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Day 3
It was not actually raining in the morning although there was still a very thick mist. I was nearly dressed and just steeling myself for the most unpleasant part of the getting up procedure, putting on wet socks, when I heard an unmistakeable human shout. A farmer calling to his dog I thought. The result was that I completed my dressing at full speed and had got the tent down but not rolled up and packed away when the sound of an approaching tractor was soon followed by its appearance. The farmer stared at me, in amazement no doubt, but he did not stop. I was soon on my way and when I met him with his dog driving down again he did stop. I was ready to make the excuse that I had got lost in the mist but it was unnecessary for he could not have been more friendly. He asked me where I was going and when I said 'Storey Arms' told me to be very careful not to get lost. This encounter put me in a good humour for what was otherwise a dismal day.
In only half an hour I was at the trig point on Fan Gyhirych, once again being grateful to the Ordnance Survey for making this an easy summit to be sure of.
The Nuttalls' book told me that the next summit, Fan Fraith, is marked by a few stones but I had difficulty in finding the hill at all! It was hard to know exactly where to drop off the track into the bog and on the first two attempts I found no rising ground. Third time lucky! A hill ahead and I soon found the tiny cairn. Getting back was easy with the whole track now to aim for.
There was actually a waymark to show where to leave the track, the only indication I found of the permissive path over these hills which does not exist on the ground except where it coincides with the landrover track. It is not shown on the OS map either. Too few people come to these hills to trample out a path through them. Sandwiched between the bold ranges of Carmarthen Fan and the Brecon Beacons, both of which offer long striding ridges with easy walking and dramatic views, it is not surprising that these rounded summits of grass and bog and heather are unattractive to the average walker. Only the mad peak- bagger comes this way. We had climbed them years ago for just this reason. There was no permissive path but we knew nothing of access problems either. We just looked at the map and went. The same applied to the Munros. The SMC guides were sometimes helpful but often listed rock climbs on a hill rather than a route to the summit. We devised a way up from the map. We never had unpleasant encounters with farmers or landowners. Occasionally we were politely redirected and once turned back because of deer culling. Perhaps we have just been incredibly lucky, certainly we have been discreet. A solo walker or a quiet couple are unlikely to encounter hostility.
Fan Nedd is typical of these featureless grassy hills but again a trig point made the top unmissable. Getting off was another matter. Navigation is nearly always easier up a hill than down; just one of the reasons why more accidents happen on descent. I emerged on the road through a gate, not at the stile for the permissive path, and assumed that I had gone too far south until I saw the steep hill sign ahead. I then realised that I had been very close to the correct line and soon found the stile giving access to the standing stone, Maen Llia. I had read recently an account of this place in which the author explained that this is a female stone, the male one, Maen Madoc, standing further down the valley. He confessed to finding this an eerie place but I somehow found the atmosphere friendly despite the gloomy weather. Perhaps the female stone was extending a welcome to another female or perhaps I was just feeling relieved at finding myself in the right place. I decided anyway that I should pay homage to her and kissed her gently as I passed her by.
As I plodded up the interminable grassy slopes of Fan Llia the heavy and persistent rain, forecast for late afternoon, began although it was only 11am. The top was a flat rock with a few stones on it according to the book. I found a flat rock at what appeared to be the top but no stones so decided to continue and soon arrived at the cairn shown on the map which is definitely well beyond the summit.
I decided that it would be sensible to go to the youth hostel. The tent was sodden and water was penetrating my waterproofs already. This meant that my next top must be Fan Fawr, the highest of this block of hills. There was a choice of returning over the summit of Fan Llia and making a very tricky traverse round the head of the valley in the mist or the short and brutal route, down to the dam of Ystradfellte Reservoir and straight up the other side. The slopes down looked smooth and inviting but I was a bit careless in my bearings and when I came down out of the mist had to swing back south to reach the dam. This slight navigational error had a pleasant outcome. A stream had cut deeply into the hillside and formed a marvellous brew up spot below a mossy waterfall. Rain dripping from the rocks and the clammy sensation of damp clothing enhanced my enjoyment of the sweet hot coffee. This was a very special cup of coffee, one to be savoured and remembered. It is not just the good days which are recollected later with delight.
The reascent really was brutal; the sort of endless plod through the mist which makes one doubt one's sanity. At last another trig point loomed out of the mist, but this one is not at the summit. Confident that it is always easy to get to the top of a hill, just keep going up, I took only a vague bearing of north-east from the trig point. I had not reckoned on the flat and peathag-ridden plateau at the top of this hill and I had to cast about quite a bit before locating the cairn. Getting off was also problematical. I failed to find the good path which the book said would lead me across the boggy col until I had already floundered across it. Nevertheless it was not difficult to find the conspicuous cairn on Craig Cerrig-gleisiad and the final summit, Fan Frynych, has another trig point.
This last hill lies in a nature reserve which is habitat for some rare alpine plants. There are little signs in places to try to keep walkers on the approved paths through the heather. The approved route necessitates a long diversion northwards to join the right of way which then swings back south to the road. This did not matter to me because I still arrived too early at the hostel. There was a wooden hut which acted as wet weather shelter and a notice telling one not to approach the hostel before 5pm. There seemed to be no indication as to whether there were any beds available.
It hardly seemed worth going into the wet weather shelter as I was already soaked but I did go in and found two girls who had come over the hills from Ystradfellte hostel. They seemed to be the only others to come to this hostel under their own steam. There was however a large party who arrived by bus but who had obviously been walking and who filled the rather small drying room with their sodden stuff. I spread mine around as best I could in the dormitory with the tent unrolled under the bed in the hope of drying it out a bit. I wrote in my log: 'in some ways I feel pleased to have started in such bad weather and survived!'
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