans arrived bearing trumped up apologia for conquest. Locating the Bronze Age cairn is not easy, to be fair, probably even less so in high summer when the hillside’s covering of heather is at its zenith. However a glint of exposed stone eventually gives the game away.

Despite its isolation away from the main path to the bwlch the cairn is very denuded. However there is an inherent detail which makes the effort expended getting here more than worthwhile, namely two large side slabs of a former cist remaining in situ, quite a rarity in upland cairns nowadays, it has to be said. Oh, not to mention that fabulous ‘hear a pin drop’ upland aura. Two details, then. Furthermore, as I recline betwixt the stones and drink my coffee, it appears to me that there may well be a case for suggesting the chamber was intentionally aligned toward the southernmost aspect of Bal Mawr... that is to say there was a direct association between mountain and monument? This aside, views are otherwise limited, the cairn apparently located so as to remain aloof from the pastoral wonders of the Vale of Ewyas far below to the east. Perhaps to ensure all focus was upon Bal Mawr? Yeah... the situation is bleak, brutal even. A wondrous place for contemplation.

As I sit and ponder I notice my poor old 1:25k OS map, annotated to within an inch of incomprehension over the years, nevertheless indicates another cairn in antiquarian typescript located upon the far (southern) flank of Graig-ddu, the hill rising beyound the head of Cwm Bwchel to the approx south-east. I decide it’d be rude not to pay a visit seeing as I’m in the area..... following a venerative sojourn upon Bal Mawr of my own, that is. I reckon the former occupant and builders of this now lonely – but once perhaps not so lonely – cairn above Cwm Bwchel would approve. It’s the least I can do in the circumstances.

**Please note that this site does not correspond to the prominent – presumably modern (see relevant image) – marker cairn crowning the tip of Mynydd Bychan’s summit ridge at SO1968032030.... but to a less upstanding – but potentially much older – low ‘mound’ situated some way to the approx east**

A week characterised by a series of rather low cloud bases – anathema to those who tread lightly upon the hills ‘neath massive skies – ends, appropriately enough for unpredictable South Wales, with the promise of a fine day. Consequently a snap decision is taken to introduce the Mam C to the upper reaches of the wondrous ridge of Y Grib, beyond Bwlch Bach a’r Grib.... and take it from there. Not a comprehensive plan, then, although it has to be said it is always good to turn a ‘must do it one day’ into ‘let’s do it today’. So, leaving the car near the farm of Blaneau Uchaf, the farmer, in hulking great cattle truck, acknowledging a self preservingly considerate bit of parking, we ascend the northern flank of the serpent’s back to the aforementioned pass. Pausing to breathlessly take in the primeval sight of a crow – the top bird around these parts, bar none – make mince meat of what the Mam C reckons is a peregrine falcon against a western backdrop of Bronze Age cairn and the enigmatic Castell Dinas, the eyes are soon inexorably drawn across Cwm y Nant to the handsome crests of Mynydd Bychan and Y Das. The latter is cited by Coflein as possessing a round barrow, only identified as such during a CPAT upland survey during 2007.... the prominent, slender rock pile crowning the former apparently a modern ‘marker cairn’. To be fair it looks to be ‘in the wrong place’ for a Bronze Age funerary cairn, the ridge seemingly too narrow at that point, or at least appearing so upon the map. Having said that there is undeniably ‘something’ about Mynydd Bychan, an intangible sense of mystique that nevertheless draws us in like one of James T Kirk’s tractor beams... and this despite being completely unaware of TSC’s miscellaneous post at the time. In short Mynydd Bychan simply looks the sort of place where one would choose to intern a Bronze Age VIP. The plan, such as it was, is duly revised to include a descent via the peak. Yeah, we’ll worry about the gradient of descent when we get there....

The ascent of Y Grib to Pen-y-Manllwyn is exhilarating, the ridge narrow enough to see below to either side, but nowhere too exposed or technical for the average pilgrim. Upon arrival we abandon the lee of the summit ridge in order to seek solitude away from the route marching groups of punters, happy to accept the consequences of a biting arctic wind in lieu. The north-eastern flank of the mountain, subject to an icy blast which might even have made Jean-Claude Van Damme consider a jacket, is today a shimmering mass of sunlight upon icicle... the two primary sources of life on this planet interacting in a display of exquisite beauty upon such a brutal landscape. A delicious irony, perhaps?

Lunch... hey, picnic.... and a couple of hours fly by... as they seem to always do up here. All too soon we must head north where the ridge is populated by a series of indistinct ‘stone features’ previously interpreted – or so I understand – as evidence of prehistoric settlement, expertly positioned in the lee of the ridge overlooking Cwm y Nant, fresh water nearby. Although living at around the 2,500ft contour may seem pretty extreme to us nowadays, the 1:25K OS map does indeed cite a hut circle here.... which needless to say we do not manage to positively identify. Nevertheless it would appear Coflein are now more inclined toward a later ‘post prehistoric’ date for habitation. Whatever, it must have been a pretty dramatic place to live.

It is here that the walk takes on an altogether more serious aspect, the Mam C suddenly complaining of feeling faint and losing her sense of balance / co-ordination as we approach Mynydd Bychan. A touch of sunstroke, perhaps? Or overheating caused by not adjusting layers of clothing to changing circumstances quickly enough. What else could bring on such symptoms with such alacrity? Hopefully a short rest by the frozen tarn as I take some pictures of the truly exquisite scenery upon Mynydd Bychan will do the trick?

So, what of Mynydd Bychan’s ‘marker cairn’. Sad to report that the base certainly looks modern to me, far too insubstantial to claim any prehistoric origin. There is an interesting feature a little to the east, however, but since I recall quarrying was supposed to have taken place here in times past I’m not sure what it represents. Ha! According to Coflein, as related in TSC’s post, this is actually the ‘platform cairn’. So there you are... the mountain probably was the resting place of some Bronze Age dude after all. What’s more there is another feature a short distance downhill to the west of the marker cairn which appeared a much more likely candidate without the power of hindsight, a disrupted cairn containing what – for all the world – looks to me like a shattered cist (ironically Coflein reckons this represent quarrying debris?). The overwhelming fiery orb of the low winter sun frustrates further photography so I return to the Mam C and find the rest has not had the desired effect.... far from it... and, to be frank, we are in trouble, the acute descent to Cwm y Nant, not a problem under normal circumstances, now a major obstacle with sundown just an hour away. Never underestimate the strength and sheer determination of a woman, however... at least one with such a concentration of natural life forces flowing through her being. Where she got the strength from I’ll never know. But there you are. The descent is not elegant, but it gets the job done. Safely back at the car we pledge that we shall return to Mynydd Bychan one day, given the chance, and give this complex mountain the time it clearly deserves. Not to mention to pay the ancestors due respect for seeing us alright that day....

Several days later back in Essex I’m struck down by a severe bout of gastroenteritis seemingly coming out of nowhere. Most definitely not ‘sunstroke’, then. Case closed, m’lud. Needless to say I shudder to think what I would have made of such a daunting challenge.... feeling like that on top of Mynydd Bychan. Hey, always wanted a ride in a helicopter... but not like that.

It’s difficult to know where to start... what to attempt to relate .... following a visit to this wondrous place. Truly, this is one of those ancient sites that I would wager not even the linguistic genius of a Shakespeare could adequately describe. To my mind Treaclechops’ succinct few lines are the most representative use of ‘words’ to date; however since this is my third visit over the years guess I need to finally make an attempt in my own gobshite way. I owe it that.

Now there are undoubtedly finer stone circles, from an architectural perspective (Swinside immediately comes to mind); there are those that are arguably better placed in the landscape, too (consider Castlerigg, Uragh, Moel Goedog?). However I reckon none of those other ‘circles I’ve seen (be they open, embanked, circle-henge, RSC, cairn-circle, or any other variant) combines all the necessary ‘components’ – form, placement, vibe – to such devastating effect, to form such a unified whole, all things considered....as the cairn-circle at Moel ty Uchaf.... like the master perfumer using all his/her expertise to create a classic Chanel fragrance in lieu of Brut 33. Yeah, it all comes together here, regardless of whether or not the ‘all’ can ever be properly defined. Perhaps the perfect blend of megalithic attributes?

The setting is excellent, nay, exquisite, the ring crowning a well defined rise [the ‘high(est), bare hill’] set upon the lower slopes of a great, grassy ridge thrusting approx north-westward from the high Berwyn summit of Cadair Bronwen toward the Afon Dyfrdwy, better known in the non-vernacular as the River Dee. Stark, rounded profiles of mountain and hill top form the skyline to south and east, the more synclastic contours of the river valley to the north. But it is the outlook to the approx west which I reckon makes the situation of Moel ty Uchaf so beguiling, so intoxicating, the view incorporating more or less the whole of Snowdonia, for me perhaps the finest (relatively) low level vista in all Wales? Burl cites forty-one stones within the stone circle’s circumference, ‘all about 1ft 6 ins (0.5m) tall’.... with a ‘probable entrance to SSW’. I assume the learned gentleman is correct, the assertions of Aubrey being some of the few things I am prepared to accept more or less verbatim... on ‘faith’, if you like. Yeah, he has been right too many times in the past, to be fair. Which makes it all the more odd that, standing at the ‘probable entrance to SSW’, it appears to me that the landscape is beckoning me toward the high ground.... Cadair Bronwen, rising more or less to the south-east. As I said, odd, my perception, it would seem, somewhat skew-whiff. Autosuggestion, perhaps, some subconscious instinct, some desire to return to the haunts of my youth? Go on, go on.... you know you want to. Obviously it would be far easier not to. No-one would ever know. Except me. And, standing within Moel ty Uchaf, that is enough. Jeez, those ancients knew what they were doing, did they not?....

I return at sunset, perhaps the most evocative, yet difficult time to visit a stone circle.... isn’t it human instinct to rush for the sanctuary of ‘home’ as darkness falls? The ‘dying’ sun illuminates the stone circle with a light that is beyond my capacity to evoke, to describe. Really, it is. Hey, I am a cynical atheist, opposed to all notions of the ‘supernatural’ outside those created within our human brains. And sunset at Moel ty Uchaf only re-enforces the awe – I guess that’s the right word – I experience witnessing the natural cycles of this home we inhabit, this Planet Earth. To think I am literally a part of all THIS is humbling beyond words.

Is this what the erectors of this cairn-circle wanted to convey? Obviously we will never know for sure, but I have a hunch it was. Why not come and experience, come and feel for yourselves? The vibe is superb, the silence total... hell, there’s even a cist in the centre.

T’was a clear night last night (27th October)... the light reflected by the – for once – unobscured moon appearing unusually bright from within the sanctuary of my frozen tent at Fferm y ‘Rynys, a little below the great tomb at Capel Garmon. Conditions not conducive to sleep although, to be fair, the shrill cry of an unidentified bird of prey (apparently) perched in the tree just above my head, may have had an impact, too. Dawn resolves Madame de la Luna’s little conundrum.... a great tear rent in the fabric of my tent roof. Cause unknown.... but nevertheless, I entertain suspicions of ‘fowl’ play (sorry!). The tent’s a ‘write-off’ so, resigned to spending the next night in the car, I decide to break for the border and head for Y Berwyn, following the course of the great Afon Dyfrdwy (River Dee) as it winds its way toward Llangollen. Yeah, reckon I might try and find the small stone circle – according to Postie – to be found at Bwlch y Fedw below Moel Pearce.

A little way north of Llandrillo the B4401 crosses the Afon Llynor, by way of a bridge you’ll be glad to hear, a caravan park located upon the bank of the Dee opposite. Looking the other way, to the (approx) east, a ‘dead end’ road ascends into the foothills of Y Berwyn. It is – in theory – possible to park beyond the field gate at its terminus. Note, however, that there are numerous additional gates to potentially block in the close vicinity, the farms hereabouts possessing some pretty hefty tractors.... I’ll leave you to do the maths. As for myself, I park lower down where a bridleway veers left beyond Ty’n-y-parc, settling for an unwelcome uphill slog to start the day. Beyond the tarmac the minor road morphs into a green public bridleway – contrary to the rather disgraceful barbed wire ‘garlanding’ the upper bar of the gate – heading for the distant high peaks of Y Berwyn. Nearer to hand a short, albeit rather steep, scramble up to the crest of the high ground to the left affords an audience with arguably one of the finest stone circles these Isles have to offer.... Moel ty Uchaf. Now I’ve had the pleasure before, but nevertheless, the diversion is too much to resist.

Respects duly paid, wonder re-affirmed, I head further along the track toward Bwlch y Fedw. However it transpires I’ve left my notes in the car... was the circle east or west of the track? Uphill or downhill? I come to a snap decision. Yeah, I’ll have a proper look.... on the way back from Cadair Bronwen. What! How did that happen? In retrospect, I guess it was probably the (apparent) alignment of Moel ty Uchaf’s ‘entrance’ upon the peak that did it. Whatever, here we go again.... the call is unspoken, never unheard. Tell me about it. As I gain height, a pair of ‘fell runners’ in short order leaving me (thankfully) in their odd wake, the conditions underfoot begin to progressively solidify, a sort of ‘permafrost’ aiding motion across what would otherwise be notorious Berwyn bog. I traverse Moel Pearce, an apparent ‘prehistoric’ standing stone found upon its north-west flank (not sure about this myself), hence Trawsnant, capped by a cairn (again I’m not absolutely convinced by the ancient origin – but it would be nice if it was ‘kosher’) before the final struggle to the 2,572ft summit of Cadair Bronwen.

Standing at the northern apex of the main ridge of Y Berwyn – an approx three mile round walk from its neighbour Cadair Berwyn – Cadair Bronwen is consequently isolated from its peers across Bwlch Maen Gwynedd and thus a magnificent viewpoint Yeah, the vistas to be enjoyed from the summit of the mountain are of truly epic proportions.... that to the approx west possibly the finest, most expansive view of Snowdonia extant. Therefore it is not really a great surprise to discover that our Bronze Age forebears chose this location to – presumably – intern one of their VIPs. There are arguably few places more worthy in all Wales. What is a surpise to these eyes is the sheer size of the round cairn – a ‘platform cairn’ if you will – they erected. Much more substantial than I appreciated back in 1994, the last time I stood here. In my defence appearances are deceptive up here, a significant, unusually well-built modern ‘effort’ drawing this freaking out walker’s attention away from what lies beneath. Postie’s post, appropriately enough, gives the dimensions of this very large circular, well, disc, its grassy mantle acting as natural camouflage, monument merging with mountain top. Step away, however, walk around and perceive the cairn from different angles... and the deception is revealed for what it is.

There is apparently some doubt as to whether the epithet ‘Bwrdd Arthur’ – ‘Arthur’s Table’ (yeah, him again) – relates to the cairn or to a large erratic boulder resting nearby? For what it’s worth I reckon it has to be the platform cairn.... a gigantic, flat, not to mention circular...hey, round... table. Despite the bitter, bitter cold I try it out for size, and ‘do’ lunch. Yeah, reckon a dozen mythical warriors could hang out here, no problem. Despite its isolation the summit is far from deserted today; however there is, thankfully, no storm shelter... so people keep their distance as I lose myself in the melodrama, sheltering from the wind behind rocky outcrops. At least I think that’s the reason? Conversely, I have no choice, no option but to sit/lie transfixed by the ever-changing light, my kit just about sufficient to take the onslaught. It is worth it just to look at those colours! ‘Epic’ doesn’t even come close to being a suitable adjective, the sky at times Wagnerian as opposed to Arthurian. If there is such a thing as the latter.

The hours fly, as usual... and of course, I still want to try and locate that fabled stone circle at Bwlch y Fedw....

Unfortunately I don’t have a great deal of time to spare upon finally coming down from the warm – did I say warm?! – seductive bosom of Mynydd Carnguwch.... seeing as it appears both my car headlights have blown, bulbs ‘shorted out’ by some electrical surge. Yeah, although sadly I reckon the alternator’s the culprit, as opposed to bombardment by magical cosmic rays. So no need for Mulder this time around .... always a need for Scully, however. Whatever, I’ll still need to get back to camp before it gets too dark. Or risk the very unwelcome attentions of the black-clad, ‘machine gun wielding’ heddlu.

Garn Bentyrch appears on the map to be but a minor deviation from my quickly improvised route ‘home’ – via Porthmadog and Beddgelert.... hey, probably not much there anyway, but worth a look nonetheless. The craggy hilltop rises to the north(ish) of the small village of Llangybi, so named after a certain St. Cybi, apparently rather fond of holy wells.... funnily enough I’m getting an image of TMA’s Goff here, although no doubt lacking the self-effacing humour. Ffynnon Gybi, the ‘holy’ water in question, is signposted from the main road and reached by way of an attractive public footpath beside a rushing river... aren’t they all around here? I ascend the hillside to the right of the ancient buildings harbouring the spring which, needless to say, is incorrect.... the path actually climbs through woodland to the left, as I duly ascertain on the way down. Nevertheless it’s but a short pull to the summit of Garn Bentyrch and the subsequent realisation – albeit a very welcome one – that, not for the first time, there is much more here than anticipated by the weary traveller.

In summary, the ancient fortress appears to consist of a small, very powerful, bivallate enclosure supplemented by a larger, less well fortified enclosure to the approx north-west.... the latter for general living and the protection of animals, perhaps? To be honest the innermost defence line looks out of context, a massive, collapsed dry stone wall which, judging by the ‘dry stone field boundary to end all dry stone field boundaries’ which bisects the site in the eastern quadrant, was once much more substantial still. Coflein quotes Frances Lynch (1995. CADW: A Guide to Ancient and Historic Wales Gwynedd p197) as stating that ‘The triple defences are probably of different dates. The innermost ring with its thick, high stone wall may be early medieval; the other two lines consist of walls and banks and are probably prehistoric with later alterations and additions’. I’d concur with that. Frances will no doubt be pleased....

The outer ring of the inner defences is, to my mind, worth the price of admission alone – not that there is any monetary toll to be paid in this instance – consisting of a fine, grassy bank standing favourable comparison with many an ancient enclosure feasted upon by these eyes over the past decade or so. As noted the ‘fort extends its eastern arc beyond the aforementioned massive field wall, the latter no doubt plundered from its very fabric. Bearing that in mind... perhaps the dedicated may want to take a look? I couldn’t possibly comment.

So, Garn Bentyrch remains a very impressive ancient fortress, possibly adapted, South Cadbury style, to serve as home for some early medieval Authurian-style warlord? And of course the views are simply stunning.... from the jaw-droppingly feminine profile of Mynydd Carnguwch (with Yr Eifl and Tre’r Ceiri as close consorts to the right) to the approx north-west.... to the isolated, fortified crag of Moel-y-Gest rising above Pothmadog to the (approx) east... the Rhinogydd standing serried across Tremadog Bay.... the Eifionydd taking it easy under the not unusual cloak of vapour...

A couple of hours here are not enough. But they are all I have and it is time well spent.

I’ve wanted to come here for ages... but then I always find it difficult to prise myself away from the psychological embrace of the high mountains whenever I’m up north, you know? However dawn ushers in a thick carapace of low cloud to envelope the peaks of central Snowdonia in opaque, clammy vapour.... the mountain gods’ equivalent of sticking a ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the outside door knob. So why not take the opportunity to head for the Lleyn Peninsular today? Why not, indeed? The bwlch at Drws-y-Coed affords this motorist access to Dyffryn Nantlle, and hence the A499 coastal road. There are worse. Heading south-west(ish) I take the B4417 toward Llanaelhaearn beneath the towering triumvirate of Yr Eifl.... the innermost summit of which is, incidentally, crowned by arguably – no, probably – Wales’ finest hillfort.... Tre’r Ceiri.... the ‘Town of Giants’. But then you get superlatives like that around here. Such as the truly massive cairn upon the hill opposite.... Mynydd Carnguwch. Yeah, tell me about it. I continue uphill before taking a minor left opposite a public house (the name of which unfortunately now escapes me), carrying on across a crossroads in a vaguely south-easterly direction prior to swinging to the left around the base of Mynydd Carnguwch itself. The road is a ‘dead end’ in the strictly technical sense only, boasting excellent views to the coast before terminating – in its tarmac guise at least – at Carnguwch Fawr farm. A little beforehand, just past the buildings at Ty’n-y-Mynydd and cattle grid, it is currently possible to park upon ‘waste ground’ partly occupied by piles of assorted aggregate, should you so wish. I do, as it happens.

A dry stone wall, seemingly defying Newton’s law in that inimitable Welsh style, acts as my guide upon the very steep ascent of Mynydd Carnguwch, the mini-mountain rising behind me to the north all the way to 1,179ft (359m). It seems much more. Needless to say there is a ‘false crest’ half way up – just to take the piss, you understand – but nevertheless it is not that long before the great cairn rears up on the horizon... although not before time! And ‘great’ it surely is, certainly amongst the most substantial of Snowdonia’s upland cairns I have had the privilege of meeting to date... possibly numero uno, in fact? According to Coflein the monument is:

‘A ruined, dressed rubble-revetted oval cairn, 17.7m NE-SW by 11.6m and 3.2m high, set within a c.40m by 30m area loose rubble, thought to derive from its colossal wreck (source Os495card; SH34SE8) RCAHMW AP965031/68 J.Wiles 14.03.03‘

However, as is more than often the case with these Bronze Age stone piles, it’s where they put this one that really matters, the sheer bulk ‘merely’ the ‘cherry on the top’, if you pardon the analogy. As mentioned, the bulk of Yr Eifl dominates the northern view, Tre’r Ceiri to the fore. Yeah, it seems inconceivable that people actually lived up there... but there you are. Just because there doesn’t seem to be a logical answer, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. The evidence speaks for itself. The central Snowdonian mountains, still blanketed in the morning cloud, rise to the east(ish), and no doubt would furnish a mesmeric skyline under clearer skies? However today I guess the finest vista is that of the Lleyn Peninsular itself stretching away to the south-west, filled as it is with wondrous portal tombs, hillforts (such as Carn Fadryn) and, oh, much else.

But what of the cairn fabric? How do you describe a whopping great pile of rocks other than eponymously? Well, as Postie mentions, the erectors of this monument made canny use of an existing rocky summit – hey, cheated! – in order to achieve an even greater effect than would have otherwise been possible with the same volume of the hard stuff... Foel Grach style. That said, the sheer volume of stone here is astounding. As usual the effort required is mind bogglingly incomprehensible. Consequently I sit, stare out to sea, watch light play upon the landscape.... and come to the conclusion that.... assuming ‘they’ were trying to achieve some sort of meaningful ‘statement’ to posterity upon Mynydd Carnguwch back then.... attempting to communicate a sense of who they were, how their community saw the landscape they inhabited, how they came to terms with existing at that moment... I think they were successful.

Firstly a confession. I actually planned to visit this very obscure stone circle back in September last year... yeah, had the map co-ordinates and everything... until I proceeded to lose them like a prize muppet, consequently spending the time at the wondrous Carn Gafallt cairns instead; not a poor substitute, it has to be said in my defence. However one of the annoying idiosyncracities of ‘unfinished business’ is the manner in which it manifestly refuses to stay filed away in that compartment within the subconscious labelled ‘for future action’. Oh no, the brain – at least mine – doesn’t work like that, instead wheedling its way into conscious thought when least expected; hence one year on, I’m back. No choice in the matter.

Dawn arrives over the Elanydd – incidentally not far from the Roman camp upon Esgair Perfedd – accompanied by close-set fronts of vicious, driving rain. Nice. One would have thought a good spot for locating a reservoir or two.... Thankfully, however, the clouds possess not so much a silver as a golden lining, sunshine breaking through the intervals in the mantle to flood the landscape with light of an incredibly intense hue .... the sort of intensity that only occurs when the atmosphere has literally just been cleansed of its impurities. Magical. Mustn’t waste this. So, heading toward Rhayader, I veer right along the B4518 before crossing a bridge signposted ‘Elan Village’. Following the minor road to Llanwrthwl, climbing steeply past Cnwch farm, I park at the entrance to the tarmacadum road giving access to ‘the Clyn farm’ (if you pass Talwrn farm you’ve gone too far). Another rain front hammers upon the car roof and I wonder what motivates me ... what drives me... to do this? No really, what? To be honest, I think I know. Perhaps one day I will find the appropriate words. As I step out into the downpour the farmer approaches. Appropriately in the conditions he ‘fishes’ for information. ‘Returning, or just off out?’ says he, or words to that effect. Put on the spot, I volunteer that ‘I might just go have a look at the cairns marked on the map’....in a torrential downpour... and wait for the incredulous retort. It is not forthcoming and, consequently, I’m intrigued. I go for broke, waiving an arm vaguely to the south-west... ‘and apparently there’s a stone circle somewhere up there I’d like to see’. It seems there is and the farmer’s bloody well proud of it. He gives me directions.... ‘stand with your back to the trees and head for the cairn upon the far ridge.... the circle is just before the final rise to Y Gamriw’ (or something like that). Blimey. Top bloke, a credit not only to himself, but to his family and to Mother Wales. See we CAN get along if BOTH sides act like adults, treat the other with due respect. Needless to say one good turn deserves another, of course, the Essex boy helping to move the farmer’s herd of cattle down the road prior to setting off uphill.

Passing the forestry I revert to type and, instead of following the farmer’s directions, proceed to make a right pig’s ear of finding the ‘circle by logically seeking out the OS co-ordinates as given [note that these have been subsequently amended – and I reckon are more or less accurate!] In short, the ‘circle is not where it should be, that is just below the south-western end of the rocky ridge that is Crugian Bach. Plan B is to orientate myself upon Y Gamriw’s prominent cairn – as, er, advised – and walk forward in circular sweeps until (eventually) I notice an orthostat which looks ‘wonky’ enough not to be a boundary stone.... but something ever so much older. Aye, it is.

Coflein states there are 18 stones incorporated within the circumference of this stone circle. Perhaps, although some are so diminutive, so (apparently) inconsequential that I reckon only a thorough excavation could arrive at a definitive count. But then again, so what? The largest standing stone here would probably go unnoticed at Avebury.... yet the vibe here is – in my opinion – so far in advance of that justly famous site as to be beyond compare. It really is. Don’t get me wrong, I’m awed by Avebury. But here I feel as if the very landscape itself was deemed so special, so evocative, that anything other than a distinctly underwhelming demarcation of a sacred space was thought to be taking the piss out of the gods residing upon the surrounding high places. The pattern is indeed repeated across Wales... inconsequential uprights standing beneath the high peaks. Nevertheless this clearly represented the real deal, at least for the people dwelling in the shadow of Y Gamriw millennia past, if only because both Coflein and CPAT cite numerous outlying standing stones and cairns in the immediate vicinity. Obviously there was a lot more ritual activity occurring here than might immediately be apparent to a casual visitor. Ha! As if a ‘casual visitor’ would ever come here! A further point of interest in this otherwise archaeologically low key stone circle is the presence of a centre stone – according to my experience, as well as that of a certain Mr Burl (by all accounts) this is pretty unusual.

I stay and enjoy the exquisite vibe for – I think – some three hours. Time seems to have little meaning here as the sunlight illuminates the moor and Y Gamriw broods above. Some natural sequences appear, well, simply meant to be. Inevitable. Eventually, however, the farmer’s earlier complete acceptance of my wish to see ‘the cairns’ becomes too much. I must go take a look... what does he know that I do not? Probably quite a lot...

Some landscapes are iconic, taking the breath away through sheer force of imagery sent cascading along the optic nerve, a tidal wave of electrical impulses temporarily ‘short circuiting’ the brain. The appeal of others, however, is not so direct, less obvious, more subtle; dependent upon the non-visual complement of senses available to us humans but, arguably, woefully underemployed nowadays. In my opinion The Radnor Forest falls into this latter category. Set within a border ‘no man’s land’ north of The Black Mountains, there is to my mind a real sense of inherent insularity to be found here... local hills reserved for local people, so to speak. Perhaps this has something to do with knowledge of an MOD rifle range located within Harley Dingle, the deep valley driving a north-south cleft through the very heart of these mountains? Perhaps.... but I reckon there is more to it than that, something that can only be provisionally understood by donning the boots and venturing into the ‘mists’, preferably not the literal kind of course.

New Radnor is key to an attempt to further your knowledge of these uplands, an attractive village still retaining remnants of medieval earthwork defences, not least a substantial Norman motte and bailey castle, the sort of place I (almost) wish I didn’t have to disturb with my presence. From Water Street turn right onto the B4372 and then immediately left to ascend a minor road past the aforementioned castle. I park up a little beyond at the entrance to an old quarry... in my ignorance. In retrospect – as long as your car is happy enough with steep inclines – I’d recommend carrying on to park in a forestry car park at the road’s terminus. Yeah, save yourself a very steep bit of road bashing at the start. Just prior to the forestry a sunken bridleway heads left, subsequently veering to the right (north) to ascend the tree line. The retrospective and western views become more expansive with every (laboured) step, but it is that which eventually materialises through foliage to the east that I’ve primarily returned here to see.... a veritable ‘Silbury-esque’ natural cone whimsically called ‘Whimble’. How good a name is that? Marvellous. The ‘Silbury’ analogy is valid only to a point, however, since Whimble is much, much larger, rising to as near as dammit 600m at 1,965ft. In addition it’s what lies on top – rather than what lies within (if anything) – that is of interest here..... a stonking big, grassy round barrow.

The climb to the summit of Whimble is not overly taxing, relatively speaking, from either the west or, in particular, the north-east. Sadly the summit ridge is not of uniform profile being much disturbed by quarrying, although Coflein nevertheless cites a possible enclosure here. Fortunately, however, the round barrow remains very much in existence. Coflein gives the monument’s dimensions as being ‘19m in diameter and 1.2m high.... a more recent cairn, 11m in diameter and 0.6m high, superimposed upon it [(source Os495card; SO26SW14) J.Wiles 14.10.04]’. To be fair it seemed much more substantial when on site.... perhaps the scale image I’ve added is more conclusive? What is not in doubt, however, is the sublime nature of the views to be had from upon the barrow. It would be a cliche to state they are worth the effort alone, but ‘if the cap fits...’ Here the ‘cap’ happens to be a fine prehistoric monument in a more than reasonable state of preservation.

Looking west across Harley Dingle three great gulleys – The Three Riggles (right on!) – can be seen adorning the eastern face of Great Rhos, a striking landscape feature. To the north the gaze is directed across the craggy flank of Whinyard Rocks, one of the few incidences of naked rock in an area noted for its paucity, toward Bache Hill, fractionally higher at 2,001ft and boasting a much more substantial round barrow. There are other examples located upon the intervening ridge, including another of very significant proportions. To the approx north west the summit of Black Mixen is surmounted by an ugly antenna (is there any other kind?), an unwelcome companion to yet another large monument. Rest assured, there are more. To complete the picture – and at the risk of labouring the point – the fine ‘Four Stones’ four poster (funnily enough) lies below to the approx south east, the apparently once extensive ritual landscape in the vicinity of Walton beyond, not to mention the great Burfa Camp... and Offa’s Dyke itself. South, of course, lies the eastern flank of South Wales’ great escarpment. Yeah, Whimble is thus a classic spot to sit and..... just.... ‘hang’. Eventually, however, I must reacquaint myself with Bache Hill and its ancient wonders. 17 years after the initial event. Is it really that long? ‘fraid so.

As mentioned above, one of the barrows upon the subsiduary south-western hill remains substantial, the others, eroded away to varying degrees, extend in an arc towards the north-east.... and the main monument crowning the summit of Bache Hill itself. This is quoted by Coflein as being:

‘A round barrow, 20m in diameter and 3.0m high, diched, with traces of a counterscarp. There are indications of possible excavation trenches and an Os triangulation pillar atop the mound (source Os495card; SO26SW11) RCAHMW AP965028/66 J.Wiles 09.09.02‘

3m? I can well believe it. Yeah, this is truly an excellent round barrow... a real beauty in fact. To say the location is also rather good would be a bit of an understatement, too, to be fair. Owing to the topography the views it oversees are (arguably) not as dramatic as those from Whimble, but I reckon this fact is countered somewhat by the much more ‘isolated’ vibe to be enjoyed here... a sense of wilderness, of being in the ‘middle of nowhere’, neither in Wales nor England, but in some ‘otherworldly’ place defying adequate definition. Perhaps the cloud sweeping in, thankfully at altitude, colours my perception somewhat? Perhaps I should leave it at that? Whatever, sitting upon Bache Hill’s summit is a good place to be.

I return to the car via the western flank of the mountain, the gaping void of Harley Dingle a sight to behold, what with Whimble towering above it to the left. I reach the car at dusk. Out of time, the forestry car park seems an appropriate place to spend the night. Indeed it does.

Coming straight from a – it has to be said – magical visit to the Dinas hill fort to the (approx) east... featuring enigmatic warrior burial and glorious views... Pen-y-Castell might well have proved an anti-climax, a disappointment. That it is nothing of the sort could mean I’m easily pleased; or that Pen-y-Castell is simply a great site in its own right? Needless to say this is no doubt a rhetorical question... utterly subjective. For what it’s worth, however, I reckon the latter option holds sway.

For one thing there is no direct comparison between the landscape context of the two sites. Not at all. Passing the llynnau of Blaenmelindwr and Pendam along the Penrhyn-coch road from Ponterwyd, I park up opposite the dwelling of Bryn-goleu. My (library sale) OS map helps, but is not conclusive... I decide the public footpath heading downhill to the left is a better bet than the unmade vehicular track. The thought occurs..... ‘why am I heading down hill to a hillfort?’ Surely this can’t be right? I guess the question is valid at the time. However in short order the hill fort is visible below, rising above the ‘Rheidol Study Centre’ through a break in the forestry. I’m reminded somewhat of Exmoor’s wondrous Cow Castle. Ok, this isn’t in the same league, but then again... what is?

The soggy footpath directs me to tarmac and hence a path following the left hand bank of a small lake, the hill fort rising upon a hill.... funnily enough.... to my left. Ignore the initial gate unless you have fingers of steel – I can not for the life of me open it and am aware that people at the ‘Study Centre’ may well be ‘studying me’ – since there is an ‘official’ entrance a little further along. The ramparts are but a short climb away, an apparently prehistoric monolith yours for the visiting en-route, if that’s your bag.

The setting of the enclosure is sublime, if not as dramatic as the previously mentioned Dinas, with an excellent, open panorama to the west contrasting with encircling hills to the other points of the compass. The natural defences are more than sufficient, the ground falling away sharply except to the east where, as you would expect, the main (only?) entrance is situated. The single bank is more substantial than I expected, albeit subject to significant erosion in places, damage which nevertheless affords an insight into construction techniques, as noted previously by Kammer. Another feature of the site is the presence of a number of boulders of no discernable function; I’ve noticed these at a number of Welsh hillforts... what were they for? Surely some genius out there has a theory? Whatever, Pen-y-Castell provides a fine, evocative hang for a few hours.

So, Pen-y-Castell solves the conundrum of ‘how to follow Dinas’... by being completely different, there being no relevant criteria for comparison. Hey, I can live with that. Still, it’s bloody weird ascending a steep hill on the way BACK from a hill fort to the car. Right on! I can live with that, too.

Now I’d been saving a visit to this prosaically named hillfort for a spell of clear weather in order to do justice to the views it obviously possessed. Nevertheless today I find myself leaving the sanctuary of the car to ascend to the ancient fortress, perched at the northern apex of a rocky ridge... in pouring rain. Eh, how did that happen? Yeah, as John le Mesurier might well have laconically observed ...’Do you think this is wise, sir?’ He’d have had a point, too, since mist swirling around summit crags surely does not promise great vistas. However my ageing waterproofs begin to ‘wet-out’ as soon as I step outside and the climb from the bridge to the south, as Kammer notes, is not overly taxing relative to Pumlumon. Besides, I can always come back.

The single rampart defining this enclosure is not particularly powerful but, to be fair, it had no need to be, not with topography such as this to provide overwhelming natural defence. Coflein reckons the hillfort is:

“...pear-shaped, 107m N/S by 51m E/W. Hogg (Cardiganshire County History 1994, 270) described the rampart as `’a stony bank, about 5.5m wide and just over a metre high externally.’... The original entrance, an unelaborated gap, is centrally placed in the rampart on the south side and commands panoramic views to the south. T Driver, RCAHMW, 15 September 2004.”

Ah, ‘panoramic views to the south’; not that these are immediately apparent, of course. However as I undertake my usual (ritualistic?) circuits of the banks the ‘unseen hand’ of Mother Nature clearly takes pity on the sodden traveller, quickly dispersing the annoyingly opaque vapour along with its residual aqueous cargo. Ah, that’s better. Always good to be able to see what one’s doing. The Afon Rheidol, it goes with out saying keeping its reservoir duly ‘topped up’ in the circumstances, provides the water feature to the east and south-east. That lying below to the west is the Nant Dinas, as you might expect from the general nomenclature utilsed in the area. To the north-west Disgwylfa Fach watches (appropriately enough) over the site, its Big Sister, complete with massive round cairn (the source of those enigmatic ‘dugouts’), looming to the right. Below to the north-east, across the Rheidol, sits the excellent little cairn circle at Hirnant; whilst the main Pumlumon massif dominates the northern horizon. Yeah, it would have been a shame to miss all this... let’s just say I had an inherent feeling I wouldn’t. Or else was just plain jammy, for once?

Coflein cites the existence of a number of possible hut ‘platforms’, a certain example located near the centre of the enclosure. Other points of interest include the incorporation of the summit crags upon the western flank in the defences, as well as a possible original cross bank. But wait; this being Pumlumon, there’s more. Controversial, too. It short it seems that during 1938 – the year after THOSE excavations upon Disgwylfa Fawr – what has been described as a ‘hurried burial’ [R.S. Jones, Cambrian Archaeological Projects, 2004] was discovered here featuring ‘human bones and ‘plate armour’’ within a stone cist... as reported within the Western Mail of 6th Sept. 1938 (’Historical Finds on Welsh Mountains’). ‘Plate armour’? As with the ‘dug-outs’ located further north, guess it’s all a question of interpretation. Was it an Iron Age inhumation, with a slab of the new ‘stuff’ as grave goods... or that of a medieval knight fallen in the battle local legend attributes to the site... a warrior who, by all accounts, must have been deemed quite a dude?‘

Hey, the cloud may have left Dinas today.... but the nebulosity, it seems, remains....

I’ll begin with an admission: I didn’t actually intend to make my way to Pumlumon’s summit today, a sojourn upon Y Garn the relatively modest limit of ambition. However these mysterious uplands of Mid Wales are intoxicating, truly beguiling to this traveller. Lacking – for the most part – the stark, angular rock formations to be found further north in Snowdonia, the attraction here is more subtle... more, well, feminine..... with an innate strength of character. Consider Katherine Hepburn, if you will. Yeah, Pumlumon’s contours are generally soft, rounded, the frequent veneer of mist perhaps reminiscent of the alluring movement of silk across the female breast, representations of which the ancients saw fit to erect upon their summits. How can a man resist? As it happens all is clear today, but nonetheless, perched upon Y Garn’s great cairn, I am drawn to Pen Pumlumon-Fawr as a moth to the flame.

It is further than I anticipate, much more so than I recall. Ha! Truly, my eyes and memory doth deceive me, the hamstring beginning to tighten as I swing north to follow the fenceline along Pen y Drawsallt to the summit (a handy guide should you find yourself engulfed by the mist.... not so beguiling then, it has to be conceded). Despite such physical ‘idiosyncracities’ I duly approach the top after a little over 30 minutes, the first of a trio of cairns, erected in north-south alignment upon the summit ridge, crowning the skyline. It is a fine monument, seemingly more or less intact and utilising the bedrock to great effect. According to Coflein:

‘The southernmost and best preserved cairn on Pen Plynlimon-fawr. It is 55ft in diameter and about 10ft in height, including a modem cairn on top.... The cairn appears to be founded on a natural boss of rock.... (CADW Scheduling description, 1993)’.

Nice, a great spot to hang out for lunch and take in the majestic, extensive views toward distant southern Snowdonia and the Elanydd, not to mention the coastline of Cardigan Bay and Pen Pumlumon-Fawr’s myriad supporting, cairn-endowed peaks clustering around mother... with the added bonus of avoiding the walker punters drawn to the summit as ferrite to the magnet. Ah, yes. It has to be added that, although a worthy cairn to crown the summit peak of Pumlumon, this ‘un actually sits a little below to the south. The reason for its survival, no doubt. Guess we should be grateful for small mercies.

Sadly the 2,467ft summit is actually home to a massive, sprawling – it has to be said – shattered mess of a cairn set a little further up the ridge to the north. I have to admit to conflicting, mutually exclusive emotions as I stand beside the OS trig pillar and survey the carnage... overwhelming, breathless wonder at the fabulous vistas stretching to every horizon, humility at the sheer priviledge of being here on such a day as today... alternating with the realisation that here resides a monument with a dual purpose, recognising not only the considerable, back-breaking efforts of our ancestors, but standing also in mute testimony, a damning indictment of sheer ignorance engendering mindless, pointless ‘walker’ vandalism perhaps unequalled in all Wales? Yeah, what have they done to what must originally have been a true behemoth of a cairn? Again, Coflein:

‘One of three cairns upon a summit of Plynlimon... c.10m in diameter & 1.0m high, having several shelters & an OS trig. pillar set upon it. (source Os495card; SN78NE9) RCAHMW AP955040/44-5 J.Wiles 16.01.04‘

Note the reference to ‘several shelters’.... speaking of which, two ‘tough’ Welsh walkers arrive to interrupt my bemused ponderings, attired only in T-shirts (for some reason). They agree with my observations regarding the loss of their heritage... before heading straight for the largest ‘muppet shelter’ to eat, cower from the wind and avoid the views. What is it with these people? I am loathe to share the summit with suchlike, taking my leave in order to view what is arguably Pumlumon’s ‘jewel in the crown’.... who knows, perhaps for the last time? I head north, passing another cairn, again cited by Coflein as being of Bronze Age origin. On this occasion, however, I’m not so sure – although the positioning is consistent, it just ‘doesn’t look right’, you know? Consequently I must reserve judgement.

Beyond, the summit ridge falls away to the north-east to form the crags overlooking the still waters of Llyn Llygad-Rheidol (the ‘eye’ of the Rheidol). As the nomenclature suggests, this mountain tarn is indeed the source of the Afon Rheidol, and how wondrous does it look nestling within its rocky bowl! I plonk myself down and ponder once again... Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli rises above to my right, the source of the Wye to its right, that of the Severn (Hafren) obscured by the mountain’s tri-cairned bulk. Panning north... Carn Hydggen, with a pair of massive cairns of its own, lies across the Afon Hengwm and..... yes, there they are.... the quartzite blocks of Y Cerrig Cyfammod Glyndwr shining in the sun beneath the (inevitably) be-cairned Banc Llechwedd-mawr. There is more. Hey, it’s easy to get carried away and forget I still have to get back down again with a tight hamstring. Hmm.

Time expires.... the universal constant. I decide to retrace my steps and so hopefully minimise any unforeseen eventualities and avoid any ‘tarmac bashing’. As the light begins to fail upon Y Garn’s massive cairn the horizon develops a pink hue that somehow seems to epitomise Pumlumon today. Understated, yet with an inherent character to take the breath away. Just like a certain film star from Hollywood’s golden age, perhaps?

In my experience it is often the case that either end of a linear mountainous ridge will receive its fair share of walkers coming and going. As usual, however, Pumlumon does not subscribe to convention... in fact I reckon you will be hard pressed to find any more unfrequented 2,000ft plus hills in all Wales than Pumlumon Cwmbiga at the northern apex. Y Garn, occupying the southern end of the Pumlumon massif, in my opinion possesses a very similar atmosphere. The difference here, however, is that – despite being higher than its distant counterpart – it is much easier to achieve that special upland ancient vibe.

I would suspect that most of the visitors Y Garn does pay host to are ‘peak bagging’ – after all the the mountain does rise to 2,244 ft, very respectable for Mid Wales – either taking a detour during the ascent from Eisteddfa Gurig to the east, or engaged in an ‘out-and-back’ from Pen Pumlumon-Fawr itself. Indeed it was by way of the latter that I first came here way back in 1993. There is another option, however. One that offers up the chance to visit a rather fine cairn-circle as either a suitably splendid hors d’oeuvres... or else a classic prehistoric finale to the day; namely an ascent from Lle’r Neuaddau more or less directly below to the west. Great site....

Most prospective Citizens Cairn’d will presumably approach via the (signposted) Nant-y-Moch road from Ponterwyd [As it happens I came the opposite way, following a look at the Nant Maesnantfach cairn... but no matter]. If so, look for the copse of trees on the right (not shown on older editions – i.e mine – of the 1:25K map) just past the Lle’r Neuaddau farm buildings, noting the track heading through the trees. I parked a little way up the road to avoid being in the way of ‘farm-related business’ (as I recall the occupants are ‘proper’ decent people) and, after emerging from the forestry upon the aforementioned track, simply made a steep ascent to the east all the way to the summit, crossing one fence by way of a conveniently positioned stone. Of course it isn’t quite as straightforward as that.... the climb is very steep in places, not to mention more or less trackless (so far as I noticed).... but further directions are, frankly, superfluous. Er, up. That-a-way. Great retrospective views across Nant-y-Moch, of Disgwylfa Fawr and to the coast provide ample reasons for comfort breaks... in addition to the most obvious.

The summit cairn, when it arrives, is a very welcome sight indeed and much larger than I recall from that visit 19 years ago. Sure, it is defaced somewhat by a section of dry stone walling across the southern arc.... presumably for the benefit of livestock, not homo sapiens? The monument is also not that tall; if ever it was so, the cairn has now collapsed and spread to form an extensive footprint. Nevertheless there remains a very significant volume of stone piled upon this mountain top, complementing the ‘greener’ example upon Disgwylfa Fawr across the Afon Rheidol. Unlike Disgwylfa Fawr, however, whatever was interned within Y Garn’s cairn has been lost forever.

I stay on site for a couple of hours to revel in the exquiste vibe in such fine weather. Yeah, it’s not often one can enjoy absolute, complete and utter silence... incidentally I spy a couple of punters striding the far ridge to Pen Pumlumon-Fawr. But none bother to come here to break the spell. Nonetheless the seed is planted and begins to germinate... quickly, too. Pen Pumlumon-Fawr doesn’t look that far away, does it? ‘Passionate Gladman’ and ‘Conscientious Gladman’ battle for supremacy, the latter surmising that the hamstring won’t hold up. For better or worse, however, the former wins. In the end he is proved right. But only just.

I arrive gone 1pm.... but then again wouldn’t have arrived at all – suffering a complete alternator failure upon the M1 – if not for the consumate skills of RAC mechanic Dave Perry.... so thanks Dave. The job was a good ‘un. Anyway, loathe to waste the fantastic autumnal light, I take a leaf out of Kammer’s ‘book’ and finally head for Disgwylfa Fawr... ‘Disgwylfa’ apparently translating as ‘Watching Place’. Hey, how cool is that? ‘Bid me farewell, fair maid with the snow white swan neck.... since I must leave you now and seek my destiny at the mystical Watching Place... I may not return’. Well, hopefully not the last bit.

An approach from the west seems the best bet in the circumstances, the minor road from Ponterwyd (not the one signposted ‘Nant-y-Moch’, but that climbing above the western bank of the Rheidol) passing a trio of worthwhile ancient sites en-route.... Dinas hillfort, Nant Geifaes and the Buwch a’r Llo standing stones. Having seen these last month I actually manage to complete the journey and park at the sharp hair-pin bend north of Llyn Blaenmelindwr. A forestry track (a public right of way) veers right a short distance down the Llyn Syfydrin access road, a subsequent (signposted) left turn duly emerging from the trees with Disgwylfa Fawr visible upon the eastern horizon. I follow a fence line to descend a very boggy hill side and cross the Nant Glan-dwr via, as I recall, a plank bridge. So, no wet feet, then. Nice. I toil up past the ruins of Syfydrin – nursing a cold I’m not in the best of nick, to be fair – and begin the final ascent.

Suddenly a bloody ‘tally ho’ horn shatters the silence and the reason for numerous ‘farmer types’ patrolling the area with binoculars becomes clear.... what I assume to be a group of ‘sabs’ stand a little below to the south. Of course there are two sides to every story, but suffice to say I have no respect whatsoever for the morality of any person who thinks hunting an animal to its death in the name of ‘fun’ is a legitimate occupation. I’m conscious numerous eyes are probably fixed upon me, wondering what the hell I’m doing here... but then again is this not ‘The Watching Place?’ Apparently so.

Not before time I arrive at the summit; only 1,663ft (507m) but it seemed much more! A large round cairn – albeit looking more like a grassy round barrow – crowns the top. I always find it difficult to judge relative heights, but thankfully the conditions are benign enough to allow a scale photo. Yeah, this is a substantial monument. As Kammer before me notes, the centre of the cairn bears a slight depression, no doubt the result of the 1937 excavation. Then I recall what was actually discovered within this monument back then.... two dug-out ‘canoes’ with associated funerary remains (see the misc post). Whaa the? Dug-out canoes? Up here ?!? Yeah, apparently so... or at least what remained of them... with published Bronze Age radio carbon dates to boot. I gaze at the 360 degree vista and suddenly feel I’ve gained a fleeting insight into something very important ideed. What is it about Pumlumon and its (apparent) association with water? This is ‘The Watching Place’, alright.

Pendinas hillfort stands sentinel above Aberystwyth to the west, the point in the landscape where one great Welsh river completes its journey to the coast. Another, the Afon Rheidol is viewed at a much more nascent stage, linking the Nant-y-Moch and Dinas reservoirs below to the approx south-east..... hey, perhaps the very water course our Bronze Age ‘sailor dudes’ went a’fishing in/upon their cool canoes... sans reservoirs, naturally. Unless the whole thing was symbolic? (Presumably) a little further along the proverbial time line the locals fortified and occupied the crag of Dinas, perhaps to control the natural passage through the mountains. The mind reels, it really does. North-east rises Pen Pumlumon-Fawr and the rest of the central Pumlumon massif, massive complementary cairns surmounting every top. Clearly height was not the primary consideration since Disgwylfa Fawr’s monument is by no means peripheral. Pumlumon is more or less devoid of inhabitants now, just a couple of farms with attendant cairn circles in the back garden.... the usual. By all accounts, however, the evidence would suggest it was not always this way.

Failing light announces that I must leave. All is quiet down below with no ‘mighty hunters’ to be seen... assuming there were any in the first place. If so, with any luck Reynard gave them the run around. No need for his mate ‘Stanley’. Furthermore I discover that somehow I left my storm jacket in the car (a rather poor error, to be fair). Pumlumon, however, was kind to me today, not least with its weather, concluding the day by bathing the Buwch a’r Llo stones in exquiste light. Needless to say I have to pause for a while.... it would be rude not to after She’s gone to all that trouble.

Drosgol is arguably the most awkward of Pumlumon’s ‘supporting cast’ to visit due to the expansive waters of the Nant-y-Moch reservoir barring a direct approach from either west, south, or east. Assuming you aren’t in possession of a boat, that is. Consequently the twin cairns which crown its summit are the last of the area’s extraordinarily extensive canon to experience the dubious pleasure of Gladman’s wobbly boots, if only for a couple of hours, or so. Yeah, just a blink of the proverbial ‘eye’ of time.... albeit one peering from behind suitably cool Ray Bans this wondrous day (other makes of sunglasses are available; as for myself, I make do with none).

Now I’ve spent the night beside the Maesnant cascades, due east of Drosgol, on a number of occasions over the years, the mountain’s profile rising across the water to invoke in the sleepy head emotions harmonising with the prevailing weather conditions.... from the ethereal, mystical (however you may define that, although like sexual attraction you sure know when you experience it) to the ‘what the hell are you doing here, you muppet?’ as rain lashes down during the storm. More or less the full range of human cerebral interaction with what we, for want of a better word, continue to call ‘wilderness’. Always, however, there was the nagging thought – like the little devil perched upon the shoulder in those Tom and Jerry cartoons; or is it Itchy and Scratchy? – that I really must visit one day. Well......

Dawn arrives with the psychological impact of the allegorical freight train, to experience such perfect conditions to my mind the primary benefit of wild camping. All is still... save the almost imperceptible movement of a cloud bank inching its way, as if by sentient touch, across the bulk of Banc Llechwedd-mawr and Drosgol, their progressively exposed flanks bathed in a combination of orange/red/gold that only Nature could ever reproduce again. All is quiet... save the reassuring action of the Maesnant cascades upon rock. Some things are simply meant to be, inexorable. Such as me finally having to ascend Drosgol today. Having no wish to ford the Afon Hyddgen again (wuss) I decide to approach from the north-western extremity of the Nant-y-Moch, plenty of off road parking available opposite a rough byway beneath Carn Owen. Heading east a bridleway leads down the hillside before veering approx south to follow the northern shore of the reservoir. The surface is firm, too much so for my poor shins in walking boots; however the archetypal green ‘centre line’ affords welcome relief. The route swings north to skirt a prominent inlet, Drosgol now rising across the water and looking a lot higher than it is, Y Garn looming behind its right shoulder like the reassuring presence of a celebrity’s bodyguard.... ‘Mrs Drosgol isn’t receiving visitors today.... but seeing as you’re a friend of Mr Cope’s...‘

In retrospect I would suggest it is preferable to cross the deep gulley cradling the Nant-y-Baracs sooner rather than later, struggling up the boggy far bank to (hopefully) pick up a grassy track to Drosgol’s summit. However – and not for the first time – I am deceived by the effects of foreshortening, deciding an approach from the north-west looks less demanding. Consequently I blunder into the yard of a (thankfully) deserted farm, concealed within a copse of trees, before retreating and cutting across the gulley anyway. Again, in retrospect, the map is clear. Still, no harm done and I squelch up hill to locate the necessary track (not shown on the map) and, eventually, complete a short scramble up a rocky spine to stand upon the summit before the twin cairns. The erectors chose well, Drosgol proving arguably a better viewpoint than similarly endowed Banc Llechwedd-mawr to the north-east. Like those of its neighbour, the former’s cairns have emerged from the mists of time in differing states of preservation. The eastern monument has faired by far the better of the pair, a substantial, low cairn seemingly intentionally set upon the northern slope of the summit ridge to face away from Pen Pumlumon-Fawr and the main bulk of the massif... that is to say I do not think the orientation is the result of significant slippage over the course of millennia. I could be wrong, of course. As you might expect, a modern construct occupies the highest section of the cairn. Thankfully, though, there is no ‘muppet shelter’ defacing this cairn. Sadly the same can not be said for the western example. By contrast this is now reduced to a mere outline in places, patches of the ubiquitous tough upland grass in evidence within the footprint. Having said that the cairn still retains a fair few rocks in situ. I’ve seen much worse.

A visit to Drosgol was never primarily going to be about the archaeology, of course; decent enough though it may be, it will not blow the traveller away for its own sake. No, what ‘does it’ for me is the vibe to be encountered here... an ‘aloofness’ which engenders a feeling of more or less complete isolation – of positive detachment – from the world below... enabling a purity of thought, if such a thing is possible without disappearing up your own backside, whilst nevertheless retaining a mental ‘umbilical cord’ to the familiar. A safety net. Or perhaps ‘a toddler’s restraint’ is a more appropriate allegory? Yeah, my car always remains in sight, albeit at a considerable distance. Speaking of which, I gaze down at a car occupying the space mine did this morning – and will again tonight – and reflect upon how tiny, how insignificant it seems. So that’s how I appear in the big picture, the overall scheme of things? Inconsequential, a mere detail in the landscape. Trivial. The realisation that that’s what mountains do.... present those who wish to expend their energy ascending them with a different perspective of the world and the place us homo sapiens have upon it. Sure, we may have had a major impact, most of it detrimental, but we are nonetheless just a’passing through until replaced by the next tenants-in-chief. I make no apologies for thinking anything which can highlight this basic premise can never be a bad thing.

I find no reason to go back down until the possibility of benightment becomes just that. A real possibility. Retracing the morning’s route along the shoreline the surrounding hills and mountains are bathed in a crimson glow so, well, ‘red’ as to once again defy categorisation. The circle is closed. Well, for today anyway.

I approach heading south from the twin Carn Gwilym cairns which crown Carn Hyddgen, the landscape bathed in light so intense, so vivid... as to render the resulting colours beyond any description I might attempt. Some things are best left unsaid if we are to avoid the descent into pastiche..... save to give due credit to the ‘lighting department’. Out of this world....

Sadly the scant remains of this small cairn do not do justice to the magnificent scenery this evening. Set above a small tarn, I must admit I’m by no means convinced that this is in fact the ‘genuine’ article. Having said that, the site is not one that one would perhaps expect the archetypal ‘walker’s cairn’ to occupy, there being (arguably) much better potential locations nearby. Another for the ‘await excavation – if ever’ file, then.

The final, very steep descent to the Afon Hengwm affords a superb view toward Cwm Gwerin and Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli, shattered outcrops of rock rearing like proto-standing stones in the foreground. Pen Pumlumon-Fawr itself lies across the river, illuminated in blood red by the dying sun. Yeah, I wish I could stay and revel in it all for much longer... but nightfall approaches. As it must. And I’ve still a bit of a tramp to reach the car and (hopefully) sanctuary from the ghosts of any of Glyndwr’s host still with issues to settle during the night. Nos da.

It’s rather disorientating – odd, even – to return to a location after a prolonged absence, to stand at a spot where you last set foot nearly 20 years before. For me Carn Hyddgen is such a place, a (it has to be said ridiculous) map reading error having first drawn me to the twin cairns of Carn Gwilym in 1993. Simple arithmetic aided the conclusion that this was indeed not Pen Pumlumon Arwystli as I had planned. Yeah, three cairns into two doesn’t go. No such errors today.... I think Pumlumon and I understand each other a little better now. Although ‘She’ still refuses to make things easy, the terms still very much ‘take it or leave it’, the descent from Banc Llechwedd-mawr and re-fording of the Afon Hyddgen no easy skate... in fact I would say incorporating some of the roughest grass-land in Wales.

However all that is consigned to the latest batch of ‘Gladman history’ as soon as I reach the summit. The sheer bulk of the cairns, albeit greatly accentuated by later ‘marker’ edifices constructed from the copious base material, takes my breath away. The revised profiles – although when the revision took place is anyone’s guess (the miscellaneous entry refers) – are hauntingly evocative, particularly viewed against such an angry sky so full of character. In fact the vibe reminds me somewhat of Drygarn Fawr isolated, albeit to a greater degree still, in not too distant Elanydd. The vistas to be had from here are, as one would expect, similar to Banc Llechwedd-mawr across the bwlch. However the subtle differences, the variance in angle of shadow, in apparent landscape texture suggested by the play of light, in depth of colour... are all important. Perhaps the primary difference is the insight Carn Hyddgen affords the viewer of the ‘forgotten corner’ of Pumlumon, the north-eastern sector whence resides the monuments of Carn Fawr, Carnfachbugeilyn and Carn Biga. This evening the emptyness of the landscape is total, overwhelmingly so, populated solely by washes of sunlight dueling with shadow. Hey, I doubt if the ‘dark side’ ever looked so appealing? The question ‘why people chose to bury their dead up here’ never seemed so superfluous, so rhetorical. I mean... just... well... LOOK!

OK, perhaps it isn’t as simple as that. I confess it is an easy matter to get carried away when the mountains put on their ‘light show’. But surely theatrical spectacle was fundamental to the Bronze Age ritual experience, the timing of visits to these places specifically chosen to maximise the impact, to blow the mind?

Incidentally Coflein cites two further small cairns upon Carn Hyddgen as having Bronze Age associations – at SN7924290848 and SN7924390834. Bearing in mind the ‘amendments’ to the primary pair I must admit I’m not convinced. However, unlike during my 1993 visit, I have no need of maths this evening.

At 1,837ft Banc Llechwedd-mawr could be described as a minor satellite of the main Pumlumon ridge, complementing the marginally taller Carn Hyddgen rising across the bwlch carrying the main north-south route across this magical landscape. To my mind, however, that would be unfair. For one thing it is a superb viewpoint and... perhaps more to the point, particularly with reference to modern antiquarians... what it lacks in lofty pre-eminence is more than compensated for by its collection of ancient monuments. As you would probably expect here, its summit is crowned by a pair of Bronze Age cairns; in addition its eastern flank boasts two stone settings, not to mention the wondrously enigmantic quartzite blocks of Cerrig Cyfammod Glyndwr, although whether the latter were ‘placed’ in position by humankind, or the greatest power of all, is open to debate. Whatever the truth, clearly our forebears viewed this shapely hill as ‘special’.... perhaps because the shining white beacons were already in situ? So much to ponder, then.

There would appear to be two practical main routes to Banc Llechwedd-mawr, the creation of the Nant-y-Moch reservoir having reduced available options by, er, ‘adjusting’ the original topography somewhat: the first is a rather long trek from the north-western tip of the reservoir, starting below Carn Owen and, assuming you have the ‘puff’ (not I), taking in the pair of large cairns crowning Drosgol; the second, my choice, heads north from the Maes Nant activity centre, but involves fording the Afon Hyddgen at some point. ‘Horses for courses’, as they say. But hey, be careful out there.

The summit of the peak is a steep, straight forward climb from the legendary Cerrig Cyfammod Glyndwr. There is, of course, no path. The reward, the vista from the top, is equally legendary with Cadair Idris and the vanguard of southern Snowdonia forming a seemingly impenetrable demarcation between North and Mid Wales. Nearer to hand, the aforementioned Drosgol towers above the waters of Nant-y-Moch to the approx south, Pen Pumlumon-Fawr rising to the left. Immediately opposite, the Afon Hengwm leads the eye toward Pen Pumlumon Arwystli and its trio of massive cairns, the sources of the Hafren (Severn) and Wye located to left and right respectively. Not to mention the source of the Afon Rheidol beneath the sentinel peak of the ridge. Then there is the pair of monuments upon Carn Hyddgen. Cairns, cairns, wherever one looks...... speaking of which, the cairns I’ve come to see at close quarters are, at the very least, worth the not inconsiderable effort. The southern is by far the best preserved, seemingly unviolated and occupying a classic upland position. Ok, it’s not that large (relatively speaking), but perfectly formed. Think of it as Pumlumon’s ‘Kylie’, perhaps? Its partner to the north is much more ragged by comparison. However it incorporates additional dry stone features which are difficult to explain by reference to the usual destructive activities of muppet ‘walkers’ or husbandry of sheep. In fact Coflein – see miscellaneous entry – suggests these may be original? If so that is yet another reason for the serious Citizen Cairn’d to venture here.

As I sit and take in the vibe, overlooking the presumed site of Glyndwr’s ‘Battle of Hyddgen’ in 1401... hey, that was only yesterday in the scheme of things... the Pumlumon weather decides to show what it can do. When it can be bothered, that is. All of a sudden gone is the dull, drizzly, overcast.... overwhelmingly grey... sky, replaced by a vital, sunlit canopy which utterly transforms the colour palette defining the underlying landscape. Sitting here I believe I can see what Turner was trying to capture with his great skyscapes. If you are attempting to relate what it feels like to contemplate the biggest questions of all, why not use the biggest canvas of all? Makes sense to me.

Carn Hyddgen suddenly looks far more appealing than before. Well, you know how it is? The itinery is scrapped, visits to the two additional stone settings shelved, and off we go. Note the presence of another quartzite block on the direct line of descent, which, for me, strengthens the case for the Cerrig Cyfammod Glyndwr being solely Nature’s work. Or does it?

I’ve been curious about these enigmatic stones – Owain Glyndwr’s ‘Covenant Stones’ – for a while now and was in fact on my way to visit them during September 2010... until a spur-of-the-moment diversion up Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli. Yeah, don’t ever accuse me of being organised. Anyway, if at first you don’t succeed.... wait two years and have another go. As previously, the primary intention this time around was to ascend Banc Llechwedd-mawr to take a look at its pair of cairns, an audience with the Cerrig Cyfamod Glyndwr the proverbial ‘cherry on the top’. Or rather bottom. Assuming I could find them, of course. But how difficult can it be to locate two glistening white quartzite blocks upon a dark hillside, brooding beneath a malevolent sky promising rain? A glance at the map suggests a relatively easy day, two rights of way crossing the Afon Hyddgen either side of the confluence with the Afon Hengwm, the latter draining surely one of the wildest cwms in all Wales? Pumlumon doesn’t do ‘easy’, however, the landscape – in places a soggy morass – would suggest Glyndwr knew exactly what he was doing back in 1401. No problem if saddled upon one of the tough little local ponies. Otherwise......

Leaving the A44 at Ponterwyd, take the minor road signposted ‘Nant y Moch’, the Dinas hillfort rising upon your left across the Rheidol, the Hirnant and Lle’r neuaddau cairn circles just two of the excellent sites which might well throw your itinery to the not inconsiderable Pumlumon winds en route. Assuming you get thus far, take the right hand fork just prior to the dam, this a ‘dead end’ which penetrates the very heart of Pumlumon. Parking is available a little before the Maes Nant activity centre, although I have to confess I’ve never actually seen any ‘activity’ there. The route, now a stony bridleway, continues above the buildings, the cascading Maesnant stream betraying the existance of Llyn Llygad-rheidol – the hidden source of the Afon Rheidol – high above to the right. Follow the bridleway until, nearing a prominent copse of trees, it is necessary to trend right to cross the Afon Hengwm, via a footbridge, the river barring further progress. Needless to say I attempted to ford the Afon Hyddgen by veering left before crossing the bridge... but found this option to be completely impractical, dangerous even. Stupid is as stupid does, Forrest. So use the bridge and continue along the bridleway before attempting to negotiate the Hyddgen. Where you make your play is a matter of personal choice, I’m afraid. I followed the bank for what seemed like, oh... ages.... looking for a dryshod way across. But to no avail. Losing patience I am forced to remove boots and wade the freezing water. Still, the feet needed a wash, I guess. This being Pumlumon, of course, there follows immediate, comical irony. Yeah, boots replaced nice n’ dry, I step into an unseen, boggy pool up to my knees. Doh!

Once across, the stones are indeed easy to locate. Two (relatively) large blocks of vivid quartzite lie – they do not appear in anyway to be ‘standing’ – separated by a small, rocky outcrop. I make the alignment roughly North-South (Coflein reckons NNE-SSW, so I’d recommend you go with that, bearing in mind my limited prowess with the compass). Such are the deteriorating weather conditions that I do not note the ‘alignment’ with the skyline stone to the south. But there you are, such things happen where legends are born. Minds can get overloaded, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, you know? The setting, particularly in these adverse conditions, is brutal in the extreme, the stones clinging to the eastern flank of Banc Llechwedd-mawr above the river, the complementary flanks of Carn Hyddgen rising across the bwlch, both peaks surmounted by the obligatory Pumlumon cairns. Surely there can be no doubt these shining beacons (I can confirm they can indeed be seem from the summit ridge of Pen Pumlumon-fawr rearing above to the approx south-east) were placed here by human agency? Err.... to be honest I was more or less convinced until, upon descending Banc Llechwedd-mawr later in the day in a direct line toward Carn Hyddgen, I came across another quartzite block (see image no.3). Coflein’s R.P. Sambrook suggests that the stones ‘....may be erratic boulders’. Sadly I reckon the existance of the third block raises the possibility, for me, that he could be right. But then again the third block might simply be an additional monument, bearing in mind there are two additional stone settings a little to the approx south-west of the Cerrig Cyfamod Glyndwr. Just what was going on here back then?

My gut feeling is these wondrous stones are indeed naturally occuring erratics, the additional nearby monuments suggesting they were perhaps ‘adopted’ by the ancients as part of their ritual landscape.... not to mention the medieval locals. What could be more special than finding such unusual, magical white stones ‘already there’, in situ, seemingly ‘placed’ by the very gods themselves? Needless to say I would love to be proved wrong, for the tell tale signs of human agency to be discovered and subsequently highlighted by others. But perhaps this is to miss the point... merely splitting hairs, for this is an inspiring place to be. A good place to be.

As mentioned there are other stones to the south, apparently displaying much more certain prehistoric ancestry. However Banc Llechwedd-mawr calls the louder from on high and a true Citizen Cairn’d must respond. There is no choice, no option. The afternoon then proceeds to burst into life in a dazzling display of highlight and shade, a veritable kaleidoscope of vibrant colour set free by sunlight penetrating the cloudbase... or something like that? So Carn Hyddgen must follow in linear progression, the other stones must wait for another day. Yeah, like I said. Nothing is straight forward upon Pumlumon.

It’s unlikely – in the extreme – that anyone would happen to simply ‘chance’ upon this diminutive stone circle, set just beyond the north-eastern tip of Llyn Cwmffynnon, an upland mountain lake acting as temporary repository for the (substantial) run-off of the towering 3,000ft plus crags of Glyder Fach and Fawr. To my knowledge not even Burl, the man himself, has highlighted this stone circle, so kudos must go to the wondrous people at Coflein.... and to TSC for passing the info on. Although the site is not as obscure as a glance at the 1:25k OS map of the area might suggest – this is, after all, at the heart of central Snowdonia’s prime walking country – the same map depicts a tiny lake more or less where the monument sits, a satellite frozen in orbit around the impossibly evocative source of the Nant Gwryd. To be honest this is a bit of an exaggeration.... but not significantly so since the landscape is very wet indeed. Suffice to say, then, that only someone seeking the vibe, that ‘essence’ of the hills which a man with my command of the English language will never be able to adequately define, should make a pilgrimage here. Pilgrimage? The word invokes images of religious devotion, blind faith. Leaving one’s brain at the counter. Hell no. Guess I should clarify I feel no ‘supernatural’ presence at these sites. Just overwhelming wonder at the Super Natural world. Yeah, the whole is most definitely greater than the sum of its cold, soggy, misty parts. However you most certainly need your brain to fit the bits together.

My visit today was prompted by the all too recurrent curse of every visitor to the UK uplands... a low cloud base. But there you are. Where would we be without ethereal vapours to obscure the stage of the age of legend, to act upon the primeval instincts embedded deep within the human mind... yeah, the very mists of time itself? The approach to the ‘circle is suitably dramatic, ascending the right hand bank of the thundering outflow of Llyn Cwmffynnon back to its source, fleeting glimpses of grey – nay, black – crags materialising above only adding to the sense of drama. Eventually the lake shore comes into view.... at a prominent stile look for a distant rock colonised by the only tree within the cwm.... the circle is located a little to the left of this line of sight, set before a craggy section of the lake’s shore within DEEP marsh. Needless to say I walk on by, oblivious, drawn to the clear water’s edge... before finally placing myself within the landscape. But then I would suggest a circuit of this wondrous mountain tarn is a given. It would be rude not to.

None of the orthostats of the stone circle are large. But then what’s new in Wales? The encircling crags, their height if anything emphasised by the obscuring mist, so completely dominate the site as to engender a feeling of mild claustrophobia. Yeah, there can be no pretension here. I count five stones still a’standing, albeit within their own personal pools, three more fallen (at least)... plus two (?) lying within. Not so sure about the latter, since the surrounding landscape is liberally ‘sprinkled’ with rock and one may be naturally ‘placed’, so to speak. As you would expect beneath Wales’ rockiest mountains. Hanging out here is not easy – for obvious reasons – but I have no choice. The thought suddenly arises.... I’ve walked in North Wales for over 20 years. Thought I knew it like the back of my hand. How wrong can you be?

So why here? Why erect your ‘circle in a spot that must (surely?) have always been subject to the most extreme vagaries of the climate in these parts? One answer may be not that obvious today... that of the elegant, sculptured summit of Crib Goch which would dominate the skyline to the approx west if not for the low cloud. Another could be the positionning near a river source, the very definition of life on this planet? To be fair the latter seems to be a recurring theme encountered during my upland wanderings in Wales.

P.S. – Central Snowdonia has adopted a policy of very much biting the hand that feeds in recent years... to my understanding much against the wishes of locals ... by imposing excessive parking charges in some areas. The laybys near Pen-y-Gwryd are covered by these draconian measures, so I would recommend parking a little further down the road toward Capel Curig.

Who’d have thought it, eh? My mum used to stay at nearby Tudeley ‘hop picking’ when she was a kid.... loved it to bits, no doubt passing some of that passion for the British countryside onto yours truly. I’ve also a fondness for the hop, but guess we’ll leave that out of this. I’ve been to (equally nearby) Tonbridge a few times, too, the town dominated by the de Clare motte and bailey castle, the great gatehouse of which is cited as being inspiration for those of that other – incomparable – de Clare fortress of Caerphilly, South Wales. Yeah, but what sorcery is this? Another ‘Castle Hill’ rising above the A21 just outside of town bearing witness – according to the deliberations of excavations carried out in 1969, 1970 and 1971 (see Pastscape, English Heritage, National Monuments Record TQ64SW1) – to human activity ranging all the way back to the Mesolithic, with Neolithic and Bronze Age finds to bring us to the days of Iron. Hey, Castle Hill has quite literally seen it all. However it is the latter epoch which has left by far the most substantial trace, albeit in the form of a paradoxical combination of earth and Kentish chalk. Iron, indeed. As for the Norman barbarians.... Ha! Only yesterday...

For some reason I had a bit of a pre-trip ‘downer’ this morning. It happens. Guess I anticipated access issues, what with a brace of antennae crowning the hill top. Probably just a few lumps and bumps to see anyway. Not really worth going? I nevertheless find myself parking at the entrance to ‘The Brakes’ and ascending a track (gated to vehicles, but not pedestrians) through trees to arrive at the aforementioned towering antennae. Veer left here into the trees and some pretty substantial ramparts are not long in coming. This northerly section appears bi-vallate, if overgrown. Nice. The cooling fans of the nearby installation kick into life and I prepare to be annoyed. But I’m not. Not with the sunlight slanting through the foliage, the whole woodland vibe making me very glad I came. Heading east, the banks are overwhelmed in soaking knee high fern for a while before standing proud and defiant once again... only to peter out (presumably destroyed) at Castle Hill farm. The owners of said establishment want you to ‘keep out’. Strictly. However the notices are superfluous since shotgun reports are audible nearby. I’ve no desire to meet such people, let alone dance to their tune.

Retracing my steps and heading beyond the antennae, a sunken track gives access to more substantial defences in the form of a ‘bastion-like’, well, bastion to the approx south-west... all shimmering highlight and shadow, the perfect environment for fungi, the archetypal ethereal vibe. I can handle that. OK, the earthworks lose focus once again as I approach the farm from the other direction, but clearly there is much more to Castle Hill hillfort than I ever supposed. Or rather ‘hillforts’, the excavators having concluded that a later enclosure superseded an original earthwork apparently intentionally destroyed at some point. Before which, or so it would appear, Mesolithic, Neolithic and Bronze Age peoples had either lost, discarded or deposited their artefacts. The continuity, the sheer breath of human experience boggles the mind. Really, it does.

Some three hours have now elapsed upon this obscure hilltop. So I must leave to – unwittingly – take almost 45 minutes to move a couple of miles because of roadworks on the A21. Such is life. Yeah... life. The word sort of sums up Castle Hill, does it not? I think so.

To be honest I wasn’t sure what to expect here. Sure, the extended environs of Canterbury reveal a number of the seemingly ubiquitous ‘Tumuli’ marked upon the 1:50k map... many more than I deemed possible but a few months ago, prior to a visit to Bigbury, that is .... but is it not true that travel broadens the mind, raises expectations, fuels the hunger for knowledge? (Discuss in not less than 2,000 words, essays on my desk by Wednesday next week please). However I must confess that I ‘toy’ – rascal that I am – with the notion of revisiting the not too distant long barrows at Bodsham or Chilham... but that would be too easy. No, Iffin Wood it has to be, if only to see where the urns mentioned in Rhiannon’s post were placed. You know, to feel that ‘connection’? Something personal, real, relevant. Something, I have to admit, I’ve never experienced at those great, overwhelming power centres such as Avebury, Stonehenge and the like. Yeah, despite the magnificent architecture I’ve always sensed too much ‘politics’ at those places, the experience too ‘scripted’, too theatrical, too controlled.. what with their tended lawns and EH information boards. Too many half-interested people going through the motions to truly breathe deeply.

The same can not be said of the well preserved round barrow which lies within the northern section of Iffin Wood. Now I guess my admiration for the works of the Ordnance Survey is obvious; however there is no substitute for simply ‘being here’. Or there, as the case may be. Consequently I take the A28 toward Ashford from Canterbury city centre, veering left for Chartham at a prominent roundabout. Beyond a church (as I recall) a minor road, named, appropriately enough, ‘Chartham Downs Road’ heads east (left) offering some rather splendid panoramic views before the traveller must divert north to skirt the western flank of Iffin Wood. I park just beyond the entrance to Upper Horton Farm and contemplate the treasured map, the latter declaring the elusive monument to lie just south of a prominent track starting.... well, where? Yeah, of the track there is no obvious sign.

It is there, of course, more or less opposite the aforementioned entrance, but submerged within the wood and heavily overgrown. More to the point, the road is unfenced at this point rendering access easy, if blind. So, picking up the line of the track I trend to the right and soon come across a rather substantial round barrow hidden beneath the summer canopy. Not bad at all.... OK, the northern flank has been somewhat truncated by the encroaching track, but other than that I’ve seen much worse. Nature has complete control here, from the spiders’ webs which envelope my face as I negotiate my way around trees, the creators no doubt much more pissed off at my presence than I am of theirs... to the rotting stumps and branches which surmount the ancient barrow, organic structures which crumble at the slightest pressure from my boot, their demise in turn allowing the flourishing of the woodland which rises above. Yeah, everything feels so right here, you know? Everything has its place. I recline upon the natural chaos and drink my tea, senses in overdrive, straining at the proverbial leash.

A woodpecker does his – or her – headbanging thang near to hand. More worryingly – I hate guns – shotgun reports ring out every now and again also... note that there is no public footpath affording access here... hence on several occassions I tense up in anticipation of a challenge... but it would seem no one has used this track in ages. Hey, even the sunlight struggles to penetrate the scene here. The vibe is truly exquisite.

N.B – there is another ‘tumulus’ depicted upon the map further to the south. However barbed wire impedes access... and to be frank I wanted to leave with the vibe intact. Wonderful.

Ah.... this’ll be one for those who like the locating of their round barrows to present a bit of a challenge. Not least upon actually arriving at the spot where the maps reckons them to be. But there you are. Another piece of the Kentish prehistoric jigsaw (eventually) falls into place.

The first problem is to actually find the A290 turn-off toward Whitstable upon passing the fine city walls of Canterbury – not to mention shattered, yet none the less substantial rectangular shell of a Norman keep. Yeah, I miss the (presumed) signpost and consequently take a while to arrive at Blean. From the village I head east, past the local Londis, to Tyler Hill – watch the road here, some pretty sharp corners with hulking, great 4x4s taking far too much room – hence left (north), passing Frog Hall (no toads in these parts, apparently) to park at the Clowes Wood car park by Gypsy Corner. Now.... the required track actually heads north-west into the aforementioned forest beside a covered reservoir, to the far right as one approaches... needless to say, however, I venture along a track signed ‘Dog Loop’. I realise my error when power lines duly bisect the track where none should be. North it is, then, before veering right near a tarmac section of the old railway to ascend to the highest point of the woods, the northern flank seemingly used as a mountain bike track. Although thankfully not today.

But where are the promised round barrows? To be honest it takes a while to decipher the landscape and suss out what is what. Sure enough there is a clearing at the highest point of the ridge, but the ground is covered in thick vegetation.... of the sharp, prickly, painful kind.... albeit with rather tasty compensation if you happen to be an aficionado of wild berries. The western – and according to the map, smaller – barrow is completely submerged beneath fern. Beyond, however, it is possible to discern the raised profile of a much more substantial monument, at least in terms of footprint. A central depression filled with charred wood is the clincher. So... not exactly the finest example of a round barrow one could wish to see and, frankly, I’m initially somewhat disappointed. But then the grasshoppers begin to resume their racket, birds twitter and distant road noise fades to the inconsequential. Yeah. I decide I like it here after all, marooned upon my prehistoric ‘island’ within a sea of bramble. Clowes Wood has vibe. Something that can not be purchased, something that is hard to come by nowadays. Priceless, you might say? Upon having a wander I reckon this would actually appear quite a significant round barrow should all the greenery be removed. But then again perhaps it is fine just as it is?

The final morning of this year’s Scotland trip dawns somewhat overcast, but nonetheless dry beneath the mighty flanks of Tinto. So, an early start is required if I am to have enough time to do Cademuir Hill justice... assuming the lonious’s camera did not lie and it is indeed as good as I anticipate. Yeah, some may wish to cram as many visits into a day as possible. But I could not imagine being so flippant, so irreverent toward our ancient heritage. No, it means too much. Experiencing the vibe, absorbing whatever ‘echoes’ may still remain from the lives of those that went before... is everything in my opinion. Suffice to say you do not bolt down a cordon bleu meal.

Approaching Peebles from the west (upon the A72) I’m – thankfully – unaware of just how many ancient enclosures I’m bypassing this morning.... suffice to say there are quite a few in retrospect, this area of The Borders clearly an unknown quantity for this weary traveller. Passing the B712 junction I take the minor road toward Kirkton Manor, crossing Manor Water (a tributary of the legendary River Tweed no less) before parking up just before Cademuir Farm, a little beyond a picnic site. As I put on the boots an elderly gentleman passes by... I bid him ‘good morning’ – as one should – and state my intention to visit ‘the hillforts’.... he seems to think that is a good idea. Perhaps he’s having a good inward chuckle at my naivety.... thinking ‘but I wouldn’t be starting from here, though!’ Two female ramblers also appear to pick up the positive vibe, all tossing hair, exagerrated posture and sheer, vibrant feminine sexuality. So it is perhaps fitting that Cademuir Hill brings the flattered male firmly back down to earth by demanding a level of exertion far in excess of what I’d expected. Jeez, it is a steep ascent from here. Either that or I’ve more or less ‘shot my bolt’ this final day. Or chosen the wrong start point. Who knows?

Heading north-east, the first minor summit is (apparently) without monument. Suffice to say, however, that the second – at 1,050ft – most certainly possesses one.... a seriously powerful drystone-walled hillfort. The angle of ascent amply demonstrates the defensibility of the site in the most practical way possible, the ground falling sharply away except to the east. Here – according to Canmore – the single rampart is, or at least was, a whopping 20ft wide. I well believe it, the wall having collapsed both within and without the enclosure, numerous courses of original stonework remaining in situ. What’s more, a fine chevaux de frise (an array of small stones set on end to impede offensive charges, be they equestrian or otherwise) accords further protection in this direction. One hopes the nearby rotting carcass of a sheep is not the latest evidence of the military prowess of such an arrangement?

Beyond, the ridge rises some 250ft to the 1,314ft summit of Cademuir Hill. This is crowned by a much larger enclosure, again defended by a drystone rampart, albeit of a more limited 10ft width (again according to Canmore). The views from this defended hill top – as in the case of its lower neighbour – are excellent, exquisite even, particularly when looking south-west (ish). Yeah, this is a place to sit and take it all in. Not that Cademuir Hill is deserted today. Oh no, not with the odd (ha!) mountain biker struggling past, not with a couple of lycra-clad lovelies running up, down, then up again. But there you are. Despite allocating some four hours, time runs out and I do not get to visit the third of the trio of hillforts which grace this ridge.

But as Meat Loaf once sang... you know, on the slow one without Cher on it.... ‘Two outta three ain’t bad’.

Rising from an rather chilly ‘overnighter’ beneath Tinto I’m pleased to note that enduring a little discomfort would appear to have presented me with the prospect of a fine day ahead. Yeah... nothing good in this life comes without a price... and I reckon the reward is currently worth the (it has to be said) not insubstantial outlay. Not sure my back totally agrees, but thankfully it is reasonably acquiescent. For now. So, onward to Edinburgh. Or at least The Pentland Hills, which overlook Alba’s capital.

It would seem – in retrospect, as usual – that most (and there would seem to be quite a few) visitors to this comfortably ‘compact’ range of hills ascend from the Loganlea Reservoir to the north. Needless to say I, the inevitable consequence of blind ignorance as opposed to any integral ‘maverick tendencies’, approach from the south. To be fair, however, it is not a poor choice. Parking in a large layby upon the A702 beyond Siverburn, I follow a marked path crossing very wet ground – the excess water no doubt having overwhelmed the Grain Burn – before veering right at a ‘crossroads’ to ascend the right hand shoulder of Carnethy Hill. Despite the highest point not quite reaching 2,000ft it is by no means an easy climb – well, in my opinion – and I’m consequently more than happy to reach the summit, the ‘cherry on top’ (so to speak) a very substantial cairn. Yeah, suffice to say a structure of this magnitude was not erected by student punters on a day trip from Edinburgh! Seeing as most of them (the males, anyway) look as athletic as Jarvis Cocker. No offence, Jarvis....

I settle down upon the great stone pile and reckon there are few places I’d rather be this day. Sure, the great cairn has been defaced by the inevitable ‘storm shelters’.... if that is indeed what they are ..... but it has enough sheer bulk to overcome this with ease. Indeed the view westwards towards Scauld Law is impressive, an apparent cairn upon South Black Hill (to its left) intriguing.... as it transpires, overwhelmingly so. I stay for several hours, enjoying the company of female students – and the excellent views – more than that of route marching muppets. But there you are.

Anyway, as mentioned, Scauld Law beckons, the eroded path testimony to the popularity of these hills. No corresponding monument crowns this top. However, venture along the peak’s southern spur to South Black Hill and this sad state of affairs is subsequently rectified. Yeah, crowning a classic Bronze Age position sits another very substantial cairn, curiously not cited by the OS (or Canmore, for that matter) as being of ancient origin. Strange. Hey, if there is documented evidence to this end, fair enough. But I have to say I was inclined to adopt a contrary view, all things considered. Great views, a great place to hang out for a while.

I descend to Silverburn Quarry (neglecting to visit a hillfort just excluded from my map extract – doh!) and so complete the ‘loop’ and return to the A702. My legs are comprised of the proverbial ‘jelly’, rendering a visit to Castlelaw a ‘no-go’. Instead I decide to head across the Firth of Forth, a visit to the obscure Denoon Law having stuck in the brain. Yeah, why not?

Ah, what a beautiful, beautiful site I reckon this to be, quite possibly now my favourite in the Kilmartin area..... and, let’s face it, there are quite a few to choose from. Yeah, Dunadd may have rightly captured the popular imagination when it comes to Argyll hillforts, what with its legendary status and expertly protected ‘footprint’ that tourist punters can try for size.... audience participation is always a sure fire winner. However I think Creag a’ Chapuill beats it hands down in every respect, save that mystical ‘sacred mountain’ profile rising above the River Add. Instead the much larger enclosure, perched high upon this isolated crag, has views to die for – just ensure sure you don’t make that a reality! – bending its metaphorical knee to a sacred ‘hill’ in an altogether different league... the mighty Ben Cruachan

Creag a’ Chapuill is but one – albeit by far the largest, as far as I can tell – of a chain of high, fortified enclosures guarding the northern approach to Kilmartin Glen, overlooking the western end of the wondrous Loch Awe, not forgetting its much smaller consort Loch Ederline, near the small village of Ford. Exquisite scenery, exquisite vibe. Sheer crags to the south make a substantial contribution to both the former and latter, not to mention defensibility. A great dry stone rampart, significant remnants of which still girdle the hillside ‘filling in the gaps’ between natural rocky crags, did the remainder and must have ensured this hillfort was well nigh unassailable before the coming of the Roman war machine. If it ever came this far, that is? Bloody Romans.

Access is still pretty difficult today, although no doubt I made much harder work of it than needed to be the case approaching from the west, what with blundering through trees etc. Well, it looked easy enough upon my old 1:50K OS map. But then again doesn’t it always? Anyway, take the A816 north from Kilmartin and, passing the B840 turn-off to Ford, park in the layby by the entrance to Tibertich, that is on the left. Opposite, an old stone wall meets the road to the right of an old quarry. Follow this upwards along a rough, grassy path-cum-track through a linear break in the forestry, a momentary glimpse of Creag a’Chapuill crowning the skyline above and beyond invoking an involuntary ‘bloody hell’ from this traveller. Now assuming you don’t ‘go walkabout’ the route, following the same line, eventually emerges upon a forestry track, the hillfort nowhere to be seen. Head left here and, at the track terminus, veer right to double back on a parallel course through the trees. If you’re on the money the hillfort will eventually tower above to your right, with a barbed wire-lined drystone wall to left. Clamber up as best you can and simply savour what must be one of Kilmartin’s least known, but most spectacular major sites. Hey, Loch Awe never looked so good.

Nowhere near as ruinous as I’d anticipated, Dun Grugaig is – in my opinion – the most rewarding of the trio of ancient defensive structures to be found within the wondrous confines of Glen Beag.

Tearing myself away from the magnetic attraction of the excellent Balvraid chambered cairn, I venture once again into the merciless glare of the sun. The broch is signposted, a DIY placard indicating the route to be taken along the rough track heading approach south-east beside the Abhaim a’ Ghlinne Bhig. It is not far, a 1/4 mile or so from the buildings at Balvraid, I guess... look for the birch covered crag, above and to the right (south) upon fording the stream which flows towards the aforementioned river from the Coire nan Caorach.

Not a true broch, Dun Grugaig possesses a semi-circular ground plan, therefore differing from its much more famous, distinctly circular neighbours (Dun Telve and Dun Troddan), utilising a steep ravine falling to the river for its western defence. Truly, no more was needed.... that much is obvious as I teeter upon the edge, the presence of gurgling water just discernable far below. Consequently the setting of the enclosure is far more dramatic than either of the other two sites, thus engendering a far superior vibe. The archaeology is substantial, too, the drystone walling rising to an impressive height, particularly facing the original approach to the approx south-east, where I reckon additional, outer defences remain in situ beyond. What’s more a gallery can still be seen within the inner and outer walls of the defences. Always a good thing.

The proximity to water does have its drawbacks, however. Yeah, the ancient defenders may now be long gone from Dun Grugaig.... but not so the terrible midge which begins to demand evasive action from the visitor. However the fort occupies such an idyllic position within this landscape that such discomforts must surely be bourne in good heart?

Fried, fried. Take it in the side. Yeah, tell me about it. You might say the act of sheltering beneath the capstone of a chambered cairn in order to escape the overwhelming direct effect of the sun’s solar energy – and not the usual, inexorable... and rather wet... result of convection – is a rather alien concept to this perplexed amateur antiquarian. And that would be putting it mildly, indeed. But ‘tis the case alright. Glen Beag swelters under an impossibly blue sky this afternoon and I’m only too happy to take advantage of the shade afforded by this excellent megalithic structure.

Now I’ve been to Glen Beag before – a decade or so ago during one of my earliest trips to Alba – in order to check out the pair of wonderful brochs that are Dun Telve and Troddan. But curiously I never ventured that little bit further to just before the road’s terminus at Balvraid; in retrospect that was no bad thing, the ommission duly presenting me with a good excuse to return, then? Needless to say it is worth the effort. Not only is the capstone supported by a couple of large orthostats, themselves resting upon a deceptively substantial cairn.... but the landscape context, standing above the lively, crystal clear waters of the Abhaim a’ Ghlinne Bhig, the towering crags of Druim na Daise themselves rising above to the approx south, is truly exquisite. And since the road is a dead end – in just the ‘physical’ sense, you understand – only the locals, or the very inquisitive traveller will pass by to momentarily disturb the vibe. Hey, this is the kind of sun-bathing I can do.

I swear you could spend all day at Balvraid ... if it wasn’t located within a Glen Beag also featuring the remains of three brochs and rock art, that is. Next on the agenda is the highly recommended extension to Dun Grugaig about a 1/4 mile further along the valley..... hey, it’d be rude not to.

Now if this had have been one of my beloved upland cairns... this particular Citizen Cairn’d would have been performing cart-wheels of un-restrained physical abandonment... metaphoric cart-wheels, of course. Jeez. Give me a break. But no. Sadly the massive cairn which now surmounts this hilltop, boasting an equally monumental vista towards Portree and The Red Cuillin, represents the totally shattered debris of what was apparently once a great broch. Yeah, let’s not beat about the bush.... it is totally wrecked, only the additional, outer defence line betraying the defensive nature of the site.

What a pity. In such a wondrous location even a hint of a surviving broch would have been, well.... I’ll leave the adjective up to you. However, having said that, and to paraphrase the great Eric Morecambe, most of the constituent parts of the broch are still here. Just not necessarily in the right order! Hence a substantial degree of vibe still lingers, like the ghostly spirit loathe to stop frequenting the favourite ‘haunt’. And of course there are the exquisite views. Yeah, I’d recommend a visit.

I approach from the mind-blowing, seemingly totally forgotten chambered cairn at Kensaleyre; however since I’m not exactly ‘structured’ in my wanderings, I guess most will probably venture out from Portree; if so, take the first turning to Borve on the A850 (to the right) – that is before the junction with the A856. Follow the road uphill to the right and park in the farmyard. I met the rather tough looking farmer here... as you might expect... who was only too happy for me to visit as long as I moved my Sassenach arse so he could move his tractor around unhindered. In short, I reckon he shares the vibe, you know? The indefinable love of what makes this land what it is. Told me he would love to see the broch excavated and restored to give some impression of what once stood here. Anyway, if he’s not around a stile allows access uphill... then trend right and the shattered broch is impossible to miss.

Oh, and don’t forget the pretty decent stone row ‘in town’.

I drive too far down the road to Kilmarie and miss the footbridge across what I presume to be the Abhainn Cille Mhaire flowing into Loch Slapin. However the sandy foreshore looks exquisite basking under the implausibly blue sky of this late May afternoon... hey, why not take a short cut across? Yeah, good idea. To be honest, it is.... as long as the traveller doesn’t mind temporarily removing boots and socks and having a wee paddle. Once across, follow the coastline around to the right and it would be very difficult to miss another of Skye’s superbly positionned ancient fortresses.

The fortified enclosure surmounts the northern of a pair of rocky knolls rising above the blue waters of the loch. I understand from Canmore that Dun Ringill was amended – updated, shall we say – somewhat during medieval times to serve the changing needs of its owners. More of a human footprint, then, than your average dun. However this means I’m not sure how much of the entrance arrangements – the passage of which is well preserved – represents later work? Whatever, the defences retain a formidable aspect.... impressive drystone walling protecting the landward approaches, natural crags to seaward rendering much less masonry necessary there. In contrast not a lot survives of whatever structures once stood within the confined enclosure. But there you are.

Substantial the ruins of Dun Ringill may be. However.... this being Skye... the location is arguably the primary reason to come here. Yeah, the coastal views are, needless to say, exceptional. The vibe is pretty good, too, the short coastal walk ensuring any half interested tourists remain in their cars this glorious afternoon. I can live with that.

On the way back I decide to try and locate the (apparent) long cairn at Cnocan nan Gobhar... this is most certainly a mistake (take the bridge), the intervening woodland turning out to be a water logged wilderness of bramble. However I manage to extricate myself and approach the riverside, via a stile.... only to have some arrogant, ignorant ‘individual’ shout at me from the safety of the high walled house across the water. Not a good idea... Seems the blighter’s most put out that I’m here and is clearly not adverse to talking to people as if they are servants. I nickname the wrong ‘un ‘Shug’ (he reminds me of the ‘plastic Scot’ character in Rab C Nesbitt) and point out he should learn some manners and remove the bloody stile, then. Jeez. What’s more, time has run out if I want to see sunset at An Sithean... and I must leave. As for Shug... ah leave him. He’s nae worth it!

Mother Skye obviously concurs, for as I drive along the eastern shore of Loch Slapin once more, rhetorically asking myself whether anything can be so magnificent, so beautiful?.... a veritable vision of feminine loveliness in cropped top and shorts approaches. She flashes a smile which I reckon has the beating of Bla Bheinn hands down... and Skye’s apology for the ‘Shug episode’ is gratefully accepted.

Ha! What odds that the only previous fieldnote, recording Mr Hamilton’s visit, would be posted a couple of days before my own audience with these striking megaliths? I’ve wanted to come here for a while.... but Scotland is an, er, ‘interesting’ place, the schedule of the committed antiquarian odds-on not to survive a progress across such a wondrous landscape intact. What a good thing, too.

If you are anything like me – if so, I sympathise... no, really, I do – it’ll take a while to get to the beginning of the track to Camasunary, the key to visiting this circle..... assuming you manage to get past the An Sithean tomb, that is. To be honest it would have been quicker to walk around the head of Loch Slapin, such are the ‘photo’ opportunities offered by the stunningly striking profile of Bla Bheinn and associates. However, eventually.... a little way past Strathaird House there’s plenty of available parking on the left. The Black Cuillin present an uncompromisingly brutal profile to the west, the jagged, angular grabbo rock faces every child’s vision of what mountains are supposed to be. Nearer to hand, however, look toward the small loch to the right of the prominent copse of trees and a keen eye should make out a trio of standing stones. Worth a look.

Unlike Mr Hamilton, I blunder across the intervening ground and just about avoid a suitably deserved boot full of bog. Just about. However I find the loch inflows as easy to cross as he reports. The short trek is worth it. There are actually four stones here.... hence the classification as ‘stone circle’ as opposed to ‘alignment’ or ‘row’, which would otherwise be justified. The three which remain upright are all handsome examples of the genre, of approx adult human height. The fallen monolith, however, is much more substantial, measuring some 11ft 6 inches in length (according to RCAHMS 1928).

The sun beats down and I decide this is as good a place as any to spend some quality Skye time. Curiously only a small section of The Cuillin rise above the horizon viewed from within the circle, the effect perhaps intentional? Gorsedd-like? As I doze off I sense, am suddenly acutely aware... that ‘some one’ has arrived and is standing behind me, clearly reluctant to introduce his/her presence. Maybe shy, maybe reluctant to disturb the vibe? Perhaps unsure how to relate to the individual sprawled upon the ground below? Whatever. Nevertheless it eventually begins to irk, so I rise to my feet to find... that... yeah, no-one is there. Just the lapping of the water upon the shore of the loch below. What sorcery is this ?!? I feel a bit of a muppet, but no need, to be fair. Surely such theatrics were ‘built in’ to monuments such as these ‘false stones’. All part of the experience, the traveller simply ‘getting’ the vibe as intended. Thank you for that, erectors of Na Clachan Bhreige. Hey, was ever a site more inadequately named? Its detractors perhaps protested too much, methinks.

Echoing the opinions of those who came before .... I thought this a wondrous site, all things considered. OK, it’s far from being the best preserved tomb you’ll ever see. That’s a given. However, despite the proximity of the minor – yet nonetheless relatively busy – Elgol road, the skyline of Beinn na Caillich, (presumably ancient) summit cairn clearly visible, ensured this chambered cairn possessed a superb vibe. Particularly with the setting sun falling behind the sacred peak....

A half dozen – or so – othostats protruding from the upper surface, like rotten teeth (yet with infinitely greater aesthetic appeal), confirm that this was – hell, is – a funerary monument. The cairn itself is deceptively substantial, particularly so if the traveller sees fit to engage in a wander to the north. However I agree with the SC that it is not clear – to this layman, at least – how much mass was actually placed here by human agency, how much is natural bedrock accentuated and fashioned into the desired profile with additional stone? If the latter made a substantial contribution to the overall effect, the architects were a clever bunch... knew exactly what they were doing. Guess they did, regardless. Assuming the intention was to make an outstanding impression upon the ‘inner recesses’ of the human psyche.

Despite the great appeal of this site, the thought of the legendary Na Clachan Bhreige stone circle down the road attracts me like the proverbial space-time singularity. Yeah, there is no escaping the overwhelming gravitational pull. Nevertheless I must – and do – return to An Sithean when the day is done in order to experience some more of this easilly visited, yet impossible to forget place. Yeah, best appreciated when the road is quiet, the tourists all tucked up in their B&B rooms, just the wandering cows and sheep for company.

Guess this is best described as the ‘fragmentary’ remains of a chambered cairn? It’s certainly not going to overawe a visitor in the manner of the overwhelming monuments to be found at Kensaleyre or Liveras. Oh no. Why, its Neolithic constructors even saw fit – as I should have expected, in retrospect – to deny the visitor the benefit of the fine coastal views anticipated from such a cliff-top site upon the eastern flank of Trotternish. Not that the family of cows which call Cadha Riach ‘home’ seem to mind? Big bovine momma eyes me suspiciously for a microsecond before clearly deciding I’m no threat to her offspring. Yeah, I can live with that. Although it might have been a different story if it had have been big daddy bull.

Having said the above, the landward vista, looking toward the Trotternish Ridge and... in particular... the wondrous rock formations (and hillforts!) of The Quiraing, is pretty special. Once the morning cloud cover magically begins to peel away, that is. In fact the vibe ‘speaks’ so loudly I realise I now have no choice but to abandon my afternoon ‘schedule’ and climb the latter natural wonder next. Jeez. Surely there are less tiring hobbies?

Cadha Riach is perhaps best reached by parking near ‘The Community & International Leadership Centre’ (ahem) in Staffin. A path leads to the latter’s right, uphill toward the coast, crossing a drystone wall by way of a very impressive ‘stile’. The denuded chambered cairn, albeit still possessing chamber orthostats, sits a little way back from the cliff edge. As usual I found it a little difficult to spot at first, but eventually did so by orientating myself upon the line of the slipway below and following that back. Ta dah! Note also the large round cairn of Carn Ban overlooking the southern flank of Staffin Bay to the approx north-west [Update... apparently Carn Ban represents the remains of a broch. Sorry about that]. However I’ve made my choice. Quiraing, my lord?

The ‘badger’ gives a succinct appraisal of what still occupies this promontory within Loch Mealt.... yeah, not a lot aside from a low, double-skinned circular, drystone footprint. Not worth a visit then? Oh come on!

Visitors experiencing the deceptively – very deceptively – modest delights of Trotternish for the first time are recommended to stop and gawp at the fine spectacle of the nearby waterfall cascading down Kilt Rock.... there is a car park... and, well, it has to be done. However glance across the A855 and the sharp-eyed may make out Dun Grianan jutting out into Loch Mealt. Now I’m not that sharp-eyed, but I cheated and used my old OS map, parking beside the museum at the junction with the Ellishaddar road. An open gate, to the left a little further down said road, allowed easy downhill access to the loch’s shore, the broch clearly visible beyond. Trending right, accessing the promontory required stepping over a low fence or two, and negotiating a little marshy ground. But that was all. Simples. For Scotland, anyway.

As the ‘badger’ says, there’s no towering broch here. In fact it is only the trademark ‘double skin’ configuration which proves this is no mere animal pen... or even round house footprint. No, this is/was a broch alright. But, as I’ve found to be the norm upon this wondrous island, Skye duly intervenes to ensure a visit to Dun Grianan will not be forgotten in a hurry. Hell no! For starters the interior is a veritable mass of bluebells.... the exterior’s not bad, either, the placid surface of the loch engendering a mean ‘n’ moody vibe beneath an overcast sky. Beyond, the Trotternish Ridge is similarly ethereal, enveloped by the cloud mantle responsible for my venturing north this morning. In retrospect it was no bad thing. Trotternish is class.

As I sit and ponder ‘stuff’... tying to envisage what it must have been like to live within a ‘cooling tower’ beside this loch in times of lore (must’ve been a bugger with the midges, the awful little beasties strangely absent today)... I’m reminded of a quote by Mr Cope within his original great tome.. something like ‘the more I see, the less I need to see’. Yeah, you know I think I know what he meant? Beautiful site.