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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.
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