writing | Gateway
Walking in the uplands, north of the Carneddau range of mountains in the Eryri National Park. An underrated area often not visited much by people, so perfect for us.
My legs worked like pistons as we continued to climb Foel Lus. Muscles pulled and pushed, driving my body up the steep scree route we’d chosen. After ten minutes of wobbling and balancing on the loose rock, we found the path we were after, hugging the hillside like a balcony. My thighs ached from lactic acid build-up as I adjusted to moving on more level ground.
We followed the path around and came out from behind the protection of the hill, wind whipping our faces. Given the forecast, it was expected but would hopefully drop when we passed through the bwlch, a pass between the two mountains.
Arriving at twin knolls watching over the bwlch, the wind did ease and we dropped our rucksacks for a break. These two huge sentries on either side of us were weathered and beaten but standing like towers on a castle wall. The flanks were topped in heather but jagged rocks jutted out, concealing hidden menace.
Guardians of the gateway to this ridge of upland between Conwy Mountain in the northeast and Bwlch y Ddeufaen in the southwest, I imagined one of the knolls booming “Be warned humans, we watch and protect this realm.”
I noticed a couple of young mountain ash saplings making a break for it on the side of one of them. Their red berries, although bright and inviting, would be bitter to taste unless properly picked and prepared.
I pointed to them and asked Sally, “I wonder if we came back in a few years, would these saplings have grown and matured much?”
“They might do, but it would be a fair few years to reach a good size, you’d likely need wheeling up by then” Sally replied with a smile, my font of tree knowledge and always one to take the piss out of my advancing age (I’m not that old)
Picking up our rucksacks we passed the two guardians and entered a vast canvas. The sky opened up, deep blue with whispery clouds of white and grey, creating shapes like a Rorschach test.
The broad valley, wide and shallow, stretched out perhaps only a few kilometres before giving way to soft rolling hills on the other side. Behind them in black silhouette, and some way off was the moody-looking Carneddau range. A collection of whale-backed mountains offering some fine walking and ridgelines. A place where you could spend hours and not see another soul other than wild mountain ponies.
Focusing back on the immediate views, organised enclosures were filled with sheep. Thick green and brown bracken covered those areas not managed. There were patches of small woods with houses hidden amongst them, the grey slate tiled roofs peaking out and giving away their location. A power line snaked its way up the valley, crisscrossing to each house, and down the other side.
Passing some of the farmhouses it occurred to me what life must be like up here, remote and away from everything; the daily grind, news, people, things. An old Bronze Age track originally traversed this plateau with evidence of its long history of population.
At Cefn Coch we came across the remains of various old ceremonial monuments with an old stone circle at its centre, estimated to have been there since 3000BC. It originally consisted of thirteen stones, some up to six feet tall, set into a circular bank. An excavation in 1958 found a stone cist near the centre with the remains of a ten-year-old child. Nearby, another pot was found with another child’s remains and a knife.
Not much remained of the stones, these stoic rocks, set firmly into the ground. Resistant to the elements, succumbing eventually to history, what was left was witnessing the changes in the landscape. Nearby, a quarry over on Penmaenmawr had scooped off the top of the mountain, creating a hideous scar.
As we carried on, carpets of purple heather blanketed the open valley ahead and trails started to show themselves. Handrailing a wall I noticed the huge crusts of lichen colonising it. Shades of green, yellow, orange and grey first arrived here with glaciers, sculpting this area.
Across the valley, Tal-y-Fan looked like an old battlecruiser, its north flank steep and craggy, mottled with lumps and bumps, deep gullies cut into the sides with streams running down. To the left, over the saddle, was Foel Llywd. A round hill with a softer shape, it was more like a tugboat pulling Tal-y-Fan.
We dropped down into the broad valley and picked up a path towards the saddle. Easy grass trails gave way to the more open boggy ground. We stopped to watch two kites circling in the distance. A third larger bird appeared and I said “I’m sure that’s an eagle” even though they aren’t normally found in this area.
It glides towards us, its massive wingspan carrying it effortlessly on the breeze. I’m more sure it’s an eagle as it passes, sussing us out. It looks back and gives us a “crrp crrp”.
As we reach the other side of the valley we climb to the saddle between Tal-y-Fan and Foel Llywd, through the recently burnt bush. Crossing over the charred ground, dry stumps of bare heather bush lie open, the exposed branches looking like ribs of a dead lamb, picked apart and left.
The Carneddau range opens up more as the layers of mountains extend out in front of us. Dark thick clouds hang heavy over the peaks. Drum, Foel Fras, Carnedd Gwenllian and Carnedd Llewelyn, and in the distance is Ogwen Valley and the Glyders.
Turning round we look across to the Menai Strait and Anglesey, through a grey haze we can make out the Wicklow mountains in Ireland, a distant massif on another land. A boat passes slowly on the horizon.
Looking down to the coast we see the Great Orme peninsular trailing off into the sea, which is shimmering a deep blue azure. Thin wisps of cloud slowly stretch out across the craggy tops of Great Orme. We stand at the gateway, waiting.