The Lesser Hills of North Wales
Nantmor used to be one of our favourite camping places so it is not surprising that many
years before we saw it in any tables we had walked over this hill which lies between
Nantmor and the main Snowdon massif.
Moel Famau 554m, Foel Fenlli 511m, Penycloddiau 440m
In the days when we walked Offa's Dyke Path the route went over all three of these
summits which lie on the delightful long ridge of the Clwydian Hills. The map suggests that it now by-passes Foel Fenlli but it certainly still visits the popular Moel Famau, a hill instantly recognizable by its ruined tower which apparently was destroyed at the rowdy party intended to celebrate its completion.
Forest roads make this an easy hill with only a very short diversion through steep heather to the summit which stands well clear of the trees, gives superb views and apparently carries a well preserved hill fort not acknowledged by the Ordnance Survey.
This is a simple hill but quite a pleasant one. The big bank and ditch called Clawdd Mawr added interest to the straightforward ascent along the east ridge.
This was one of those hills which we were almost certain we had done before. It's worth
doing twice anyway, a very popular hill with well trodden tracks, easily accessible from the Horseshoe Pass.
This hill, as the name suggests, is a golf course. A right of way runs through it but the diversion to the trig point is a hazardous one with danger of injury from both flying balls and rampant gorse bushes.
We parked in Meifod and approached this hill from the south-west. A forest ride led us
onto the open hill and a steep climb to the trig point, which is splendidly situated on a rocky ridge along which a track of sorts led into the trees. It linked up only approximately with the right of way shown on the map but led us back to the forest road and an easy return to the car after a rather pleasing short circuit.
The roads are so awful around this area that it would be more sensible to park further afield and come to it by bicycle. We parked in the only possible place, really intended for those using the phone box, went on the path which traverses the north of the hill and then straight up a single field to the summit crowned by a radio mast. Descent was eastwards by track to the road to complete a circuit so short that it hardly seemed to merit a tick in the tables.
A Country Park occupies the north end of Hope Mountain with pleasant tracks and a
viewfinder. Unfortunately the south top is higher with the trig point several hundred
metres from road or right of way in a featureless fenced field. Like so many of the Welsh Marilyns it was necessary to wander amongst cattle and climb barbed wire to touch it. I escaped, over more barbed wire, to the radio mast and a vehicle track which led down to one of the many minor roads traversing this hill which, although quite bold and isolated, scarcely merits its appellation of mountain.
On the north side of the Horseshoe Pass is a very popular cafe with a large car park, hoards of people and some very aggresive sheep. I soon left the crowds behind on the pleasant path which keeps close to the southern edge of the hill and avoids the landrover track. So successfully does it avoid it that I eventually realised that it was leading me across into the World's End valley, a pleasant goal but of little use to the peak-bagger. Rough trackless heather had to be negotiated to reach the track again and hence the summit cairn close to the radio mast. The trig point lies more than a kilometre north-east and a single metre lower. It seemed wise to visit it lest resurveying decree a role reversal of the two spot heights. The grandly named Sir Watkin's Tower nearby, actually little more than a cairn, made a pleasant lunch spot before a return by more or less the same route.
This hill, at the south end of the Clwydian Range, is by-passed by Offa's Dyke Path and when there it is easy to see why. The north side is very steep and covered in thick trackless heather up which I struggled to the top. The south ridge in contrast is gentle with a pleasant, uneroded path.
A path leads up through the abandoned quarries on the eastern side of this hill with a convenient lay-by at the start. We left it to climb up the edge of the highest hole to a gate which we had spotted on the skyline. A bit of zigzagging was required to reach the trig point by climbing gates rather than fences. The ancient settlement marked on the map is more obvious than many. With a reasonable route now discovered there was no temptation to vary the return.
We were heading for Bala and Rowland, who had climbed this hill before, had elected to cycle thereto rather than repeat the ascent. He advised me to go up from the south, as he had done, but the map suggested a simpler and more interesting route from the dam of Llyn Celyn. The car park was there but the terrain beyond it, quite apart from a hostile fence, was diabolical; a potent mix of gorse and head high bracken. The track was guarded by a gate bearing a 'PRIVATE' notice which I was on the point of ignoring when the farmer rode out with her dogs. She told me in no uncertain terms that this hill could not be climbed as it was entirely private property. I had no option but to swallow my pride and follow my spouse's advice. There was no barrier to access on the south side other than knee deep trackless heather. This hill would undoubtedly be a lot easier in the depths of winter, preferably when covered in well frozen snow. There was thick mist but glimpses of the sun gave hope that one might climb through it. No such luck. I arrived at a substantial cairn with the ground dropping in all directions. I was suspicious however that this was not the summit since it stood on the extreme southern edge of flatter ground which did not fit the listed grid reference. I decided to walk north for 200 metres and here sure enough I encountered more rising ground and another large cairn, this time with a steep drop to the north, again not entirely what I had expected. However there was every indication that the mist was dispersing and after sitting down here and enjoying a snack I glimpsed the reservoir below, then Arenig Fawr with mist swirling round its ridges. As the mist rolled away it became clear that this was indeed the summit. A descent due westwards was less painful than the ascent, utilising bits of sheep tracks through the heather and joining the good track which traverses this side of the hill.
Learning from our mistake on Mynydd-y-briw and from Rowland's experience when he
had climbed this one a few years before, we made no attempt to reach the foot of this hill. Even the B-road was narrow and twisting but we managed to pull onto the verge at the crossroads above Lloran Isaf. From this point Gyrn Moelfre looks both distant and
formidable so I was somewhat surprised to find myself at the summit only three-quarters of an hour later. My route, nor-nor-west from Moelfre on a white track and then straight up brutally steep ground to the south-west ridge was of doubtful legality and not one to be comfortably reversed. However the upper reaches of this hill surprised by the presence of a clear track not hinted at on the map. After admiring the very pleasing westward vista from the summit I followed it into a valley to emerge, quite legally, on the bridleway from Pentre.
This must be one of the toughest hills below one thousand feet. Rowland had climbed it a few years before, apparently on a forest track on the south of the hill. I found a track but it was so overgrown with brambles and gorse that I had to leave it and resort to desperate manoeuvres through the trees. Eventually I located a wall alongside which relatively reasonable progress could be made but no route to the summit could be located and eventually it descended to the bridleway on the west side of the hill. An attempt to follow the footpath ended in embarrassment as I climbed a fence to find the farmer working in the field. Although reprimanding me for such behaviour he did not seem inclined to direct me onto the path if indeed it existed at all. I had to go down the bridleway which put me back almost to sea level. Another bridleway, a very pleasant one, runs back from Pont Ystumanner to Abergynolwyn. I left it after a bit to climb very steeply indeed onto the north ridge of Gamallt. At the highest point only an easy fence and a few scrubby conifers separated me from the rather pleasant summit, a rocky island in a sea of trees.
Great Orme is quite unique amongst the Marilyns. Almost an island, the flat land which separates it from mainland Wales is occupied by Llandudno, one of Britain's top seaside resorts. The hill is an extension of the town, its rocky slopes terraced out into gardens with a scattering of villas straggling up towards the top. The summit can be reached by road or by the popular Victorian tram. There is also a cable car, although this appears to have gone into disuse. I arrived in the town at 7am and strolled up through the Happy Valley and past the toboggan run and the dry ski slope onto the east ridge of the hill which gives an attractive view back over the sweep of Llandudno Bay. A waymarked path led through the tangle of old mine workings, road and tramway to the top, surely the only Marilyn to be crowned with an amusement arcade as well as trig point, viewfinder, telescope and an array of masts. I wandered westwards and followed a nature trail down the south slopes of the hill amongst the cries of expected gulls and an unexpected curlew. A path leads back above the town with a seat every few yards, each with a plaque commemorating somebody who loved this view. And who can blame them! The sands of the estuary backed by the mountains of Snowdonia present a panorama of classic beauty.
Had I driven straight to Anglesey I might have written that Llandudno was decaying like many a British seaside town. Car problems detained me there a further six hours and I realised that at 9am it had been still sleeping. By midday, pier and promenade were teeming with people. Donkeys were carrying tiny tots along the beach. Shouting sailors offered boat trips to view Great Orme and a queue snaked out of the gates of the tramway terminal. I felt that I had stepped back into my childhood for I had indeed spent a family holiday here at the age of thirteen. We climbed Snowdon which I remember with the utmost vividness. I feel sure that we also climbed Great Orme yet of this I have no recollection whatsoever and today's climb brought no glimmer of recognition.
I rashly set out up Moel-ddu in worsening weather and with only two and a half hours of daylight left. A good track starts on the join of maps to the east of the hill but there was no sign of the bridleway which the map shows heading up south-west to the col between Moel-ddu and Moel Hebog. Here, above a weedy tarn, an embryo ridge rose forbiddingly into the mist. The eastern slopes of this ridge, selected mainly to get shelter from the strong west wind, gave unexpectedly easy going to a substantial wall which swung eastwards across the hill and then suddenly veered upwards through a mass of big boulders. Climbing up and away to the east I soon reached a rocky top with a large cairn. Was this the summit? Rising ground beyond the wall south-westwards, seen dimly through mist and fading light, could perhaps be higher but I had no time to investigate. Not until three days later, in Barmouth, was my claim to Moel-ddu confirmed by a quick glance at a larger scale map.
We woke to the drumbeat of rain on the roof of the motorcaravan and later heard that Capel Curig had registered four inches in 24 hours. We drove to our farthest hill hoping for an improvement but with none forthcoming I set out up Ffridd Cocyn in all my waterproofs. From the footpath on the south-west end of the hill one can escape through the trees into a field of simple steep grass and thus reach the summit ridge with ease. Just beyond the end of two fences is a double grassy top, the second bump carrying an apology for a cairn. A pity to do it in thick mist and rain since the map suggests that it is probably a rather lovely viewpoint.
Of course it was still raining when I set out up Foel Cae'rberllan but the mist level was rising. From the footpath round the west end of the hill I went up amongst cows to a gate beyond which a pleasant track, not shown on the map, runs high up on the north-western side of the hill with a wonderful bird's eye view down onto the substantial remains of Castell y Bere. The summit, marked by a small cairn, was not in doubt with the mist now thinning and drifting around the ridge. Nevertheless I stuck to my plan of being sure of the top by completely traversing the hill. Unfortunately a very difficult wall, with unpleasantly rough looking ground beyond, discouraged continuation to the col and forced instead an unpleasantly steep descent through wet and tangled bracken. Once in the valley however it was a gentle stroll down to Llanfihangel-y-pennant and a closer look at the ancient castle.
Before describing my quick and easy ascent of Craig y Castell mention should be made of our foray up Bryn Brith, a remarkably fine hill which, by reason of too little reascent, just fails to enter the Marilyn list. Seen from the carpark at Llyn au Creggenen the ridge of Pared y Cefn-hir has the aspect of a mini-Matterhorn. Perhaps the mist swirling about made it more than usually impressive as we followed the well trodden path up a wee rock gully to this spectacular hill fort. Bryn Brith itself could not be seen but after making our way down to the boggy col its bulkier but less shapely slopes rose ahead and we were soon on its far less frequently visited summit. A tiny path led down below the cliffs of Pared y Cefn-hir to complete an outstanding short circuit.
This diversion left only an hour of daylight for the problematical ascent of Craig y Castell. There is no right of way onto this hill and my very direct route up the southern slopes involved climbing a fence and a couple of walls. I was still on the top only twenty minutes after leaving the picnic site. The rain had stopped and although the Cadair Idris ridge was still veiled in cloud I was able to enjoy quite a fine panorama. Unwilling to descend quite as steeply as I had come up I headed westwards on a tiny path which soon petered out in the bracken. Another wall and an easy fence brought me close to the ancient fort for which this hill is named and thereafter I found a series of gates by which to join the bridleway coming from Kings Youth Hostel.
Foel Offrwm was another very quick peak bag and another hostile hill although the only real problem was the very awkward fence and wall at the bottom. A steep climb on grass led to the obvious remains of ancient settlement on the summit together with a collapsing tower which was presumably of more recent construction. A morning fresh and bright after recent rain improved the atmosphere of an otherwise undistinguished hill.
Had Rowland not decided to traverse the southern end of the Rhinog ridge while I climbed this hill an approach along the south side of the Afon Ysgethin would never have occured to me. In fact it turned out to be an excellent approach, turning the walk into a pleasing circuit. The drop to the well preserved packhorse bridge Pont Scethin was negligible and the climb up the east ridge of the hill straightforward. As I approached the top I was amazed to see a squirrel scampering along the wall. This wall is very irritating since the enormous ancient summit cairn lies on the far side and no gate or stile is provided. I scaled it with considerably more difficulty than the squirrel and settled down for a leisurely lunch in an east facing scoop of the cairn, well sheltered from the strong west wind and looking towards the Rhinog ridge so that I could recollect here in tranquillity my traverse thereof three years before. It seems to be becoming a tradition for me to philosophise on the penultimate summit of any challenge. I remembered my musings on the Corbett Ben an Eoin. Now another goal was almost accomplished, the ascent of every Marilyn south of the Scottish Border. I felt no special sadness this time. Our ascent yesterday of Bryn Brith had confirmed that Wales has yet more delights to offer. In fact my thoughts were mainly of the pleasure of the chase and in particular of the great variety of the hills, many of which we should never have dreamt of visiting had they not appeared in the Marilyn list.
Mwdwl-eithin was chosen as my last Welsh Marilyn because this was the one which Rowland wanted to do again having previously bagged it from the north in mist and rain. This time we planned a much more ambitious route encircling the Alwen Reservoir. A very encouraging post at the dam signed Pen-y-ffrith at the northern end of the lake in both directions, leading us to the erroneous conclusion that there would be a good path all round. We soon discovered that the right of way through the trees to Craig-yr-lychen did not exist on the ground but this was not important since we were able to use forest roads to emerge on the ridge further west. Agricultural terrain gave way to thick trackless heather as we struggled up to the summit, marked by two large cairns, a trig point and a solid shelter. The weather could not have been more delightful, a striking contrast to Rowland's last Welsh Marilyn in January. Sparkling sunshine illuminated the long ridge of the Clwydian Hills with the big tower on Moel Famau very prominent. Westwards clouds were billowing over the distant summits of Snowdonia.
The descent to the bridge across the northern tongue of the reservoir was easy, albeit somewhat boggy lower down. A notice warned us that the bridge was dangerous and should not be used. The alternative was a long diversion round the north end of the lake or a wade through the half dried up river. At Pen-y-ffrith a smart new signpost pointed to the Alwen Dam through almost impenetrable young trees. We soon abandoned this route in favour of the beach which was very easy going with the water level exceptionally low. The visitor centre marked on the map was closed down and deserted. Although apparently walker friendly it must be concluded that no effort, other than somewhat misleading signposts, is being made on their behalf. The signed circuit of the lake would be a real obstacle course if the reservoir were full.
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