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Having been spoilt with a gorgeous day on the Berwyns yesterday, today was set down for grown-up stuff like bills, paperwork and housework - however, then I looked out of the window when I got up and realised that was NEVER going to happen!
Instead I ransacked the cupboards and threw the contents of my Graze box (saved for a night with a DVD but this was a much better cause!), a packet of crisps, a flask of tea and a steel bottle of elderflower cordial into my rucksack, slapped on the suncream, picked out the least smelly of all my buffs and frantically studied the map before heading out to Llangynog, about 10 minutes from home. There is a spacious free car park there, between the two pubs and it was mercifully still empty at 9.30am.
From the cark park I headed north then immediately east along the lane on the true left bank of the River Tanat, beneath old slate quarries and piercing blue skies to a bridleway on the left at 059264.
This is a well-defined path and generally extremely good underfoot, heading first over some quarry spoils then into a beautiful woodland of silver birch. Today the birds were singing, especially tits and chaffinches (the Welsh name for a chaffinch, "ji-binc" describing its song perfectly) and the path undulated gently through the shadows cast across the trunks by the strong sunlight.
It emerged onto a broad grassy track under the imposing crags of Craig Rhiwarth, which is topped by the ruins of an Iron Age fort.
From here it climbs gently above the Nant Sebon which heads down through Cwm Glan Hafon through a series of small falls.
Higher up I encountered a fork in the path and, by the law of averages, chose the wrong fork, realising after a sustained climb that it put me well beneath where I needed to be, on the other side of a fence and a deep gorge containing a stream. After checking the map to ensure I was on Access Land I crossed a fence under the bemused supervision of some munching, heavily-pregnant ewes and descended to where I jumped the stream and clambered up over bracken and heather (remembering, as I did so, the report I had seen on the news the previous night of the unseasonally warm weather bringing out adders.....) to the path I ought to have been on.
Heading ever higher in the intense heat under cloudless aquamarine skies I stopped to watch some superb sheepdog work far beneath me before being faced once more with options. The map shows a sheep-track heading up to the col on the other side of the stream again but not at all visible from where I was, as opposed to a broad grassy track rising in a zigzag across the hillside to my left, but marked only for a short stretch on the map before it disappears.
I opted for the broad track that might do a disappearing act on me, figuring that the ground was dry enough and the visibility good enough, to clamber up to the col by other means. As it turned out, the track was steep but clear all the way to the col north of Moel Crynddyn.
I have always thought Moel Crynddyn to mean "The Quaker's Peak" as the "crynwyr" are the Quakers and there is a long history of dissenting practice and non-conformism in this area (William Penn's meeting house, he giving his name to Pennsylvania with its wealth of non-conformist practice, is at Pont Robert only a short distance away as to the crow flies). However, investigation when I got home that afternoon shows that "crynddyn" probably means "the compact / very short man" (cryno ddisg is Welsh for CD so that makes sense).
At the col the map marks "Bedd Crynddyn" ("short mans grave") and there is indeed a long barrow (probably a Neolithic origin) which is said never to have been opened, topped by a stone. After a cup of tea and a very long draught of cold elderflower cordial I decided to scamper up to the summit of Moel Crynddyn, just "cos I could"
After admiring the views from there I headed back down, also admiring the views across the Eirch valley (through which the lonely, wild road from Llanfyllin to Bala streaks its way, clinging to the mountainside up to the Berwyn plateau) to Bwlch Waenmynydd and Hafod Hir.
As I reached the col again I was struck by a fantastic clear path alongside the fence, not shown on the map. Here is the endless dichotomy of the Berwyns - the paths on the map are rarely evident on the ground and vice versa, making navigation ever the interesting challenge.
This being a clear day I decided to take it and rejoiced in its firmness and the unfolding views as I followed it up to near the plantation from where I could see the lonely top of Post Gwyn, yet another Berwyn summit which is pathless on the map and looks as though it requires a journey of Indiana Jones style proportions to reach it, through shoulder-high bogs and neck-high heather. In fact, there is a superb track alongside the plantation to the 665 m summit of Post Gwyn - one for another day of equally good visibility!
All of a sudden I was hit between the eyes as I topped out along the track west of Moel Mawn, of an amazing view of Moel Sych and Cadair Berwyn, a couple of lonely ant-like figures weaving their way along the ridge between the two. I realised that I was becoming mesmerised by this track that could lead me blindly onto Cadair Berwyn - very lovely but a very long way indeed off the route text I had sent my mum that morning, like a responsible little mountaineer!
At this point I gave thanks once again, not only for Access Land legislation but also for the absence of sheep and people as I effected a very ungraceful crossing of a barbed wire fence onto the flat plateau between Moel Mawn and Y Clogydd.
This would not be at all enjoyable in the usual bad visibility of the Berwyns as it is both featureless and pathless but today I could just wander at will among the tussocks, following sheep tracks, until I reached the 596 m summit of Y Clogydd.
Just beneath the summit there are numerous ruins of "hafod" buildings, the bothies used by shepherds in the summer when they drove their sheep up to the high pastures.
The descent off Y Clogydd is wrought with small cliffs, usually worth a scramble attempt but I was mindful that I had put a lot of demands on the newly-recovered ankle and I managed to locate a little sheep track descending in zigzags (who ever said sheep are daft?!) down to the cross of bridleways I had been to the previous day.
I enjoyed a sandwich and cup of tea here, with the sun on my face and complete isolation (two days on the hill, no other people in sight!) and looked at the way I had come up across the valley.
I descended by the Nant Ddial bridleway I had taken the previous day, but instead of crossing to Ochr Glan Hafon I descended at 065270 from the junction of paths to cross the stream and head back along the path through the woods.
My ankle was aching and demanding a hot shower and a glass of wine (yes, I gave in on both counts when I got home!) and my legs knew they had had two good hill days but to have missed this weather would not only have been a shame, it would have been a crime!
Thank you for reading x
