GLADMAN

‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’. So (apparently) said Bert Lance, a senior advisor to much-maligned former US president Jimmy Carter, a man who is arguably due a reappraisal, actually worth his SALT? In The Citizen Cairn’s opinion, this is one of the more logical and useful idioms, albeit one now seemingly at loggerheads with today’s hyperactive worldview demanding ‘change for the sake of change’... regardless of the consequences. For the record, I’m all for change, so long as it delivers demonstrable benefit. Consider: who in their right mind would decommission all former rural ‘phone boxes when mobile reception in the uplands of Wales is often non-existent? That being said, technological advancement is the very reason I find myself here, in the fastness of Ceredigion, this morning.

Yeah, scanning the wondrous Archwilio last week – as you do... if you actually get around to doing any homework – I noticed a tentative entry relating to: ‘A circular mound around 11m in diameter identified on LiDAR. A possible round barrow or cairn. [A Pyper 2024]’. Ha! What potential irony in identifying something that has lain hidden in plain sight for millennia.... by the most hi-tech method extant in the laser? Beam me up.... to wherever you now are, Mr Burl! How can one not accept the challenge? There is a problem, however. Negative change exhibiting some of the basest, most regrettable human traits. But we will come to that later, should you wish to bear with me.

As I follow the public right of way towards Bryn-glas I’m suddenly confronted by a ‘No Admittance’ sign, curiously not bi-lingual (begging the question: how would I understand if I were Welsh, then?). Pausing to check the map, I recall from my previous time here when visiting the exquisite little prehistoric complex of Pen-y-raglan-wynt that – technically – the track is supposed to deviate to the north around the farmyard. I also recall that, struggling with route-finding, I paused to engage with the occupant back then, a very knowledgeable, friendly man who had no issue with somewhat confused punters upon his property. Consequently, once again seeing no obvious sign of the ‘deviation’, I decide to carry on and possibly renew old acquaintances. All is quiet at the farmhouse, however – assuming you discount the cacophony emanating from numerous dog kennels – so, finally picking up the onward route below and to the left, I ascend the hillside beyond, the terrain none too stable following the copious recent rainfall. Cresting a rise, I note Pen y Garfan to the west, the intervening field gates invitingly wide open. Despite this, I cannot shake a curious feeling of ‘not being welcome’.

The landscape is once again pretty soggy, the distance, however, is thankfully short. Suddenly it dawns upon me that I’ve neglected to note down the OS coordinates so can not recall exactly where the round barrow – if indeed it IS a round barrow – is located. Hence I’m aware I could be about to discover... absolutely nothing. In the event this very quickly becomes water beneath the boot, so to speak, for as I begin to ascend the eastern flank of the hill I subconsciously walk unerringly straight to the monument. Yeah, I may be relying upon what Programme Managers would term ‘legacy kit’, but nonetheless, my prehistoric RADAR is clearly functioning within acceptable operating parameters. To be fair, so is DAT’s LIDAR since, if ever there was an archetypal small, upland round barrow, in my opinion, this is one. However, before settling down to hang out and enjoy the fruits of our combined labours, I elect to carry on to the summit to see if anything might have escaped the apparently ‘all-seeing’ scrutiny of amplified light? Just to make sure with the ‘Mark 1 eyeball’, you understand? For what it’s worth, I think not. A very tenuous case might possibly be put forward for a slight stone spread at the summit, but if so, any former monument has been more-or-less obliterated.

Back at our hot-off-the-press discovery, the positioning of the monument is found to be ‘right on the money’. Yeah, resplendent to the (approx) south, verdant forestry conceals the aforementioned Pen-y-raglan-wynt upon Cefn Gwenffrwrd, while to the southeast, across the Afon Pysgotwr Fawr, the similarly archaeologically blessed Cefn Cnwcheithinog stretches into the distance. While swinging around to the approx north, the enigmatic plateau of Bryn y Gorlan rises above the ubiquitous, industrial-strength upland grass, the form of the latter blurring with wind-induced movement. As I ‘take luncheon’ to watch crows undertaking numerous sorties in an attempt to maintain air superiority over numerous aerobatic Red Kites, the light mist finally dissipates, great washes of golden light bursting forth from ever-expanding cracks in the looming cloud base. That this is a great place to be is highlighted by the seemingly fleeting passage of several hours.

Retracing my steps, I still cannot work out the route of that damn deviation in the path without resorting to clambering over fences – perhaps it IS just me? – so elect to proceed as before. However.... just as I approach my vehicle I’m suddenly aware that a car is hurtling towards me from the direction whence I’ve just come. As it screeches to an abrupt halt I note that: 1) the occupant is NOT the landowner I met some years ago; 2) this individual clearly has a major problem with me being here; 3) as such he is spoiling for a fight. How tiresome! Naturally, I assume my farmyard ‘navigation shenanigans’ are the issue but, bizarrely, it appears not. No, he is actually most ‘put out’ that I’ve parked where I have: that is upon a “council road ‘we’ built” (a short stretch of disintegrating concrete bordering the public road). Now, given I’ve parked in the same place twice before WITH local consent (according to my notes)... and that his alleged ‘no parking signs’ simply do not exist (I have video), I’ll leave you to judge the character/mindset of this individual.

There is another old idiom (tenuously attributed to that titan of American literature Mark Twain) which I believe to be worthy of consideration in circumstances such as this, regardless of the degree of provocation: “Never argue with stupid people, they will only drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience”. So... I take a deep breath, apologise for whatever offence I am supposed to have committed in a very plummy English accent... and have an inward chuckle at such utter tribalistic nonsense.

Later on, having stopped for the night to make camp, I reflect that, as with the modern blanket reliance upon the mobile phone, not all changes in land ownership are positive. However, let’s ensure we do not let petty fools keep the antiquarian-minded from our heritage. Oh, and let’s hear it for those magnificent archaeologists in their LIDAR-equipped flying machines.

Sitting in the car beneath the wondrous Tre’r Ceiri, the weather is so violent as to render any thoughts of venturing outside the apparent safety of my steel carbuncle – let alone of spending the afternoon upon a hill fort – seem ludicrous. In the extreme. Nevertheless, as another industrial strength hail shower thunders past bound for the Eifionydd, I decide to place my faith in the improving Met Office Mountain Forecast. What could possibly go wrong?

Taking the minor road looping through forestry from Llanaelhaern, I identify the long approach road to Cwm Cilio Farm. The sky, as black as you like, causes the doubts to resurface, uncertainties further exacerbated by the realisation that there is nowhere to park that wouldn’t – if I was the landowner – make me want to give myself a slap. Or something like that. But hey, while I’m here I guess it would be rude not to make the effort...

As it happens, said landowner is mooching around in his digger-contraption (quite a feat, to appear that nonchalant aboard serious kit)... so, after conducting a quick Health and Safety Assessment – although I can appreciate a farmer ‘digging’ The Citizen Cairn’s attitude, best not let things get too literal – I interrupt to ask permission to park and to generally have a chat. Wary at first, it transpires he is indeed not fond of tourists who park upon his land without having the courtesy to ask; is somewhat surprised I want to specifically visit Pen-y-Gaer at all, what with the (justifiably) celebrated Tre’r Ceiri looming nearby; oh, and a certain cow up yonder track is having some ‘health issues’, so would I please be careful not to startle it, etc. Presumably by acting like a gun-toting ‘Texan’ inexplicably engaged upon a walking holiday in North Wales? Otherwise, I am free to knock myself out. Again, preferably not literally.

So, after making myself look a complete freshman muppet by not sussing the farm gate ‘slides’, rather than swings open – duh! – I head for the great hill fort looming menacingly above. Clad in waterproofs and numerous additional ‘under-layers’ (to combat the anticipated adverse conditions at altitude), a couple more fast-moving showers kindly apply natural coolant as I begin to overheat, ushering me along as I make rather heavy going of the climb.... although, to be fair, it is 1,276ft. Not bad for a ‘hill’ fort?

Finally, and not before time, I reach the summit, whereupon the penny drops that the defences of this Iron Age enclosure are far more powerful than the distant glimpse enjoyed from Gyrn Ddu a few years back had suggested. The topography of the hilltop is such that the former inhabitants clearly massed the overwhelming might of their defences here, facing the west, a significant c15ft ‘double thickness’ of very well preserved drystone rampart showing these people meant business alright. The masonry curves away to north and south reducing in girth – albeit now topped by a ‘modern’ wall upon the latter arc. Hahaha! The irony is not lost upon me that I’ve just struggled up the ‘path of least resistance’ (since, as Phil Oakey would’ve pointed out, it seemed the only way), this fact emphasised by the even steeper crags protecting the eastern flank, stony residue suggesting the oft-used ‘fill in the gaps’ approach was employed here as well.

In short, I’m blown away by the impressive archaeology gracing this mini-mountain... as well as being periodically blown off it by wind seemingly steadily growing in velocity every minute I spend up here. Consequently, I seek out the lee – such as it is – of one of the eastern crags and settle down to enjoy the sweeping melodrama that is Northern Snowdonia. The sun breaks through, light streaming between a fast-moving, well-broken cloud base sending alternating washes of gold and deep shadow racing across a landscape that is truly a glory to behold. Looking eastwards, all the old friends are present and correct, many of those heights crowned by monuments to VIPs of an even earlier epoch. Indeed, it’s tempting to wonder whether the people who lived HERE back in the day still retained folk memories of who those VIPs actually were? Long before your johnny-come-lately Llewelyns and Dafydds got in on the act.

The odd isolated shower – just-a-passing-through, can’t stop – notwithstanding, conditions continue to improve until Yr Wyddfa (Herself) puts in a regal appearance upon the skyline betwixt The Nantle Ridge and Mynydd Mawr, not forgetting The Rhinogs rising across a shimmering Tremadoc Bay to the south-east. Such is the scenic splendour on display here that I decide that the supplementary site ‘penciled in’ for later on will have to wait for another time. Quite right, too. Such moments are to be savoured like a cordon-bleu meal. Only without the dodgy French ‘sauce’ and the muppet chef screaming expletives at everyone in earshot.