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August 1985 - My Solo Walk from Brecon Beacons to Snowdon

"The Northern Section"

Getting to the road was a challenge there was no real path although there were gaps in the trees. Getting closer to the road the trees got more closely knit and I had to force my way through. I put on my waterproof to stop wet pine needles dropping down my neck. It was like walking through a car wash.

The sun came out just as I broke out of the forest. I shook all the twigs off and put my cagoule away. The track I came out onto went past a Roman Fort marked on the map. There wasn't much to see of it just a boggy open space in the forest. I wonder how different it looked 1500 years ago, the fort probably guarded the road from Mid Wales to the Borders. I pushed on towards the road. It must have only been ½ a mile away but there was a stream in the way, a rather swollen stream which I couldn't get across. I walked upstream crossing a few small tributaries but there was no dry way across. There was nothing for it but to take boots and socks off and wade across where it was slightly shallower. By gum it was cold, it was deep and had a strong current, but I got across, just. I sat on the bank and dangled my feet in the water for a few more minutes. It was quite refreshing. I dried my feet using the tops of my socks and set off for the road and a cafe which I had seen not far away.

The cafe was at the foot of Plynlimon one of the highest mountains in central Wales so I expected some walkers to be there. There was! A chap who was walking from John O'Groats to Lands End. We spent an hour chatting over a big fry up. He said he was averaging 30 miles on good days and was doing it for War on Want. He would have done it even if he wasn't sponsored. He wasn't doing it in a straight line. When I mentioned my leg he suggested loosening my boot a little. I had tried that, shuffling around Devils Bridge with boots undone and laces trailing. He told me Plynlimon had been easy but wasn't sure about the Brecons. I assured him he would be OK he was fit and could use a map so it would be a doddle.

After we had eaten we parted company. I still hadn't really made up my mind as to what I was going to do but chatting to the walker had decided me. I would continue even if I restricted myself to ten miles a day which I thought would be easy going I would still get to North Wales before the end of my holiday. It was early afternoon dry but overcast and not too warm when I set off from the cafe. The path I followed led past an abandoned lead mine. Looking through the spoil heaps as I went up the hill I spotted some Galena (lead ore) and put it in my rucksack. I carried that lump of lead for the rest of my walk! The clouds were starting to gather and the higher I got the windier it became. The clouds were higher than the tops of the mountains at about 3000 feet. The top of Plynlimon was reached easily it had been an easy stroll up the long sloping south side.

There was a cairn on the top which gave me some shelter while I ate a Mars Bar. Looking south were the Brecon Beacons 50 miles away. It was cloudy high up but I could see the mountains clearly underneath. To the west the sun was shining under the edge of the cloud and reflecting off the sea. As the moist air was coming off the sea and hit the coast the clouds were forming parallel to the coast. Turning to the north, the clouds were building up and were becoming menacingly dark over Cader Idris, the next high ground I would have to cross in the following couple of days. I could see glimpses of the mountains to the north but they looked most threatening. The sources of the River Severn and The Wye were nearby but I suspected it would involve a lot of bog hopping and I didn't think it was worth it on this trip.

The way off Plynlimon to the north was down the side of a corry cut into the mountain. My leg was starting to feel the strain again but if I placed my feet carefully I didn't get too many twinges. Walking down I noticed two large birds wheeling about above the corry making mewing cries. I thought they might be eagles but later decided they were buzzards. It was a lonely place and I felt I was getting further from civilisation and the sound of the birds didn't help. I tried to take some photos hoping there was enough light.

The valleys to the north of Plynlimon are quite remote and exposed, the afternoon was turning into evening and I needed to find somewhere to camp. A path led my way through some boggy ground for a mile or so before coming onto a track which took me into a forest where I could camp in shelter. I had still avoided any heavy rain which surprised me as the clouds were still ominous. I found a nice comfortable spot on heather in a fire break and soon fell asleep after tea. I had done 11 ¼ miles since leaving the bothy, not far, but enough for that day.

Camping was a case of finding a nice comfortable spot out of the way of streams and mud. I had to be careful as several camps I made were in forests owned by the Forestry Commission or privately and of course I couldn't find anyone to ask permission. So I had to make sure I wasn't seen. I would always clear up afterwards. I wasn't carrying too much extra weight though, any surplus food packaging was consigned to the bin immediately it had been bought so I didn't have much rubbish.

The Northern part of the route:

Getting up early next morning (Sunday) my leg felt sore but I could cope if I was careful. The weather was similar to the day before with some sunny intervals, but up ahead the threatening heavy weather was still lurking. Machynlleth (pronounced Mahuncleth) beckoned down by the River Dovey. The way passed through some really nice deep forested valleys (OK it was still pines but it was made prettier by the valleys). The vegetation became lusher with more deciduous trees . The Blackberries were much riper down in the valley. The track developed into a road passing through Hazel trees. Squirrels had been at work throwing down lots of chewed nuts into the road. The pair of buzzards appeared again. I either saw the same pair four times or four different pairs. They were crying something like seagulls as they quartered the ground. A crow tried attacking them and they flew casually away.

It started raining as I entered Machynlleth, I was getting close to that heavy looking cloud. There was a small grocery shop open, this seemed strange to me that this type of shop would be open on Sunday in Wales. I stocked up on food but one thing they couldn't supply was solid Meta fuel. I needed it to preheat the primus and I was getting low. It would be more of an inconvenience than a disaster, if necessary I could use a drop of paraffin but this would be messy and not quite so certain. I popped into a pub just before leaving Machynlleth and had some lunch. Feeling a little woosy I crossed the river Dovey and entered the Snowdonia National Park. This was about halfway through my walk.

Heading along the Tywyn road a little way I found a path heading north towards Abergynolwyn. This passed through some steep wooded hillsides and led up and up into the dark and dreary looking clouds. The rain started and got windier and windier, it was not very nice. I reached the crest of the hills where the woods opened out a little and started down the other side still heading north. It was getting late in the afternoon and I didn't relish the thought of putting my tent up in the wind and rain even if I did find a suitable spot. I was now soaked through. On the north side of the hill was a dam, it was marked on the map but there was a gap in it and the reservoir was now empty. It put me in mind of the dam at Llyn Eigiau above the Conway Valley which broke and flooded the village of Dolgarrog killing many people at the start of the century. I wondered what might have happened here. This reservoir served a slate quarry. There were trackways and a pulley house but they did not appear to offer any shelter. I kept on going down the valley towards Abergynolwyn hoping for some sort of shelter and as luck would have it, about a mile out of the village was an abandoned farm house set next to the track. It was empty and the sheep and cattle had got into the ground floor which was extremely muddy and smelly but the stairs were still intact and the upstairs floor was reasonable and was perfect for a nights kip. I had to readjust some corrugated iron sheets to keep the rain out of the windows and I had to avoid the holes in the roof and floor but it was drier and easier than putting up the tent. It wasn't as eerie as I expected the sound of the rain and wind drowned out any creaks or strange noises during the night. I had a meal and went to sleep.

Putting on soggy wet cold clothes in a cold draughty building after forcing yourself out of a nice warm snug sleeping bag is not my idea of enjoyment. It was early Monday morning and I had gone to bed early the previous evening so I was ready to go first thing. The streets of Abergwnolwyn were deserted, The Terminus of the Tallyllyn Railway was silent. It was still raining and the closed cafe was teasing me. The next target for me was to get over the Cader Idris Range. I left the village and set off up a track skirting the hills to join up with the pony track which led over a shoulder of Cader Idris. Around nine in the morning the rain eased off and the sun started to come through, it looked promising. As I rounded a hill I could see down the valley to the sea in the west. Jutting out from the side of the valley was a steep crag. I recognised this as Bird Rock which I had climbed on in the past. Thousands of years ago it had been a sea cliff and a large colony of cormorants bred there. Now the sea is five miles inland but the cormorants still live there. The climbing gives dubious pleasure, the rock is quite firm but rises out of a steep 100 ft high bank of grass littered with dead birds. The belay ledges were covered in guano the surface of which was continually being moved by the beetles and insects who were 'processing' it. When I was climbing there I was mostly seconding so I didn't get the full force of cormorants vomiting at me. I remember one of the climbs we did was called Greater Spotted Booby.

I came down into the valley before Cader Idris. and passed a memorial to a little girl who brought the first Bible to the valley from Bala. Gradually I made my way up the shoulder of Cader Idris to about 2000 feet. The summit was still covered in cloud but was lifting, it was going to be a nice day. I suppose I should have carried on to the summit but I'd been there before and I wasn't really out to bag tops.

It was 10 am when I started coming down the north side of Cader, I had skirted around the west of the mountain. I stepped it out down the path towards Dolgellau, my leg now only giving occasional twinges. There were many people coming up the mountain they had just started out as it was still fairly early. One walker stopped and asked me where I had come from he was very impressed. I didn't tell him I hadn't been to the summit. The weather was starting to turn out really nice.

When I arrived in Dolgellau all the shops were shut because it was a bank Holiday, so I contented myself with a pub lunch in The Star with Real Ale. There was a group of men in a corner talking in Welsh, every so often I overheard them mention Rugby Fifteen and Cardiff Arms Park. On the next table was a Japanese couple, after their lunch they left the pub. As the door shut behind them the landlady leant over the bar and said "It's OK boys you can talk English they've gone now." I think they were talking Welsh either to impress or to keep their conversations private from the foreigners.

Drinking lunchtimes is bad for walking and I didn't get very far that afternoon before having to stop for a rest by a hedge. I took a short cut by a golf course down a pleasant country path and came out by Cymmer Abbey, another of those 11th century abbeys which were later knocked about a bit by Henry the Eighth. The Abbey is hidden in a campsite and there was an entrance fee but I could see all I wanted to from outside. A quiet B road led alongside the Mawddach river into the Coed y Brenin Forest. It was very pleasant along the river with the hills rising steeply from it's banks. I knew there was a Bothy in the forest and it seemed just the right time in the afternoon to think about somewhere to stay for the night. On the map there appeared to be a footpath leading straight to the bothy. Of course it wasn't that easy. Tramping through the woods on various tracks I eventually came across a sign saying Penrhos Bothy pointing up a little path into the trees. It was 4 p.m. and I'd walked 14 and a half miles.

My feet were looking forward to a rest especially as it looked like I might get some sun bathing in. However as I neared the bothy I noticed a ladder propped up against the wall and another lay against the sloping roof. Sitting on the roof was a cyclist, his bike was round the corner. It looked a bit odd but he was working on some repairs. I had arrived during a Mountain Bothy's Association maintenance meet. Don, the cyclist, had ridden from Newtown, also working were Ron Wallace and his wife Chris who had driven from Mold. I felt guilty about sitting around doing nothing so I mucked in and fetched water, mixed cement and acted as a fetch and carry man for the experts. Don was trying to fix the roof on an old outhouse now used for storing wood. He said that if he managed to fix one slate half a dozen others would become loosened in the process. Eventually the midges became too much and drove us in for tea. Don, Ron and Chris were all MBA members and made me promise to join. They joked saying that if I had been a member I would have known to stay away!

This Bothy was probably the best one I had stayed at. There were good fireplaces and the upstairs had a very good floor. I went to bed about 9.30 leaving the others talking. Next day Tuesday I set off. Ron had kindly topped up my Sigg bottle with paraffin which was a great help although I was still low on solid fuel, I only had a couple of pieces left.

My route north took me past the Pistyll waterfalls which after the rain of the last few days made them quite exciting, probably better the one at Devils Bridge. All round this area were little mines some of which I believe date back to Roman times. They extracted all sorts of minerals here copper,tin, lead and gold. Before I left the Bothy I had chatted to Ron and he asked if I was going to do any panning. I wasn't going to spend time looking seriously for gold but I would keep an eye out for any interesting rocks. I did find some bits of quartz with yellow shiny metallic bits in but they were angular shaped and were either chalcopyrites (copper pyrites) or Iron Pyrites - Fools Gold. next to the stream was a couple wandering around with their eye's glued to the ground. When asked if they had found anything they showed me some lumps of gleaming yellow mineral, they were very excited, I'm sure they thought it was gold. If had been it would have been worth thousands of pounds!

I climbed out of the Mawddach valley and came out into more mist and rain. The hills were quite steep and were dotted with abandoned mine entrances shrouded in vegetation and dripping water. There was a gold mine which was still in operation somewhere in the area but I didn't get to see it. I found myself on a narrow road leading north. It was quite high up here and what with the weather it didn't seem worth looking for a parallel footpath so I trudged on along the road. The road gradually descended into a wide open area between the hills where the cloud seemed to be lifting. Crossing a small river, a fly fisherman asked me where I was going "Trawsfynydd" say's I, or at least I thought I did. He politely corrected me and said it was pronounced "Trowsfunneth." I wished him luck in his fishing and carried on. There were a lot of thistles growing down by the river and I noticed a lot of Gold Finches clinging to the seed heads. The mist and cloud rose slightly allowing views down onto Trawsfynydd lake and Nuclear Power station. The Map showed the lake with little causeways going across it. This intrigued me and when I got close enough that's exactly what they were except they didn't actually go anywhere. I couldn't see the Rhinogs to the west they were still encased in cloud. It had been my intention to visit them but they were now off my route and the weather didn't encourage me.

I entered Trawsfyndd about 2.00 pm. It was quiet. I had hoped to find a bank, and did, but it had closed about 10 minutes earlier. I helpful sign told me where the nearest cash dispensers were (the closest was about 10 miles away). Wandering up the deserted street I came across a cafe and spent some of my remaining eight pounds or so on a cup of coffee. The cafe had several youngsters hanging about and seemed to be where they gathered to play Space Invaders. Just up the road was a path which seemed to lead towards an old Roman fort. This path also cut off a corner of the road on the way to Festiniog. The path got muddier and muddier and I had to tread carefully hanging on to the wall in places. A bull blocked the way. I wasn't scared , not really, but I clapped my hands at him and he moved out of the way through a gap in the wall. I eventually reached the Roman Fort, it was nothing more than a 30 ft high mound surrounded by an embankment. The top was very exposed, the Romans couldn't have liked it all that much I'm sure. I tried to follow the line of the path, which had now disappeared, across the field to a gate leading onto a road. I could see a notice on the gate, when I got through I could read the side facing the road, it said trespassers will be prosecuted and indicated the field with the fort in. Too late, I'd already been in there!

Walking down the narrow road I had to get out of the way of a minibus loaded with youths. The group leader asked me where the fort was. I told him about the sign but they didn't look as though they were put off by that. I refused the offer of a lift and carried on. I was now looking for somewhere to camp. The narrow lane came out onto a main road and as I looked at my map a van pulled up and asked if everything was ok. I said I was looking for a campsite and the driver said there was one just down the road "jump in I'll take you." Before I knew it I was in the van and being driven southwards. I was tired and damp and so I didn't argue. About a mile down the road he dropped me off outside a caravan site, I thanked him and off he drove. That's done it, spoilt my plans for walking the whole way, when I looked at the map I was further south than when I was picked up but slightly west I suppose I could argue that it didn't assist in that I didn't get further north, but it happened and that was that. When I first wrote up this account I missed out this episode but decided to come clean when I typed this up!

I walked up the drive of the caravan site under the stare of some caravan occupants and met the owner. He refused to let me stay saying he didn't have facilities for campers, not that I needed facilities! He pointed out another site past the power station around the north side of the lake. I was starting to go round in circles. I had hoped to find somewhere to camp out of sight but the land was open fields. On I trudged to the campsite over which loomed the power station.

That night the wind increased and whipped across the lake, luckily I was sheltered by a wall but even so a tent peg ring was ripped off . The tent was flapping and didn't allow much sleep. The night sky seemed quite bright, was it an early dawn? No I looked out and realised it was the lights of the Power Station or was it the radiation glowing?

8.30 the next morning saw me trudging up the road with another wet pack. I was now well and truly in North Wales. It wasn't raining now but was still rather dull and overcast. I found another path leading towards Festiniog. A picturesque scene greeted me as the sun started to come out, a quaint iron bridge with a gate in the middle paved with North Wales slate. George Borrow (who wrote Wild Wales around the 1850's) would have loved this spot. Wandering into Festiniog I called into a shop to buy some food (with my last few pounds) and asked where the nearest bank was. The owner seemed annoyed when he told me the bank only opened two days a week and that today wasn't one of them. He moaned he had to go to Blaenau Festiniog up the road. So there I went. the hillsides around Blaenau Festiniog are covered with the detritus of slate quarrying, huge slopes of broken dark grey rock were piled against the sides of the valley like old avalanche cones. The fences were made out of long splinters of slate and there were a couple of masons shops beside the road one man was demonstrating slate splitting for the tourists. I didn't stop, carried on to Blaenau Festiniog where I had a choice of three banks! Feeling somewhat wealthier, a cafe beckoned. Chatting to the owner annoyed me. telling me I was mad to go over the hills to Beddgelert (just South West of Snowdon). I nearly argued with him and almost told him what I thought of his cafe which was in need of a drop of paint. I paid and left.

Blaenau Festiniog seemed to be at the head of a large valley; Festiniog was a smaller village further down the valley. To get to Beddgelert I had to go back down the valley and then up over the hills through an old slate quarry. Going down the valley was the famous Festiniog Steam Railway and I followed the line of the railway eventually crossing it over a steep narrow bridge leading up into the hills. My parents had taken me on the Festiniog railway when I was young and it had rained. I also went on it again only a few years ago and it rained then too. But as I walked along side it this time the sun was out and it was glorious. Passing Tan y Grisiau I headed up out of the valley and entered a huge complex of old quarry workings. The river running down through the workings from the reservoir above had been diverted by banks of slate which had been built to support buildings some of which had fallen into the river.

There were climbers on the rock faces around the quarries and I noticed a large hole in the rock. I remembered this from previous trips as being a very steep tunnel leading up to the quarry workings above and behind the cliffs. The climbers were on Kirkus's route which I had done some years before. It was good to see it again. The tunnel was the best way down after completing the route. There were a number of people wandering about the quarries, it was a pleasant afternoon and quite warm. Slightly spoiled by some hooligans who had found a trolley and were riding down the quarry path. They eventually got bored and pushed it over the edge of the path 30 feet into the stream below. Beyond the quarry is a reservoir and next to it beside the path is the remains of a church looking very lonely. It must have been built for the workers so that they wouldn't waste time walking to the church in the village when they could be working. At the head of the valley above the reservoir I stopped for lunch among quarry buildings then climbing up a little further came into more slate quarries on the plateau above. Following the path here was complicated as it was very hummocky and the path petered out among the heather and grass. I crossed over to the edge of the next valley and looked at Cnicht (the Knight) bringing back memories of another expedition. Skirting round Cnicht I joined up with the path which goes down into Nant Gwynant, the valley in which Beddgelert was. The clouds were blowing round Cnicht and if it wasn't for the weather I should have been able to see Snowdon. There were patches of sun showing through which kept me happy. I felt that Cnicht was quite impressive even though it is a relatively low mountain it rises sheer out of the high ground on which I was walking.

Descending into the valley I reached the main road and strolled along towards Beddgelert looking for a campsite. I passed one hidden in trees and came upon a second, this was somewhat exposed and didn't have any facilities so I decided to go back to the first. Before I did so I was in need of a cup of coffee in comfort so carried on to Beddgelert. The village was in chaos with many tourists and caravans and to make matters worse the road was being dug up. I had coffee and tea cakes in a cafe owned by Geoff Arkless the mountaineering instructor and looked at the many photos on the wall. I always had coffee when I went into a cafe as I had only carried tea with me usually this was Jasmine or Earl Grey. I had been introduced to exotic teas by a hitchhiker on the side of a junction on the M6. I stocked up on food and allowed myself the luxury of a half bottle of Bells Whisky to celebrate my arrival in North Wales Then to the campsite I had seen earlier for tea.

I had nearly done it. I was at the foot of Snowdon and had walked I calculated 145 ¼ miles. It was the Wednesday of the second week and I had some holiday left. My plans now depended on the weather. My intention was to do the Welsh 14 Peaks. All the peaks in Wales over 3000 feet. It was lucky they were all in North Wales otherwise it would have been a marathon. They are usually done in a single day going over all the tops. The weather would have to be kind to me because some of the route was unfamiliar to me. Other parts I had done or been to several times before but I needed a break with the weather.

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