I’d planned this trip rather hastily, in the space of about
10 minutes and had largely allowed OS Digital to plot the route for me. It had
me going NW up the road from the parking spot, to come back S to Llyn Arenig
Fawr. Looking at the map before setting out, it struck me that there’s
(allegedly) a path taking the short side of the triangle. To go the long and
easy way around, or to take the short, but potentially rough option? The latter
seemed the obvious choice to me.
Blue line = what OS Digital plotted; Black dotted line = the route that seemed more obvious to me (but knowing that the path may no longer exist on the ground); Red line: what I actually did.
As it went, I didn’t even have to detour along the road to
where the maps shows the path. As soon as I crossed the road I
could see a footbridge, and that suggested to me there was probably a trodden
line. There was – and thanks to the parched ground conditions I remained
dry-footed all the way through what would ordinarily be boggy ground.
I had a brief chat with a chap who was descending as I made my way up from the Llyn. I also greeted a couple of chaps a bit higher up. They were the only people I saw on this entire trip – although admittedly setting out at 3pm meant I wasn’t out at the busiest time of day, and these aren’t the busiest hills in Wales.
At the summit…
…I had a panic. I’d eaten the bun I’d had in my hipbelt pocket on the way up, and with it now approaching 5pm, I thought another snack was in order on the next stretch of my route. I opened the lid of my pack, but my food bag wasn’t at the top, as it should have been. I’d surely just put the tent and the food bag in in the wrong order, but no, the food wasn’t under the tent either.
I thought back. Before setting out up the first hill of the day, I’d dug down into my pack to get something out. Had I really put the food down and not picked it back up?
As I waited for Mick’s response (which I felt sure would say that he’d found it) I was thankful that I’d spotted that it was missing on the first summit, rather than when I’d put the tent up much later. All a storm in a teacup as it transpired – I’d just put it in the wrong place.
Further along the Arenig Fawr ridge I could have had myself a good pitch for the night, but even ignoring the fact that it would have given me too much ground to cover tomorrow, I wasn’t going to take water out of one of the pools there, and everywhere was so dry that there wasn’t going to be running water to be found even if I dropped down to the head of one of the nearby streams.
Two fast jets came along the valley as I started descending to the dip between Arenig Fawr and Moel Llyfnant, the second appearing incredibly close to the ground. I’m glad I wasn’t at the bwlch as they flew over! By the time I got down there, I a) was seriously rationing the last few sips of my water; b) could see water about 1km to the N; and c) was thoroughly unenthusiastic about the final summit (probably because I’d loosely intended to camp somewhere around here and now knew that I couldn’t due to the lack of water).
As is always the case, one foot in front of the other got the job done. However, with the sun dipping behind the hill, the speed of the shade descending was faster than my ascent. It was chilly by the time I reached the summit.
I followed the trodden line N off the top, before striking off towards the river and where I hoped (based on what I’d seen from a distance) to camp for the night. A 500m detour that took me 20 minutes(!!) did not net me either water or a pitch. Shortly after I realised that I was a 7.5km walk from where Erica-the-Campervan was parked, and that I had just enough daylight to get there, if I kept up a keen pace. Plans to camp were abandoned and I settled for the training benefit of having hauled my full pack over a couple of hills.
I wouldn't recommend the detour into the forest by Amnodd Bwll! I didn't have to do the last few km along the road, as Mick drove out to pick me up.
