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Day 23
'When the sun shines on the mountain .... no one can take my freedom away'. The words of a song heard long ago on the radio ran through my head as I strolled down the road next morning. Although I have searched through the shelves of country music many times I have never managed to trace this piece whose lyrics are so close to my heart. They are often only in the heart, a form of wishful thinking, for freedom is a very elusive thing. Either by choice or necessity we all bind ourselves in chains. This walk was indeed a chain of my own making, a chain of 181 links, yet I had seldom felt more carefree, released from the little duties and responsibilities which pressure normal existence. I was granted just an inkling perhaps of the paradox of the religious ascetic who finds freedom in bondage and total self- denial.
I climbed onto Y Garn by way of the abandoned Cefn Coch gold mine. Above the ruined buildings the ridge becomes quite well defined for a while with many excavations and spoil heaps to add interest to the climb. The sun was indeed shining on the mountain, with scarcely a cloud in the sky, yet a cold east wind made it uninviting to linger at the summit and the views were surprisingly hazy. It looked a long way to the main ridge of the Rhinogs.
A very recent article in The Great Outdoors magazine had described a route from this isolated top to Diffwys and I had made notes in the margin of the book. This did not prevent me from getting into some of that uniquely awful territory for which the Rhinogs are notorious, a combination of thick heather and large boulders. I reached the very boggy ground below almost with relief. Here I found a spring and a relatively sheltered area of rocks where I had a belated midday brew up at about 2pm.
Now followed a long trudge through the forest to locate the amazing track which runs up to an old mine high on the slopes of Diffwys. In places it has almost disappeared and I nearly lost it a couple of times but it is worth tracing for in some places in runs over spectacular stone causeways, a most unusual route. After the inconspicuous remains of the mine it was a simple continuation on grass to the ridge where I dumped the rucksack by the wall and went up to Diffwys and then down to its west top. I had annotated this diversion 'painful' in my plan but it was now such a beautiful afternoon that I thoroughly enjoyed the grassy stroll to this 'pick-your-own-tussock' summit. This is the easy end of the Rhinogs. In complete contrast to the rough stuff further north, which I was to struggle through tomorrow, a long and completely grassy ridge runs down towards Barmouth becoming craggy again only at the extreme southern end as it tumbles down to the Mawddach estuary. I had walked it before but turned my back on it now for this small bump on the ridge is the very last to creep above 2000 feet. On the way back I contoured round to avoid some of the reascent.
Crib-y-Rhiw is another small bump on the ridge but this time quite a craggy one with little outcrops of rock amongst bilberries and heather. Here I met another walker and we stopped for quite a long chat mainly about two-thousanders because it transpired that he had the Nuttalls' book and was doing their walk over the Rhinogs. He had met nobody else all day and I had met only two forestry workers so it was pleasant to have a bit of conversation. He still had a long way to go but was in no hurry to continue, loth to go down from the hills on such a glorious evening. I am sure that he felt a twinge of envy when I told him that I had a tent and was hoping to camp at Llyn Hywel.
Eventually I continued over the grassy summit of Yr Llethr, the highest in the Rhinogs, and descended towards that classic view of Llyn Hywel below Rhinog Fach which I have seen described as the finest view in the Welsh mountains. On an evening like this how could I argue? Of course I photographed it but with little hope that the camera could fully capture the magic of the evening light illuminating the steep crags of the mountain and the smooth slabs which run down into the dark waters of this gem of a tarn.
This was the place which I had marked on my plan for camping and the timing was just right. Getting down to the lake through the slabs and heather was no easy matter however and the only flat place on the shore seemed to be right at the far end. Luckily as I came down the eroded path I passed a beautiful spring and had the foresight to fill both my water bottles with a total of one and a half litres which would be just enough for a comfortable night's camping. Thus I was able to pitch the tent just below the ridge under a rocky outcrop which I hoped would shelter it from the strong east wind and looking out over the lake towards the setting sun. The site was not entirely flat but fortunately had a hollow into which my prostrate body fitted rather comfortably.
As soon as the water had boiled I reopened the flap of the tent and ate supper as the sun sank behind the lake. I felt wonderfully privileged to be in such a place on such an evening. Few people would ever share this experience. Yet the privilege is not granted free. It had cost me a lot of effort to come to this place and I would suffer again tomorrow. Anybody can watch sunset. What made this one special was more than just the beauty of the lake nestling below the crags of the mountain. Just as important was the solitude and the silence disturbed only by the rustle of the tent as little gusts rippled the rolled back door flaps. As the sky darkened, lights began to twinkle in villages far below, emphasising the remoteness of this magical place. A feeling of utter contentment flooded over me although tinged, as such moments always are, with the sadness of time passing. I wondered if I should ever see such beauty again.
Later, going out in the night, I saw the moon setting in a starry sky. It was nearly at first quarter and this was the first time that I had seen it since I started the walk. I had started when the moon was full so this was a good indication of the sort of weather which I had been having up to now.
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