At a tad under 3000 ft, Aran Fawddwy is the highest British mountain south of Snowdon, but it’s relatively unknown because of its isolation. It’s also, from my point of view anyway, a bit of a pig! The walk begins and ends in the valley of Cwm Cywarch so there’s no leg-up; you have to gain every inch of that height through your own efforts.
The first stretch is a scramble over rock and streams.
You look back and reap the first rewards of your hard work,
but it’s only a brief respite before slogging on through very wet and boggy ground. There’s another scramble and then, some two and half hours after you’ve started, you reach the summit – and it’s shrouded in cloud.
Find some shelter and reward yourself with sushi and a Mars bar.
You descend out of the cloud base which is just as well as there’s a narrow ridge to cross with dramatic drops either side. As the clouds drift the sights take your breath away and make you feel utterly alive.
The first stretch is a scramble over rock and streams.You look back and reap the first rewards of your hard work,
but it’s only a brief respite before slogging on through very wet and boggy ground. There’s another scramble and then, some two and half hours after you’ve started, you reach the summit – and it’s shrouded in cloud.
Find some shelter and reward yourself with sushi and a Mars bar.
You descend out of the cloud base which is just as well as there’s a narrow ridge to cross with dramatic drops either side. As the clouds drift the sights take your breath away and make you feel utterly alive.
Comments
All the same I was higher up than you were (I imagine) simply because 'Le Massif Cantalien' is so high to begin with (otherwise the rivers would never get to the sea but just simply run round in circles).
Still your climb was further upwards than mine and your poor legs have taken punishment far beyond the call of duty in recent days. In fact it's a bit of a wonder they don't simply fall off.
As for leaping on a horse - I only wish I could - I fear these days that I would have to be winched up like one of those armour-suited monsters of old. I do believe though that I could leap on a donkey which, if I remember rightly, was Stevenson's favourite form of travel and a suitable beast for carrying you up mountains.
All the same, I think I would rather share the donkey's oats than face raw fish with my head stuck in the clouds, if ever I reached the summit. Raw fish and long distance running must come equal first in my anathema stakes.
I think I'll take my pleasures sitting down, thank you.
P.S. No, Rufus still can't be left anywhere without him freaking out. We shall have to start a programme of training for him.
Although, I have to admit, it does look beautiful.
(While I was on an errand in midtown today, I saw many folks whose trim physiques indicated that they would be running in the NYC marathon this weekend. At least, I think it's this Sunday ... am I out of touch or what.)
It was fun to try to imagine which country they were from before I heard them speak a word.
There are all sorts of bleachers set up in the southern end of Central Park where the finish line will appear.
Perhaps one year you might come over and do this run? I'd definitely take the day off to cheer you on!
xo
Jeanne x
I love your pictures and descriptions of a real Welsh mountain walk, and you both look glowing images of health and achievement up there on the summit. I think the scramble over rock and streams and the boggy trudge would probably finish me off even before I got to the low cloud.
CKx