RHINOGS FRIDAY 1st — MONDAY 4th MAY 1981
Sean, Mel and Peter Jennings, Colin Tregoing, Vanda Boyd, David Dunk, Frank and Jennifer Mellor, Ian Lauriston, Dave and Jenny Kime, Andy Smith, Rosy Perkins.
Arriving at Dinas Farm (G.R. 610291) in the early evening of Friday I am surprised to see Sean and family already prospecting for a good pitch. We have pinched an extra day to climb on Tryfan, and although we stopped in Beddgelert for a beer (with Duncan), I expected to be first at the campsite.
‘Evening Sean, not been hanging about then?’
‘No we got off early and had a good run down. Had a good day?’
‘Aye, we’ve done Grooved Arete. Bit nippy on the fingers but a great route. Nobody else here?’
‘Not seen anybody yet. Nice spot this. I think we’ll get set up and put a brew on.’
‘O.K. Traverse tomorrow? Weather looks promising.’
I put our tent up a fair distance from Sean’s as it wasn’t certain how young Pete would react to his first night under canvas. After lamb chops it was nearly dark, and after discussing transport arrangements it was dark. After drifting off to sleep for five minutes it was light again! Car headlights illuminated the canvas. Dave and Jenny and Andy and Rosy.
‘Hey, Frank. Doing the traverse tomorrow?’ Andy wanting to get it sorted.
‘Yep. Wake you up at six.’ ‘Six? Bit early in’t it?’
‘Yeh, but Sean’s keen not to be late back and Mel’s going to come and pick us up.’ (Always blame somebody else)
‘O.K. then.’
Drift off back to sleep again. Ten minutes later same performance with Vanda. Now everybody knows anyway.
Half past five, alarm goes off. Damn thing’s somewhere out under the flysheet. By the time I’ve struggled with the zip its stopped ringing. Bash it one anyway. Start a brew and leave it to Jennifer. Stick head out — Lovely! Sun coming up and pale blue sky. Over to Sean’s tent and whisper the time.Instant reply. Over to Andy’s — nothing. Try again but this time stick head round the flap. Now there’s a bit of snorting and the bag starts to move. Suddenly the top half of it rears up and out pops a bleary—eyed hairy face.
‘Andy, it’s six o’clock.’
‘Yes I know. I was just waking up then, you needn’t have bothered.’
As if this not enough, I get a withering glare from Rosy out of the gloom at the back of the tent. Christ, I wouldn’t like this job every morning. Vanda’s reasonably civil though, and Colin manages a muttered reply. That’s everybody.
(Dave and Jenny are doing a slightly different walk and knowing them they’ve probably been gone an hour already).
Whilst having a cuppa outside the tent I hear the first cuckoo of ’81 and a few minutes later a heron flaps over. People are emerging, gathering rucksacks, pulling on boots, sorting out gear. Should be ready for off soon. Wait a bit, where’s Colin?
‘Anybody seen Colin?’
Nobody has. The beggar’s gone back to sleep. He’s eventually persuaded out, and we’re off in two cars round to Trawsfynydd. I like to have a beer with Duncan.
Cars are left just off the track up to Cefn Clawdd on an old quarry site (G.R.684336). We’re walking by 8.15 am. Not bad considering we’d been aiming for 7.30. We go up over wet ground, finding and then losing a track to join the ridge just east of Diffwys. It’s warm work and pullovers are shed. On Diffwys it’s cooler. Roughish going with detours for crags and deep rocky trenches on the way to Ysgyfarnogod (So far so good). Now the ‘Celtic Badlands’ and Clip. Much cooler now, and the strongish breeze is blowing clouds of May blossom up from the valleys. Strange how its petals melt when they touch the skin. Elevenses on Clip. Ratatouille for Vanda. Cheese butties for me. Craig Wion is tough going but the weather is being kind. Snowdonia seems to be getting it and we can see fresh snow on the Arenigs, but we’re in the clear apart from the occasional flurry of May blossom. I like to have a beer with Dunk,
The way is barred again by rocky walls and trenches. Profanities from unexpected sources accompany our passage. Only the graffiti on the rock walls forces the realisation that we’ve made it to the Roman Steps. Lunch on the big Rhinog! Easily up after an awkward first couple of hundred feet. Past Llyn Du and into sunshine on the long shoulder leading to the summit. A small group of back-packers are just leaving. A nice rest here. Quiche Lorraine for Vanda. Pasty for me. And Guinness. (I like to have a beer with Colin). Those who’ve been here before assure us that we’re psychologically over half way, and that there are paths over the remaining ground. Ten minutes later we are hearing that there is no reason why an apple shouldn’t fall upwards from a tree. It’s something to do with statistics. One thing’s for certain there’s a helluva dip between Rhinog Fawr and Rhinog Fach. It feels like sea-level in Bwlch Drws Ardudwy. There’s a difference of opinion here. Colin and Vanda go up past Llyn Cwmhosan and the rest go straight up from the col. We give it some fettle (Sorry Ian) and get there first. Colin’s not long, but arrives with the news that Vanda is missing this one out. We catch her up just past the imposingly situated Llyn Hywel. Y Llethr is the biggest hill of the day but doesn’t feel it, the going is better. There are grassy paths. Apples fall upwards. The pace quickens up to Diffwys. The evening sun delineates the majestic North face of Cader Idris. What a tremendous walk! We’re dropping down the S.W. ridge of Diffwys to the col. Over Craig y Grut to Bwlch Rhiwgyr, to Sylfaen, to Mel waiting with the car and lastly to the fleshpots of Barmouth. Fish and chips, beer with Col and Dunk. The atmosphere is great!
As we sit drinking, the dreadful thought occurs that the pub may be closed tomorrow (Sunday). We ask the landlord who confirms our suspicions. Andy returns from the bar.
‘It is dry tomorrow, Andy.’ says Rosy.
‘Oh have you heard the weather forecast then?’ asks Dunk waking up!
Unfortunately it’s wet. Steady rain that doesn’t look like stopping. Ian has arrived. We cheer him up by telling him what a good day he missed yesterday. It’s a late start. Vanda’s due back in Sheffield. The rest of us drive to Barmouth and pay 12p for a walk across the Toll Bridge. At the other side first Colin and then Dave decide it’s not worth it. Colin goes birdwatching and Dave goes to dry out, having discovered his anorak isn’t waterproof. The dwindling party plods on. Jennifer insults Ian by telling him he’ll be next to go. It works. He stays. We follow the disused railway along the south side of the Mawddach estuary to Penmaenpool. The rain lashes our backs. Lunch in the shelter of the pub (It’s closed). Over the toll bridge to Borthwnog. Only 1p this time. The rain has stopped and there’s a strong drying wind. Pleasantly up through the woods to Garth-gell. A jay hops across the path. A squirrel scampers ahead. We link paths and forest tracks back towards Barmouth. It showers on and off. We take anoraks on and off and on and off. We finish at Barmouth’s Panorama Walk. A commanding view up the estuary and out to sea. Cader’s hidden behind the clag. Back in town Col and Duncan are dozing in Dave and Jenny’s car. We’re back and dry.
The evening passes as meals are cooked, then there’s chatting outside the tents in the gathering gloom until it’s too cold for comfort.
Monday morning. Grey and unsettled. Tops look likely to be cloud. Kimes suggest Berwyns. No-one objects, so it’s down tents and off to Llandrillo. A pleasant spot this. A spired church and an elegant bridge over a fast-flowing river. A gentle path leads us up on to the broad ridge where we stop for a bite near the ‘Way Farer’ plaque. The clouds have rolled away and although it’s still overcast there’s no rain. A strong breeze makes us don cags for the ridge up to Cadair Bronwen. The long ridge rolls us on to Cadair Berwyn and Moel Sych where we turn N.W. and head back over marshy ground towards the valley. Lovely warm sunshine welcomes us back to the village. Our weekend in Wild Wales is over. Nostalgia sets in as I drive home.
Frank A. Mellor