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Day 10
Next morning the town was veiled in mist. Visibility was only a few yards yet there was a
brightness in the air which suggested that it was a valley mist only. On such a morning at
home I might rush up a mountain and hope to climb into sunshine with the summits soaring
above a sea of cloud. Here there were no high hills to climb but it was no surprise to walk
out of the mist as I left the valley of the Ithon and ascended the footpath, not very obvious
on the ground, onto the eastern end of Rhiw Gwraidd. I had seen no obvious route to
Gorllwyn although it seemed essential to go by Llanwrthwl which has one of the few
crossing points of the Wye. Since we had recently acquired Alan Dawson's tables and
decided to collect tops from his list I had decided on this route over Rhiw Gwraidd.
I must confess to being an unashamed peak-bagger although I would prefer to describe
myself as a collector of mountains. Many people despise what they call the 'tick mentality'
which leads one, in their eyes, to climb a hill simply to tick it off on a list. There is no
doubt that the obsession to complete a list does lead to some pretty daft expeditions and this
is turning out to be especially true of Dawson's tables where some of the tops are definitely
not worth visiting. However the quest for Bridges, Munros and Corbetts was overall a very
worthwhile endeavour which led us to visit hills which we might otherwise never have
climbed and to climb them sometimes in less than ideal conditions which occasionally
brings a very special reward. The most beautiful moments in the mountains often arise on
the most dreadful days when one may climb through the clouds or the mist may be
unexpectedly rent aside to reveal a sudden splendour.
Collecting is a natural instinct for many people. Mountains have certain advantages over
art or antiques. They occupy no space, need no dusting and do not attract burglars. Yet they
offer just as much beauty as the most magnificent man-made masterpieces with the extra
benefit of maintaining the health and fitness of the collector. My collection contains not just
completed tables but many foreign hills as well and as with stamps the most attractive
acquisitions are not necessarily the rarest. I have taken particular pleasure in climbing
Mount Whitney, the highest in the USA outside Alaska, Koscuiosko, the highest in Australia
and Mount Fuji, perhaps the most familiar mountain image in the world. Mont Blanc gave a
special thrill, while Ararat combined beauty and excitement with the lure of the exotic, but
the 'penny black' of my collection must be Qornat es Sawda, an unexciting hill, the highest
summit in Lebanon.
Rhiw Gwraidd was also an unexciting hill. The route from the right of way to the
summit at the western end of the ridge was apparently barred by a fenced radio mast and
agricultural territory and I was undecided whether to bother with the extra two miles
needed to include it. At last I decided to dump the rucksack and give it a go and found it a
lot easier than expected with only one barbed wire fence to be climbed to give access to this
undistinguished top.
As I approached Llanwrthwl I saw a sign advertising real ale and pub grub but the place
was boarded up and decaying. There was only a petrol station where I consoled myself with
a can of shandy. I was soon climbing the dead end road which leads into the hills. It was a
pleasant change to have sunshine but the heat made this long ascent particularly arduous
despite the evocative call of the first cuckoo. The rucksack seemed exceptionally heavy and
indeed it was, since I had new supplies and most of my clothing was inside.
As I stopped
and sat on a flat rock to recover a farmer drove up, stopped his landrover and asked me
where I was going. I told him 'Gorllwyn' but he did not seem to understand; I probably
pronounced it wrong. He asked me how far it was and I said about four miles. Then he
asked me if I was going to camp up there. I could not say anything but 'yes', wondering of
course if he was going to object, but I think he was just curious. Another farmer was
shouting at his dogs on the opposite side of the valley. I suppose this is a particularly
sensitive time with young lambs on the hills.
As the road ended a very pleasant grassy track led onto the ridge where the going,
although haggy in places, was not so bad as expected and I was soon on the summit of
Gorllwyn with Drygarn Fawr looking very far away to the west.
I decided to try and camp just north of the col between the two peaks but as I
approached it looked very unhopeful for the stream seemed dried up and its course was
through very boggy territory. Then suddenly I heard running water and there was a
beautiful spring in a deep hole just above the valley. Here I found a semi-flat spot and
pitched the tent but as I wrote later in the log 'Only the zipped up door of the tent prevented
me from rolling down the hill. I was reminded of climbers who sleep attached to pitons on
places like the Eiger nordwand!'
next day
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