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Day 2
The sound of rain on the tent while one lies warm and dry inside is one of the delights of
camping but it was less delightful to hear it still falling next morning. The radio allowed me
to hear the forecast which was for good weather in Wales and hence I dithered around, had a
second cup of coffee and postponed my departure as long as possible hoping that it might
arrive.
Eventually I just had to leave the tent. The two cups of coffee were a contributary
factor! This is one aspect of camping, perhaps the only one, where being female makes life
harder. I decided that this was the time to pack up and go whatever the weather. The
sleeping bag and all my spare clothes were carefully packed in double plastic bags. The
absolutely crucial thing to be kept dry is the sleeping bag which is an ancient down one, a
yellow dragon I believe, made by Mountain Equipment.
It is always a strange feeling when the tent is packed away to turn and leave the camping
spot which now looks like any other bit of hillside. This morning my presence could have
been detected by a dry patch but not for long. There was thick mist and a persistent drizzle.
I contoured around Foel Fraith which is less than 2000 feet high and which has a very stony
top as I had observed last night. I was navigating by compass and estimating, as I turned
around the hill, the place to drop down to the col, so was pleased to have my estimate
confirmed by the sight of the rising slopes of Garreg Las ahead. This hill also is very stony
and it was impossible to avoid entirely the slippery boulder fields on its rather flat top. I
knew that the summit is crowned by two large and ancient cairns which I had seen from
Garreg Lwyd so there was no danger of missing the top in the mist.
As was going to happen many times I now joined a segment of one of the routes
described in the Nuttalls' book. This time I was following it in reverse. They mentioned a
large cairn on the grassy summit of Waun Lefrith but I never found it. Fortunately this top
has too little reascent to count as a mountain in their list so as soon as I reached the
unmistakeable edge of the escarpment I simply turned right and followed it to the top of
Picws Du. I met a couple coming down from this summit, the only other people I met on
these hills. What a pity it was to be traversing this splendid ridge on such a dismal day. The
cliffs sweep down to the corrie lake Llyn y Fan Fach and round northwards to the bold
prow which makes this hill so easy to pick out in distant views. Today the drama was only
in the mind, the picture of cliff and lake and sky and brilliant sunshine half remembered
from a visit long ago.
Yet there is a pleasure in walking in the mist. Walker and hill are enfolded together in a
dank grey intimacy. On a day of sharpness and clarity the eye and the heart are drawn to the
distant horizon, the arching sky and the sweeping ridge. Today every rock and every
tussock, every little twist in the line of the escarpment is for one moment the only thing in
the world. A tiny outcrop, unnoticed on a sunny day, looms out of the mist as a massive
pinnacle. A dinosaur, blocking the way ahead, is transformed, a moment later, into a
nervous sheep. Thus acquaintance with the mountains grows into a closer relationship
which may develop, as close relationships are wont to do, into a vow 'for better for worse'.
Perhaps only one who has developed such a love for the mountains could set out on a trip
such as this where, over a five week period, some of the worse times are inevitable.
It was wet and misty but it was not windy so I was able to stop for a midday brew up at
the point where the Afon Sychlych runs over the escarpment. This is one of the delights of
backpacking. Some compensation for having to carry the heavy pack is being to be able to
produce the stove and enjoy fresh coffee. Far superior to a thermos flask even though it is
only the instant variety!
The highest point, Fan Brycheiniog, lies somewhat south of the dramatic northern wedge
of the cliffs. Of course there was no problem in locating it. It is one of the unmistakeable
ones crowned with a trig point. The final top Fan Hir was quite another matter. The main
path drops eastwards off the ridge before the rather featureless grassy slope which leads to a
continuation of the ridge almost as dramatic as the higher part further north. The remarkable
ridge of Fan Hir runs almost flat for more than a mile with cliffs to the east and gentler
grassy slopes to the west. I never found the embryo cairn mentioned in the book. I just had
to assume that as I had kept to the highest ground all the way I must have passed over the top
somewhere.
A path of sorts appeared but vanished again in bog as the escarpment faded. Fortunately
I dropped out of the mist or I would surely have continued too far south for the descent to
the road at Glyntawe is totally undefined through steep bracken.
My plan was to follow the old railway northwards to the start of the permissive path.
Again this was the reverse of a route in the book. The first problem was to get on to the
railway. A direct route was out of the question because of agricultural territory so I took the
path to Penwyllt which is marked as a bridleway on the map but has no gates, only stiles. I
stopped to photograph the valley below with a foreground of sheep with their lambs who
came running after me. By the time I reached the village I was in thick mist again.
The road ran into a quarry, obviously still active but with a kissing gate which suggested
that walkers were not unwelcome. However I was at a loss to know how to proceed for
what I thought to be the correct direction had a 'no walkers' sign. The book route emerges
into this quarry. As I wandered around in a state of indecision a man, probably a quarry
employee, appeared through the mist and directed me to the right of way. Although this was
not my intended route I felt that I had no option but to follow his directions. The result was
a substantial saving in distance since once on the open hill I was able to fork onto an old
railway, shown on the map, which linked up with the the landrover track which runs onto
the slopes of Fan Gyhirych.
I camped by the side of this track shortly before it linked up with the permissive path at
a point where a small stream, not marked on the map, ran under the road. I wrote in my log;
'Although it was disappointing to have such dismal conditions for Carmarthen Fan I feel
quite pleased with the day. The major disappointment was to get wet feet with the new
boots. I am not quite on the permissive path but it seems highly improbable that anyone
will see me in these conditions'.
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