29-12-2019
Desperate to get one more trip done before the end of the year, I packed the bag, looked hopeful at the weather forecast, plotted possible routes and paid the OH lots of well-deserved compliments. This resulted in him asking if I fancied a trip with dog and tent. Hooray!
The short version:
Day one; drove to Blaen Pennant and walked 5M across the hills to the tarn below Arran Fawddwy. Stunning night sky, very windy.
Day two; fantastic sunrise, lovely sunny day. Climbed up Foel Hafod Ffynydd (689m) then walked back down into the valley. Due to running out of time and cloud rolling in, pitched halfway up the valley instead of the tarn. Strange lights in the evening, dog ran off in the night but eventually came back.
Day three; a damp claggy but mostly windless day. Walked across three very boggy summits back to the mountain pass. No views today. Hid the bags and walked down to the car in the valley. Drove home after collecting bags.
The long version:
The plan: I wanted somewhere high and possibly dramatic but not too far to drive. The Arrans in mid-Wales seemed ideal, not the main peaks but the hills just to the east. A mountain road, featuring Wales' highest pass Bwlch y Groes, an ancient pilgrim route, provided good access.
Obstacles: The evening before I set off we watched a murder series set in rural Norway...it gave me nightmares (though the alcohol and cheese consumed didn't help either).
The guidebook to the region also didn't help: tough unfriendly hill-farmers descended from fierce red-haired cattle rustlers, the Red Robbers of Mawddwy, who make hill access as difficult as possible, endless bogs, pathless terrain, more bog...
But the views and scenery (weather permitting) would be fantastic.
The trip: After throwing some random leftover festive food in a bag, as well as muesli, pasta and dog biscuits, we hit the road...slowly as the car is almost 16 years old and the engine light had come on...
Route: The plan was to walk from the bottom of the pass (Blaen Pennant) to Lake one (Creiglyn Dyfi) below Arran's Fawddwy's summit, camp, then walk to Lake two (Lliwbran) below Arran Benllyn's summit, camp, then walk across the hills (Esgeiriau Gwynnion, Foel Rudd and Llegwedd Du) to the top of the pass (Bwlch y Groes), hide the bags and walk back to the car, then collect the bags on-route home.
Seemed simple enough, but take into account short winter days, festive indulgences, mountain weather and being a tad over-optimistic changed things just a little. Then there were the tough unfriendly hill-farmers gleefully sharpening their pitchforks at the sight of a lone English walker with a dog off-lead...
The walk in is beautiful from the start. You go up, follow a stream, go up a bit more, then go down into a lonely valley where the hill-farmer rules. This is where I should have stopped and pitched up as it was going dark.
But no lets go up a bit more and find somewhere better, out of sight. Good move, except there was nowhere better to pitch, we were a little lost and the terrain was getting steeper with every step. The tarn seemed the best option, because stubbornness dictates one should not back-track.
After a hellish climb out of the valley by meagre torchlight we somehow found the tarn by following a stream. An odd thing to suddenly see an expanse of open water appear in front of you at night. A million stars and a sliver of moon shone brightly in a deep dark sky.
The wind: Pitching in dark and breezy conditions was thankfully quick and easy enough. Organising yourself in a different shaped tent with a tired wet dog less so.
Then the wind picked up...the gusts gave fair warning, first howling over the ridge 200m away before hitting the tent...every 2 minutes or so...all night long...while I was lying wide awake in an unfamiliar tent, not using the storm guys as I couldn't figure out how they attach, pitched on very soft ground, very exposed, quite remote, no phone signal, unfriendly locals, sharp pitch forks...we slept badly, well I did, the dog probably didn't give a hoot. But I kept thinking, if we survive, there should be a terrific sunrise, MET office promised a day of sun.
Good stuff: The sunrise was spectacular and worth the horrible walk up and sleepless night. I marveled at how the little tent held its own. I marveled at the scenery. The dog was happy coz I was happy. No angry farmers in sight, no one at all. Great!
We climbed Foel Hafod Fynnydd, a steep bugger, then ambled back down the same horrible track. I marveled at my own stubbornness/stupidity trying to ascend this in the dark.
No lake: The next lake was never reached. The choice was walk up and hope for a good pitch or stroll across the valley and find somewhere comfortable to pitch in good time. Cloud had started to roll in from the west casting the area below the summits in thick clag. I wisely fought my stubbornness and changed plans.
Plan B involved pitching in an area I'd spotted the day before, but for some reason, intuition maybe, I climbed up the other side of the valley instead, where lush fields full of fat sheep gave way to steep rough hillside. A relatively flat bit of grass made an adequate pitch, two streams provided water, a natural earth bank gave shelter from the breeze. Peaceful, apart the pack of farm dogs howling non-stop further down the valley.
Big lights: We enjoyed a fairly relaxed evening, looking at clouds and eating festive leftovers. Just as I was ready for bed, strange lights appeared in the sky, right where plan B would have had us pitch the tent. In fact it was one great big massive light, the torch of all torches, its what the tough unfriendly Welsh hill-farmers use to hunt dragons...or English hikers with dogs off-lead in sheep country.
A quadbike went along the lane shining that big torch all along the valley. I braced myself for the inevitable, the reflective strips on the tent stand out a mile. I actually lay down on the grass thinking about how long it would take to walk back to the car, or how to defend yourself against a shotgun. But they never shone it our way and eventually went back to the farm where guard dogs barked most of the night.
The dog: Eventually I snuggled down and drifted off to sleep. No more big lights, no wind rattling the tent. Then the dog started whimpering. She normally sleeps well so this was unusual. After a while of this I let her out.
After 15 minutes or so I called her back but no dog. Another 15 minutes later I somehow put my lenses in, put boots on and started searching the hillside, thinking the worst. Had she eaten poison, fallen into the stream, gotten lost where they might shoot a dog wandering alone? Half an hour later I hear the unmistakable sound of madam shaking herself...she still hasn't told me what she got up to and probably never will. I have a feeling it involved the sheepdogs down in the valley. After a big wet hug we sleep well.
Wet: We needed to climb out the valley and walk across 3 summits to get back to the road. The permissive path is a set of wheel ruts made by the farmer's quadbike. Fine when you're on a quadbike, not so fine on foot carrying 10kgs.
It was cloudy with no views, but no wind, a complete contrast to yesterday. Route finding was simple, just follow, or sometimes cling to, the fence. The guidebook said it gets a little wet on the last summit.
It was wet at the start, when we got to the third summit we were crossing bogs Kinder would be jealous of. It became a game of judging where you could walk and where you would sink. The dog lost. Literally minutes away from the road she somehow ended up to her ears in the black gooey stuff. I had to drive home with the windows open. She needed a very long shower the day after.
When collecting the bags from the layby at the pass, a farmer on a quadbike turned up...stared at me...turned round and drove off. Strange.
Got home in time for dinner, Jools and fireworks.
The dog ate then slept.
I was buzzing.
A lot of writing and a lot of pics but these little trips mean a lot to me.
The text has been copied from my scribbled notes, and apart from spell-check, has not been edited much to preserve 'the mood of the moment' kind of thing.
Pics taken by phone, wish I'd taken the camera.
Taz
December 2019
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