Collected Musings of a Hill Wanderer

Unusually for me, my walking escapades seem to involve my reaching more summits than usually has been the case. In fact, finding some sort of hummock to ascend has formed part of my planning in the last few months. The most recent example of this was an out and back hike to Y Llethr from Dyffryn Ardudwy over the past weekend. That followed a yomp over Moel Siabod the previous weekend and there was an ascent of Diffwys in early February. Thus, three outings to Wales have come to pass so far this year and Terry Marsh's Great Mountain Days in Snowdonia (Cicerone) might inspire more yet.

Mark Richard's Great Mountain Days in the Lake District should be encouraging a few too but I only have January's spur of the moment crossing of Place Fell to record for 2010. Still, that now looks as if it was start of a pattern where reaching hilltops has been playing a large role in my hill country outings. Even when I went to Scotland, I ended up on a unnamed though snow blanketted foothill of Bynack More when I had intended to stay low (boggy ground stalled my initial scheme). As if to continue high level hiking, an Easter crossing of Baslow Edge, Curbar Edge and Froggatt Edge needs to be mentioned too. With all of this falling into place, it may be a matter of time before that first Munro gets ascended and there are a few candidates in the Cairngorms that have caught my eye but there's no rush on that one.

All of this action may look like peak bagging but that is an incidental upshot rather than the avowed aim of the exercise. If creating some list of hills climbed was the aim, I wouldn't be bobbing around the place in such an unplanned manner. Going up hills is for me a device for propelling me out of doors when the weather makes an offer. It used to be that exploring somewhere or a new angle to an old favourite did the job on its own but adding a hill top has been giving form to plans in place of finding a tempting path or track on a map. Quite where all this is leading me is another matter but I'll enjoy the countryside along the way and share that (and any decent photos that I make) with you afterwards. Now, I need to find time to say more about that flying visit to Y Llethr…

With fine weather around and a good forecast, I made sure that I sorted something for the past weekend without letting it to the vagaries of Friday night planning, an at times fragile activity that is vulnerable to tiredness after a hard working week. Much to my surprise, I managed to book a bed in the Capel Curig YHA after drawing a blank there and at other hostels in the vicinity on previous attempts. That placed a pivot on the map of Wales for my route planning. With that there, I pencilled in a planned walk from Dolwyddelan that was to take in the summit of Carnedd Moel Siabod. With a need to get away early on Sunday, I didn't fancy my chances of getting in another hike but I managed to fit in a yomp from Capel Curig to Betwys-y-Coed through woodland and over boggy terrain.

Saturday

After an early morning start from Macclesfield, I arrived in Dolwyddelan on a busy two carriage train with lively dogs across from me; the tail of one of them kept striking my newspaper and I didn't envy their owners when it came to controlling them. All of the way there, the skies had a very hazy look about them and it was no different around Dolwyddelan. It was a hint that the day wasn't going to be one for splendid photographic results but I set to sorting myself out in the car park anyway. That act left any other interlopers that came off the train with me time to go on their merry way.

The start of my hike reprised a route that I followed around the same time last year. It started with a short hop along the road that took me over the Afon Lledr before crossing a field. Once over a not so busy A470, I pulled out my walking poles and set off uphill; they were set to stay in use all of the way to Capel Curig.

Just because I wasn't gaining so much height on the lane up from the A470 did nothing to reduce the gradient but it still wasn't as steep as I remembered it to be and I was carrying a more laden rucksack on my back this time around! After that effort, a short stop was in order and I made out Dolwyddelan Castle in the near distance. Last year, I seem to have missed it for no reason that I can recall so it was a matter set to rights.

With that initial steepness out of the way, terrain became more level as I ambled along a forestry track. Moel Siabod, the prospect that jumped out of the Snowdonia member of Cicerone's Great Mountain Days series, loomed above me as if to tell me know what awaited me but I wasn't to be deflected, even with the white streaks that were apparent. When I last passed the way, there were more folk about but this occasion was much quieter; I was to meet no one until a few mountain bikers passed me as I approached the sign for Moel Siabod. Last year, I kept going for Capel Curig with mixed feelings but Llyn Idwal was my ultimate destination that day and I wasn't to be disappointed with either progress or surroundings.

This time, I lugged my heavy pack to the top of Moel Siabod with no misgivings, marked Carnedd Moel Siabod on OS Explorer maps. The mention of maps brings me to the subject of my having two maps available in a trouser cargo pocket. One of the problems with Moel Siabod is that it sits astride OL17 and OL18 and not all the paths about the hill are depicted either. Given that Harvey's Superwalker map of the area put the hummock in the middle and not at the edge, it came too and a few more tracks are depicted on it too. However, it doesn't show my route from Dolwyddelan to Llyn Foel very well so an OS map was at hand too. When you get different stories, you need to hear them all to get a fuller picture.

Before I could emerge into open country, I needed to pick my way though forestry, not my strongest point but the track was clear up to its end and the path that took over was more than navigable too. The day was hot and sweat was coming out of me as I ascended the slopes until I exited the forest into boggy and craggy terrain. I knew that I needed to cross the stream to my right but took a somewhat roundabout route before doing so; there's no need to do everything at once when some things can wait. It was from there that the gradient really sharpened and I noticed two other walkers below me, the only ones that passed this way as I was making my ascent. They were far less laden so I left them pass before continuing my sluggish course. Cataracts abounded, allowing opportunities for stopping and staring. Patience was needed too and it's so easy to become frustrated with not reaching your objective as soon as you'd like. Overestimating how high you are is another slippage to which I have succumbed so I took it easy and left the shore of Llyn Foel come in its own good time.

Once there, I had a choice of going left or right. The former may have been the shorter journey but I needed a break from hopping over stones and boulders, even if that took me over boggier ground. That it was to do so meant careful footwork of a different kind was in order until the drier ground leading to the flank of Daear Ddu allowed a chance of a rest. It became clear that I was onto more frequented turf by now with folk passing by while I was stopped. You never could call it overrun but comments about a glorious day are always good to share.

Knowing that the pull up Daear Ddu was ahead of me, I paced myself as I continued up as yet not unfriendly slopes. Though not marked on any map anyway a path could be made out and I followed that while using the widening views as a means for tracking progress. Dolwyddelan Castle and the Crimea Pass could be picked out below me as I scuttled up the steep hillside. Eventually, I even was led to believe that a sliver of Llyn Trawsfynydd was visible over hilltops. Progress was slow and not just for me. Another pair of walkers lost patience and went for a more direct approach to the summit and guess who they met up there before them? A certain laden Irishman who wasn't that far above them when they went their own way. My more circuituous course demonstrated that direct routes aren't always that quick.

Though I needed to negotiate a boulder field and remnants of the past winter in the form of patches of snow, the fence that you see marked on an OS map came soon enough. While I was wonder if more clambering  was ahead of me, another walker came and, after sharing a few words about the view, lobbed his Jack Russell terrier over that fence. Deciding to do the same, I followed while marvelling at all that I could pick out from the surrounding buckling of the landscape. Snowdon, Tryfan, Glydeau, Carneddau,… The list grew on a day when haze meant that photographic capture was limited to record shots. Well, Snowdon is situated in a better place for morning photography from the Capel Curig side so it's horses for courses. However, now I know what dome lay on the horizon when I looked east from the Miner's track to Snowdon's top a few years ago: Moel Siabod.

If it wasn't for the fact that I hadn't planned to stay the night, I might have been concerned by my arrival on Moel Siabod's summit at around 16:00 but I fitted in both the views and one of the bouldery humps that are mark as Moel Siabod by the OS before heading down. Having had enough clambering done for any day, I left the other one or two after me, at least for now. One advantage of staying high for that little bit longer was that a downhill was plain to see. It also was the one that I planned to take to get onto an old pony track that was to take me down again. Even with my being at the gentler side of the hill, that didn't mean that I could go downhill willy nilly. For one thing, the paths were stony and the gradients significant. Concentration remained of the essence.

With accommodation sorted and a few hours of daylight remaining, tiring limbs were not being rushed but I was down in less than three hours all the same. Llynnau Mymbyr lay beneath me as I made for Coed Bryn-engan, through which I needed to pass before I was out on the A5. Though there were better routes through the wood, I wasn't going around in circles either, even after a long day on the hoof. Stil, it wasn't before time that I got to the hostel to be given a room with no one else in there before me, a sitation that never greeted me before. That gave me time to organise myself before anyone else appeared on the scene and it was a full house later on and a noisy one too. With all the tossing and turning above, I wondered at the wisdom of taking a lower bunk but the night wasn't all sleepless either. Before all this though, I had spent a very good hour sat on a rock next to Afon Llugwy as the light declined.

Sunday

An early start after a decent breakfast had me heading towards Betws-y-Coed with an eye on the time. There was a footpath that circuited the hostel via a nearby campsite that gained me some height with occasional sun lighting up the likes of Moel Siabod and Snowdon among others. Eventually, the going got boggier and navigation needed attention if I wasn't to end up going all of the way to Llyn Crafnant and Trefriw in error. Looking at a map since since then revealed that would covered the same distance and used a different bus at the other end, not the end of the world in other words. On the ground, it took time for my selected course to reveal that it was my intended one and and not another. Sodden soft ground is not the best for navigational clarity and a later map showing a permissive path on a gate had me scatching my head for a moment. All that map perusal and careful stepping cost me time and it took an hour to reach forestry again.

Once among trees, the pace quickened and I dropped onto a path to cut down on the distance travelled though a trip landed me out on my elbows at one stage. Apart from another muddying go with that from an earlier ill-placed footing, there was no damage done and I crossed Afron Abrach and took to another forestry track. This followed the edge of the plantation with Glyn Farm to my right. It also allowed good progress and I later stayed on forest tracks by choosing to cross a road to meet another. The roar of the Swallow Falls (a mistranslation of the Welsh for "Foaming Cataract", apparently) come up from below me and I saw the nearby hotel too, a good sign that time was with me.

When I found another narrow road, I stuck with it for a little while until wonderment about the wisdom of staying on it all of the way to Betws-y-Coed led me onto a rough path that shadowed Afon Llugwy. The promise of a softer surface must have swung it though i don't know if the ups and downs were all that kind. Having had enough, I returned to the road only to find public footpath signs and left it again. The way east from Miner's Bridge grew ever flatter and drier. As I neared my destination, the numbers of people typical of a honeypot were milling about. Quite what they made of a muddied walker with two sticks and a well filled rucksack is another matter. They were no impediment as I sought out my bus stop with more than half an hour to spare. There may have been outdoors stores but I resisted their allure and stuck with popping into a Spar for some sustenance and the National Park centre for leaflets and gifts. A weekend spent among wilder surroundings was end among more genteel ones. How dull would life be if it wasn't full of such contrasts?

Travel arrangements:

Getting to Dolwyddelan was all by train with changes at Manchester and Llandudno Junction. The non-running of trains on the Conwy Valley line on Sundays meant travelling to Llandudno Junction from Betws-y-Coed on the X84 before continuing by train with changes at Chester and Manchester. The bus service accepts train tickets so there was no extra cost beyond the price of a return train ticket to Dolwyddelan.

This weekend, I fitted in a overnight stay in Capel Curig and a strenuous walk walk over the top of Moel Siabod while en route from Dolwyddelan. Following that ardour, anything done today needed to be less energetic though a hike over boggy ground and through woodland conveyed me to Betws-y-Coed from where I travelled home again. Around the same time last year, I was in the same area and the one difference that stays in my mind is that there remain streaks of snow after the winter that we got. Moel Siabod had them and so had Snowdon, the Glyderau and the Carneddau too. It is small wonder that I had brought the Microspikes with me though I largely avoided any difficulty in the event. Saying that, I did manage to inadvertently scoop up some snow in my right boot (I left off the gaiters and the trousers is only fit for the washing machine now…) with a single ill-taken step.  A spot of bot removal and flicking off of the invaders from my sock was all that was needed as redress.

Last Sunday's outing was very different but the sight of flecks, patches and streaks laying on much lower hills was held in common. Normally, you wouldn't be seeing snowy remnants at this time of year while journeying along the A537 between Macclesfield and Buxton but I did this year. In fact, anytime that eyes gazed in the direction of the upper reaches of Edale, there were telltale white patches there too. If my imagination wasn't fooling me, I even think that I might have spotted a white speck on Lose Hill while on the train home. Not being accustomed to these sights, I tend to notice them but more seasoned observer mightn't pay that much heed.

This past weekend has distracted me from promised illustrated scribblings and, if the fine weather stays with us, I may be waylaid be the lure of well lit hill country next weekend too. Of course, we have what weather actually is coming our way first but a look on Metcheck reveals signs to be promising. In the meantime, I'd better be making time for some matters outstanding then. These hints of summer are a big change from what we were having…

Last weekend should have seen me heading off somewhere for a day trip but nothing of the sort happened. Various excuses could be summoned and fatigue following a busy working week certainly would be among them. Then, there's the one that you cannot be away every weekend and that's true too. Still, it would have been nice to have made better use of the fine weather that visited us on Saturday and Sunday, especially with the weather for the forthcoming Easter weekend looking as if it will be as mixed as it is at the moment.

In the middle of all of this, there are a variety of interests competing for my attention. Sunday was taken up with a spot of messing about on a computer. In part, the cause was the resurgence of another interest of mine: cycling. With the bike's back tyre still needing attention to rid it of a (very) slow puncture, a damper should have been put on this but, no, it is threatening to send my brain off into places that are not compatible with adding contributions to what essentially is a hillwalking blog. It was that state of affairs that had me sent off exploring another piece of blogging software called Serendipity (yes, there's nothing wrong with WordPress but there's never any harm in having a look at the competition from time to time) in the name of crafting a cycling blog to complement this thing. While Serendipity itself works well, a few rays of reality fell on the idea and I am minded to consign it to the back burner for now. Saying that, a quick look on Google demonstrated that there might be a place for a cycling blog that revels in the countryside that gets explored. Of course, that also is what I do here so there may be room for including news of the occasional bicycle foray so long as it doesn't the focus of what you find on here.

With a website idea being left to come to maturity in its own good time, my mind again turns to the Easter weekend and any opportunities for restorative escapades. The weather has turned cold gain with blizzards visiting parts of Scotland and whiteness coating parts of Ireland. Here in Cheshire, it is cold rain that we have but that doesn't mean that I am ruling out the chances of an escapade between the showers that seem to be in the current forecast. It's just that I'll need to see how things look later in the weekend before making any plans. That's not to say that there aren't some ideas already in my head such as coastal hikes in Northumberland or Pembrokeshire, a short hop to Arran or, closer to home, a wander along the Peak District moors between Baslow and Hathersage. For any of those to happen, it's a matter of having at least some of the kind of weather that those such places visual justice. It will be a case of waiting, this time around.

Apparently, my late Uncle Jim had a fascination for exploring the byways of his local stomping ground and I am left wondering if my own inclinations come from the same gene pool. For instance, an unexpectedly Sunday morning from more than a week ago was the cause of dragging me out on my bike for a local run when the enticement failed to take me further afield. At the time, the main attraction was the prospect of having another go at making a photo of Little Moreton Hall. After a bright start, the day did progressively cloud over but that didn't make my visit to the old pile an unprofitable venture. As it happened, I came away satisfied and it didn't cost me a penny either because the National Trust hadn't opened up the place to the visiting public. That reminds me of Irish forest parks in the low season when it is possible to get in without paying. In the case of Little Moreton Hall, I may have had to stay on the outside of its walls and its gardens but I was temporarily ensconced on its front lawn all the same.

On the way there, I took diversions to stop off at Gawsworth and Astbury. Photographic endeavours of either weren't to better previous efforts but there were compensations too. Quite a lot of the fish pool in front of Gawsworth's Old Hall was frozen, confining squabbling ducks to the end near the church and they amused me for a few minutes before I carried on down the A536. It looks as if Astbury will be providing me with another reason for going past Congleton on the A34 but it may facilitate another outing that takes me somewhere new too.

The journey that I took back from Little Moreton Hall was the main cause of my travelling around 37 miles in total. Apart from those aforementioned deviations, the outward journey followed the A536/A34 as if to make a bee line for the antiquity. Once there, I was lured towards Holmes Chapel with quieter lanes conveying me towards Rode Heath and the A50 taking me the rest of the way. The wideness of the road ensured that any traffic wasn't in conflict with me nor I with it, a useful state of affairs when part of me began to complain about the time spent on the saddle; small conurbations like Arclid and Brereton Green were useful punctuations that made the distance feel shorter as I completed bypassed Sandbach, spot not without its own attractions. It was after Holmes Chapel that my legs began to fatigue so I left a busy A535 at Twemlow Green to pick my way along much quieter lanes around by Goostrey and Over Peover until I reached Chelford. After all, busy twisty undulating roads and tiring cyclists never make a good match. A stop in Chelford allowed for some rest and a spot of refreshment too before I followed the A537 back to Macclesfield for a longer recuperation, a direct end to a good day's cycling.

The whole jaunt has thrown other ideas into sharp focus, especially those pertaining to exploring the middle of Cheshire by bicycle. Even the thought of a cycle through to Chester has come to me though I'd be catching a train back if i was to do something like that; the prospect of doing the most of a hundred miles in a single day sounds excessive. Nevertheless, there are places around the likes of Northwich and Delamere that I wouldn't mind savouring from a saddle rather than a train like what happened one Sunday last November. With that in mind, I acquired a copy of Cycling in the UK from SUSTRANS. As a sample of what the U.K. has to offer, it's good appetiser to have on a coffee table but I fancy having something more relevant to Cheshire. Nevertheless, it has caused me to ponder escapades like cycling from Barmouth to Porthmadog, all in Wales and all within sight of hills too. What really seals the deal for this one is that it would mean shadowing a railway line, a more than acceptable fallback if something went awry with the bike. While on the thread of dafter schemes, acquiring a Brompton folding bicycle is another that has entered an untethered head. After all, who knows what that might cause? Even with all these mental escapades, I am not planning to stop walking though hill country at all (I know that it is tales of those exploits that draw so many of you here) though I do need to admit some excitement at the prospect of exploring more places by bike too. Is this what could make 2010 different from other years?