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Day 18
The whole morning was spent sorting the equipment, sending home dirty clothes, packing
clean ones and putting in the new supplies of food and gaz which I had sorted out at home
for bringing to this rendezvous. I had extravagantly bought myself three completely new
thermal t-shirts. I had done this because it is very noticeable that a garment of this sort
which has never been washed remains fresh a good deal longer and this strategy had really
paid off for the one which I had worn for walking every day had been very damp several
times yet remained just about tolerable. It was replaced by a brand new one and the third
which had only been worn on a few evenings was retained as the spare in preference to an
older one which had been brought from home.
Rowland had bought me a brand new pair of
Goretex overtrousers in response to telephoned complaints that the old ones now seemed
fairly useless. My other urgent message had been for matches. Despite keeping them in two
plastic bags and inside the stove I seemed unable to keep the box dry enough to strike the
waterproof matches on. It was not long before the new ones suffered a similar problem and
I found that ordinary non-safety matches with sandpaper on the box were more reliable.
By the time I had got the rucksack sorted it was morning coffee time, a worthwhile extra
delay as we discussed the next rendezvous which would hopefully be just below Tal y Fan.
I finally set off at about noon.
When this meeting at Milltir Cerrig had first been suggested I
had seen it as a most useful, almost essential, opportunity for replenishment of supplies but
also as a potential psychological danger point. Contemplating it in advance I had wondered
if I might feel an overwhelming urge to get into the car and go home. In the event this did
not happen. Although Rowland threatened to drive me away, pointing out that only a few
yards drive would break my rules, this was said only in jest and neither of us seriously
contemplated the thought of my giving up. One of the first things which I had written in
my prologue to the walk was that there would surely be times when I wanted to give up but,
as I wrote in my log that evening, I was surprised that this actually never happened. I added
'I can see now that the further I go the less will I entertain even the vaguest thought of
abortion. I am confident now that only serious accident, disability or other mischance will
stop me.'
The first part of my ascent from the Milltir Cerrig was on the clear, albeit boggy, track
which leads to Moel Sych and the other highest tops of the Berwyns. On reaching the ridge
it swings north-east but I had to continue south-east along the trackless ridge to Post Gwyn.
This hill bears a striking similarity to the ones west of the road which I had traversed
yesterday afternoon, being covered in knee deep heather, the main difference today being
that I could see the long struggle ahead of me.
The summit is a knoll of grass and rock which
at first sight seems to be surrounded by an unbroken sea of this exhausting territory. Yet
just across the valley I could see a tempting slope of apparently smooth grass rising up to
Moel Sych. I began to wonder if there was a way of avoiding the return along this
uncomfortable ridge which was the route which I had written down in my original plan. I
consulted the book although I knew that their route came up by Pistyll Rhaeadr and
discovered that it did in fact ascend from the valley below me by what they described as a
grassy route. I determined to go down that way and straight up the other side adding only
100m of reascent and saving both distance and heather bashing.
Halfway down I stopped
for a snack and another possibility occured to me. I wondered if I could go down the valley
and somehow incorporate the outlier Godor without going out and back for it along the
ridge. Careful study of the map showed that this would add another 100m of reascent but
no extra distance. This seemed a far more satisfying plan which was worth a little extra
effort so I descended the valley and even made the signposted diversion to the top of the
waterfall although this was hardly worthwhile. These falls must be seen from below to
appreciate their special beauty with a natural bridge invisible from above. I was unwilling
to add any more extra reascent by going down to look at them today.
A beautiful grassy path runs up the valley of the Nant y Llyn. There was a black beetle
every two paces, regularly spaced out along the path. I wondered if each owned its own
square yard of territory. Occasionally a pair were locked together, whether in combat or
courtship I could not decide. I was planning to go up onto the Godor ridge from the river
confluence just before the public footpath runs out but it looked much more inviting to
continue on what was now signposted as a permissive path onto the Berwyns. At the outlet
from Llyn Lluncaws was a campsite of classic beauty.
Whereas most of the places where I camped on this walk were probably unique to me,
this one most certainly was not. Unfortunately the evidence was not just in the obvious
attraction of this flat, dry and grassy spot but also in the fragments of plastic lying in the peat
behind it. Probably these people thought that old pot noodle containers pushed into the bog
would sink without trace but the truth is that such things tend to float out again and of
course are never going to rot away. Nothing makes me more angry and frustrated than to see
the evidence of campers left on the hillside. As I mentioned before I am a voluntary warden
for the Lake District National Park and on a patrol to Sprinkling Tarn found far more litter
than I could carry away. Much of it was old tins, plastic containers and the packaging from
dehydrated meals which had been carefully collected into plastic bags and then half hidden
under boulders. Not only is it disgusting for others who pass by and have to look at the mess
but it might well result in a complete ban on camping, with the careful campers, who leave
no trace of their passing, suffering along with the selfish ones who most certainly deserve to
be banned. It is difficult to understand how a person who has spent the night in a place of
such beauty can walk away in the morning and leave it so polluted.
A place of beauty this certainly was. Llyn Lluncaws must be a textbook example of a
corrie lake, almost circular and encircled by the broken cliffs of Moel Sych, while to the
north a bolder prow rises to a sharp point which is the newly discovered top, the highest
summit of the Berwyns. It was only 4.30pm so I looked around a little warily before
erecting the tent. I did not want to be challenged by any landowner, ranger or voluntary
warden! I saw nobody and felt sure that the last walkers on the hill were the group which I
had met going down the track. Later I discovered that I had been observed. Rowland had
driven away from the Milltir Cerrig but after driving a mile down the road had seen the
improving weather and decided to return and walk onto the main ridge of the Berwyns. He
had a copy of my proposed itinerary which suggested that I would simply turn round on the
top of Post Gwyn and return along the ridge to Moel Sych. Hence he expected to meet me
up there and was very surprised to look down and see me erecting the tent in the corrie far
below. He was also surprised to see me erecting it so early, not realising that I was about to
leave my rucksack in the tent and go out to Moel yr Ewig and the two tops of Godor.
I was not surprised to find the ridge to Godor covered with yet more bog and heather.
So far it had been a good day with neither rain nor mist but halfway along the ridge
torrential rain began. My brand new waterproof trousers had been left in the tent.
Although it was only a short shower I arrived back at the campsite with soaking wet
breeches once again.
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