Cadair Idris

Of all the objectives I set myself on this holiday, the one I most wanted to achieve was to climb Cadair Idris, which is the second-highest mountain in Snowdonia.

There are three popular routes to the summit – Fox's Path, Minffordd Path and the Pony Track. Fox's is the shortest but seems to be few people's favourite. The Minffordd Path is the most spectacular but starts with a 'crazily steep ascent' from the valley car park (so I was told by someone who had just climbed it) and has a total ascent of 3050 feet. After much pondering I chose the Pony Track which climbs a modest 2460 feet in about 2¾ miles. According to WalkUpSnowdon.co.uk, it's a straightforward slog and boasts expansive views on a clear day.

A clear day was obviously going to be essential for this walk. I didn't care to expend all that effort then be enveloped in mist at the summit – as happened to me once on Great Gable. "The finest views in all Lakeland," according to Wainwright, but all I could see was a sheep on a rock, 30ft away.

For three days the sun shone in the valleys but the mountain tops stayed shrouded in mist. But then the clouds lifted and the forecast was for sunshine all day, so up we went.

Here's the view from about half way up. Ty Nant Car Park, our starting point, is somewhere among those trees in the centre of the photo. You can just see Dolgellau in the distance.

Cyfrwy (The Saddle) looked vaguely familiar. Where had I seen it before?

Ah yes, of course – on the map I was following!

Incidentally, having installed Memory Map on my smartphone, I now have the 1:25,000 OS maps for the whole of England, Scotland and Wales. So I've taken to buying the 1:50,000 Landranger maps of the areas I visit as I find them perfect for planning routes and general sight-seeing. Also – and I think this is very important for us ramblers and hill walkers – it's not wise to rely solely on maps on ones smartphone. If the battery goes flat and one gets lost, what then?

Almost there now. Just one final steep scramble ahead of me, over rocks. I love this view, with Barmouth Bridge and the Mawddach Estuary clearly visible beyond The Saddle.

Finally, a couple of view from the summit. Darkening skies threatened rain but thankfully didn't deliver.

What my photos don't show is that we shared the summit with at least a couple of dozen other hill walkers. It's a popular trek and an exhilarating one. Indeed, I didn't see one other person arrive at the summit and not stand beside, or on top of, the triangulation point with a big grin on their face.

I have conquered Cadair Idris. Next year Snowdon!

Devil's Bridge

One upon a time a cow wandered over the Mynach river and the lady who owned it could't think of a way to get it back. Just then the Devil appeared (as he does from time to time) and offered to build a bridge, on condition that the first living thing to cross it would be his to keep. Clearly the nasty Devil was hoping to gain the poor woman's cow, or worse still the woman herself. What a dastardly plot!  The woman agreed and in the twinkle of an eye a bridge appeared. Being a devil creature clearly has certain advantages when it comes to civil engineering.

Thankfully, you will be relieved to know that this story has a happy ending. The resourceful woman called for her dog, then threw a loaf of bread over the nice new bridge.  The dog ran after it and became the first creature the cross. "That smelly dog's no good to me," screamed the devil, then vanished in a puff of evil-smelling smoke and has never again been seen in Wales. But to this day the bridge he built is called Devil's Bridge.

Another version of the story is that the first bridge (the lowest and oldest of the three) was built by devil-hating Cistercian monks from a nearby abbey but I don't think that's very likely. Do you?

The easiest way to get to Devil's Bridge is by car, but I had a long-cherished ambition to travel there on the Vale of Rheidol Railway. We arrived at Aberystwyth station with just five minutes to spare before the little train departed and squeezed ourselves into one of the carriages. After passing through the outskirts of Aberystwyth, the line runs along the side of a broad valley. Then gradually the train gains height, the valley narrows and the journey becomes quite thrilling.

We found ourselves sharing the carriage with a guy suffering from verbal diarrhoea, who felt compelled to give us all a running commentary. "That's an old chapel over there; you can tell by the pointed windows." (Really?)... "There's a reservoir down there so there must be a dam. O yes, there it is." (I would never have guessed.)... "We're slowing down so this means we're coming to a station." (One grows a little wiser every day.)  At that I got a very bad attack of the giggles.

Our train arrived at Devil's Bridge at 11.30. I was amazed at how many passengers simply exited their carriages and piled into the station cafe, with the intention of returning on the 12.30 to Aberystwyth.  One hour, we reasoned, was nowhere near enough time to explore Devil's Bridge, so we waved the train 'goodbye' and set about occupying ourselves until 2.15. Soon we spotted it, high above the valley of the Afon Rheidol. 

These are the Devil's Bridge Falls, where the Mynach tumbles 300ft down a narrow ravine to join the Afon Rheidol. My photos hardly do justice to this series of lovely waterfalls. £3 each for the privilege of exploring them on a steep and winding path was a bargain.

This old pipe is all that remains of a hydro-electric scheme that brought electricity to Devil's Bridge long before they were connected to the National Grid. I recall that Lynmouth in Devon once had a similar scheme.

The ravine underneath the bridges is very deep. It must have been a very athletic cow to have jumped over. Perhaps the story of the Cistercian monks is true after all.

We spent over an hour exploring the waterfalls and another hour cooling down with ice creams and white wine, then made our way back to the station, where our train was already standing at the platform. It wouldn't depart for another half hour but we laid claim to two seats in an open carriage, from where we could really appreciate the views of the Vale of Rheidol... and without a running commentary.

The Blue Lake and an unhappy Troll

The first day of our holiday in Barmouth dawned grey and misty, with a forecast of rain that would hopefully clear later in the morning. 'Not the greatest start to a holiday,' I told myself, but we have waterproof coats and fervently believe that rain water never harmed anyone. So off we set in search of the Blue Lake, which lies on the opposite side of the Mawddach estuary. 

We made our way down to the harbour and boarded the Fairborne Ferry for the first trip of the morning; its only passengers. On arrival at the other side, our plan was to travel on the Fairbourne Steam Railway but we quickly changed our minds when confronted with a 40 minute wait and a charge of £8.90 each for a 1¾ mile ride beside a road.

Half way along that road the little train puffed past on its outward journey. Its toy-like appearance failed to impress, so we held hands and congratulated ourselves on a wise decision to walk.  One may buy a lot of strength-sustaining ice cream for £8.90!

It began to rain... heavily. We  squelched our way past the Steam Railway station, over the 'main line' railway and into the hills. Perhaps, I mused, the Fairbourne gods were punishing us for our unkind thoughts about their railway, but their curses were in vain. Soon, as forecast, the rain ceased, we shed our waterproof coats and began to dry out.

Mist still hung low over the Mawddach as we neared the Blue Lake. That's Fairbourne on the left and Barmouth on the other side of the estuary.

As you can see, Blue Lake is in a flooded quarry. Thanks to dissolved minerals, the water appears blue on even the greyest day. Locals will tell you that the lake is deeper than the hill is high. You can make up your own mind about that one, though according to several Internet sites it is a popular spot for diving. I chose to stand well back.

A special feature of Blue Lake is its entrance to the water's edge. Do you see that dark tunnel above the right hand wheel?

 In we go...

 ... and out the other side.

From Blue Lake we took a pleasant footpath through the hills and down to the Mawddach Trail, which follows the course of an old railway line.

I was keen to see Arthog Waterfalls, where the Avon Arthog cascades down to the Mawddach in two distinct falls. This is the higher of the two. I could hear the roar of water at the other but, try as I might, couldn't get a glimpse. Only after returning to our holiday cottage did I read that access has become blocked by dense bracken. O well... finer waterfalls will feature in later posts about our holiday.

We returned to the Mawddach Trail and followed it up-river for about ¾ mile before turning and heading back to Barmouth, this time crossing the estuary on Barmouth Bridge, which pedestrians share with trains.

Bridge tolls were removed in 2013, partly because the cost of collecting them was as much as the toll income; partly because when the toll collectors left no-one else wanted the job. Some time later a toll of £1 was reintroduced with an 'honesty box' - please pay the troll.  No-one else we saw on the bridge paid anything, so I don't think the troll was doing very well. I paused, fixed his green face with my evil gaze and tempted him to sing:

I'm a troll, fol dee rol,

I'm a troll, fol dee rol

but he remained silent.  The Bergermeister of Barmouth is definitely missing a trick here! So, sensing that the troll had been struck dumb and was quaking at my presence, I sang:

I am a nanny goat gruff,

I am a nanny goat gruff,

I am a nanny goat, nanny nanny nanny goat,

Nanny nanny nanny goat gruff!..

and clip-clop, clip-clopped off the bridge.

S--, who is more honest a citizen than I, fed him a couple of pounds. 

Here's most of the route, plotted on Memory Map. Total distance walked was a shade over 15 miles.

A last look around Garlieston

O dear, I'm falling behind with my posts. I've just returned from a lovely week's holiday in Wales but haven't finished blogging about the last one in Galloway. So to round things off here is a walk that Ruth Livingston – Ruth's Coastal Walk  (see my blog list) – describes as "totally blissful" and "one of the most amazing stretches of walking so far." That, from a lady who had walked the entire coast from Norfolk to Galloway is high praise indeed.

I persuaded my son to drop me off at the end of a lane that would, I confidently expected, lead me to the shores of Wigtown Bay. Only after walking about half a mile did I realise that I was on the wrong lane, so back I went, up the Wigtown road a bit, then onto the right road to Innerwell Port.  Expunge from your mind all visions of ports with ocean-going vessels moored at bustling quaysides. This 'port' (and a couple more, further along the walk) are just shingle coves where one might beach a rowing boat. Presumably in times past they were busier places.

When Ruth was here in May, bluebells were in bloom and this must have been an enchanting walk. In late August it was less colourful but still very beautiful.

This photo at Port McGean is one of my favourites of the whole holiday; I invite you to click it for a better view. The white sand, blue hills and billowing clouds capture the beauty of the place more than my words could tell. I lingered here for quite a while and sent a few flat stones skimming into the bay.

Rounding Eggerness Point I could see Garlieston, my 'home' for this week. It took me several days to remember its name; I kept calling it Gaviscon, much to my family's amusement. Somewhere amid those houses this walk ended but you and I can continue with some photos taken a few days earlier.

Yes, here is Garlieston again, this time viewed from the other side of the little bay. Like many tidal estuaries, this one seemed to be mud most of the time.

Cows graze to the water's edge between Garlieston and Rigg Bay. Somewhere among those distant hills is Big Water of Fleet viaduct, the subject of my last post.

This little shelter puzzled me. Inside are pictures of wildlife that may be spotted here, but the shelter surely faces the wrong way. The estuary, with its abundance of wildlife, is behind it! Perhaps one is supposed to commit the pictures to memory before creeping carefully around the shelter for a spot of twitching or seal spotting. 

Onward to Rigg Bay, where the Mulberry Harbours that played such an important role in the D-Day Landings were developed.  The Solway Firth was chosen because the tidal rise is similar to that of the Normandy coastline, whilst the remoteness of Garlieston and Rigg Bay helped to ensure that secrecy could be maintained.

This colourful information board records those wartime exploits, and also informs me that I'm half way between Garlieston and my destination for this walk, Cruggleton's ruined Castle.

And here it is. Not much remains, save a few earthworks and this much-restored arch. The castle never was very large and in 1563 was guarded by just two men. At least they had nice views to help while away the time.

Finally, a view from Cruggleton Point, looking back towards Garlieston and Wigtown Bay. 

Big Water of Fleet Viaduct: Richard Hannay wasn't here

This, I think I can promise you, will be the last post inspired by Lord Peter Wimsey and his Five Red Herrings.

Big Water of Fleet Viaduct is on the former railway line that linked Stranraer with Castle Douglas. After a 104 year life of mixed fortunes it fell to the Beaching Axe in 1965 and would surely have escaped my attentions had it not featured in the BBC adaptation of Dorothy L. Sayers' novel.

Here is Lord Peter (left), half way through re-enacting his solution to the mystery. As you see, the viaduct is an imposing structure and well worth a visit, even without the 'Wimsey' connexion.

The brickwork around the viaduct's uprights is clearly an afterthought, imparting little to its artistic splendour, and was added in either 1924, 1926 or 1940, depending on which website you consult. My guess, for what it's worth, is that the Scottish Places (1924) and Railscot (1926) sites have it wrong as the proud LMS Railway would surely have taken greater care. But in 1940 the railways had more pressing priorities. According to an on-site information board and the Forgotten Relics website, this line had become strategically important and needed to be strengthened to take heavier trains, and with a war to be won there was no time or inclination to make it 'pretty'.

Click the photo for a clearer view. 

But what is this that I read (above)? The viaduct featured in Alfred Hitchcock's film version of John Buchan's book "The 39 Steps" and in "Five Red Herrings", a 1975 TV story for Lord Peter Wimsey.  I have the Alfred Hitchcock version of 39 Steps on DVD but couldn't recall seeing Big Water of Fleet Viaduct. On returning home from Scotland I watched it again and no, it's not there.  I can therefore confidently state that a whole raft of websites are wrong.

But this, the famous Forth Bridge, definitely does feature. It's where Richard Hannay jumps from the train and eludes the police by hiding behind a bridge column. It doesn't look much like Big Water of Fleet Viaduct, does it!

So how did the error first come about? It was time for Angie to emulate her super-sleuth hero Lord Peter Wimsey. I forked out 99p for the Kindle version of John Buchan's tale and began to read...

Hannay boards a train at St Pancras and buys from an irate guard a ticket to Newton Stewart. At Dumfries he catches a slow Galloway train, which would take him over the Big Water of Fleet Viaduct. The mystery was solved!  Hollywood had 'enhanced' the story, moving it to the famous Forth Bridge and adding some dramatic and perilous antics by Richard Haney. Sloppy research, followed by a succession of web authors who were happy to copy others' work without checking, has unwittingly perpetuated a myth. Never trust all you read on the Internet!

In the book there is no dramatic police chase along the corridors of the Scottish Express and no escape along a bridge. Hannay alights at "a little place whose name I scarcely noted, set right in the heart of a bog." Perhaps it was this one, Gatehouse Station, near the beginning of our walk.

The platforms were surprisingly long for a station in the middle of nowhere. It purported to serve Gatehouse of Fleet, some 6 miles away and far from the boggy wastes of the Big Water of Fleet. 

It's definitely seen better days.