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Day 26 - May Day
The first fortunate side effect of my failure to get a bed at Bryn Gwynant hostel was a far
more relaxed day in the Moelwyns. I decided that I would have to camp up there and so
had no rush whatsoever. I would have felt pressed for time to reach the hostel although in
fact I could have got there easily. As it was I had a leisurely breakfast, with that wonderful
view, and then chatted with the warden about the future of this splendid hostel. He is
working hard on maintenance in the hope of persuading the YHA to change their minds
about selling it. He also recommended a route onto the Moelwyns which led me to Llyn
Stwlan, the upper lake of the pumped storage scheme for hydroelectricity, and thence to
Bwlch Stwlan where I dumped the rucksack for the short diversion to Moelwyn Bach.
On the north side of the col the pleasant rocky ridge of Craigysgafn, itself a top in the
list, leads up to the highest summit, Moelwyn Mawr where a friendly couple volunteered to
take my photograph beside the trig point. It was a splendid day for photography too, very
different from yesterday, for a bitter north wind had dispersed the haze and all the
mountains were visible, although Snowdon and the other high peaks to the north wore a cap
of cloud.
Gone now was the bog and heather; I was walking on well defined rocky tracks. Gone
also were the wide empty spaces; these hills were crowded with walkers. There was even a
group of motorcyclists shattering any peace that one might have hoped to find in these
mountains.
On the southern slopes of Moel yr Hydd I managed to find a suntrap out of the wind and
enjoyed an extended lunch stop. I put some more wax on the boots, the first time that I was
able to apply it to dry boots. The whistle of a train floated up from the valley. I could see
the steam as it puffed along the edge of the Tanygrisiau Reservoir. I remembered the
exciting ascent we had made of Moel yr Hydd when Martin was a small boy, coming up
through tunnels in the hillside. Today I had only a gentle stroll on grass.
Extensive quarries lie across the col to the west of this hill. They must be fascinating to
industrial archaeologists, being full of ruins and rusting machinery. In fact I suppose they
hold a fascination for many people for various groups were wandering around in this
vicinity. The route to Allt Fawr was unfrequented and pathless however. This summit
which lies east of the main ridge is probably the least visited top hereabouts although a
group of fellrunners was heading onto it from the west. I turned back to meet them, now on
a faint path. There were striking views southwards with the sea sparkling beyond the long
ridge of Cnicht and the choppy waters of Llyn Conglog making an attractive foreground.
Many small lakes lie on the rough ridge which sweeps round from here to the neglected
mountain Moel Meirch whose summit fails by 3 meters to reach the two-thousand foot level.
This ridge is quite ill-defined, a mixture of crag and heather, so that one may suddenly come
unawares upon one of these delightful stretches of water. The English would speak of tarns
and the Scots of lochans but there seems no equivalent diminutive in Welsh to describe
these lovely little llyns.
From the top of Moel Druman the most striking view was still towards Cnicht,
sometimes called the Matterhorn of Wales, which was now seen almost end on. My original
plan had envisaged a diversion to it at this point followed by a return to Ysgafell Wen and
its two tops but seen on the ground rather than the map this now seemed rather ridiculous
for Ysgafell Wen was a very short stroll away followed by a simple scramble to its rocky
summit. So I quickly knocked off these three tops thinking that I would return from Cnicht
only as far as Llyn yr Adar and camp on its shores.
I had a happy memory of this lake for we visited it once on a crystal clear winter day
when it was frozen solid. We have a photograph of Martin as a small boy triumphantly
standing on the island. I wished that I could have camped on the island tonight, not least
because now at 5pm there were already a couple of tents pitched by every lake it seemed and
a large party of schoolkids, each with a bedroll, was heading purposefully down from
Cnicht towards Llyn yr Adar. This sort of sociable camping did not appeal to me, moreover
that strong north wind was getting stronger and colder and driving me along the ridge to my
last summit. Here I made a snap decision not to return but to descend, if I could, onto the
north-west ridge, from the foot of which a right of way descends to the Nantmor road.
The path down was one which needed extreme care, a series of shuffles off the bottom
made more awkward by the big pack which tended to get stuck on the previous ledge.
Below the steep bit I found a campsite which seemed quite flat and comfortable with a
trickle of water. It had splendid views around the north-western arc from Moel Hebog and
the Nantlle Ridge to Lliwedd standing out conspicuously in front of the clouds which hung
around the top of Snowdon. Unfortunately the prospect of a spectacular sunset behind these
hills was thwarted by this thickening cloud.
next day
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