The Cambrian Way The
summer of 76 had drawn to a close and Christmas was fast approaching, At around
this time I received a phone call from a chap called Martin. He was a local
teacher who I had helped to take some kids from his school onto the Brecons a
few months earlier to complete their bronze Duke of Edinburgh award assessments. Martin
had asked me if I was interested in helping him to take a group of students
from a local school on the The Cambrian
Way is an un-adopted walk that travels along the spine of Wales, from the
Bristol Channel to the North Wales Coast at Conway. Although
Martin to be fair had planned most of the route, I spent several evenings going
through the finer details with him. We decided that we would use the Youth
Hostel Associations chain of hostels to keep the weight we had to carry, down. The
group would be made of four students, Martin and I. The remainder of the group
were four students, Steve, Martyn, Chris and Alan. All aged around fifteen
years old and were doing the trip for two reasons, the Duke of Edinburgh award
and to raise some money for their school bus fund. We expected the trip to take
around sixteen or seventeen days, with at least two rest days planned within in
the trip and one overnight stop spent sleeping under the stars on top of
a mountain. After
arranging to take three weeks special leave without the knowledge that I would
actually get paid by the Post Office for whom I worked, I was collected
at the bottom of the road where I lived by Martin in the school mini bus. To
keep the weight down I kept my kit to a bare minimum. I had what I was wearing,
a spare set of clothing, some shorts, water proofs and some basic kit. So with
my rucksack over my shoulder I climbed on the mini bus to finally meet the kids
I would help cross the full length of Wales and spend the next sixteen days
with. The
trip down to On
disembarking from the mini bus at a place called Cymer we set off along the
track that led us to the start of our first small hill of around a thousand
feet in height. The walk up the side of this hill was pleasant enough,
and it was great to stretch our legs after being stuck on a mimi bus for four
or five hours. We spent the first few hours walking through small
woods and into dark pine forests. The climb was very easy going with very
little gradient to tax us. Conversation at first was abundant as we all tried
to get to know each other, but tailed off as we climbed towards the summit and
the legs started to get use to the strain of constantly walking uphill on
uneven ground. Just after passing the summit I was totally stunned to find half
of this beautiful little hill had been chopped away by man and his bulldozers.
We had stumbled into Bleangwrach open cast mine. The perfect description of
hell. It looked as if a nuclear explosion had detonated leaving a black ashen
world devoid of all living organisms. Great yellow monsters appeared to devour
the earth and remove all trace that a hill ever existed at this location. I was
horrified and depressed by what I was witnessing. How on Earth could man
destroy such natural beauty? I
remained silent until we could transverse the site and said very little until
we reached the first stop, continuing afterwards, towards the first hostel in a
very sombre and subdued mood. After reaching our first overnight stop at Ystrafellte youth hostel, a pleasant but basic accommodation, Martin spoke to me concerned at my depressed stature. I explained that I found it hard to understand how man could destroy is natural surroundings to such a degree, all in the name of profit and progress. He agreed that it was a sorry sight and a poor way to start the trip
The following day after a good night’s
sleep and a hearty breakfast I felt more upbeat. We had the hostel to our
selves and this was to set the pattern for most of our stays at the hostels
along the route. As with most Welsh Hostels it was well equipped, basic but
warm and dry. We set off up the river Nedd valley to
the Pant Mawr Plato. The weather was warm and clear and it was nice to be
walking in shorts. The climb onto the Plato was simple enough and did not cause
anyone in the group many problems. After walking across this remote wilderness
of heather, peat and thick tuffs of grass, broken only by crags of rock, we
descended down to a place called Glyntawe. Here we enjoyed lunch at a local pub
before setting off on the second part of the day’s route making the fatal
mistake of enjoying a pint at the pub. After leaving the Gwyn Arms we set off
up the long grassy slope of the Fan Hir ridge until we reached the summit of
Bannau Byycheiniog. It was the longest couple of hours of the walk and I
regretted that pint I had just consumed all the way to the top. With a pounding
head and a dry mouth we at last reached the summit, the first of the two
thousand foot summits of our trip had been breached. The Carmarthen Fan
consists along ridge of two thousand foot peaks with a steep escarpment on one
side and moor land to the other side. The ridge is “L” shaped and has
spectacular views on a clear day. Underneath this spectacular ridge lies one of
the largest series of underground caverns in the country and the area is full
of pot holes that descend down to these caverns. The weather had been gorgeous
all day and walking this wonderful ridge had been a breath of fresh air after
the horrendous images of the open cast coal mine the day before. On descending from the northern part of the ridge we descended down the mountainside along a steep path through a gap on the north part of the ridge following a track towards our next hostel, Llanddeusant youth hostel.
The The following day we made our way to
the small town of On disembarking at the first halt north out of Llandovery we made our way north to Rhandirmywn and the Bryn Boeth Uchaf youth hostel. This pretty little hostel was so endearing with its isolated location and roaring log fire I could quite easily have spent several days.
The next day we headed up the Afon Tywi
valley through some of the prettiest countryside I can remember. The walking
was easy along the side of tumbling streams and through beautiful woodlands.
The next hostel was however very isolated and only served by a dirt track. It
lay in the middle of moorland without any other buildings remotely even close
to it. Here I struck up a conversation with a student who was looking after the
Tyncornel hostel. This bearded hippy was into the same kind of music as I and
we spent the evening listening to Wishbone Ash and drinking homemade beer,
slowly getting more and more drunk, which I was to regret the next morning. No
kids to pester, good music and a brew one could not even describe, this was
pure heaven. Martin, had managed to get a lift to
meet his wife in Tregaron due to a family problem, so I arranged with him to
take the kids on the next stage of the journey to Tregaron were I would again
meet up with Martin to continue with our expedition. The following morning I set off with
the kids across country nursing a very sore head and a tongue that felt like
sandpaper. It wasnt long before the beautiful countryside and the cool fresh
air soon cleared the cobwebs from my head and made me feel alive once again.
After a few short hours walking across open countryside and leafy lanes I soon
once again met up with Martin near to the town square in Tregaron.
After a short stay in Tregaron
replacing the fluid I had lost the night before due to the effects of the evil
home brew I had consumed at the hostel, we made our way slowly up to the youth
hostel at Glan-yr-afon-uchaf. The hostel was little more than a tin shed and
basic was a rather posh way to describe the place. In Tregaron we had forgot to
get that basic commodity called the potato, so with a keen eye and starvation
approaching I managed to locate some fresh potatoes growing in a large field
near to the hostel. There was no sign of a farm and we convinced ourselves that
the farmer wouldn’t want us poor travellers to starve to death. We crept into
the field and started to scrape away the soil with a sheaf knife when a
Landrover was heard to skid to a stop. The poor farmer the life scared the hell
out of him, confronted by half a dozen youths with a sheaf knife. However after
a little chat and the offer to pay for the potatoes the farmer, bless him saw
the funny side and had a good laugh, leaving us with a hand full of spuds for our
dinner. By this time one of the lads had
developed very bad blisters and to his misfortune all the plasters in our kit
had been used up. We had no choice but to wrap his ankles in the only thing we
could get hold of in this remote hostel, cotton wool tampons from the machine
in the girl’s toilets at the hostel. I for one was very grateful that we were
the only people staying at the hostel. The poor lad not only did he have to
endure the pain of the blisters; he was also on the receiving end of some jokes
made in very bad taste. The next leg of our journey took us
down country lanes to Devils bridge, here I and one of the group explored the
waterfall and climbed down to its base were we enjoyed a spectacular view of
the waterfall. We all then clambered aboard the small steam train and
disembarked at the first stop on its journey towards Aberystwyth. The railway
follows a natural high sided valley down towards the sea to join with the
mainland Cambrian coast railway and is a joy to be on. On leaving the train we
climbed out of the steep sided gorge to make our way to the next hostel. It was
about now that I noticed that my fitness was starting to annoy Martin as he
kept having to tell me to slow down, this I must admit was starting to annoy me. That night I did strike up a conversation at the hostel with a very pretty American girl called Sarah. She was a breath of fresh air and very attractive, she said she couldn’t understand why I was putting up with these kids and Martin. She invited me to go down to Aberystwyth with her and I think if it hadn’t been for the thought of my girlfriend back home I just may have been tempted to take the offer up as I felt rather pissed off after the arguments earlier in the day and enchantered by her looks and charm. After a good night’s sleep and a frank
little chat with Martin we sorted out our differences and to be fair I
could see his point, the fact remained that as a group we do have to walk to
the pace of the slowest in the group, even if it was frustrating. The sad thing
was that as we walked further and further North, even Martin started to get
frustrated by the lack of enthusiasm of a couple of the lads. It was the next leg of the walk that
would prove one of the toughest and I was proud to be the only one of the group
to complete it. The weather had been kind to us up to
this point, ah but that was all about to change. As we set off that morning
large black clouds loomed over the Plynlimon mountain range. The further we
walked up the valley towards the Nant-y-moch reservoir the darker the sky
became. A half a mile short of the reservoir we started the approach to the
ridge. The ground was rough grass devoid of paths and very slippery with the
rain now cascading down. Visibility was almost none existent and terrain was devoid
of any objects that could be used to guide us. This was relentless moor land
that required pin point accuracy with the compass. The slog up Y-Garn at the
end of the ridge was endless with visibility down to just a few yards. The rain
by now was driving horizontally into our faces. The worrying aspect of this was that
this being longest single leg of the expedition it was designed to have an
overnight bivouac stop. After eventually reaching the carn on
Y-Garn we followed the ridge east towards the summit of Plynlimon
Fauw. No celebrations or pats on the back here, our goal was to get out of this
environment as quickly as possible. The rain was now horizontal, driving into
our faces. We now headed North from the main peak along the ridge towards
the source of the river Seven and the river Wye. The Wye starts out as a
sparkling little stream at the top of a valley, however the Severn starts its
majestic life as a horrible muddy bog with a wooden pole sticking out of the
black murky sludge, announcing that this is the source of Britain’s longest
river. A rather disappointing start to the longest river in the country. Today
it was an even more depressing place then normal surrounded by black swirling
clouds and driving rain. It was obvious that we couldn’t spend
the night out in the open in the pouring rain and howling wind so it was time
for a rethink of what we could do. On checking the map we decided to try
and shelter for the night in some old disused buildings half way down the
mountain towards the Dovey valley. On reaching the buildings we found a land
Rover parked outside and a rather miserable Welsh farmer inside. Our request to
use the buildings was met by a torrent of abuse from this delightful creature
from hell who had the feelings that matched the miserable weather he was
accustomed to living in. We had no choice but to continue on. By late afternoon we had reached the
junction of the A489 with the A487. Corris the next possible youth hostel was
still some ten miles away and the four lads we had with us were just about on
their knees. They were wet, hungry and exhausted from walking over twenty five
miles in atrocious weather conditions and the roughest terrain so far. We managed to locate a telephone box
and arranged an extra night at Corris. At this point our luck changed and we
flagged down a passing motorist who offered to take the lads to Corris. Martin
went with them leaving me to complete the journey to Corris on my own. Being
stubborn and determined to complete what I had set out to do, I decided that I
would continue on to Corris on my own. I actually enjoyed the walk to Corris
through the Dovey forest in complete peace and silence with only the sound of
the patter of raindrops on the forest canopy above me. I did suffer the embarrassment
of being caught out whilst relieving myself on route. I had slipped down the
gully out of sight from the road and half way through my task I heard a sound
and was totally stunned to find myself being watched by a group of giggling
girls walking along a track further up the valley. On reaching Corris I was now very wet,
hungry and exhausted, thankfully the others in the group had already arrived a
couple of hours earlier and whilst I showered and changed they cooked up a
hearty hot meal. Sleep that night after over forty miles of walking, was not a
problem. Drying my boots and kit out was another story.  
The following day we headed for known
territory the Cadir Idris range. This was a mountain I had fell in love with as
an eight year old, I was now about to return and finish off the climb I started
ten years earlier. We set off early next morning along the
A487 towards Tal-y-Llyn. On reaching Minffordd we then started the assent up
the Minffordd path through very pleasant woodland. The path follows the clear
crystal waters of the tumbling Nant Cadair stream. On reaching the top of the
waterfall the valley bottoms out into a basin under the awesome towering Cadair
Idris ridge. At the base of the ridge is Llyn Cau a dark mysterious lake which
reflects the stunning cliffs of Craig Cwm Amarch and the craggy out crops of
Penygadir the pinnacle of the Cadair Idris ridge. This location is probably one
of the finest in   This was by far the best hostel so far
we had enjoyed having as many facilities as a small hotel. The following day we set off towards
the Mawddach estuary and the Penmaenpool bridge. On crossing this beautiful
estuary we walked along the small country road running along side the Afon
Cwm-mynach. This was delightful country that eventually took us to the base of
the main Rhinog ridge. A rather ruggered climb up Diffwys through bilbery scrub
and long grass gained us the main ridge. The weather was now perfect and the
views spectacular. This ridge runs parallel with the Cambrian coast giving
constant views across the shimmering blue sea on one side and untouched moor
land on the other, Although the ridge runs right up towards Porthmadog we only
stayed on the ridge as far as Y Llethir, the highest but not the most
spectacular of the Rhinog peaks. That is reserved for Rhiniog Fauw and Rhinog
Fach the two jewels of this ridge.   The following day we made our way up
towards Llyn Cwm Bychan to cross the northern end of the Rhinogs, taking the
bridle path across the Rhinogs we decended down to the southern tip of Llyn
Trawsfynydd. A foot bridge cuts across the southern tip of this vast span of
manmade water. The valley was flooded to create a large reservoir for the very
ugly concrete blocks at the northern end of the lake that house the now two
redundant nuclear reactors which will have to remain entombed in their concrete
for the next few hundred years because of the deadly radiation they emit. After
a short stop on the lake side, for lunch, we now followed the old disused
Ffestiniog to Bala railway, heading for Ffestiniog to spend two nights at the
youth hostel. This would be the last two night stop of the journey across Two goods days’ rest were spent
recharging our batteries and a welcome visit by Martins wife bringing much
needed supplies. In the morning of the second day we set off up the side of the
Moelwyns on a track that leads to the old Rhosydd slate quarry. The original
plan was to take in a couple of the two thousand foot tops, however the weather
had yet again turned foul with heavy rain and almost none existant visibility,
we had little choice but to keep to the track that runs directly to the
Nantgwynant valley cutting across the ridge from the quarry. The reason
for this is that the Moelwyn mountain range is one of the most dangerous in
Wales in bad weather, it is full of old mine shafts and collapsed caverns from
when this area was alive with active slate quarries. In one area the whole
valley floor has collapsed leaving the huge caverns below exposed to the open
air. Huge piles of slate waste are everywhere and air shafts many metres deep
descend down to the mine shafts below. On reaching the Nantgwynant valley we
slowly made our way up towards Pen-y-pass Youth Hostel positioned nicely
between the   The following morning was again a
disappointing start. The rain was lashing down, cloud levels were on the floor
and the wind was howling. Instead of heading up the south side of Glyder Fawr,
we ended taking the long road to Capel curig. We then trudged along the road in
pouring rain towards the Ogwern valley. As we approached the beautiful
silhouette of Tryfan the weather at last cleared. It was only late morning and
I quickly made a decision to make an assault on the Glyders. However most
of the group had lost spirit and didn’t have the bottle to continue, but one
plucky lad called Martin agreed to come with me whilst the others continued to
trudge up to the youth hostel at Llyn Ogwern. Martin and I scrambled up the blistery
ridge thoroughly enjoying ourselves scrambling up some of Wales’s finest rock
and onto the summit of Glyder Fach. As we reached the top of the Blistery ridge
we looked back across to the summit of Tryfan with the two huge blocks of stone
called Adam and Eve clearly in view. The summit of Glyder Fach is amazing; it’s
like walking on the moon, large slabs of rock appear scattered across the
landscape, whilst others appear to jut out of the mountain like some giant hand
has just jammed the rocks into the mountainside. The weather was now clear and
the visibility was good with views onto both the The group had started to fall into two
small groups as three out of the four lads had started to falter as we
approached our final goal. This could be clearly seen by the lack of enthusiasm
the next morning to clime Pen-y-ole wen. The weather had again turned foul,
however there was little choice but to go on. The climb from Llyn Ogwen is a
thigh buster going straight up from the lake to almost three thousand
feet. The visibility was non-existent with rain, wind and cloud battering
our faces. On reaching the summit of Pen-y-Ole wen, Martin and I had to make a
decision on whether to continue or to look for an alternative way to get to our
destination. Other then Martin and I the rest of the group were clearly
struggling to cope. Two of the group were almost constantly moaning and
grumbling and clearly did not want to continue. I hate not completing what I
set out to achieve but felt I had no choice, without their full cooperation and
enthusiasm to complete the ridge in these conditions we risked the possibility
of someone getting hurt. The ridge takes a circular route
to Carnedd Daffid before the route crosses a narrow band of
rock above the Black Ladders to Carnedd Llewellen. We couldnt afford to take
the risk. On looking at the map the only
alternative was to head down the mountain and head for Llyn Conwy a reservoir
which feeds the aluminium factory in the Conwy valley.  On reaching the lake the weather
cleared at this level and the water of the lake glistened in the sunlight,
however the three thousand foot ridge was still under dark brooding cloud
swirling around the hidden peaks. After a break by the dam we located two
huge pipes that take the water to the factory in the valley below, we climbed
onto the pipes and walked along them until we reached the point which carries
them down at a steep gradient to the factory, here we jumped off and followed
the country lanes to Rowen youth hostel. The following day was our last and I
felt a little sad that the journey was now at an end, I was also disappointed
that we had failed to complete the ridge, however due to the circumstances it
was the right decision to make, no mountain is worth losing a life for. The next day we set off up the side of
Tal-y-Fan the last two thousand foot mountain on the Carnedd ridge. The weather
was now clear with sparkling blue sky reflected by the sea in the distance. Oh
why could the weather be so cruel, how we had wished for this weather yesterday
on those distant peaks of the main Carnedd ridge. On completing this lonely little summit
we made our way to We all sat quietly with our thoughts,
with memories of the journey slowly unfolding in our heads. I felt sad that it
was over and also happy to be going home. |
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