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Day 22
The rain was gone by morning. The campsite was facing east and the sun rose on it just as I got the tent packed up. It was a very short and easy climb onto Gallt y Daren and a mere stroll across to the other summit, Foel Boeth. For the first time I saw Snowdon and could not resist a photograph although it was probably too distant to show up on the picture.
Being up when the hills are fresh and sparkling in the light of the rising sun is one of the delights of wild camping. This is the time to have the mountains to oneself shared only with sheep and skylarks. Not that I had had any shortage of quiet solitary hills so far on this walk at any time of the day.
The next pair of hills were far from a short and easy climb. I could see them to the south with rough moorland and forestry between. I started on the forest road but with such good weather made a sudden decision to save distance by going out onto the open hill, rough though it would probably be. In fact with the good visibility I was able to see that by moving across to the eastern scarp of the hills I could enjoy the luxury of walking amongst the sheep mainly on short cropped grass. In the mist I should have struggled through the heather or gone much further round on forest tracks.
When I reached the ford over the Afon Mawddach, which is incorporated in the book route, I found it looking fairly daunting. The book advises coming up the other side of the river if it is in spate. It was not in spate but the track seemed to have gone into disuse and under the brown peaty water I could see large boulders rather than the smooth bottom which one would expect where a track crosses. This was definitely a crossing which I was not going to attempt without a stick. Luckily three discarded fence posts lay nearby. I selected the smallest, still rather on the hefty side, and removed my socks. Although they were very damp I still considered it worthwhile since the water was clearly going to come over the top of the boots. In fact I feared that it might come above my knees. Because of the murky water it was impossible to see the bottom all the way across. However aided by the post it turned out easier than expected. I left the post close by for the benefit of anybody who might be travelling the other way.
While my boots and feet dried out to some extent I had a rather peaty brew up on the banks of the river. It was beginning to cloud up and a sharp and cool east wind was giving unexpectedly icy gusts. Perhaps this was just as well for in hot sunshine the ascent might have seemed even more arduous. The book says that the top of Dduallt is quickly reached from the ford but it seemed a long hard plod to me. I realized that I was starting the fourth week of the walk so it was perhaps not surprising that I was feeling a certain amount of tiredness.
Forest intervenes between Dduallt and Rhobell Fawr so it was very helpful to have the description in the book of how to traverse it. The sight of the steep ascent up the second of this rough pair was so offputting that I indulged in the unprecedented greed of a second brew up. It really was steep even requiring hands in places to climb up the rocky sections beside the wall. Perhaps they could have been circumvented but a bit of scrambling was welcome after the morning's boggy plod. Just before the summit I encountered a substantial wall and of course went over it at the point where everybody else had done the same and it was starting to collapse. I wonder why a stile is not provided at such a place. Perhaps it is felt that this would appear to legitimise access to a hill which does not actually have any official right of way to the top. Surely they must realise that people will come anyway, at least mad peak-baggers!
The view from this summit was wonderful with a beautiful misty light now on the hills which were silhouetted in shades of grey. From south-west to north-east I could make out Cadair Idris, Maesglase, the Arans and the Arenigs which I had traversed already although I could not distinguish the individual summits. Westwards the ridge of the Rhinogs was strung out in perfect silhouette emphasising the big drops and reascents which awaited me on these rough mountains. To the north I could still distinguish Snowdon although now almost invisible as a grey hill against a grey sky.
The ridge to Bwlch Goriwared was rough and confusing as the map suggested but now I had reason to bless the wall which a few minutes earlier I had been cursing as an obstruction. It takes an amazing course, somewhat to the south of the contorted ridge which leads to the col and stays almost entirely on comfortable short cropped grass. Despite this easy descent I was very tired by the time I reached the tiny village of Llanfachreth. About half a mile away I was offered a lift for the first and only time on this walk. Of course I refused, politely I hope.
I could not find the B&B place listed in the Ramblers book but Ty Isaf was conspicuously offering accommodation so I went round the back as instructed and found the proprietors, Graham and Diana Silverton, sitting in the garden. They made me very welcome in their luxurious house where I enjoyed a hot shower and a delicious dinner.
Over a gin and tonic before the meal I told them and their other guests, a retired couple from Crewe, what I was doing and all were duly impressed. Over dinner we discussed how odd it was that some retired people are bored. Like many of my friends they are so tied up with voluntary work that they have less freedom than when they were working. They obviously loved it that way. So far I have avoided getting myself into that situation and so could embark on this walk.
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