On Thursday, I left you at the foot of Fan Brycheiniog, after having climbed to the summit and then descended the sharp ridge and walked down the mountain that way.
It was getting dark by the time we got back to the car and pretty properly dark by the time we were driving back to the hall. There was a bit of chaos: Father Christmas was coming to Ystradgynlais so we changed into dry, clean-ish clothes, grabbed a cup of tea and rushed back outside to watch him parade through the village on the back of a tractor, accompanied by a kind of Harley-Davidson trike, a Chinese-style parade dragon with elaborate white ribbons waving, and what we could only assume was a Gandalf the White on stilts. We think they missed a trick – the road, obviously, had to be closed to allow the parade to wend their way up the street and Gandalf should have been in front, blocking the traffic, bellowing “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!”.
Then some of us went back to the hall and others to investigate the fair in the nearby park, only to return while Val was in the shower to demand her Indian/Chinese order so they could go and get food. Dude. We’ve just got in from a Quality Mountain Day. Give us five minutes to read the menu and catch our breath before rushing us on to the next thing! Food was duly procured and we quickly realised we should have paired up – every portion, whether Indian, Chinese or fish & chips, was double the size the eater actually wanted.
When we could move, we cleared the table and spread the maps out again. I could barely walk – my left knee, which had hurt coming down the mountain, was now pretty much locked in position. I’d considered leaving the walking altogether and going to the Dan-yr-Ogof showcaves, but they’re closed for the winter. Ok, maybe I’d just amble aimlessly around above the South Wales Caving Club. Maybe I’d come with them for a while and then turn back. We looked at plane wreckage. There have been a ludicrous number of relatively small plane crashes on the mountainside here. Apparently planes taking off from Swansea tend to ice over when they get to the mountains and then they crash on the west side of the valley. Visiting plane wreckage feels like a rather ghoulish thing to me, which is partly why I’ve never been to the famous one in Iceland but a walk is a walk. Fortunately for me, they settled on walking above the SWCC. Follow the tramway across the OFD nature reserve, through Fforest Fawr and up to Fan Gyhirych, down the old railway east of the big patch of forest and back – somewhere – into the quarry next to the caving club. It’s a big commercial working quarry so I had my doubts about being able to cross it but it’s all just rolling hillside, so walking along the back of it would extend their walk by maybe 200m if it turned out they couldn’t get through. Ok, I’d walk with them until I got tired.
And so in the morning, I loaded up my car with all my stuff. There was no point in sitting in the car for five hours waiting for them to get back and if I went back to the hall, I’d probably end up leaving a light on or the heating on or forgetting to put the key in its hiding place – imagine getting to Bristol and realising you have the only key! Or locking it in, since the door is on a latch! No, safest and easiest thing was to pack up my stuff and drive up myself.
I’ve spent a lot of time in this area but I’ve only ever driven it myself once. Somewhere along here used to the the Copper Beech, which is the pub we went to when we got tired of drinking in the caving club’s common room. No sign of it now. Google Maps suggests it’s in Abercraf, but I don’t recognise the building, which doesn’t even have the name Copper Beech on it. I think it’s what’s now called the Ancient Briton. Then a sharp left turn down the hill, across the river and a steep, steep climb up to Penwyllt. Once upon a time, Andy sat in the minibus on the way down to Tesco wearing camouflage-patterned trousers that literally steamed, presumably because it had been raining while we ran to the minibus. I could see those trousers as I drove up. I could feel them. And guess what? I’m still a member of my old caving club’s Facebook group and I knew, by pure chance, that they happened to be up here this weekend. However, we arrived about 9.20am and that’s far too early for a student caving club to be up.
We set off up the Beacons Way, which is just five minutes to take us to the old tramway, where we stopped to consult our maps as if this absolute straight line was some curious and difficult feature. Val came up and asked if I knew where we were. Knew? Honey, I was walking this area in wellies nineteen years ago. I know exactly where I am – plus I can see the green diamonds meeting the straight line. Would you like a grid reference? SN 861 157, just here.
We trudged up until we met the boundary, a good solid stone wall that looks like something out of Game of Thrones. We paused here – a big wall is a good feature for someone to hide behind for a couple of minutes of privacy, if you see what I mean – and I could look across the valley at Fan Brycheiniog opposite. I said in my last post that I hadn’t realised how high we were when we were walking along the bottom of the sharp ridge. Well, this was the moment when I realised that. It’s an entire rounded mountain opposite and sticking out of the top is something that looks like an ichthyosaur’s fin and that’s the ridge we started on. If we’d done these two days the other way round, I would never have climbed that thing.
Our route today was nice and gentle. We followed the tramway around the mountainside. It’s a tramway. It rain heavily-loaded trains on wooden sleepers. Apart from the climb up to the wall, it’s pretty flat by nature. I’d looked at the map and looked at the planned route and picked my turning-back point – I’d really struggle to make it to the top of the mountain today, and I’d hate it and be grumpy and angry and then my knee would probably break trying to get down, especially given how steep their intended descent is. Fan Gyhirych is one of these mountains that rises up reasonably gently on one side and then is virtually sheer on the other. Well, not quite sheer but certainly so much steeper than anyone with any sense would attempt to descend. I’d never make it. So while we waited by the wall, I’d had a look at the map, had a look at where the route started to go up and I’d picked my turning-back point. The tramway meets a well-defined path, takes a slightly awkward turn and then begins to climb. I was going to stop at that slightly awkward turn. To be honest, it didn’t feel like I’d walked very far but I didn’t want to go uphill and the group would move quicker without me. So I said my goodbyes and turned back, promising to text Val when I got back to the car. They’d see if my car had gone when they came down but that would be hours away and if I was lying injured on the hillside, I’d be dead from hypothermia by then.
Not that I intended to die of hypothermia. For at least a quarter of the route, I’d be directly in the path of cavers heading to or from OFD and I probably had the signal to look up the SWCC’s phone number if something did happen to me. Not that calling the local caving club is standard emergency procedure but why phone mountain rescue when you know some big burly cavers can be with you in half an hour to haul you to your feet and walk you back to the hut? Besides, if I did phone mountain rescue, the call would almost certainly come through to cave rescue anyway and you’ll never guess where local cave rescue is based. The SWCC is ten ex-miner’s cottages knocked into one long building – cottage number 2 is where rescue lives. I say “lives”. It’s pretty much whichever cavers happen to be at the cottage when a call comes through.
Anyway. Nothing happened. There’s a huge visible track all the way around the mountain and then down to practically the hut’s back garden, then a twisty-turny path that takes you from the tramway to the gate. I’ve walked these mountains before in white-out fog in the dark. I admit, there were three of us on that occasion – leapfrogging like we did back then doesn’t work very well on your own – but even if I could only see a couple of inches ahead, I probably could have got safely back to the hut. I strolled, I took photos of sheep, I sang madrigals to them (it just feels like the right genre for caves), I limped down the tramway back to the path junction, deciding I’d absolutely made the right decision not to walk up to the summit and then popped into the caving club. Well, I’ve not been up here since 2016, and that was with the Region walking group. On my own, I had the opportunity. It was about 11.15 by now and that meant my club were underground, all except the one asleep in the common room. That probably meant too much to drink on Saturday night and I decided introducing myself to the next generation by the conduit of an extremely hungover solo student wasn’t going to work.
But what I did decide, or rather, what I thought about, was joining a trip or two in future. They’re open to graduates. I’ll have to pay for insurance via membership via the student union, and I’ll have to get a new oversuit and undersuit because what I wore at eighteen no longer fits, but I do love caving.
Anyway. I felt like I’d had a really short and gentle walk, give or take the trek up the tramway to the wall, and it turned out to be 5.4km which is nearly three days’ worth of daily walks. Add that to the 14 point something kilometres on Saturday and I’d tipped over my 1000km in 2022! That meant I could submit my evidence and get my medal! Of course, I’ll keep walking. 2km a day is something I don’t want to break and although I no longer need to do 84km a month (that’s the roundest number to reach 1000km by December 31st), I think I would feel weird if I didn’t do it.
And that’s it for regular 2022 content! Starting from Thursday is Blogmas, so 24 consecutive days of winter, Christmas and outdoors content! Enjoy!