A month after scrambling the rocky pinnacles of the Cuillin I found myself on quite different terrain in Wales. The Black Mountains are a group of old sandstone hills at the eastern end of the Brecon Beacons, straddling the border between Powys and Herefordshire. Being the nearest big hills to home they have proved a convenient place to maintain hill fitness during the summer lull in my munro bagging campaign. With their long, flat tops these are great mountains on which to string together long routes. Over two separate outings in July and August I covered some 55km, taking in the range’s five northernmost ‘Hewitts’ (Hill in England, Wales, Ireland above Two Thousand feet) enjoying wonderful views in all directions. To the west is the unmistakable outline of the giant Pen y Fan, to the east the magnificent countryside of Herefordshire and to the south a vista stretching all the way to the Bristol channel. My first trip out in July left me with sore legs though. After June’s exertions in Skye, I made the mistake of putting my feet up for a month, neglecting even basic stretching. Unsurprisingly, launching straight into a 31km Black Mountain yomp wasn’t the best way to reacquaint my leg muscles with the hills!
Black Mountains, 2014
So, before July’s second outing – this time to North Wales – I paid a visit to my physio, Retha Welding, who helped work out the knots in my knees. I’ve been having occasional physiotherapy for a year or so now and have benefited from it enormously. I’m prone to problems with my ilio-tibial band and Retha has shown me various strengthening, stretching and foam rolling exercises to control it. With my legs back in shape, I drove up to Snowdonia on the last Friday in July, reaching the Ogwen valley by tea time. The weather forecast for the next day was poor so I decided to take advantage of the remaining daylight and set off around 4.30pm to climb Glyder Fach and Glyder Fawr, two of the most famous Welsh 3000ers. I soon reached Bwlch y Tryfan and faced a decision. Should I ascend Glyder Fach directly by the Bristly Ridge (a grade 1 scramble) or should I take the easier scree path to the top? Having recently completed more challenging scrambles in Skye (albeit in a group and with a guide) I decided to go for the ridge. The conditions were perfect; warm, dry and no wind. However, it was late on a week day and there wasn’t another soul in sight. Had I encountered any difficulty I would have been on my own. Happily, the scramble was not that hard and I was able to find my way to the top intuitively, following the more polished and worn rocks. There was however one slight moment of nerves where I had to down climb awkwardly at a very exposed section of the route. A slip there could have had potentially very serious consequences. Placing my feet and hands with extreme caution, and seeing a precipitous drop to my right, I was acutely conscious of the danger. I completed the move safely though and before long was on the summit plateau.
Snowdon from Glyder Fach, July 2014
From the top I enjoyed incredible views south towards Snowdon and across the eerie summit. As I crossed Glyder Fach and continued on towards Glyder Fawr I experienced a tremendous sense of freedom and intense happiness, basking in the evening glow and the solitude. These are two of the most popular mountains in Snowdonia and I was blessed in having them all to myself on a warm summer’s evening. Since passing a group crossing Bwlch y Tryfan for the Miner’s Track I hadn’t encountered a single person and wouldn’t bump into any other humans (though some hardy sheep loiter on the tops of the Glyders) until completing my descent through the Devil’s Kitchen. I count myself extremely privileged; most visitors to these summits have to share the experience with dozens of others and plenty have to contend with more typical Welsh weather. As I reached the summit of Glyder Fawr I realised what a challenging navigation exercise this would have been in less clement conditions. The summit terrain is extremely haphazard and confusing. It is as if a giant has somehow scattered sharp boulders like confetti on the mountaintop. Picking a route through this in poor visibility or driving rain would not be fun.
Pen Yr Ole Wen: time to get off the mountain
Despite the warm, sunny weather, the risk of precipitation was on my mind. It had been a hot and humid week across the country and thunder storms were forecast overnight. As I began my descent from Glyder Fawr the sun was beginning to set and darker clouds were beginning to draw in. I knew I had ample daylight to get off the mountain but with the risk of a storm on my mind I began a very speedy descent. It’s incredible how quickly the sheer joy and pleasure of being alone on a mountain top can give way to fear, particularly with the apprehension of a storm. The descent through Devil’s Kitchen was very atmospheric. The name is apt and its black crags only added to my mild sense of dread. At the edge of Llyn Idwal I passed two climbers packing up their ropes. We exchanged hellos. From the smiles on their faces I could tell that they had also seen the weather forecast for Saturday and were taking great pleasure in profiting from the evening’s weather window. Thankfully, neither rain nor thunder came until the early hours of the following morning so it was with relief that I arrived back at Ogwen around 9pm, my car the only one left in the car park. The next day was spent at leisure in Betws y Coed browsing through outdoor shops and sitting in the pub reading. Outside the rain pelted down for most of the day and I felt some satisfaction in having already bagged two peaks the evening before. In retrospect, heading up Bristly Ridge completely on my own might not have been the most sensible move. While it’s only a grade 1 scramble some of the lines are harder than others and I’m not sure I chose the easiest. The equally famous Tryfan remains on my tick list and I think that when I return for it I shall wait for a busy Saturday and climb in company.
While my two forays into Wales in July haven’t upped my munro count, they have (I hope) helped to keep me in condition to resume the campaign in Scotland in the autumn. But that’s not all. They’ve also taken me across one of the best scrambles in the UK, given me a sunset view of Snowdon that I will never forget and led me across remote sections of the Black Mountains where the SAS come to train. Once taking on the challenge of the munros it’s easy to fixate on that goal to the neglect of other mountains (not to mention other aspects of life). My trips to Wales this summer are in many ways a welcome break. They remind me that munros are not the be all and end all and all mountains are to be savoured.
incompleatist 