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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!'
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