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Day 11
I slept quite well despite the slope but was slightly upset next morning when within five minutes of striking camp I was crossing the main stream at a perfect flat dry campsite! It was cloudy but clear which was helpful in finding a relatively dry route to the two enormous tidy cairns on Drygarn Fawr. I wondered why this hill should be the one with the smartest summit cairn in the country. Perhaps they were built to celebrate this dry heathery ridge, a little oasis in the midst of a vast area of bog.
What a wonderful wild and empty area this is. Rowland was surprised when I wrote once that I sometimes feel a touch of fear in empty places, a tingling at the back of the neck I called it. There are places in Scotland where the emptiness clutches you by the throat and becomes in itself almost a threatening presence. Sometimes you can suddenly stop and the silence is so intense that it assaults the ears as surely as an explosion. I was not feeling that way this morning for larks and lambs dispersed the silence and ensured a friendly solitude. I thought of that marvellous verse by Gerard Manley Hopkins which should be framed on the desk of every National Park and National Trust ranger and engraved on the hearts of all those who are campaigning for long distance paths and waymarks over the mountains:

'What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.'

Pen y Garn is about twenty kilometres away as the crow flies, one of the longest gaps between two-thousanders in the whole of Wales, with very rough territory on the way. The real lover of wildness and wet might choose to walk the watershed, or some approximation to it, which would surely test that love to the limit. I selected the soft option of utilising the vehicle track along Claerwen Reservoir after enjoying a brew up just below the dam in amongst the rocks on the banks of the Afon Arban.
I was amazed to notice at this halt that my feet were still dry despite the rough and boggy ground which I had been crossing. I was very depressed by the wet feet which I had suffered during the first few days and in Crickhowell had purchased some aqueous Nikwax, deciding that a little extra weight in the rucksack might be compensated by more comfortable feet on which to carry it. This remarkable stuff looks like white paint and comes with a brush with which it can be applied to wet boots and then wiped off a few minutes later to leave a waxy coating. The theory is that because it is water based it will penetrate to the crucial places where the water penetrates. Needless to say I was very generous with it since every application to the feet was less to carry on the back and it really did seem to improve the waterproofness of the boots.
The track along the reservoir was efficient but tedious although I was very pleased to see a kite, its forked tail unmistakeable, the first time I had identified one for certain. There was quite a cold wind which was an advantage in a way as I was wearing sweater and anorak and the rucksack was noticeably lighter. Again sheep and lambs dominated the route, each lamb rushing to mother as I approached. One was butted angrily away, it had run to the wrong ewe. A second attempt brought acceptance. I wondered if they recognise each other by voice or by smell.
There are four big inlets. On the last I met a group of four backpackers of the 'christmas tree' variety. Not only did they have things strapped to every available part of their rucksacks but some were carrying plastic bags of stuff as well. Still they looked quite cheerful! Beyond the reservoir the track deteriorates before reaching the tarmac. The rough section is gated and forbidden to unauthorised vehicles, a welcome way of keeping the track peaceful for walkers and presumably cyclists and horseriders although none were in evidence today.
My next goal was another of the peaks from Alan Dawson's tables, Waen Claerddu. It seemed to fit in beautifully with my walk and had crystallised a route in my mind on this long section where otherwise no particular course seemed obvious. I probably left the road a bit too soon, encountered some very boggy ground indeed and my feet were dry no longer. On this hill the trig point is not at the highest point which is marked by a small but rather handsome cairn capped with white quartz. I was not sure whether this was the named cairn, Carnyrhyrddod, or whether that name refered to a larger but completely collapsed one nearby. I expected more bog but the ridge Llethr Tirion, marked on the map, turned out to be well-defined and quite dry. It was marked with boundary stones as had been the Gorllwyn to Drygarn Fawr ridge although in that case they do not necessarily mark the best route.
I dropped into the headwaters of the Nant Milwyn and although it was only 5pm decided that I must camp. I knew of no accommodation in Cwmystwyth and anyway on a pleasant evening like this the tent was preferable. Beyond the village was agriculture and forestry so it was essential to stop on this open fellside. I had to drop lower than I would have liked before finding running water rather than bog. Unfortunately it was in view of the village and so I pitched with the bright yellow door of the tent pointing uphill, an unnecessary precaution since it was soon raining and the mist came down.
The tent is a Phreerunner which I won in a competition. To be more accurate I won a voucher to spend in the YHA shop in Nottingham which I used to get the tent and a pair of boots. The boots had already been worn out but I had not made a great deal of use of the tent up to now. It is a Goretex single skin tent which means it is very light and I also found that the main tent was completely waterproof. The door and ground sheet are nylon however and the latter in particular became unpleasantly wet, whether from leakage or condensation I was never quite sure. Only the Therm-a-Rest bedroll made it tolerable to sit in the tent in wet weather.
I like to think that it was won by 'skill and judgment' as the competition organisers say. The shop displayed a copy of the 'Ben Nevis and Glen Coe' tourist map together with the scenario of a warm summer evening with light winds but a forecast of rain and a backpacker with tent and sleeping bag but no water. To enter the competition one filled in name and address on a small flag and pinned it onto the map at one's selected camping spot. I looked at those flags already in place and realised that half the entrants had inexplicably disqualified themselves by ignoring the need for water while the rest would suffer torments from midges. I placed my flag boldly on the col between the Munros, Stob Ghabhar and Stob a'Choire Odhair. One day I must camp there and see if it really is a good spot.
I was not always able to get good reception from my little radio. Last night I had been particularly irritated by hearing Classic FM announce that they were about to play Bruckner's Seventh Symphony and then losing the reception so that all I could hear around that wavelength was a man intoning over and over again 'This is Radio Ceredigion. We shall resume transmission in the morning. Do join us' followed by a woman's voice saying, presumably, the same thing in Welsh. Tonight however I enjoyed a marvellous concert live from the Festival Hall on Radio 3, Bruckner's Ninth Symphony conducted by Gunter Wand. This is a work which I know very well and I am always moved by Bruckner's farewell to life in that beautiful Adagio. It was really special to hear it in the tent with once again that extra accompaniment of rain beating on the roof.

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