GLADMAN

Marked upon the map simply as ‘cairn’, this is in fact a much more substantial monument than that basic categorisation would indicate. Hell yeah! Set above Pen-y-Gwryd, with its hotel (which incidentally acted as the training base for the first successful ascent of Everest), Llyn (Lockwood) and Roman camp (the usual thing), this monument appears to be much more of a long cairn than that above Nant-y-Llys approx half a mile to the south.

It is from the Nant-y-Llys cairn that I approach, my intrigued nature having got the better of me as I enjoyed the vibe there, buffetted by the fierce wind and frequent squalls. The Snowdon Massif is quite literally overpowering if the approach is made from this direction, the deep bogs worthy of Ireland, my new Gortex boots somehow passing the ultimate test. Passing to the right of a small, rocky hill, the size and exquisite siting of the cairn is suddenly all too apparent... and welcome. Dyffryn Mymbyr stretches away to the east, the two dry stone walls indicating the postion of the larger cairn-circle just visible before the Llynnau Mymbyr, Carnedd Moel Siabod rising majestically above to the right. To the approx north the raging outflow of Llyn Cwmffynnon leads the gaze up to the most brutal, austere mountains you could ever wish to see... Glyder Fach and Glyder Fach, the rock formations of Castell y Gwynt (literally ‘castle of the winds’) to this observer seemingly evoking every emotion the Welsh landscape and language can convey... all in one searingly evocative skyline profile. Which leaves Yr Wyddfa itself.... except it refuses an audience, leaving Y Lliwedd and Crib Goch to crown the western skyline alone. They deputise admirably for the moody one.

The site in fact consists of two stone piles, a much smaller sibling standing beside the much larger monument to the south-west, although in all probability two were once one, so to speak... judging by the trench which runs the length of the large cairn – I mean, where did those stones go to? Whatever the truth, the volume of cairn material remains relatively impressive, the monument by all accounts sited to overlook Dyffryn Mymbyr and – as with the nearby Nant-y-Llys – not focussed upon The Snowdon Massif. Hmm. Please, please tell me now. Is there something I should know? Probably. But it escapes me. Was Yr Wyddfa too important to be directly viewed?

There’s an old saying, isn’t there?... ‘can’t see the wood for the trees’... Yeah, although this won’t often apply to the uplands of Snowdonia – where the odd, gnarled hawthorn or wind-blasted mountain ash are the only trees you’re likely to encounter – substitute ‘the cairns for the rocks’ and I reckon you’ve got the equivalent phrase for the locality. I mean, prior to Postman’s Coflein deliberations, I certainly never contemplated that the ‘cairns’ marked on the 1:25k map above Nantgwynant were more than simple walkers’ or marker cairns set amongst glacial residue? We live and learn, I guess, it then being rude not to include the Nant-y-Llys and the nearby Pen-y-Gwryd monuments upon the Gladman ‘bad weather list’. And with a forecast like today’s ‘severe gale force winds and driving rain’, the list is (eventually) retrieved from under the car seat. Ah, Nant-y-Llys it is, then.

Of all the roadside vistas of the Snowdon Massif, perhaps the most ‘intense’ is paradoxically the easiest to enjoy... that from the tourist viewpoint on the A498 to the east. Park here with the punters and – if Mother Nature lets you – you’ll not only see Yr Wyddfa and its cohorts soaring far above, a rather attractive power station (it’s true!), but also a prehistoric settlement nestling down in the valley below. As you do. What isn’t apparent, however, is what lies above to the north-east, unseen. The first challenge is to open the car door in the none too subtle wind, then, having duly negotiated a gate, stagger steeply uphill in the general direction of an archetypical, gnarled hawthorn. I know how you feel, my friend.... The retrospective down Nantgwynant towards Llyn Gwynant today is perhaps not an image for the North Wales Tourist Board, but is nonetheless worth the price of admission alone for its brutal, yet somehow wistful intensity. Not sure that makes sense, but sometimes it’s difficult to articulate, you know? And, needless to say, the view of Snowdon itself would have blown me away, metaphorically speaking, if the conditions hadn’t already done so in a much more tangible manner. The hillside is seriously boggy, so I’m more that happy to arrive upon what appears to be a fabulous long cairn... only to realise there are several other similar features nearby, complete with apparent covering cairn. Damn! Glacial deposits, no doubt. What a muppet.

But then, there it is, a little distance below to my right. A definate, substantial cairn, although somewhat robbed internally. Tell me about it. Trouble is it appears to be very much a typical Bronze Age funerary cairn... that is ‘round’.... and not a long cairn. I could be wrong, I guess. But, checking the map, this is the spot all right. Perhaps significantly, the cairn is located on the north-eastern shoulder of a slope overlooking the Nant-y-Llys (stream) and appears to have been deliberately sited so as not to have The Snowdon Massif as its primary focus. Intruiguing. Aye, that is is. A fine, wild spot indeed.

Despite the conditions – or probably because of the conditions, if the truth be told – I would have stayed much longer if another ‘cairn’ hadn’t have been indicated on the map some way to the north...... Ha! These cairns are certainly more-ish. One is never enough, is it? Bit like Jaffa Cakes.

I awake to one of those typical North Walian mornings, cloud obscuring Moel Siabod as I poke my head outside – or rather stumble from – the battered old tent. What’s the weather gonna do? Dunno. But something I can’t explain is pulling me towards Cadair Idris.... only to find the mountain also deep under cloud upon approaching Dolgellau. So, improvised Plan B it is, then.... an obscure chambered cairn said to sit above the Afon y Dolau Gwynion near Llyn Efyrnwy (Lake Vyrnwy).... Except as I proceed up Cwm Hirnant, beyond Rhos-y-gwaliau, the sheer beauty of the landscape gets the better of me and I’ve gotta walk. Here. Right now. Plan C, then, in the form of an ascent of Foel y Geifr, an unassuming 2,053ft moorland peak – if ‘peak’ is actually the right word – rising to the immediate west of the summit of Hirnant Pass. Hooray. A decision at last.

To be honest it’s not much of a plan since the ascent is short... and not so much sweet as an annoying slog through deep heather and bog. Nevertheless the summit, crowned by an attractive OS trig pillar adorned with equally attractive lichen, is quickly attained. However it’s what lies beneath the trig pillar which is of greater interest, a relatively significant stoney mound – albeit grassed over – with several small blocks of quartzite apparently placed upon it with purpose. And it seems our friends at Coflein have already thought of what I was thinking, so to speak. Here we have another Bronze Age funerary cairn, no less.

I go for an excellent walk northwards to overlook Cwm Hirnant itself from Foel Goch. Sadly no more prehistoric cairns to report near to hand, although take your pick from the horizon for many other distant locations (Garnedd Wen, Arenigs, Foel-Cwm-Sian-Lwyd, Arans, Berwyns etc). Needless to say, a violent front moves down the valley giving me a bit of a pasting, but the atmosphere, upon returning to Foel y Geifr, is all one could wish for. Yeah, this high moorland sandwiched between Y Berwyn and The Arans won’t be to everyone’s taste, I guess. Paths are at an absolute premium, the going underfoot difficult, to say the least. ‘Intimate’ may well be an appropriate adjective... nevertheless the vibe is sufficient to delay my return to the car until the onset of dark. The Afon y Dolau Gwynion cairn will have to wait for another day now. I’m sure it can cope with the disappointment....

Ah, the ‘Slippery Hill of the Witch’. Hasn’t that just got to be a contender for best name ever? Although at 2,622ft it can hardly be called a hill... unless you’re a Scot, that is, in which case even the incomparable Black Cuillin are ‘hills’....

I last visited the summit cairn of Pen Llithrig y Wrach almost exactly four years ago, approaching from the south near Bron Heulog. This is perhaps the preferred way up, since it gives the traveller ample opportunity to take a look at several other monuments en route. Unfortunately, however, thick cloud and atrocious conditions moved in whilst I was but half way up back then. Hey, these things happen in the hills, sorry, mountains of Snowdonia. Don’t they just? To be honest I had no intention of having another look today, my mind set upon a tentative ascent of the Creigiau Gleision opposite, a wary eye upon the cloud base. However, upon arriving and parking at the Llyn Cowlyd dam, following a drive up what might possibly be – in places – the steepest public road in all Wales (seriously) from Trefriw, improving conditions prompt a snap decision. Let’s go see the old witch again, then.

So, leaving a couple of workmen actually working – yeah, I know, it freaked me out, too – upon the dam (demonstrating that hopefully we’ve learnt our lesson from the catastrophic failure of the Llyn Eigau dam in 1925...) I head westwards to ascend the long north-eastern ridge of the mountain. At the crest there is a sort of path, although diversions to view the aforementioned Llyn Eigiau render my approach to the summit a trackless, boggy, heathery slog. Never mind, since the views across Cwm Eigau to Carnedd Llewelyn and the central peaks of The Carneddau are sublime. A final grassy scramble and there is the summit cairn... clear of cloud this time around.

As with most North Walian Bronze Age summit funerary cairns, the construction of this ‘un – low, earthfast, with overlying supplementary modern additions – will not blow you away in itself. However the positionning, towering above the forbidding, black jewel of the Llyn Cowlyd reservoir, with the ‘grey-green crags’ of Creigiau Gleision shimmering beyond, is truly breathtaking. The 3000 footers of The Carneddau sit beyond Pen-yr-Helgi-Du (peak of the black hunting dog) to the approx north-west, mostly crowned by their own Bronze Age monuments, whilst the incomparable Tryfan dominates Ogwen to the west, despite being in the company of numerous other serious mountains. There can be only one Tryfan, cairnless, but surmounted by its unique pair of stone sentinels. Shafts of light pierce the increasingly dark cloudbase above Moel Siabod to shine a myriad spotlights upon Dyffryn Mymbyr, scene of yesterday’s visit. Then, to the north beyond Llyn Eigiau, I pick out the one and only Tal-y-Fan, the hillfort Pen-y-Gaer and Drum, site of yet another funerary cairn. Needless to say many other monuments remain unseen at this range. Is there anywhere they didn’t go, these people?

The weather begins to deteriorate, the light also. Several used flare cannisters are a prescient warning. Time to leave, then. As I approach Cwm Cowlyd, vicious hailstone fronts beginning to sweep across the reservoir, I notice one (perhaps more?) possible hut circles/disturbed cairn-circles. Not sure.

themodernantiquarian.com/site/13517/cwm_cowlyd.html

Needless to say, darkness approaches.. and time has run out, the prevailing conditions now not the best.. and I’ve still got to negotiate the road back to Trefriw. Luckily the access gate, despite appearances to the contrary, has not been locked before me. It is a relief. Or perhaps the old witch took pity and sorted it for me?

Driving westwards through Dyffryn Mymbyr the gaze of the traveller will inexorably focus upon Yr Wyddfa and its companions .... the Snowdon Massif, no less. Some things are just meant to be, I guess, particularly when looking across the Llynnau Mymbyr. In fact – if I didn’t know better – I’d swear the Glyderau and Moel Siabod, forming the northern and southern flanks of the valley respectively, intentionally present their least inspiring sides so as to not detract from the majesty of the vista. Hence two short, yet substantial sections of dry stone walling, set within rough pasture a little west of the entrance driveway to Cwm-clorad-isaf farm, will barely register.... under normal circumstances. And what about an apparent Bronze Age cairn circle? Ha! But of course there is no such thing as ‘normal circumstances’ when you happen to enjoy seeking out ancient monuments in landscapes such as this.

Following an earlier severe ‘working over’ by Mother Nature at nearby Cefn Glas, conditions have, if anything, deteriorated even further, the temptation to thus stay in the warm and dry of the car fleeting, but nevertheless real. Access to the site isn’t the easiest today, what with barbed wire fences and expensive waterproofs being mutually exclusive and all that. I settle for a rickety gate fastened with the ubiquitous ‘farmer’s string’ beside a large roadside stone enclosure. As Postie mentions, the cairn lays before the far section of dry stone wall and overlooks a bend in the Nant Gwryd – perhaps significantly so. Sheep look at me with that trademark combination of fear and incomprehension whilst sheltering in the lee of the drystone walls. Well, what else did you think they were for? The bulk of Moel Siabod towers above to the south-east, unseen, morphing with the descending cloud... ditto the Gylderau across the valley. And as for Snowdon.... forget it! So, I’m not here for the views, then. What about the cairn? Why haven’t I been here before? Why are these places so bleedin’ marvellous? Why all these questions? Yeah, just enjoy the moment.

The cairn-circle is still in pretty good nick, it has to be said, incorporating a fine, open cist with two long side panels, one covered with moss.... and several kerb stones. Very organic. Not to mention a little confusing, too, since additional arcs of apparent kerbing would suggest Coflein are on the right track by citing an earlier platform cairn beneath the monument. Unfortunately the surrounding reeds make it difficult to be precise. So I sit and contemplate things we possibly don’t have the capacity to contemplate – I speak for myself, of course – as conditions deteriorate even further... but, hey, how good is this? I stay until darkness compels me to leave. Paradoxically I feel unnerved by the severity of the weather only when safely back in the car. Hmm. Then again if a pitch black Llanberis Pass doesn’t have the capacity to overawe, what does?

Sometimes it rains in Snowdonia. No, really, it does. But there’s rain, and then there’s proper North Walian rain, the sort which appears to defy Newton’s laws by rising straight out of the ground... Needless to say today features very much the latter. Time to delve into the ‘bad weather list’, then.

All this water (apparently) falling from the skies does have some benefits, however. Apart from being the fountain of all life on Earth – a small point – I would be very surprised if any traveller could gaze down at the foaming Afon Llugwy from Pont Cyfyng and not utter an involuntary ‘I say, that’s rather splendid’. OK, perhaps that’s a little self censored, but this is a family web-site after all. And there’s more where that came from.... park just south of the bridge and walk back down the road to the old chapel and you’ll locate a rocky track (public footpath) climbing the wooded hillside beside several cascading streams. I follow this and eventually emerge from the trees onto the open moor... and into the full fury of the weather. Hell, the conditions are truly atrocious, but, to be fair, even I can’t exactly get lost here. Although whether I’m following a track or stream bed is perhaps a moot point. Crossing a crossroads – as you do – (the right hand track is private, leading to a quarry, according to a sign daubed in white paint on a boulder) my own quarry, the large Bronze Age cairns of Cefn Glas, are soon visible to the left, beyond a stile.

The setting, clearly wild and uncompromising on the best of days, is positively ‘otherworldly’ this morning. Assuming it is morning. Hard to tell, what with the mist. Of Moel Siabod there is no sign, just a wall of swirling vapour to the east, from whence horizontal shafts of water slam into my back without pause. Which might have been a downer if the cairns had have been rubbish. Luckily they are not. Oh no... Of the pair, the southern monument is by far the larger and more impressive, utilising the slope of the landscape to great effect and boasting a well preserved, albeit open, cist, one side panel of which has collapsed into the horizontal plane. The northern cairn is smaller and somewhat trashed in comparison, yet also contains a surviving cist, home to a rather annoyed frog. I assume the annoyance is with me and not the very ‘frog-friendly’ conditions. Luckily for him I’m not French and make do with some rather soggy chicken tikka thingies for lunch. Curiously there is a large glacial erratic beside this cairn. Whether this influenced the siting of the monument or not we’ll clearly never know.

To be honest I found these ‘Blue Ridge’ cairns a treat to visit. With Moel Siabod rising above on a clear day to add that extra dimension, they may well blow you away, metaphorically speaking, without having to endure such extreme conditions. Then again it’s hard to have a more ‘authentic’ Snowdonian experience than today. Incidentally the map shows hut circles some way to the north of the cairns. Huh, perhaps I mistook them for ponds.....

A virtually cloudless dawn – tent and car once again caked in ice and Moel Siabod sitting pretty in pink on the skyline – prompts a snap decision to reacquaint myself with the Bronze Age funerary cairns that crown the 2,565ft summit of Moel Hebog... here we go again......

The ‘Hill of the Hawk’ is a fine mountain presenting a distinctive wedge shaped profile when viewed towering above and to the south west of the tourism orientated, yet nonetheless attractive village of Beddgelert. The legend pertaining to Prince Llewelyn’s dog, Gelert, needn’t detain us further, the settlement almost certainly name-checking an early christian linked to the local ruined priory. Hey, but that was only yesterday! For immediately to the north the town is overlooked by Dinas, a flat-topped hillfort, whilst the iconic Dinas Emrys rises above Llyn Dinas a little way to the north-east. You’ve no doubt guessed that the word ‘Dinas’ refers to a fort or stronghold....

The usual route taken by those who wish to ascend Moel Hebog begins in town, where there is a large, albeit expensive, pay and display car park (limited roadside parking is available for those on a budget if you arrive early enough – ha!). After crossing the railway line – incidentally running recently restored steam engines – via a bridge, I follow the public footpath, through woodland glistening with frost, to veer right along a track to the isolated farmsteads within Cwm Cloch. Here the mountain rises in an awesome, majestic display of raw power to the south-west, its profile accentuated by a sky of unprecedented blue. Although the onward path is obvious, the angle is very steep, so it’s just as well the retrospective view grows progressively more magnificent in scope with every step... just for starters check out the prehistoric monuments on display – the two aforementioned hillforts, a distant Carnedd Moel Siabod and, just across the valley, Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) herself... Nice. Sure, it’s a struggle, particularly the last section of unstable scree [please bear this in mind if you are not familiar with such potentially dangerous features] until a pair of modern (I think) marker cairns signify the final stretch, the be-cairned Nantlle Ridge announcing it’s presence beyond a similarly blessed Moel-yr-Ogof, a ferociously biting wind doing likewise.

And there they are. Four, possibly five, small Bronze age cairns crowning the summit plateau before the rather dilapidated OS triangulation pillar. Two are reasonably sized, but by no means large .... and certainly nothing to trouble my Citizen Cairn’d stock of construction eulogies. The others are even smaller, so it’s not really surprising they didn’t really register from my last visit here in the mid-90’s. Sit a-while, however, and it soon becomes apparent that here we have a small Bronze Age cemetery commanding one of the most awesome all-round panoramas you could possibly wish for! Yeah, these people sure knew what they were doing. If you’re looking for eternity, here ‘tis. The multiple-cairned Nantlle Ridge completely dominates proceedings to north-west, Criccieth Castle upon it rock, Tre’r Ceiri and the glistening Lleyn to the west, Southern Snowdonia to the... er... south, not forgetting the mountains of Central Snowdonia to the north-east. Hillforts, dolmens, chambered cairns, Bronze Age cairns.... hell, prehistory wherever you look, all set amongst a landscape of the highest quality.

OK, the Moel Hebog cemetery is a modest one in terms of construction. Perhaps that’s being somewhat generous, even? But make the not inconsiderable effort to come here and I think you’ll leave more emotionally enriched than when you arrived. Which, when you think about it, is not a bad return in this modern world full of bland ‘experiences’ and computer generated fantasy. Give me the real deal any day. Even if it did all but freeze the wotsits off me!

According to my ancient log books, my only previous visit to Drosgl was way back on 28/6/94 during one of those mammoth mountain treks I used to do in those days... yeah, right. That was then, but this is now. However a chance discovery of an archive print suddenly put a return back on the agenda. To be honest I wish it hadn’t, but what can you do? So, with ‘mammoth mountain treks’ clearly not an option, an approach from Bethesda, via Gyrn Wigau seemed the best bet in order to avoid humiliating failure...... sure, no-one would know, but you can’t fool yourself, can you?

I wake before dawn, the tent and car encased in a thick carapace of ice and promising a fine day. Right on!... now where’s that de-icer? In the garage. Doh! Anyway, with care it is possible to park in Gerlan, the community perched above Bethesda, a stereotypical ‘slate town’ at the northern end of Nant Ffrancon. From here, passing a bunkhouse and derelict Spar, a named minor road leads to Ciltwllan, a small cluster of houses, beyond which tarmac reverts to rough track. Even in the early stages the scenery is dramatic, Carnedd Dafydd – one of Wales’ premier mountains – dominating the skyline to the right. Nice. At a large sheep enclosure an ancient iron gate allows access to the open, grassy flanks of Gyrn Wigau which rise to the north east. A couple of stiles assist the traveller across dry stone walls until the freedom of the hills is yours! Yeah, a minor, but obvious sheeptrack-cum-path then leads the way up the ridge towards Gyrn Wigau’s craggy summit – an excellent viewpoint, particularly looking towards the coast to Moel Wnion and Moel Faban’s cairns and related prehistoric settlements. Not to mention Ynys Mon – Anglesey itself – lying in splendid isolation across The Menai Straits. Note also a further settlement below Gyrn Wigau’s southern flanks within Cwm Caseg.... Hmm. All may be silent now in this unfashionable corner of The Carneddau, but clearly this was once far from the case.

Eventually, however, the eyes are drawn further up the ridge to an apparently small cairn upon the next summit, that of 2,484ft Drosgl. Moving on, a well made track swings in from the left heading towards the spiky, castellated crags of Bera Bach which rise beyond. Although this steadily gains height, it actually skirts to the south of Drosgl’s summit... I followed it before circling back, but, in retrospect, a direct approach is probably better. Whatever way you arrive, the sight of the summit plateau, liberally covered with boulders, is memorable and somewhat unexpected after all the preceding grass. Plenty of raw material for cairn building, then.

Needless to say the cairn builders did not disappoint. No sir. OK, the (I assume) modern cairn marking the summit is a very average effort, but the prehistoric versions, significantly sited to the north overlooking the coast and NOT overlooking Cwm Caseg and the heart of The Carneddau, are anything but. Hell no! Excavated in 1976 (see miscellaneous post), two cairns are readilly seen, the southern of which is by far the larger and very impressive by any standards, the northern much smaller, but with visible kerb. Both cairns apparently contained cists when excavated, the southern two (one of them intact), the northern ‘just’ the one. The larger cairn has clearly been restored to present what I assume is as near as dammit its original appearance. No dodgy storm shelters deface this beauty, contributing to what would be a fine mounument in any location. However placed up here...well... I’ll spare you the usual cliches. Suffice to say these two cairns pay host to a superb hang with exceptional, contrasting views of coast and brutal upland landscape.

But that’s not all. Very strong walkers may wish to continue past Bera Bach (I got this far) and on to Garnedd Uchaf/Foel Grach, both the latter crowned by their own funerary cairns..... needless to say keep an eye out for mist, however, since this is very serious terrain indeed. On the return back to Gerlan I’m greeted by a somewhat idiosyncratic Irishman dressed in shorts... ‘bejasus, I’ve been warmer in the snow, so I have’, he says. Or something like that. Yeah, don’t come to the Northern Carneddau and expect the ordinary......

True, a pre-dawn of driving Essex rain isn’t the greatest of incentives to drag the self out of bed for the long drive to North Wales... but once you’ve become a Citizen Cairn’d there really isn’t an option. You know how it is. A labour of love.

So.... some time later, I park at the Quaker memorial a little beyond the grassy dam which holds back the waters of Llyn Celyn... waters which have concealed Cwm Tryweryn and the former Quaker village of Capel Celyn (hence the memorial) since 1965. Yeah, Llyn Celyn is a sore point in recent Welsh history, but even on this overcast, drizzly morning it is damn attractive. But now for some Welsh heritage which is far, far older, albeit hidden away beyond a seemingly impenetrable woodland screen above and to the north.

The approach is mercifully short – relative to other upland Bronze Age funerary cairns – but not the easiest, it has to be said, an obscure public footpath sign indicating an overgrown route beside a beautiful, tumbling stream (yellow tipped posts) which, clearly, few people ever tread. Persevere, however and you’ll exit the treeline at a ruined drystone enclosure where Garnedd Wen – the ‘White Cairn’ – crowns the rocky summit to your left.... unseen. Damn it to blazes! Crossing the Nant Hafod-Fadog, together with obligatory complimentary bog, the monument is attained only after a short, sweaty struggle up the ridge through knee deep heather. But then nothing of true value ever falls straight into your lap, does it? At least not into mine. Yeah, it’s a seriously reclusive ‘Howard Hughes’ of a cairn – and rather more grey than white – but like the aforementioned, it’s substantial and overwhelmingly enigmatic. Worth the effort, then.

It’s therefore sad to report that, like most of these upland monuments, Garnedd Wen conceals a somewhat hollow centre. However this was apparently caused by an ‘excavation’ of yore which, it seems, uncovered a cist... and not the usual walker muppets sheltering from the elements. Ha! The irony is not lost upon me because it’s freezing cold, even at this relatively low altitude. However, as I sit taking in the marvellous vistas ...across Llyn Celyn to the similarly crowned Arenig Fawr... west to Carnedd Bachgen upon Arenig Fach.... north to be-cairned Carnedd-y-Filiast...east toward Frongoch where a young Michael Collins was interned following the 1916 Easter Rising.....the ambience of this superb site takes over, an atmosphere several sharp hail showers only serves to escalate into the stratosphere. Sure, the lower landscape may have significantly altered over the millennia, but I’ll wager the high peaks look much the same now as they did when a certain Bronze Age community laboured to pile all these stones here. I’m happy to report that the Garnedd Wen still remains upon this hilltop as mute testimony to their efforts. You say it best... when you say nothing at all.

P.S – my thanks to Victor Lindesay and his ‘The Old Fashioned Antiquarian’ web-site for the inspiration for this visit... see the on-going ‘Blogs and websites of possible interest’ thread in the TMA Forum.

According to my map of the area, my only previous visit to these two obscure moorland stone circles was way back on 20/4/03... and it would appear I wasn’t overly impressed. However a lot of water has gone under the bridge since then – an awful lot, if the proverbial bridge in question happens to be the Pont ‘ar Wysg which stands some way north of the site. Time for a reappraisal, then. Perhaps my ‘tastes’, such as they are, have matured a little?

The aforementioned Pont ‘ar Wysg is a good starting point, if only for the fine skyline profile Y Mynydd Du presents.... or would present if the cloud base wasn’t so low today. There are two car parks to choose from... take your pick, then the path diagonally opposite the one currently not within forestry, that is north of the road, to the right if coming from Trecastle. Incidentally, one can only hope the Roman legionnaries who marched up and down this road [there are the remnants of a camp to the approx west] got continually soaked and hated every minute of their posting! Ha! I suggest you follow the path as best you can and head for the general area to the right of Foel Darw, the most prominent hill in the locality. The circles are fairly obvious once you orientate yourself correctly, the larger being the nearer to Foel Darw to the east.

According to Coflein [see misc post] both ‘circles possess 15 stones, but since several barely break the turf, I could neither confirm nor deny this. Hey, I’d make a good politician, me. Not a good mathematician, though. Other orthostats are pretty substantial for your typical Welsh moorland ‘circle and a lot larger than I recalled. A large recumbent lies between the two monuments, although whether this is an erratic or fallen monolith is a moot point. The latter would be nice, since there is another large recumbent to the north-west beside two much smaller orthostats... and thus – if it indeed once stood – begging comparison with a similar arrangement at the nearby Maen Mawr and Y Cerrig Duon. Add a pretty large cairn sited upon the banks of the Nant Tarw itself – not to mention several other ‘are they or aren’t they?’ stones – and I do believe we have a Dartmoor-esque ritual complex upon these brutal northern slopes of Y Mynydd Du, the whole overlooked by the summit funerary cairns themselves.

As I sit and take in the vibe – and occasional shower – the cloud swirls around the high mountain summits to eventually reveal them in all their glory, Fan Foel particularly striking in unfamiliar, stark section. Family units of wild ponies wander to and fro across this landscape, seeming to give their unfortunate brethren with humans upon their backs a very wide berth. Just beyond the eastern circle I find a pile of stones, not to mention several shallow holes upon the circumferance itself. No need to worry, however, since it transpires that our very own Cerrig has been doing a bit of local restoration work. Which is good to know – if only in retrospect – since I leave Nant Tarw wondering how anyone could fail to be impressed by this place.

Dylan was right. The time’s they indeed are ‘a changing.

Although not exactly in the best of repair, this monument is, in my opinion, nevertheless well worth a visit for a couple of reasons....

Firstly, a number of small orthostats still survive to add some definition to the site, which, although heavilly overgrown with fern – as we head into Autumn – still possesses a pretty good vibe. Which is always a bonus, I find. In actual fact it is so overgrown today that we initially walk right by it, despite the cairn remaining relatively substantial. Coflein has the following to say:

‘A cairn, 20m by 16m and 1.3m high at the NE. Excavation (in 1960’s) revealed stone-walled revetment. Elements of chamber(s)/cist(s) can be seen in robber hollows‘

Secondly, the tomb is sited in a truly glorious position at the bwlch (mountain pass) above lovely Cwm Sorgwm. The 2,000ft peak of Mynydd Troed towers above to the approx north-east offering – in return for a pretty stiff, but short climb – some of the best views Wales has to offer (seriously) not to mention its own round burial cairn.... if you can find it amongst the heather, that is. Across the pass, the skyline is dominated by Mynydd Llangorse, site of a promontory fort in times gone by. One assumes they were hardier people back then...hell, they would have needed to be to survive in these uplands. Incidentally, note that there is also a further enclosure upon the western flank of Cwm Sorgwm [Caeau] to your left as you look from long cairn to promontory fort. This is hard to spot at low level, but pretty obvious if you decide to take a stroll along Mynydd Troed’s ridge to find the round cairn. Add an excellent view of The Brecon Beacons rising beyond Llangorse Lake and the worth of a visit here really is a no-brainer.

If the few times I’ve been here are representative, it’s clear the car parking area can get pretty popular, particularly with locals walking dogs (and kids), so if coming by car, I would advise both an early start, and that you reverse into a space to avoid being blocked in by some muppet. Not that I have been, you understand, but the potential is clearly there....

For the Mam Cymru and I the steep ascent of Mynydd Troed calls... after all it is the best way to gain an understanding of how the many, many prehistoric monuments in the locality inter-relate. Unless you happen to have a helicopter that is. Or fancy a ride in one of the gliders which use the thermals generated by The Black Mountains to such great effect. However I need to feel the wind on my face, so I do. Nothing to do with cowardice, you understand? Get me a ride in an open cockpit bi-plane (with engine!)... then you’d be talking!

themodernantiquarian.com/post/91342/fieldnotes/mynydd_troed.html

To be honest I’m not sure this should actually count as ‘fieldnotes’ since the long, south-eastern ridge of Mynydd Troed is thickly covered with heather this overcast September afternoon, rendering positive identification of anything but a massive cairn difficult, to say the least. So that’s us buggered, then.

But these things happen and, for me, it is the dominating presence of the Pen Allt-mawr ridge (to the south-east) which is the most noteworthy aspect of this spot. Hey, perhaps that’s the reason the funerary cairn was placed here, a considerable distance away from the summit of Mynydd Troed... to face other, perhaps more ‘senior’ people interred upon the higher ridge across the way? [Pen Allt-mawr is obscured by the ridge from the summit, by the way].

The walk down the ridge affords the opportunity to view a number of other monuments from new angles... the Caeau enclosure across beautiful Cwm Sorgwm, its obscure earthworks nicely defined... Castell Dinas and the Bwlch Bach a’r Grib cairn.... the long cairn at the bwlch with Mynydd Llangorse... to name just a few. In short, it’s difficult to know which way to look, such is the quality of the landscape. We solve the conundrum by weaving in a ‘serpentine’ manner across the ridge as we return to the summit. To our right (east) the skyline is totally dominated by the great mass of The Black Mountains (of which Mynydd Troed) is an outlier, whilst either side of Talgarth , to the north, long cairns proclaim the relative fertility of the red soil here [Penyrwrlodd and Ffostyll]. And, of course, a further long cairn lies below us to the approx south-west, the promontory fort upon Mynydd Llangorse rising above, the funerary cairn upon Pen-y-Fan in turn dominating all, looming beyond the crannog-endowed Llyn Syfaddan (Llangorse Lake). Sheer sensory overload.

The climb from the parking area near the long cairn is steep – very steep in places – but relatively short and, as Elderford mentions, an easier alternative path diverting to the right is available some way up. Worth the effort, you could say.

Despite the indignity of now having a twee stone National Trust tablet – bearing the name of the peak – placed upon its summit, the excavated, and subsequently reconstructed, Bronze Age cairn of Pen y Fan still occupies the same spot it has for millennia. The setting, here upon the summit plateau of this, the highest mountain south of Cadair Idris, is ‘otherworldly’ in the extreme, a desolate area of disintegrating sandstone slabs so uniform it would appear to have had its crown sliced clean off by a gigantic cleaver. Or similar instrument. Indeed, I have a profound sense of being upon something akin to Conan Doyle’s ‘Lost World’, the effect accentuated by the restricted downward views due to the regularity of elevation of the immediate environment. Ha! A natural altar, if ever there was one, just like Corn Du across the way.

The downside to a visit here centres upon the seemingly endless procession of walkers determined to be able to say – in the immortal words of local comedian Max Boyce – ‘I was there!’ And good luck to ‘em, I say, for it is some achievement. And who knows, a glimpse of that cairn may perhaps begin to germinate the seed that may one day flower into another stonehead? Perhaps. As for myself, though, a perch upon the protruding sandstone slabs below to the north is the order of the day. For here the natural world once more takes precedence, a striking panaroma rendered upon the broadest of canvas... the flamboyant sweep of the brush... as in the ridge Cefn Cwm Llwch boldly thrusting towards a Brecon sparkling white in the sunshine, the hillfort Pen y Crug rising to its left, itself illuminated by a passing shaft of light...the elegant skyline formed by The Black Mountains ending abruptly at the English border.... and the little, deft strokes to highlight detail.... a wild foal prancing and skipping far below, much to the apparent annoyance of its mother.. the site of a small defended enclosure upon the lower flanks..... Llyn Cwm Llwch shining like a precious stone beneath a monument to the death of a lost, frightened little boy. Yeah, that is what these mountains are all about. Contrasts.... Grieg’s ‘Morning’ one moment, Holst’s ‘Mars’ the next, but never, ever indifference. They insist you explore the full range and diversity of a sensory perception which, although perhaps fully utilised by our forebearers in the ongoing struggle to survive, is sadly under used by the majority of us nowadays in a society seemingly designed to anaesthetise. In short they make you feel ALIVE!! A primeval injection of reality into the bloodstream. Ha! More please....

Returning to the summit several hours later, all is virtually silent, the plateau almost deserted. Unlike virtually every other summit I’ve been on, it’s almost eerie like this. The contrast, I guess. Hell, it just doesn’t look like a mountain top! To be frank, Pen y Fan and Corn Du are very nearly unique in these Isles (the only other comparable pairing I know of are the much smaller Macleod’s Tables on The Isle of Skye). Is this what attracted our ancestors so? Hmmm. Slowly I make my way back to the also virtually deserted Corn Du. After the crowds have gone, as they say.....

To be honest I don’t know if I’ll be back. If not, so be it, since I’m glad I came again. Besides, people will continue to make the pilgrimage to the cairns. Just as they always used to do.

Popularity’s a funny thing, isn’t it? More like Cicero’s fabled Sword of Damocles hanging over your head, if you ask me? Nevertheless X Factor wannabees will do almost anything to achieve it... and even the most hardbitten cynic (ahem) would probably not say no to it, even when the side effects can clearly be so damaging. Take poor Corn Du, for example, condemned to an seemingly interminable stream of visitors simply because it is neighbour to the highest peak in South Wales. The brutal scars, like open wounds in the red sandstone, that pass for paths here tell their own story. But I guess we shouldn’t be too hard upon humanity in this respect – indeed I would be a downright blind hypocrite to do so – since we appear to have been lured to these high places since the beginning of civilisation. For this is where our Bronze Age ancestors – Neolithic over the Irish Sea – decided to lay their status dead to rest. Which begs the question whether this yearning for the mountain tops is simply a yearning to experience some ‘time out’ from the modern world, or the barely repressed folk memory of a time when these places were the focal point of life for the local communities – the ‘abode of the gods’ in the most literal sense.

I can only speculate upon the latter, but must confess to the former, which is why I  haul myself up the very steep eastern flank of Graig Fan Ddu en route for Corn Du, two young men clad in army gear racing ahead and making me feel very old, yet delighted to be here to experience this moment. Yeah, despite the vicious shower and unforecasted early, low cloud obscuring Cribyn, I’m happy to be the ‘tortoise’ in this respect. Hey, you wouldn’t bolt down a Cordon Bleu meal without savouring every last sensation upon the tongue would you? Exactly. The approach along the ridge is long, but gentle – just what I need with a right hamstring not playing ball. Upon reaching Rhiw yr Ysgyfarnog, Pen y Fan and its companion dominate the scene, Cribyn, Fan y Big and, below, the Upper Neuadd reservoir all bearing reminders of prehistoric funerary practice. It’s no exaggeration to say it’s everywhere you look up here...

At Bwlch Duwynt – literally ‘windy pass’ – I join the myriad groups of middle aged ramblers, young kids in co-ordinated red waterproofs (no Huw, don’t push Cerys over the edge to her certain death, that’s naughty!’, and the occasional lone ‘hill-seeker’ (to use Postie’s term) with the glint in the eye, to ascend to the summit of Corn Du. To say it’s a bizarre place would be an understatement, to say the least, a decapitated plateau sloping towards the north and crowned by a large cairn. And it is this large cairn which is the primary objective of all... how many actually realise that there is a complex Bronze Age cist within the protective modern layers is a moot point, but in many ways that is beside the point. The cairn is the object of the pilgrimage, just as it was no doubt designed to be. Ha! Marvellous. I must admit I’m not too sure whether the visible kerbing is original or not, but, whatever, the positionning is overwhelming – if this sort of thing is your bag.

I retreat a little northwards to overlook the frankly staggering vista down into the magical Cwm Llwch, and only an equally staggeringly nubile blonde runner in tight, lycra shorts and bra top can momentarily distract my attention during the next few hours.... dream on Gladman. I mean, how would you keep up with her with a dodgy hamstring and knees? Huh, thoughts of life, death, sex... all the things that make us human. For if there’s one thing mountains are certain to do it is make you confront your humanity head on – as Cromwell once famously put it – wart’s n’all. Yeah, for a little while all those annoying ‘issues’ of everyday life are allocated their true, due importance. What did ‘so and so’ say again now? Can’t recall? Ha! Yep, Corn Du, away from the crowds munching sandwiches perched upon the cairn, is a good place to be, a good place to give your brain a MOT. Anyway, to my left The Fforest Fawr rise across Glyn Tarell, leading the gaze all the way toward Y Mynydd Du on the horizon... a myriad further Bronze Age burial cairns as far as the eye can see.

To my right rears the flat top of Pen y Fan crowned by it’s own example. Oh well, suppose I’d better go say ‘hello’.

themodernantiquarian.com/post/91328/fieldnotes/penyfan.html

Although back in South Wales following a few pretty extreme days wild camping in Mid Wales, there’s nevertheless no time to rest up and lie in bed ... not with a pretty rare good forecast for today. Oh no.... weather windows are like gold dust to the explorers of the Welsh uplands. To the hills!

So, with The Mam C on board as insurance against any ‘Bryn y Gorlan-esque’ megalithic seizures, I arrive at The Gospel Pass, the mountain col where the (very) minor road traversing the length of the beautiful Vale of Ewyas breaches the northern escarpment of The Black Mountains between Pen-y-Beacon and Twmpa. It is a justifiably popular spot, not only with assorted foreign tourists in camper vans and walkers, but with the local wild ponies, too, these a far more genial lot than the usual.

Those wishing to walk the mountains from here have a choice; west to Twmpa, otherwise known as Lord Hereford’s Knob (I kid you not, check the map) or north-east to Pen-y-Beacon (aka Hay Bluff). We choose the latter, not only for the exquisite, not to mention easy, walk up the long ridge of Ffynnon y Parc to the summit, but since Coflein lists the remnants of a Bronze Age cairn near the top. Although not the first time we’ve been here, the cairn is not exactly prominent and the memory isn’t what it was, you know? A couple of short, violent squalls come out of nowhere during the initial stages of the ascent to leave an ever improving day in their wake. Twmpa is outstanding in retrospective profile, but it is Mid Wales, ranged along the northern horizon which is arguably the highlight of the walk. As we near the summit, the site of a sadly virtually destroyed stone circle is highlighted below by a group of stationary cars and vans. Aye, they’ve only gone and used it as a car park, haven’t they? You couldn’t make it up. No, really, you couldn’t. The one – as I recall – remaining orthostat standing forlornly as punters kick a ball about beside it.

And there it is. The cairn, I mean. No fanfares or trumpets I’m afraid since I’ve rarely seen such a denuded, grassed-over cairn. Really, if it wasn’t for the siting at the prow of the mountain, some distance north of the nondescript summit OS triangulation point – and thus benefiting from the exquisite views denied to the actual summit location – I swear you wouldn’t look twice at it. However those that do may well notice a somewhat unexpected feature... the side slabs of a cist buried in the turf. The Mam C peels back said turf to make sure. No doubt at all. Jeez, what a grand spot to interne your dead, looking northwards to infinity.

That, then, is all there is to relate about the actual monument. Now to enjoy the reason the cairn is where it is. The views..... boy are they good. Incidentally there is a natural spring, Ffynnon Beacon, just below to the north. Maybe that was significant, maybe not. But it does seem to be a recurring theme. Later we retreat to the Mam C’s favourite spot, a (natural) stone literally overhanging the England/Wales border to the south-east. Viewed from here, the ‘circle site sits below and to the right of the cairn. Both monuments are trashed by visitors... but I think the cairn has got the better of the deal. Yeah, the summit of Pen-y-Beacon is a good place to be.

So, following on from an unexpected – since it is not marked on OS maps – visit to a fine kerbed cairn at Maen Hir to the south, I head northwards towards what appears to be at least one very large cairn upon the western flank of Cistfaen. The intervening ground is very boggy and comprised of long, spongy ‘ankle twister’ grass. Thus, although not a great distance, this turns into a sweaty struggle, if the truth be told.

As I arrive, however, the air resonates with, I’m sorry to say, an exclaimation not fit for a family web-site. Why? Well, the ‘large cairn’ that had so intrigued me from down below is in fact a large outcrop of totally natural, shattered rock. What a swizz! Surely the Ordnance Survey guys couldn’t have made such an error of judgement as this. Surely not?

Needless to say, they haven’t. I decide to carry on up hill to the right of a large plantation of trees and... there they are! One very large and one somewhat smaller Bronze Age funerary cairn crowning the 535m summit of Cistfaen. The larger, to the south, has unfortunately been fashioned into several sheep shelters – as opposed to hillwalking muppet shelters, which is some consolation, I guess – but nevertheless remains a very substantial monument indeed. Its smaller companion sits behind it to the north, crowned by a small boundary stone. The positionning is impressive, if very bleak and brutal in the extreme, the bare, windswept high hills of Cwmdeuddwr anything but friendly looking today. Forestry is also encroaching on either side and to the north. Nonetheless I find the whole area beguiling, however, since this is not a place for tourists to come and spoil the vibe or drop litter. Not with terrain like this making even a short trek a major undertaking [please bear this in mind if perhaps planning a long walk – although it may look simple on the map, it probably isn’t!]. Below me to the south-west the Nant Rhyd-y-Felin and Nant Ffos-casaf flow to meet the Afon Ystwyth, whilst the serious wet lands of Gors Lwyd to the south exemplify the water content of the area. It is no accident that the Elan Valley reservoirs are nearby.

I do not have all the time I may have wished for today since I am heading south to The Mam C’s later on. But a visit to these two, lonely hilltop cairns, coupled with the splendid example upon Maen Hir... are just what the doctor ordered.

Blimey. This is a turn up for the books, or what? I awake to a dry morning near Blaen y Cwm, the point where the Afon Ystwyth begins its turbulent descent to Cwm Ystwyth to the west. A favourite location, it must be said. The shapely ridge of Esgair Elan, forming the southern flank of the pass, momentarily entices, but I must resist those elegant curves! Instead I decide upon a quick climb upon Craig y Lluest to the north for a monumental view into the valley, promptly being lifted bodily by the severe gale force winds as I leave the lee of the hill... Hmm. Upon the return I suddenly notice what appear to be several massive cairns near the forestry upon Cistfaen, to the north of Glan Fedwen. Haven’t noticed those before.. I check the map. Oh well, Cistfaen it is, then.

I clamber up the south western flank of the aforementioned Glan Fedwen, quite a substantial hill as it happens, with superb retrospective views, and suddenly come to a dead stop, gobsmacked. For here, unmarked on any map I’ve seen of the area, stands one hell of a large kerbed cairn, its stones glistening in the sunshine. Well I never did. It’s true, I never did. How can something like this have escaped everyone’s attention – not least mine for all these years – particularly being only a little out of sight above the road? I mentally search for reasons.... field clearance? Pull the other one! Walker’s cairn? Ha! Give me a break. No, this is the real deal all right. No question of that [see Coflein post for confirmation].

And what a landscape position, too, looking towards the ‘jaws’ between which flows the Afon Ystwyth. Classic. What’s more, there are several smaller cairns in the near vicinity. I do believe here we have ourselves an unmarked prehistoic cairnfield. Right on!

To the north I can see – or more correctly, THINK I can see – the burial cairns upon the hill of Cistfaen, this time actually depicted upon my 1:50k map. I shall continue and visit these, too, as planned. But what a way to start.

themodernantiquarian.com/site/13371/cistfaen.html

It’s difficult to ascertain exactly when my third dawn upon Pumlumon arrives... so hostile is the weather. I finally take the hint. Sorry. Outstayed my welcome, Mam. I head for the lower hills to the west of Rhayader, The Cwmdeuddwr – ‘Valley of the two waters’, or something like that – but neglect to fully close my windows as I descend to Ponterwyd. A face full of road surface water later, I reflect that I probably needed a wash anyway.....

A minor road forks right from the B4518 just west of Rhayader and ascends to a rocky col in the hills between Craig Ddu and Esgair Dderw, the latter incidentally bearing the fine monolith Maen Serth. If there’s a small lake below to your left, you’re on the right road and you will soon pass a pretty handsome waterfall. Park in the roadside layby just beyond and Crugyn Gwyddel lies over the horizon to the approx SW. A footpath sign indicates a path slanting diagonally across the hillside towards Craig Ddu. Now this is the path you SHOULD take, in retrospect, veering right up the ridge to the OS trig point on Crugyn Ci, and hence west to the burial cairn.... needless to say I take the direct approach in vicious, driving rain, struggling to ford the raging stream and heading on a bearing before becoming engulfed in swirling mist. Suddenly I feel very, very isolated and vulnerable. Hell, how many times have I probably bored others to death with tales of how dangerous the Elan Hills are... “don’t get caught in mist unless you know what you are doing etc”... and now I’m having to literally ‘walk the walk’, so to speak. Oh well.

The mist lifts a little and there is the ridge of Crugyn Ci to my left. I reassure myself... ‘see, you are right after all, muppet’.. mounds loom ahead, crowned by standing stones. These turn out to be boundary markers upon natural – I think – outcrops. One, however, is unlike the others, suspiciously artificial in composition, sans boundary stone and bearing several quartzite rocks within a small cairn. I take a bearing to the trig point and am satisfied this must be Crugyn Gwyddel – the ‘little cairn of the Irish person’, so it is. Ha! Must have been a lazy bugger, too, since I was expecting the standard, large cairn of stones! I huddle behind my rucksack for lunch, trying to avoid the worst of the cooling effect of the hammering rain. Somehow it seems appropriate, a small cairn, arguably not that much to write home about, yet set admist weather so hostile as to be worthy of a Wagnerian cycle rendering photos completely out of the question. Sorry.

I head to the escarpment edge to the south – for misty views of Pen-y-Garreg Reservoir – before making for the OS trig point. The path, such as it is, is superfluous since Esgair Pen-y-Garreg is now a mass of bog. Somewhere here is a supposed stone row. I cannot locate it so assume it must have sunk! Upon arrival I shelter in the limited lee of the trig pillar and have a theoretical debate with myself – would I now use the storm shelter if there had been a disturbed Bronze Age cairn at the summit? I decide in the negative, and to prove the point move to the lee of a crag below instead. If in doubt, look where the sheep go, those masters of mountain survival. But it is not enough. For the first time I can recall in memory – I think – I have gone beyond what I can honestly take, the freezing effect of the driving, horizonal rain causing the very first, initial warning of oncoming hypothermia. Yeah, I must go. Now.

Then.... all of a sudden the mist peels away and sunlight streams across the landscape, revealing Cwmdeuddwr in all its golden glory, the air sweet and fresh after the downpour. Rhayader shines in the distance, the high ridge of Drygarn Fawr/Gorllwyn visible to the south, Y Gamriw to its left. Nearer to hand, the Maen Saeth can be seen through field glasses. I’m virtually dry in no time and the danger is past. Ha! Mother Nature gave me one hell of a kicking and then took pity in the nick of time. Make of that what you will. I pick out Crugyn Gwyddel to the west and decide I wouldn’t have missed this experience for the world, small and relatively insignificant as the monument is. Because, quite simply, experiences like this are beyond measure – the landscape, shaped by weather patterns as it is, is the defining feature of these upland funerary cairns. It really is.

I descend via the ridge to the north, diverting to Craig Ddu for more views of Maen Serth before finally reaching the car. So to bed. Thank you and goodnight.

It may seem to be somewhat taking the proverbial wotsit to describe an afternoon of swirling mist, high winds and showers as ‘better conditions’, but following a morning of truly atrocious weather at Castell Bwa-Drain, it is the truth. And, hey, this is Wales after all....

A minor road leaves the B4343 from Devil’s Bridge at Pont-rhyd-y-groes, heading for New Row – or Rhes Newydd, if you are a local who paid attention at school – from where a left hand fork gives access to the small village of Brynafan. At crossroads just to the east, I take the southern farm track – on foot, I hasten to add – and disappear into the fog. Here we go again.... Eventually a hill, for want of a better description, materialises through the gloom. Ha! Good place for a hillfort, a hill. This must be it, I guess. The field gate is unlocked, but since a farmhouse is nearby I decide to go and have a word. A young bloke eyes me suspiciously, brandishing a welder’s torch.... gulp... a pretty hot reception, if the truth be told. Whatever happened to the old fashioned pitchfork? Luckily the farmer pokes his head ‘round the corner and readilly agrees to a visit.

The hillfort occupies a crag high above the Afon Ystwyth in much the same manner as the aforementioned Castell Bwa-Drain does above the Rheidol, with man made defences only thought necessary where an approach could be practically made – no need towards the south, then. OK, the site has seen better days – after two millennia what do you expect? – but nevertheless two reasonably powerful ramparts can be seen protecting a rocky summit and what appears to be an extensive enclosure to the east. Nice. But it is the siting which is the lasting memory of a visit to Castle Grogwynion. Even in swirling mist, the view looking down upon the Afon Ystwyth to the west is exceptional. I must be enjoying myself because my watch all too soon indicates I must leave to avoid being overtaken by the inexorable approach of darkness. I meet the farmer in his tractor as I climb the farm track back to the road. ‘Enjoy yourself?’ he enquiries, and is clearly happy as punch when I answer in the affirmative. Right on!

N.B. – apologies for the quality of photo posts. They were the best I could manage in the circumstances!

Dawn upon the flanks of Pumlumon makes it clear that visits to Banc Llechwedd-mawr, Drosgol... or even Dinas... will have to wait for another day. Clearly yesterday’s weather window, allowing a visit to Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli’s cairns, has been comprehensively slammed shut with a vengeance! That’s yer lot.

So, what was the name of that hillfort Kammer liked so much, then? OK...nice name.. hopefully a visit here will save the day from going down the proverbial drain. So, a steep, single track road heads south from the A44 towards Ystumtuen, from where an equally minor route heads beneath the transmitter upon Ffynnon Wen to Bwa-Drain farm. Here it is necessary to open a gate to proceed further. This I do, parking beside a field gate proclaiming no entry due to a dangerous excavation of some kind or other. Beyond rise what appear to be quite substantial ramparts of a pretty impressive hillfort. Nice. If only I had the weather to match, instead of this driving, horizontal rain. Then again if I had, I wouldn’t be here, would I? Damn the logic, but the sensible part of Gladman is right. Luckily the ‘other’ part is not so sensible and happy to venture out in the storm....

I head a little way back down the road to the farm and take the short public footpath towards the site, encountering the ruined building Kammer mentions en route. The hillfort is a classic promontory fort, a quite powerful rampart isolating the enclosure from the hinterland to the north, east and west (approx), the gorge of Cwm Rheidol all that was thought – and by any accounts was – necessary to defend the south. And what a gorge! Despite the swirling mist and downpour, the view of The Afon Rheidol looking along the valley to the west is breathtaking, it really is. And to think this splendid river has its source within Llyn Llygad-Rheidol beneath Pen Pumlumon Fawr. Ha! Several handsome ponies eye me suspiciously as I walk the ramparts – as well they might – but clearly decide I can be ignored. So what’s new?

A shrill whistle and a stream of smoke – not easy to distinguish from the swirling cloud – announce the arrival of one of Wales’ ‘little trains’ across the cwm, the punters on board no doubt none too pleased at the weather outside. Hey, but perched up here, despite the rain lancing straight into my face to find every minute gap in my defences, I find I have fallen in love with Castell Bwa-Drain. What appear to be natural rocky outcrops look to have been utilsed by the original occupants as additional, outer defences, together with two ‘spurs’ to the north.

I leave hammered, yet happy. No photos, but then this visit was perhaps something that was supposed to be of the moment. Or something like that.

Dawn arrives below the western flank of Pen-Pumlumon Fawr bringing the unwelcome grey of low cloud to belie the favourable forecast. Suffice to say Pumlumon is not a place to go wandering in the mist. The twin Bronze Age cairns of Carn Hyddgen – or Carn Gwilyn, if you prefer – rise above the deserted buildings of Maes Nant to the approx NE, standing sentinel over the valley where Glyndwr defeated an English army in June 1401... and I momentarily think of the 200 or so men who died that day. Poor sods. Yeah, Pumlumon is a mountain with a ‘sense of place’ hanging in the moist air so tangible I swear you could cut it with my cheap imitation Swiss Army knife – blunt as it is. So, as is often the case with this mountain climbing lark, plan B is invoked... I will visit the cairns upon Banc Llechwedd-mawr and Glyndwr’s quartz blocks at its base. Except... passing the confluence of the Afon Hengwm and Afon Hyddgen, I have a sudden change of heart. Hell, Craig y Eglwys is clear. Let’s do it!

Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli is not one of Wales’ taller mountains – at 2,431ft far from it – but the trackless slog up Pen Cerrig Tewion to my SE is a serious undertaking simply because of the terrain underfoot; springy long grass and moss, interspersed with bog, doth not an easy ascent make. But then this is the whole point, the reason why my only company are the circling falcons and Red Kites, seemingly waiting for the seriously struggling creature in florescent orange to expire for a free feed. Yeah, Pumlumon keeps its secrets close to its ample chest, so those in search of immediate thrills go elsewhere. Mist swirls across Pen Pumlumon Fawr, its northern crags soaring above the source of The Afon Rheidol as I pick up a reassuring fence-line and slowly... ever so slowly... the summit burial cairns, invisible from below, are in stark profile. Ditto the retrospective view of the monuments at the summits of Drosgl and Banc Llechwedd-mawr. Not to mention Carn Gwilym.

A walker’s cairn crowns the summit of Pen Cerrig Tewion. From it I receive my first view of the far, far older trio upon Pen Pumlumon-Arwystli, rising across Cwm Gwerin. I reach the main ridge and head westwards past the source of The River Wye. The enormity of the action strikes me like one of the prehistoric arrowheads archaeologists have found upon this ridge. This unmarked bit of bog is the beginning of that mighty river. What’s more, the Severn (Hafren) has its source the other side of my destination. Is it any wonder Bronze Age man was freaked out by Pumlumon... assuming they knew? Hell, why wouldn’t they know? A warden arrives out of the proverbial nowhere on a quad bike and explains he’s collecting markers from yesterday’s marathon. Yeah, there are unfortunately people who insist on treating mountains with such distain. I am glad I chose to come today.

So to the summit, 16, no 15 years since I was last here. The north-eastern cairn is unfortunately much denuded. The other two are not, despite the unwelcome attention of those who do venture up here but still do not have the sense to appreciate it. The first encountered, the south-western, is a fine specimen, despite the storm shelter and, like its near neighbour in the centre, boasts a fabulous view down into Cwm Gwerin, not to mention of the whole of Southern Snowdonia. Pen-Pumlumon Fawr’s own cairns are obvious from here, silhouetted against the skyline. Clearly they were meant to be viewed from here. As was the cairn upon distant Y Garn. The middle cairn also possesses a storm shelter and a crude wind break at its eastern extremity, an edifice eagerly utilsed by one of the two couples of muppets who momentarily join me in passing, so missing the very views one assumes they expended so much energy to see. Whatever.

Everything just feels ‘right’ about the placement of these cairns, you know? Although not the largest you will encounter in Wales, the pilgrimage required to get here means this is arguably the best all round location you’ll find for such monuments. The somewhat adverse morning has developed into an excellent afternoon of high, broken cloud, sunshine periodically streaming through to illuminate the mountainside. I sit upon these cairns and ponder thoughts you can only really contemplate on site. Why did our ancestors bury their dead upon these brutal mountain tops? Sitting here there seems no-where else logical to place them. I mean, come on! The sources of two major rivers – the very essence of life in the most literal sense – either side. Coincidence? Perhaps.. but I think not somehow. The hours fly by and I must leave. I decide to descend through Cwm Gwerin, a landscape of deep bog, yet beguiling nonetheless, the Afon Hengwm effecting great loops as if it was a seagull freewheeling home with a full belly of fish. I reach the car to settle down for the night a true Citizen Cairn’d, to paraphrase The Drude somewhat. Nevertheless I know what he means. Pumlumon blows me away. It really does.

Ah, the Crugiau Merched upon Mynydd Mallaen.... these great prehistoric burial cairns have been on ‘the list’ for a while now, it has to be said. But the approach from the south always seemed a tad long for Gladman tastes and I’d heard of access issues when approaching from the north. However I’m on my way to Pumlumon, so... well, it’d be rude not to have a look in passing, I guess.

The landscape in the vicinity of Rhandirmwyn is first rate, it really is, although surface water from yesterday’s ‘severe weather warning’ does warrant a little extra care on the very minor local roads. Eventually I manage to locate the farm of Bwlch-y-rhiw and note just how steep the approach from the north will be. My poor knees... The Postie arrives – no, not THAT one, unfortunately – and I take the opportunity to ask the occupier of the farmhouse about access across his field as he emerges for a chat. This is not a problem, as it transpires. The cairns are situated upon the 459m Creigiau Landis and are, typically, not visible from down below. The climb is as steep as I anticipate, very boggy, but mercifully short in duration.

As I finally emerge upon the summit plateau the eastern cairn is the first encountered and appears to be a tall, well preserved example of a Bronze Age funerary cairn. Appearances can be deceptive, however, for further investigation reveals it to have a very deep, hollow core reminiscent of the crater of an extinct volcano. Nevertheless an impressive monument. The western cairn is much better preserved, despite the observation channel cut through it for the nearby OS trig point. The views are fantastic to the north and west, the vista to the south gradually clearing to reveal the entire east-west escarpment of South Wales from The Black Mountains in the east to Tair Carn Uchaf upon Mynydd Du to the west. I note the numerous burial cairns crowning these peaks through my field glasses and suddenly feel part of a very big picture indeed. What’s more, a couple of standing stones are prominent upon the main body of Mynydd Mallaen nearer to hand. Nice. More energy would be good, but in lieu of that I must be content to view these monoliths from a considerable distance.

Although substantial monuments, the sight of a great, towering cloudscape above the eastern cairn to the, er, east (surprisingly enough) puts the works of humankind very firmly in perspective. All of a sudden a very heavy, sharp shower sweeps in from the west requiring frantic donning of waterproofs – frantic, but not quite quick enough, it has to be said. Then it is gone, motoring up the valley and I have only circling red kites for company. Yeah, the vibe up here is superb and it is only the thought of spending the night upon Pumlumon that drags me away many hours later....

I’ve occassionally heard it said by experienced ‘stoneheads’ that the more sites they see, the less physical remains they need on the ground to be able to fully appreciate a site. I’d go along with this – up to a point – providing the siting of the monument is all that it should be. That is to say a solitary orthostat in a housing estate isn’t necessarily going to suffice for me. Place that same stone upon a glowering mountain top, however, and now we are talking! Guess that’s one of my many idiosyncracities, for better or worse.

The Bronze Age cairn upon Fan Frynych very much falls into this category... you’re either going to love it to bits for its exceptional vibe, or think the not inconsiderable effort required to reach it not worth the relatively insignificant physical remains... Judging by the traces that remain within the soil – sundry embedded stones, a few courses of possible kerb, the possible capstone(?) SC mentions etc – the small walkers cairn occupies but a small fraction of the original surface area of what must have been a pretty substantial monument in its time, similar in stature to many other examples that grace these South Walian uplands (see Coflein’s dimensions given in the miscellanous post).

However to focus entirely upon the physical form of what is, after all, a large pile of rocks – albeit a seriously robbed one – is, I think, to miss the salient point... which I would argue is why monuments such as this were specifically placed at such extreme locations in the first place. In other words I believe the positionning was the most important aspect of the monument, the physical marking / occupying of the landscape the primary concern to these people. Yeah, it HAS to be HERE. In my opinion the judgement of the Bronze Age people of Fan Frynych was sound... this is the ‘right’ place, for it is certainly awe inspiring, even today in our age of science with education for all. One could argue the same applies to the upland stone circles, which often tend to consist of diminutive orthostats arranged in spectacular locations. The precise demarcation of an area of the landscape would appear to have been the key purpose, not the erection of a towering monument to impress the neighbours... our monument is special BECAUSE it is here, not down there, so to speak.

Significantly, perhaps, the cairn was not placed at the summit of the mountain, this, due to topography limitations being notable primarily for its lovely little tarn and not as a viewpoint. The chosen position was in fact near the north-eastern extremity of the mountain, this providing an unobstructed, and thus sweeping vista northwards towards the Usk. To the east, across the Glyn Tarell, rise the Brecon Beacons, the majestic, flat topped summits of Pen y Fan and Corn Du bearing the highest prehistoric monuments in Southern Britain. To the west the fertile field systems fed by the Afon Senni speak volumes. The viewpoint was apparently everything.... and remains so. Of course we must forever speculate, but there can be no better premise for such speculation that to stand here for a few moments – more if you can – and observe.

Today I intended to ascend Fan Frynych via the straightforward route from Forest Lodge cottages. However mountains affect the mind... they really do... a fact the religious people of yore no doubt manipulated for their own ends.. and the ridge leading straight to the summit from the R*man Road to the north ‘called me’. Although a little too steep for my ageing limbs, perhaps, it was appropriate. I shall continue to do this whilst I physically can for I am attracted to these high places like a moth to flame. I guess they truly are the abode of the ‘gods’ that inhabit the human mind.

What a surprise this was... marvellous. Needing somewhere else to spend a few hours following a morning at Tow Barrow, Fosbury seemed to fit the bill nicely, judging by the 1:50K OS map. But reality often has a way of not living up to expectations, doesn’t it? Not in this instance... Fosbury is very much a case of ‘Ding dong!’... as the great Leslie Phillips might very well have said if he ever came here.... or even a ‘Blimeus’ uttered by a  R*man legionnary tasked with storming the ramparts.

After negotiating the maze of minor roads which criss-cross the area, I finally ascend from the east, near the Vernham Dean junction. To be honest I find it quite a slog in the heat of this sultry early afternoon, cloud beginning to roll in behind the morning’s pristine blue skies. It is worth it since, upon arrival, the scale of the inner rampart is immediately apparent... much larger than I expected. The circumference is impressive in scope, too, the bivallate defences protecting what must clearly have been an extensive settlement in its day. Hell, yeah. According to the map the northern arc of the site is within foliage, investigation proving this to be correct. In fact the trees are some of the oldest, most handsome specimens I’ve seen in a long while, root systems encompassing the bank in a strangely beguiling manner. Then again I always did like woodland – feel at home in it .... perhaps the vestiges of some long held folk memory we all possess? Perhaps. Its then a little disappointing to find that appalling creation barbed wire in evidence in places.

For me, the most impressive ramparts are upon the south western arc, these also boasting a superb view down into the valley of Hippenscombe. Nice. However the main entrance to the hillfort is, so it would seem, at the east, a typical affair of inturned parallel banks. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if a nearby pond is an original feature specifically incorporated within the enclosure? Perhaps its just a reflection of my psyche today, but I reckon Fosbury has a ‘special’ aura about it, something that’s heightened by the section of woodland. I glance at one of the massive trees and note a prominent piece of graffitti carved in the bark... ‘Ha! Guy... unusual name for these parts. Then again it was the name of the leader of The Dambusters, so it was’, I ponder. Suddenly – I kid you not – there is a low, deep roar as a World War 2 Avro Lancaster makes its way slowly up the valley.. the very type of aircraft the Dambusters flew, of course. I stand gobsmacked, for I am in the middle of reading the book. But then again, this IS Fosbury.

August Bank Holiday weekend isn’t usually noted for providing much opportunity to exercise the old grey matter... not that there’s anything wrong with the usual cliches, you understand, but I can do without garden centres and barbecues if the opportunity to do something different arises, thanks very much. So a trip to see The Mam C in South Wales is a welcome prospect this morning. Once the customary extreme reluctance to drag myself out of bed is overcome, that is. Today, I decide upon a diversion in Wiltshire en route. As you do.

As Chance notes, the area south of Hungerford could well lay a claim to be ‘long barrow central’, such is the volume of sites to be seen. Arriving early morning at the tiny hamlet of Tidcombe, the deep blue sky promises a beautiful day. A  bridleway – initially of tarmacadam – ascends Tidcombe Down (ha! how our language must confuse the Germans!) to the approx SW, the mutilated, yet nevertheless substantial Tidcombe long barrow itself visible to south-east. The track continues, the surface grass now and sodden with heavy dew which plays havoc with my light boots, crossing a field of golden crop . What looks mightily like the long barrow rises beyond... yet it is in the wrong place according to the map. Hmmm. The route bisects another path and here, to the right, a concrete water tower leads the visitor to an OS trig point near the rogue ‘long barrow’. Aye, ‘tis a reservoir after all. I follow the path downhill towards a copse of trees and a wondrous view, veering across grass to the left. Sure enough a large round barrow is soon visible, an even larger example apparently standing up hill to the south. But no, even in its seriously overgrown state, side ditches proclaim this to be the long barrow, if a somewhat short, long barrow. Right on! A further large round barrow sits in the field below to the west, beyond a herd of somewhat perplexed cows. The beauty of this landscape is spellbinding in this light, not spectacularly so as that of a mountainous region, perhaps, but captivating nonetheless with The Vale of The White Horse on the northern skyline, that of Pewsey the western.

It’s difficult to find somewhere to sit – OK sprawl – amongst the nettles, but, that feat accomplished, what a morning to contemplate ‘stuff’ – human stuff such as relationships and what not – with the moon hanging suspended in an impossibly blue sky. Hey, I swear the insurmountable suddenly seems feasible up here. And why not? For me this is one of the key reasons to visit these wonderful places... clarity of thought. That’s not to say it’s absolutely quiet at Tow Barrow today.. but farmers have gotta do what farmers have gotta do. I’m glad I came.

Well, there you are. Stranger things have happened, of course, but not much prepares the seasoned climber for the shock of a pristine dawn upon a South Walian August Bank Holiday Monday.....

So where to go to avoid the fair weather multitudes? Snap judgement made, we head off towards Merthyr and The Sirhowy Valley. Approaching the hamlet of Trefil, it suddenly dawns on me that I was here only last Christmas to visit the great cairns upon Cefn Yr Ystrad. Suffice to say the conditions are as far removed from that wintery expedition as it is probably possible to get, the sun already beginning to beat down as we set off on foot, none too pleased at the brand new gate and signs prohibiting vehicular access much past the village... apparently your car is likely to be confiscated by the police if you disregard the warnings. Surely the heddlu haven’t finally adopted the motto ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’? Needless to say this pedantic action adds another mile each way. Thanks. On a lighter note, however, I’ve forgotten my usual sun hat... so the Mam Cymru has provided a rather fetching Aussie cowboy affair from her allotment shed. Strewth, I must look a right muppet. Well, if the hat fits.....

We follow the Nant Trefil past the Trefil Quarries, great scars upon the landscape which affirm that not all South Wales’ industrial heritage is in the past tense. Then it’s a trackless pull up the hillside to the approx north-east, a family of wild ponies not even bothering to move as a group of noisy trail bikers move pointlessly by at a glacial pace..... ha! ha! Behind us the twin, monumental cairns upon Cefn yr Ystrad crown the hillside – sorry, mountainside – opposite, whilst to the north-west the decapitated summits of Pen y Fan and Corn Du are immediately recognisable. There can be only one. Or perhaps two, then, come to think of it. The going is hard, occasional sheep tracks easing progress somewhat but – as you would expect from such annoying creatures – never actually heading where you want to go. Which is towards two large cairns dead ahead upon the wild summit plateau of Mynydd Llangyndir. The larger, now to our left, appears to be Garn Fawr itself... a real biggie... but we decide to head for a smaller example beside the virtually dry bed of Llyn y Garn-fawr, walking across which is a strange experience indeed. To be honest I’m not sure of the ancient providence of this cairn, but it’s pretty substantial and its siting, not to mention existance would otherwise appear pointless if not of a funerary origin. There can be no doubt, however, about Garn Fawr, which tops the 557m summit of the mountain beyond the (site of) lake. Duh, it’s a monster, subject to the usual ‘hollowing out’, but massive nonetheless. As we climb to have a clamber about, a myriad flies begin to smack into us... naively, it takes the Mam to warn me that these ‘flies’ are actually soldier honey bees and if I don’t move pretty sharpish I am in deep peril! Yes, seriously! This I do, although the blighters allow me to return in a more sedate fashion later on.

So, does this massive cairn pass the siting test? Think of Melanie Griffith in that restaurant scene. Yeah, that’s the one. Apart from the aforementioned Brecon Beacons, The Black Mountains are utterly beguiling across Dyffryn Crawnon to the north, with a certain Garn Caws in the foreground. Say ‘cheese’ as I push the shutter. Eastwards (ish) I can make out the flat lump that is Blorenge together with its elegant Sugar Loaf neighbour, whilst behind us to the south is the great industrial heartland of South Wales. We lie beside this great cairn and somehow the overwhelming ancientness of this mountain top seeps into every pore. Unlike the fierce sun, courtesy of bonzer Aussie hat. A mare guides her foal this way and that with that somewhat impatient tenderness typical of many a mother, bees of the bumble variety are attracted to heather, not Gladman, and all kinds of other insects and arachnids do their thang. Yeah, unlike yesterday, Wales is benign. But up here benign – OK, relatively benign – can be good. Very, very good indeed.

They say that mountains make their own weather... well, I’m no meteorologist, but I can certainly see the logic in that following a wonderfully changeable afternoon upon Tair Carn Uchaf, extreme variations in light, shadow, colour contrast and visibility all helping to accentuate the visitor’s appreciation of the three great Bronze Age cairns which surmount this obscure minor mountain at the western fringes of Y Mynydd Du.

These monuments first came to my attention last Easter whilst braving the elements – with the Mam Cymru – upon the great Carn Pen-y-Clogau to the north east. Perhaps this is not so surprising, since the more I see of these upland burial cairns, the more it is apparent to me that, unlike their Neolithic predecessors, these Bronze Age funerary cairns were designed to be ‘seen’ from upon high. To be honest, unless you were specifically looking – a suicidal tendency when driving upon Welsh mountain roads, it has to be said – you wouldn’t be any the wiser from valley bottom in most cases. Such is the case here, the map essential to pinpoint the start of the walk from the minor road to the north-west of the peak.

We start off up a gated, quarry track, this soon degenerating into the barest of grassy paths, the bulk of the mountain rising above and beyond whilst the sky threatens, but never actually delivers, anything more than brief scatterings of raindrops. Briefly two large cairns crown the skyline... then they are gone. Having negotiated a short stretch of bog, tracks made by the farmer’s quad bike ease the heathery ascent to the crest of the ridge above. As we approach, a large cairn is visble away to our left... heh, heh, this looks worthwhile. Then the two massive examples suddenly rear up on the skyline and I’m gobsmacked. Suffice to say that although I manage to keep my balance under the sudden onslaught of the wind, metaphorically speaking I’m lying there thinking of England.... er, I mean... Wales. As you do.

The miscellaneous Coflein post has the technical details, but can’t begin to convey the sense of place here. Sure, the easternmost of the trio has been ‘hollowed out’...by muppets unknown... in the standard fashion... but the two others are massive and virtually intact. To sit upon them within the maelstrom and view the sunlight racing across the mountainside is to perhaps grasp some insight, however small and fleeting, into what inspired – nay, drove – people millennia ago to labour to construct these gigantic piles of rock to honour their dead up here. Yeah, exactly. Where else is suitable once you experience it? Think of a Turner painting... ha! You wouldn’t picture Valhalla in the car park of the local B&Q, would you? Unless you read the Daily Mail, that is.

Smaller cairns are visible upon Tair Carn Isaf to the southwest, but we decide to save these for another day, such is the pull of this place... the aforementioned Carn Pen-y-Clogau leads the eye northwestwards towards the great, be-cairned central summits of Y Mynydd Du and the feeling that all fits together in one grand scheme is overwhelming. We must donne full waterproofs and seek the lee to keep out a vicious weather front which reduces visibility to virtually zero in a matter of seconds, the other cairns looming through the swirling cloud as if struggling to tell their stories from beyond the mists of time. Then, sunshine bursts through and light cirrus clouds are suddenly floating in a pristine blue sky, Carreg Cennen looking sensational to the north west, all the while the wind powerful enough to batter the living daylights out of us. What an invigorating, primeval experience! Four hours is not enough... but sadly we must leave. A rabbit, I think, bolts into its hole, not unlike our own ragged psyches, I guess. Until the next time.

Sitting upon the Barrow Copse long barrow, wondering where to go next... as you do... it suddenly dawns upon me that I’ve never been to East Kennett. Eh? How did that happen? Ah, that’s right... access ‘issues’. But now I’ve thought of it it’d be rude not to go say ‘hello’ to arguably the most mysterious and enigmatic of the area’s prehistoric treasures – I mean, even Silbury’s been excavated, if only to generate a myriad further questions..... not to mention almost destroy the monument in the process. But that’s another story.

Parking near the ‘no coins accepted’ ‘phone box – a paradoxical sign of the times in ‘timeless’, chocolate box East Kennett – a short stroll past the church and patrolling ‘guard geese’ and ducks gives access to a byway, this bisecting the ‘White Horse Trail’ a little further on. Turn left at this point and the majestic tree-line, which I assume must cloak the long barrow, becomes the primary focus now. There are no signs forbidding access from the main track and no fence. How refreshing. Logical, too, since the visitor can skirt the bountiful crop with ease by following the field boundary past a particularly gaunt hawthorn. The retrospective is of the iconic Silbury across golden fields of wheat, or barley. No, I think it’s wheat. Where’s Sting when you need him? He’d know.

The long barrow is completely shrouded by it’s green canopy of high summer, as if Nature is reluctant in the extreme to grant an audience with her monument. No, you’re not gonna destroy THIS one, too, you swine that you are! A glance back across the Downs to poor West Kennett Long Barrow swarming with figures and I know exactly what Rhiannon means upon reading her own excellent account. But what if the great Boyne tombs hadn’t have been excavated? And look what happened to The Thornborough Henges, quietly bought up by a commercial company when nobody was looking. Sadly it would appear that precious treasures cannot be ‘left alone’ in this cynical world in the hope that things will stay as they are. People will take advantage, sooner or later, with an eye on the eternal ‘profit’, methinks. In my opinion East Kennett must be highlighted, celebrated for the exceptional monument it is and the message sent out that ‘we are watching’. It was never designed to be the beautiful sister of WKLB hiding away at home. Surely?

I wish I could say that this was a perfect visit, but the noise from a nearby speedway meeting (I kid you not!) competed with the wind in the trees for a time. In the centre of a World Heritage Area? What is it with people who couldn’t give a monkey’s about any one else? The contrast when the tannoy announces which respective muppet has ‘won’ and they all go home is, well.... Rhiannon’s notes say all I wanted to say about the barrow itself, except a pair of overtrousers is a good idea to brave the head high (!!) nettles which colonise the massive mound in summer. The trees add much atmosphere, particularly when acting as foreground to a very large barrow marooned within crop to the SW. According to the map there is another example the other side of the long barrow.

A walk around the site emphasises just how massive East Kennett is. Will it ever be excavated? Apart from by the numerous beasties which call it ‘home’. It is an exciting prospect, although things will then never be the same again, will they? Then again the current status quo would not appear to be the intention of the original builders. Something this substantial was clearly meant to be seen, not hidden away for the personal enjoyment of the few! Yeah, you shall go to the ball! EKLB wears an exclusive shining gown of white chalk by established designer M Downs..... not available in the shops for another six millennia.

Heading north on the A345 beyond the village of Oare, a minor road veers leftwards just before the right hand turning to Clench Common. This passes Park Farm before swinging abruptly right to skirt the eastern flank of West Woods, the original line continuing as a rough byway, clearly much beloved by ‘armchair rambler’ owners of 4x4s. Woah, too tough for me, boys.....

Parking up a little along the road, I set off – on foot, since the poor old rover wouldn’t get 10 yards – keeping left at a multiple junction of tracks/paths some way along the byway. A short distance beyond, a tree covered mound materialises through the foliage to my right. Bloody ‘ell. Should have brought Harrison Ford along... he might have got some much needed plot tips for the next Indiana Jones movie, who knows?

Brambles grab at my ankles and snag the knees of my trousers as I force my way through some heavy duty vegetation and fallen branch to ascend the mound. Is this the long barrow? Reckon so... why it’s even got two flanking quarry ditches. Yeah, I’m convinced. Pretty substantial height, too. Now for the serious business of... simply hanging out upon this primeval monument as the early morning cloud cover gives way to washes of sunlight. Can there be many better places to be on a Sunday morning than upon a long barrow beneath sun-dappled foliage? With just bird song momentarily competing with an occasional mountain biker or 4x4 muppet? Guess it depends on your point of view. Sure, a winter visit would probably be more beneficial to the study of monument form and profile, but for sheer vibe? Guess there’s only one way to answer that........

Sites such as these – isolated behind barbed wire – are so frustrating. They really are. Nevertheless this small group of two well preserved bell barrows and a particularly well defined, large disc barrow [plus a couple of denuded bowl barrows swallowed up in the undergrowth] is well worth a short visit, particularly in tandem with a sojourn at the nearby Giant’s Grave long barrow upon Milton Hill.

From the Pewsey road, take the public byway to the right of Down Farm (opposite the byway for Milton Farm, that is), despite the twin ‘keep out’ signs flanking the track, these, it would appear clearly intended to intimidate. The barrows are visible beyond the field to your left, as are numerous other examples spread across the landscape. Turn left at the ‘T’ junction and the barrows are a little way down this track, again on the left, just past a turning.

As I approach I spy a metal detector ‘metal detecting’ (strangely enough) in the field to the west, this occupied by a large number of big ‘porkers’ and their huts. Nothing more interesting than a horde of authentic 0.303 rifle shells to report, however.....

Despite the wire and myriad signs lending a somewhat uncomfortable vibe – similar to the great cemetery upon Normanton Down – all is quiet here and the sky evocative as the sun begins the final phase of its apparently inexorable journey to the horizon. Following suite, I must begin my own unavoidable return to the car to sleep – as all creatures must... but I am happy I came.

Choosing a site of comparable form and vibe to follow Tilshead Old Ditch long barrow is a pretty tall order, it has to be said. A return to the wonderful Adam’s Grave was perhaps the obvious – if rather too obvious – choice. And indeed it was the Giant’s Grave upon Milton Hill, overlooking The Vale of Pewsey, which called the louder this time around. Hell, as much as I love Walker’s Hill, I do love to stand up for the underdog! Not that Giant’s Grave exactly has to punch above its weight to impress. No sir. Not one bit.....

In retrospect I would say the best, or certainly the most dramatic approach is via a public footpath from the Pewsey Hill road which follows the edge of the excellent escarpment towards Milton Hill Clump. However I end up walking down the same farm track to Milton Hill Farm that I traversed during my only previous visit here some years back, incidentally then in torrential rain (as described in Chance’s notes). Verge parking is possible near the entrance to this byway... and also recommended, since these tracks are used by farm vehicles – and, judging by the completely OTT signs, the owners of Down Farm are extremely walker-hostile. What is it with these Wiltshire farmers. Something in the water?

Some way along this track the visitor is faced with a choice of routes in order to reach the long barrow.... if in doubt, head a little to the left of the prominent trees of Milton Hill Clump to your left, which have [what I take to be] an obvious round barrow standing before them, unfortunately the field in crop. Approached from this direction, the long barrow is initially somewhat of a disappointment. Hey, I was sure it was more upstanding than this? It was. It is. View the monument from the north and this is as impressive a long barrow as you could credibly wish for... it really is.

Complete with quarry ditches, this great long barrow also possesses that indefinable quality only the truly great sites have. Aye, atmosphere, vibe, the freedom to think, look... just empty your mind and simply breathe, even, without the distractions interacting with other members of the species automatically bring. Not that I don’t enjoy interacting, you understand, but I do think these periodic ‘benchmarks’ are essential to keep in perspective what kind of creature you REALLY are. In short it is quiet here. Very quiet... with no additional visitors in some three (I think) hours.

The views are superb, courtesy of excellent Neolithic positionning a little way back from and above the escarpment edge. Perhaps not near enough to score a perfect Gladman ‘10’ in this respect but, hey, that’s just being picky! The Marlborough Downs crown the skyline from left to right (or right to left, if you prefer) towards the north, with Martinsell, Rybury and, I assume, the multitude of other monuments all visible if you’ve the ability to pick them all out. But it is the simple act of reclining upon something so damn old, something which clearly meant so much to a number of people way back then... but can still be appreciated today... that really makes my evening. I think I kinda understand why those people, probably not too dissimilar to you or I in basic outlook, I guess, chose this small – but not that small(!) – strip of hillside to pile this mound of chalk ‘n’ earth upon. Perhaps not the exact reason why they needed such a long mound, perhaps, but why it had to be HERE. Maybe, maybe not. Whatever, this just feels as if it is the ‘right’ spot, you know?

As Chance mentions, a myriad lynchets [field systems] are visible upon the surrounding hillsides. If only the landscape could speak. What tales! But hang on... I fancy it can and does. You just have to listen.

Jimit tells it like it is... this most certainly is ‘an extraordinarily large and fine barrow’, tucked away near the arguably much better known White Barrow. Except it’s not... tucked away, that is... being clearly visible, silhouetted upon a ridge between two tree-lines, when viewed near the prominent water tower. Guess you just need to know what you are looking at, I suppose. And no doubt Neolithic people approaching the site from this direction appreciated the built-in drama of the journey. Now you see it.... now you don’t. Ah, there it is. Wow! Theatrics, certainly, but there can not have been any inherent triviality here.

Nothing, however, prepares me for the sheer size – both the length and height – of this fabulous monument upon arrival at close quarters. Just how it managed to survive in such an intact state with tanks previously running amok over it (as cited by Dyer) I’ve no idea, but it goes without saying I’m more than happy to accept such anomolies when they occur. Suffice to say soldiers have certainly been here, unless yer average Neolithic farmer used 0.303 rifle cartridges....

What’s more, the barrow is flanked by pretty substantial quarry ditches along both flanks, albeit overflowing with the flowers and weeds of high summer, these somewhat disguising both form and depth. Come to think of it, aren’t wild flowers and weeds one and the same? Nevertheless I’ll refrain from a eulogy to the weed, however, in case some people get the wrong idea. Not my scene, that.

Old Ditch Longbarrow and the neighbouring White Barrow, clearly visible to approx SE, most certainly are my scene, though. Perimeter signs warn visitors not to dig in the environs (I’m assuming rabbits can’t read, then?) – or drive their tank if they happen to possess one. I’m happy to abide by both requests, but nonetheless ‘dig’ Old Ditch in my own way.

Overshadowed – of course – by the two superb examples of the genre nearby [the Tilshead Old Ditch and White Barrow], this is nevertheless well worth a look, lying as it does just a couple of hundred yards (or so) from the large car parking area across the road from the water tower.

Surrounded by white stakes to (hopefully) prevent accidental damage to the site by over enthusiastic trainee tank drivers – ‘sorry sarge, what does this lever do again?’... this isn’t the most impressive long barrow you’ll ever see, but is still pretty well defined compared to some ploughed-out examples I’ve seen over the years. Even during high summer, when the earthwork is alive with wild flowers and attendant insects. Ha! So much life upon a monument to the dead. The wonderful irony is not lost upon me.

Great wedges of cloud progress in stately procession through the blue sky overhead, like, well, the great motherships out of that dodgy Independence Day film (the one where America saves the world... again). Isn’t it strange how the gaze is drawn to the sky at monuments such as these? Almost as if that was the whole point. Or is it just me?

Following a very brief – and, I’m afraid, all too tentative – visit quite a few years ago, I’ve harboured an ambition (one of many, it has to be said) to come back to Yarnbury and see if it was as good as it appeared ‘back then’. Well, inspired by Chance’s notes as I was, not to mention a recent visit to The Chesters up near Edinburgh, today was the day....

Approaching along the A303 (ah, the A303!!) from Stonehenge, the environs of the great circle incidentally occupied by a myriad camper vans and, frankly, looking a shambles, I park in a layby just beyond the deceptively squat earthworks of the hillfort. Luckily the ‘chicken’ manages to cross the road in one piece and a couple of gates and grassy field later [no signs, no barbed-wire], I stand overawed by the immensity of Yarnbury’s earthworks.... duh, these are big! Bi-vallate, with what would appear to be a somewhat half hearted effort at a third rampart in places, the main ramparts and ditches are some of the most impressive Iron Age fortifications I’ve seen for a long while.

And wait, there’s more... for the original entrance to the east, a typically inverted affair of parallel banks, is protected by a boldly projecting, kidney-shaped earthwork, this playing much the same aggressive role as an castle gatehouse – you approach in the exact, vulnerable manner we want you to approach, thank you very much. The large, roughly circular interior of the settlement is defined by barbed wire, traces of an additional, smaller enclosure visible within. Unfortunately, however, Dyer does not cite this as being a causewayed-camp, or otherwise of a much earlier date than the other works. More’s the pity.

The highest point of the main, inner rampart is crowned by an OS trig point, a bit lower than the usual, perhaps, but nevertheless a fine viewpoint for the sweeping Wiltshire countryside. I walk the ramparts in turn, the resident flowers and fauna perhaps the greatest incentive for a summer visit, a startled hare making off amongst blooms of exquisitely vibrant hues, a wise precaution to avoid being trod upon by a clumsy Gladman. The ramparts are bisected at one point by barbed wire flanking another (modern?) entrance, but metal bar gates allow a full circuit. It is a wonderful walk, it really is, but all too soon the hours have flown by and I must leave.

At this moment I see four figures approaching from the far arc of the ramparts with a small dog ... tourists upon Yarnbury, surely not? Intrigued, I decide to hang around and have a chat, only to be greeted with ‘what are you looking for?’ by a very young looking chap with very upper class accent. Hmm, difficult question, perched as I am upon these massive Iron Age ramparts with a camera. Er, actually I think I found the hillfort, thanks...Anyway, I’m informed this is private land and, basically, that he sees nothing untoward with using one of Wessex’s finest Iron Age hillforts as a mere sheep pen. And there I was hoping that – taking a lead from my recent, invigorating meetings with numerous enlightened Scottish farmers – perhaps the landowner of Yarnbury was actually taking his (arguably) inherited moral responsibility for this exceptional piece of our heritage seriously? Well, you be the judge of that. He flatly dismisses my suggestion to post a contact ‘phone number by the entrance, or an address to request access through. Clearly too much trouble, I guess. However I must state that, to be fair, he was in no way aggressive and, I assume, fully within his legal rights. There are always two sides to every story, but I just somehow expected more this time, I guess.

So there you are. In my opinion Yarnbury is one of the great ‘lost’ hillforts of Wiltshire. But most certainly one with no public access. It deserves far better than that. It really does....

This is for those minimalists amongst us who truly believe that less can be more. I mean, the people who erected this little monument – assuming it is, indeed, a monument – were not exactly looking to overawe with the scope of their vision, were they? Then again perhaps that was the whole point, in the shadow of the mighty Y Mynydd Du....

The site really is to filed in the ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ category, the motorist’s – nay everyone’s – eyes being irrecoverably drawn to the skyline, the stones barely breaking cover of the tall, moorland grass. So full marks to the SC for spotting this good ‘un. I disagree that the site is not worth a special trip for I was quite prepared to hang out for quite a while longer if not for other commitments.

The best description I can give, I guess, is that of a tiny four poster, with additional central stone. Interestingly I spot what may be an outlier a little way to the approx SW. Then again, maybe not, since there are numerous erratics visible on the far bank of the Afon Tawe? As for the stone setting itself, however, I agree that it appears far too regular to have been of natural origin. Perhaps the location is significant, not only near the actual source of the Tawe, but also close to where a myriad small streams feed the fledgling main water course? I guess I will have to return one day to properly assess the vibe here.

A return visit.. without the Mam C this time.. but taking the opportunity to approach from the NW, via the fine standing stone a little south of Bwlch Cerrig Duon.

The ascent is of a far gentler gradient than that experienced from the west, although the terrain is just as rough, jarring the ankles and knees of the unwary. In short, there are no footpaths here. Striding – or perhaps more accurately, ‘stumbling’ – uphill from the monolith, several unusual stone features are encountered before the walkers’ cairns, crowning the denuded remains of the summit round barrows, are achieved. One, in particular, looks suspiciously like an artificially placed orthostat to me [see image], although Coflein has nothing to say in this respect. Who knows?

The summit barrows, it has to be said, are distinctly underwhelming in terms of size. Not so their positionning, which is in every aspect exquisite. Bronze Age barrows also surmount virtually every other visible hill/mountain top, the ever present, decapitated tops of Pen-y-Fan and Corn Du rising beyond, and to the left of, an unusually radiant Fan Gyhirych to the east. This is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg, for across the valley to the west rise the elegant summits of Y Mynydd Du, similarly endowed, their flanks riven by deep rain water gulleys. I lie back and simply enjoy the moment, a sharp wind requiring me to retrieve a jacket from my rucksack, despite the sunshine and resultant heat enjoyed by the pic-nicking punters down below.

Descending a little to the west of the summit, the panorama is of the infant Afon Tawe, flowing towards the sea at distant Swansea (hence Abertawe, of course) from its source a little to the north-east of Llyn y Fan Fawr, with the Maen Mawr and its tiny flock splendidly sited above. The correlation between the two is obvious from up here, the fearsome gash carved by the Nant-y-Llyn, outflow of the aforementioned lake, well, dramatic to say the least. To the south, the grassy ridge of Cefn Cul leads the eye towards the Sacred Hill of Cribarth, with its attendant stone row. There is so much to take in, there really is.

So, don’t ascend to the summit of Waun Leuci expecting to see any prominent megalithic cairns; there are none. What the traveller is rewarded with, however, is a sense of the ‘Big Picture’. And boy, is it expansive, or what?

Firstly, I should say ‘thanks’ to the Sweetcheat for finally giving me the inclination to pay a long overdue visit to this fine, fine, mountain monolith upon the flanks of my beloved Y Mynydd Du.

I’m spending the weekend in South Wales for the Mam C’s confirmation of her wedding vows, so megaliths and such-like are most definately off the agenda... until a communual visit to the Bridgend Designer Outlet is decided upon. Horror of horrors! Time for Gladman to make a quick exit....I therefore find myself heading westwards down the M4 before it dawns upon me that I haven’t a clue where I’m going. Nothing new there, except, on this occasion, the statement is literal. SC’s recent post pops into my mind. Ah.. Waun Leuci will do for a few hours.

Passing the tacky – in my opinion – Dan-yr-Ogof follies, my worst fears are confirmed as I head up the Trecastle road below Fan Hir. Yep, the valley ‘chavs’ are out in force in the sunshine, cars choking the eastern bank of the infant Tawe as their former occupants enjoy their communual barbecues. And to hell with everyone else..... Needless to say I very much doubt if their rubbish will leave with them, at least in a physical sense. Thankfully I manage to procure a parking space a little south of Bwlch Cerrig Duon and set off for the sanctuary of the hills.

The standing stone is taller than I expected, and of far less girth, in direct contrast to the Maen Mawr down the valley. I agree with Postie that the traveller is inclined to believe that the two were to some degree symbolically linked. It is therefore curious that the monoliths are not inter-visible, although it must be said there is very little in it, just a small ‘slither’ of hillside. However I’m not so sure about the profile of the stone mirroring the soaring escarpment of Y Mynydd Du across the valley. Mind you, if I am being a little too cynical in this respect, there’s no denying that the aforementioned mountain massif simply had to be the focal point for all monuments in the area. Surely?

Whatever the truth of the matter, the standing stone is most certainly a focal point for some gorgeous lichen, not to mention local cattle, which have churned the surrounding ground to oblivion. But now I must ascend a little higher.

OODIIINN!! Hell, I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis (with Bronx accent – right on!) in that dodgy ‘Vikings’ film as a kid...

I wake at my Whiteadder camp to torrential rain, Scotland’s way of reminding me not to become complacent, I guess. Needing an ‘easy’ site to visit before the long journey back to Essex, I choose Edin’s (or, surely, Odin’s) Hall, a Historic Scotland charge recommended in Anna and Graham Ritchie’s ‘Oxford Archaeological Guide’. That’ll do nicely, then. Taking the (un-signposted) Abbey St Bathans road from the A6365, I’m immediately tail-gated by some fool in one of those ‘cut price, budget moron-mobiles’.... all tacky spoiler and ‘broom, broom’ exhaust. Just managing to squeeze myself off the road beside the obscure public footpath signpost, another clown passes by, sounding his horn, then another and another. I mean, how was I to know a rally is being held in Duns today named after some Jim Clark bloke. Whatever.... it takes all sorts, I guess.

The scenic, waymarked path descends sharply, via steps, to riverside before climbing away to arrive at the site in approx a mile. The first thing to strike this visitor is a) the size of the broch and then; b) the fact that there is a broch here at all.... in Lowland Scotland. Yeah, it’s certainly a biggie. Too big, in fact, to have plausibly risen to any great height in its heyday, I’d suggest having had more of a low, but incredibly solid, ‘blockhouse’ profile than that of an elegant, Mousa ‘cooling tower’ (not that I’ve been to Mousa yet, I must admit). The drystone walls are immensely thick (we’re talking Norman donjon here) with the usual storage chambers, mural stairway and guard chambers incorporated within. The entrance way is pretty ‘solid’, too, with a cyclopean vibe.

However, perhaps the greatest surprise for me is the extent – and multivallate nature – of the surrounding ramparts of the hillfort. To the west these are very substantial, indeed, and still pretty well preserved to east and south. The broch itself, defended by its own rampart, is set to the north in the most defensible position. Nice. Within the enclosure stand several round houses, one covering a very large area and therefore suggesting a hall or, perhaps, the former residence of the ‘Big Man’? Possibly.

Artificial defences were enhanced by the choice of highly defensible site, a steep drop to the Whiteadder Water rendering an assault from north or east more or less impractical. These people obviously knew what they were doing, so I can only conclude that the dominating hillfort, upon Cockburn Law to the south west, was either occupied by a skeleton garrison of ‘lookouts’, or was not occupied concurrently.

Finally, I guess I should emphasise what a gorgeous location this is, towering above a loop in the Whiteadder Water. Lack of time rules out a visit to Cockburn Law, but Edin’s Hall is a fine, somewhat unexpected way to end this tour.

Blimey. This is one hell of a long cairn, is it not? In fact, in a country chock-a-block with long cairns – albeit somewhat lacking in the vicinity – these Mutiny Stones form the longest long cairn I’ve seen this side of the incomparable Auchenlaich.

To stand at the head (or tail) of this truly monumental construction, despite the robbing of material to erect adjoining sheep folds and, shamefully, terminally moronic grouse butts, is to gawp in open mouthed wonder at the sheer human effort it must have taken to make the Neolithic vision a reality. I have no words. No, really, I don’t... and if it wasn’t for the conditions, I’d take off my hat to these people in recognition of what they achieved upon this desolate moor. A wobbly salute must suffice instead......

The standard route to the Mutiny Stones would appear to be along the Killpallet track to the north; however, nursing a somewhat ‘tender’ ankle (the result of too much cairn climbing, I guess) I decide to approach from the south. Hey, it looks shorter on the map, so it does. A very minor road leaves the Longformacus road and penetrates the fastness of the hills as far as Byrecleugh Farm, following the course of Dye Water. I ask permission to park here – permission readily granted by the very tall farmer – and set about making a complete hash of my map reading, descending from the track to investigate what appears to be a long cairn to my left. In my defence, it is a long cairn, but of the ‘field clearance variety’ only.

In retrospect, follow the road past Byrecleugh Farm to several more assorted dwellings, where you will be faced with a triple junction of tracks. Take the centre of these, climbing away to your right. A wide valley opens up to your left, with the aforementioned ‘clearance cairn’ visible on the far bank of the river. Ignore this – but not the view – and take the next, somewhat obscure right, following the left hand bank of a stream, a tall, spindly cairn visible upon Pyatshaw Ridge above to your right. The long cairn will soon come into view and is unmistakeable.

Set upon the south eastern slopes of Byrecleugh Ridge, the monument is surrounded by water courses – perhaps significantly so – with Dye Water to the south, Byrecleugh Burn to the east/north and Brock’s Cleugh to the west. Here, silence is total in the absence, today, of any ‘mighty’ shotgun wielding hunters. Nobut’s post has the technical stuff; suffice to say those who like their monuments to be somewhat ‘remote’ will love it here. Plonk yourself down upon the surprisingly wide head of the monument and simply enjoy one of the longest of Scotland’s long cairns....

A glance at the map reveals something perhaps not readilly apparent about this interesting stone circle; namely that, to all intents and purposes, it is very nearly set upon the summit of an island.

Come again? Well, with Whiteadder Water to the east, Hazelly Burn to the north, Kingside Burn blocking an approach from the south and, together with the course of South Grain, leaving a relatively small gap to south west, I’d suggest a pretty strong case can be put forward for water having had a decisive impact upon the siting of this monument. The aforementioned Kingside Burn ensures that travellers making their way to the site from the B6355 will need to donne waterproof boots to maintain a degree of decorum. It is not the most inspiring of approaches, power pylons leading the eye towards a large group of wind turbines crowning the horizon. Head uphill towards the left hand half dozen of these and finding the ‘circle shouldn’t be an issue.

Unusually for these ‘numerically named’ sites, I actually count nine stones upon this desolately wild hilltop. That’ll be right, then. My schooling wasn’t entirely wasted (although I do happen to have enough fingers and thumbs, it has to be said). The orthostats are generally large and of varied profile, although now arranged in a far from classic circle... I guess ‘ragged’ would be a fair description? Dishevelled, even. Nevertheless Nine Stone Rig possesses a great vibe and is just the place to come and hang out on the penultimate day of a long tour. Sure, the all too obvious symbols of literal modern power do affect your perception of the landscape, but the abstract ‘power’ of this ancient monument continues to assert a hold upon the psyche of those individuals susceptible to such things. I’m a sucker, I guess.

Good for you, Nine Stone Rig! And for us who still want to ‘feel’.

What a site to end the day with.... following on from Chesters and Traprain Law, this compact, yet powerful little hillfort is perhaps my favourite of the trio.

The setting is classic, the ‘fort strategically positioned to command what surely must have been an ancient track above Thorter Burn, this leading down to the coast from the uplands to the south, hills now utilised by human-kind to fill the Whiteadder Reservoir. Full use is also made of the defensive potential of the landscape, three (count ‘em) substantial ramparts protecting the relatively easy approach to the approx circular enclosure from the south and east, a more or less sheer drop to the burn all that was really necessary at north and west.

The view northwards from the ramparts is exquisite, the conical Iron Age hillfort of Berwick Law visible beyong the aforementioned volcanic, whaleback ridge of Traprain Law itself. Bass Rock glimmers in the evening sunshine, Edinburgh – as its name suggests, another one time Iron Age hillfort – visible far left. An extensive former Iron Age community, no less, although whether the inhabitants of White Castle were on friendly terms with all is, I guess, open to debate. Suffice to say they certainly appear to have known what they were doing when it came to personal defence, unlike the occupiers of the not too distant Chesters.

Access to this wonderful site is about as easy as you could wish for, a minor road leaving the B6355 a little to the west of Whiteadder Reservoir and closely bypassing the monument, en-route to Garvald.

This is one of those sites where the reputation of the place precedes it... the traveller feeling compelled to visit. This volcanic extrusion (hark at me!) certainly offers a spectacular profile, rising seemingly virtually from sea level upon the coastal plain, albeit a profile somewhat defaced by quarrying at the north-eastern end... why, oh why, oh why? Clearly this was an obvious site to establish a hillfort, both from a military perspective and, judging from Neolithic artefacts recovered here, possessing the necessary ‘otherworldly’ attributes, too. ‘Sacred Hill’, indeed.

The summit is most easilly gained via a path from the ‘official’ car parks below the northern flank, a short, reasonably steep climb. Outcrops of volcanic rock afford natural defence to the southern flank, so the surviving lines of drystone rampart protect the former, circling around the hillside to the west. Although not particularly impressive nowadays, relatively speaking, clearly this was once a powerful fortress, bearing in mind the topography. The summit of the mountain itself features the standard OS trig point and, of far greater importance, what I take to be the remnants of the kerb of a former Bronze Age cairn? Or is that being a little too fanciful?

As you might expect from such an isolated, coastal hill, Traprain Law is a stunning viewpoint. It really is. To the north, the stupendous curtain wall of Tantallon Castle is just visible before the – frankly bizarre – Bass Rock, with the equally noteworthy hillfort of Berwick Law to its left. Edinburgh crowns the approx western horizon, while the southern aspect is that of agriculture, the very basis of Iron Age wealth.

As I sit, an elderly, local man comes over for a chat. He is attired in ‘formal’ shoes and a cardie and comments upon how cold the wind is for May. ‘You don’t say?’ thinks I, clad in fleece and Gortex. ‘Yeah, I lost my wife to pneumonia this February’, he adds... ‘always wanted to come up here’... and the poignancy of this moment floors me like the proverbial sledgehammer blow to the head. Thankfully the old gent sets off back down before a vicious hail front sweeps in to give me a fearsome battering that is anything but ‘proverbial’. It is primeval, invigorating, somewhat un-nerving and more eloquent than I can ever be in describing this hilltop. It IS Traprain Law.

Chester minute... what do we have here? A large Iron Age hillfort, protected by impressive, multivallate ramparts seemingly straight outta Wessex, not lowland Scotland. I would suggest one Iron Age warlord may well have travelled ‘down south’ and picked up a few ideas, in much the same way Crusaders returned to these shores, straining at the bit to employ the ideals of concentric fortification in stone. Then again, perhaps not.

Whatever the truth, the fundamentals of the great Wessex hillforts are present and correct in the shape of towering ramparts, with attendant ditches, and lavishly protected entrance ways, here to east and west. There would appear to be two main ramparts, supplemented by additional defences where thought necessary. I count four to the north, but then that could just be my lamentable arithmetic. As mentioned, the architects really pulled out the stops at the entrances, although whether the over-riding factor here was to overawe and impress the visitor, or actually thwart a surprise assault is a moot point. Accusations of all-important symbolism are given credence by the very siting of the fortress at the mercy of extensive high ground to the south. This begs a simple question. Why? I go and take a look, concluding that there would appear to be no obvious reason why a large, very powerful fortress could not have been built up here instead.

Having said that it must be emphasised that Chester is a ‘proper’ fortress, albeit an ill-placed one where the owner was either a) stark, raving bonkers or b) reckoned he was too powerful to ever be challenged and therefore didn’t want the inconvenience of living on a hill. The site also raises ongoing questions about the ritualistic function of hillforts, too. Was defence ever the prime factor, or did the very act of enclosing an area with earthern banks represent an Iron Age attempt to update the symbolism inherent in the Neolithic henge?

Leaving these big questions aside – for now – I simply enjoy a stroll around the circumference, noting the sites of many former round houses, some overlaying the main ramparts so therefore obviously later additions. It is a good place to be.

So, just how do you follow a visit to such a complex, multi-phase monument as Cairnpapple, then? My solution is to go for the polar opposite, in many respects. ‘Chalk’ to the aforementioned’s ‘cheese’, so to speak.

So, the A702 leaves the A720 Edinburgh by-pass and heads approx SW, beneath some pretty interesting hills – one none other than the mighty Castle Law (oh for more time...) – towards West Linton. A little beyond this small town, a minor road eventually arrives within the yard of Garvald Farm. A collapsed wall is in the process of being repaired by a group of people who suddenly surround my car. I have no desire to be carted off into a Wicker Man, so jump out to state my purpose and so take control of the situation... only to find my would be ‘attackers’ are actually ‘special needs’ people on a farm visit. I feel an inch tall, and rightly so. What a muppet. The farmer, not exactly a shrinking violet, it must be said, is intrigued by my intention to visit the North Muir cairns (or possibly simply takes pity on me) and readily agrees to me parking within his yard. Right on!

In actual fact the road continues to Medwynbank Farm to the NE, but the walk beside Garvald Burn is pleasant, the tarmac reverting to unmade track and passing to the left of a small lake prior to striking out across the moor. The aforementioned burn has cut a deep gulley to my right, North Muir Hill and Mendick Hill flanking the valley to left and right respectively. So where are the cairns, then? Nether Cairn is not long coming... and it looks an absolute beauty... but I decide to carry on to the Upper Cairn first of all.

Although somewhat ravaged, no doubt through the attentions of generations of ‘stone hungry’ farmers, the monument is still very substantial and in not bad nick, all things considered. I climb to the summit to find that, curiously, its neighbour is visible from here, but not from down below. Mere coincidence, or by design? I stay for approx an hour as the weather turns... and how! A front of vicious hail sweeps in and I search my rucksack in vain for gloves. Doh! They say every cloud has a silver lining, but here the lining is, literally, comprised of every colour of the rainbow. Dawkins is right. Even though I understand how it is formed, the wonder is never diminished. Simple things bring such pleasure, eh?

None more so than a great, conical pile of stones known as Nether Cairn to which I now make my way. Greywether is spot on, this is a truly perfect round cairn, virtually intact. The siting, upon this wild (tell me about it!) wind, hail and sun-swept moor ensures just about the perfect vibe. What more is there to say? If perfectly formed round cairns are your thing you won’t do any better than Nether Cairn and its ‘ugly’ sister.

Come, it is time to keep your appointment with the North Muir cairns.....

Cairnpapple. One of those places I knew I really should go to, but... well, other sites always seemed to get the nod instead. Mainly, I think in retrospect, because of that bloody concrete dome. It’s not the only site to possess one, of course, but a dimly lit passage grave can, more often than not, carry it off with no discernable loss in vibe. In fact a discrete, modern roof can add to the experience, recreating something of how it may have felt to enter the original monument. Herein lies the problem, however: Cairnpapple is not a passage grave, yet visitors are invited to assume it is such. Having said that, it’s all too easy to be wise after the event, and Piggott’s post war excavation has nevertheless revealed to us a fascinating monument, indeed. Thank you sir, you did what you thought was right for the benefit of generations to follow, adding immeasurably to our knowledge of henges and whatnot. Hey, that’s what your generation fought the Nazi tyranny for, was it not?

The hilltop location is spectacular, with a far reaching vista encompassing green hills, industrial areas, The Firth of Forth and the distant high peaks of Tayside etc. Sure, the telecom antennae’s out of place, but I can live with that. The custodian’s pretty special, too; the tourist spiel is, for once, delivered with conviction and... dare I say it.... a clear love of her charge. I pay her the attention it deserves and learn a thing or two in the process. Such as what a complex monument Cairnpapple really is, linear phases of activity emphasising that man really considered this to be a seriously important spot. These phases have been left ‘exposed’ to be viewed concurrently, sort of like looking at one of those cutaway drawings of an aircraft.... that’s not how it actually looked, but isn’t it good to see how it works? In summary – according to the latest thinking – Cairnpapple began life as a two entrance henge, the ditch still well defined to the north and east, with a circle of 24 massive posts placed somewhat off-centre. Within, an alignment of much larger diameter holes may well have held some sort of timber equivalent of a long cairn’s facade related to the major burial upon this hilltop, known as North Grave. To view this tomb, punters must climb steps to the summit of the grassed dome and descend by ladder inside.

The significant infiltration of light from a large skylight helps to dispel the passage grave misconception, since the rock cut grave was in fact only covered by a small cairn. The surrounding kerb stones remind me of teeth set within a lower jaw, the whole dominated by a large, leaning monolith immediately reminding me of a similar arrangement at Dunruchan. Close by sits a large cist with impressive capstone. I sit and ponder within the peculiar, clammy atmosphere of the dome. Apparently the cist, plus another, now lost, were later additions covered by a larger cairn taking in the North Grave, too. The modern dome follows the approx line of this cairn and preserves the retaining kerb. The silence is broken by the custodian.... ‘Oh, you’re still here... people normally don’t stay this long...’. No doubt they don’t.

Outside it begins to rain, but this is of no consequence... since I am now truly enthralled. Ah, the final phase, a massive diameter, low cairn covering a good proportion of the interior of the henge and possessing a fine kerb of large stones. Why do that. I mean cover all the preceding burials and insert your own? To instigate new traditions without actually destroying the old? Hmm. We could learn a lot from these people, me thinks. Finally, last but not least, four apparently christian graves inserted into the eastern bank of the henge. Old habits die hard, eh?

I leave Cairnpapple Hill somewhat dazed, but mighty glad I finally came. True, it is not a great ‘hang’ in my opinion – the dome sees to that – but it certainly exercises the grey matter.

There are many reasons why certain prehistoric monuments may leave the visitor more ‘fullfilled’ – for want of a better word – than others. As it happens, I don’t subscribe to any formula, as such... massive stones, for example, won’t suffice if the siting is wrong. But sometimes multiplex, diverse factors combine, like ingredients in the hands of a master chef, to produce the perfect vibe. For me, my Masterchefs included the people who erected the glorious monoliths upon the northern slopes of Dunruchan Hill.

Why? Startling originality, for one. Truly bonkers. Sure, I’ve seen finer monoliths.... for example the Lewissian Gneiss of the Calanais ‘circles cannot, in my opinion, be bettered for intricacy of grain, the ‘stanley knife’ Stenness stones, for profile. But each and every stone upon this hillside has clearly been selected to be as ‘different’ from its neighbour as possible. One is conventionally rounded, one a massive, brutish slab resembling a capstone suspended in perpetuality above it’s robbed cist. Another is a completely orgasmic, thrusting phallus of a standing stone [as AngieLake notes] akin to a supercharged, viagra chewin’ version of the centre stone at Boscawen-un. Look at the base.... it was meant to stand at this angle. Why? Oh come on! Surely it can only be shouting ‘Let’s get it on, Mother Earth, right here, right now!’ Then there’s a classic of flowing lines and pointed summit, achingly evocative, even against a sunlit landscape. The first to be encountered when ascending the hillside is arguably the most traditional in form. Ha! To coax would be visitors into a false ‘comfort zone’ perhaps? Well, it worked upon me. Oh, there’s also a sixth stone standing just across the minor Culloch/Craggan road near Craigneich Farm. Plus a number more further to the east.......

So, how can the complex at Dunruchan be explained in rational terms? No idea. Not a stone row, unless the surveyor had an extremely ‘serpentine’ ruler! In my experience a grouping of this magnitude and form is unique [I would welcome notification of any parallels]. What’s more, the observant motorist heading east along the aforementioned minor road may catch sight of one or two stones, but that is all. It would seem you had to be ‘in the know’ to join the party.

Parking is not easy, it being just about possible to squeeze a car upon the verge here or there. As it happens the Craigneich farmer drives by in his lorry, followed by wife on quad bike. I waive her down and am invited to park at the end of the south facing farm track, this enclosed by one of the most fragile wooden gates ever. ‘You want to visit the standing stones? Great!’ I’d therefore suggest having a word is perhaps the best option. Park safely because you will want to spend quite some time amongst the Dunruchan Stones and inconveniencing such people is not an option.

Monzie’s been on ‘the list’ for a while now.... but always seemed to be a little too far off tour routes to be worth the deviation. Not for just ‘a couple of circle stones and some cup marks’. Well, that’s all the photos I’d ever seen appeared to show. Should’ve known better. True, the camera never lies, but it doesn’t necessarily always tell the whole truth, either. Indeed not.

However this year Monzie happens to sit more or less across my path. Hell, why not? Worth a quick look. Needless to say the ‘quick look’ all too soon becomes an all morning and early afternoon hang. The weather is suitably memorable, if bizzare, with a sharp, freezing wind requiring the traveller to donne jacket, only for the sun to periodically peer from beyond a fast moving, broken cloud base to boil him alive. Why, I love Scotland, me.

I find the approach a little off putting, through one of those awful ‘mock castle’ gatehouses once so favoured by the self proclaimed, higher echelons of society. Follow the Monzie Castle drive for a short duration and... there it is, the ‘circle virtually engulfed by nettles and some of the most verdant grass around, to the right. No wonder the cows across the way munch away contentedly and don’t give a monkey’s about the approach of the visitor.

Much to my surprise, the circumferance of the ring is not that far away from being chock full of orthostats. Ha! Clearly the vegetation is adept at camouflaging the true extent of this fine little monument from the lens of the lazy photographer and some gardening is therefore required. Just to sit down, in fact. There is much more to Monzie than a fine little ‘circle, however, the most enigmatic feature of the site being a large, recumbent slab a little beyond the SW arc, this bearing numerous cup and ring marks. A much needed session of ‘de-forestation’ later, the rock art is more or less visible... and one wonders how long the coins placed within the cup marks have been in situ? Furthermore, the orthostat at the SE corner of the ‘circle also bears rock art...... unfathomable, haunting, timeless.

Yeah, this is some place, it really is, the art adding immeasurably to the vibe here. Just to complete the picture, there’s also a large standing stone visible further along the drive, perhaps too distant to be classed an ‘outlier’? Maybe... guess that depends whether it acts as a sighting point for any astronomical event, or not. Dunno. Whatever, don’t be a muppet like I was. Come to Monzie as soon as you get the chance.

My, how things can change, eh? The circle now stands within a very untidy woodland clearing, only the stumps remaining of the trees shown in previous posts. These ‘mingle’ with the orthostats to give the monument a somewhat confusing appearance from distance. However get up close and personal and it becomes clear that this remains a fairly decent circle.

What’s more it possesses, at the SSW, one of the most oddly striking ‘circle stones I’ve seen in all my days. So unusual is it that, at first, I thought I’d found myself an RSC recumbent, minus flankers. Well, it does seem to be in approx the right place to me? But no.... I mean, could you ever imagine watching the moon set above a stone with such a massive grin plastered all over its chops? Come on, stop giggling at the back, this is serious! Madame de la Luna will give us a kicking. And why have the bulbous flank facing the centre of the circle and the smooth, pale side of the stone the outside? Love it.

OK, I guess I’d rather have found Druid’s Seat in the same manner as Martin and the others, that is under a light tree canopy than within a – to be frank – shambles of a clearing, but I still find this a superb hang. In fact, although there are two other ‘circles near by, I elect to stay and leave those for another time. Well worth the effort, indeed.

By the way, if obscure woodland paths aren’t your thing, an alternative approach is to continue down the farm track until another joins to your left. Follow this for a little way and you should be able to make out the circle, within its clearing, to the left. I came this way and departed via Martin’s forestry route.

First choice today was Na Carraigean... however Gladman visits very rarely go according to plan, schedules rarely kept. Who would have thought the Allean Forest would be closed due to ‘forestry works’? Not I. But, hey, it’s what keeps things interesting, I guess. To be honest I might have considered a bit of ill conceived – and no doubt dangerous – ‘naughty, naughty’ if I didn’t have Clachan An Diridh as ‘Plan B’.

In retrospect, parking in Pitlochry after a week and a half wild camping probably wasn’t the best idea in the world. The general noise level grates, coaches disgorge hordes of tourists, wandering aimlessly this way and that like gaggles of geese. Only with much less charm. And of course I’m completely hopeless at direction finding in urban landscapes, therefore engaging in a fab sightseeing tour of dams, trout ladders and such like before reaching the Festival Hall, complete with free – I think – car park just off the A9. Grrrr!! Once across the A9, however, things begin to look up... literally, as it happens, as tarmac gives way to farm track and eventually forestry track ascending rising ground. Ruddy forestry, the curse of the stone-hunting classes. Don’t even mention RSCs.

Suffice to say I don’t enjoy the climb once the deciduous trees are left behind, a viewless (arrrgh!), claustrophobic approach which seems to go on, and on and on..... so it’s a massive relief to approach the entrance to the clearing... exactly as a middle-aged couple approach it from the other direction. ‘I don’t belieeeevvve it!’. Although they are clearly ‘proper’, decent people, I’m therefore well chuffed when they take one snap and bugger off to leave me to commune with Clachan An Diridh in peace. Sorry, that’s Peace, with a capital ‘P”. It really is.

So is this four poster worth all the hastle? You betcha, even though one of the stones has, to all intents and purposes, disappeared. Two of the remaining trio, however, are large, wonderful monoliths, possibly incorporating ‘male’ and ‘female’ symbolism, possibly not? The remaining upright is much smaller, but still not exactly a ‘tiddler’. Grain is exquisite, the woodland setting amplifying highlight and shadow, much to the detriment of my photographic skills, but not to the vibe here. Just lie back and listen.....’hang on, I don’t hear anything ‘cept birdsong?’. Exactly. Good, innit?

Lost for words, to be honest. I last came here in 2000, completely unaware of the existance of a chambered cairn upon the floor of this truly stunning bay. Clearly I had to return some day, although perhaps a decade was a tad too long to wait. But that is all academic now. I’m here.

A well made track slants down the hillside, from a large parking area beside the B8007, to the lush pasture which adjoins the curving beach at water’s edge. The monument is located at the sea-ward end of a prominent copse of trees and, at first, appears as simply a jumble of stones. However I then catch on... what we have here are the pretty substantial remains of a chamber, with two large facade orthostats, one standing, one fallen, to its right. Ah, I see. And what an idyllic location!

Moving towards the shoreline, a prominent standing stone stands (luckily) beside what I take to be the remnants of a church. This is not as great detective work as you may at first suppose, for the stone is actually defaced by – sorry! – I mean, features..... a cross in bold relief, the attendant enclosure containing two gravestones dated 1730-odd, these bearing quite excellent images. Since I have no reason to suspect the standing stone is not Bronze Age in origin, the continuity of human spiritual practices at Camas nan Geall is breathtaking.

I walk the beach and poke my head inside a deserted, roofless dry stone building... my mind reels at the enormity of the human experience here. Hey, the chambered cairn may not be the finest, even on Ardnamurchan, but you will not be disappointed with a visit to Camas nan Geall.

Don’t forget your bucket and spade, too!