Ah, the Rhinogs. One of the few groups of hills in Wales that you can visit with the guarantee that you will hardly see another soul. This is due to two main factors: firstly, the hills are too gnarly to appeal to your average hill walker; secondly, the visibility will almost certainly be such that unless a fellow human being comes within five metres of you, you will have no idea that they are there.
My friend Murray has a perverse fascination with the kind of hills that nobody else likes; the more obscure and unwelcoming the better. He therefore schemed a plan that would see us start in the seaside town of Barmouth, catch a train to the rarely-frequented village of Talsarnau, hack our way inland and then walk back south across the mountains over two days. Linear walks incorporating a wild camp are always appealing, and so four of us endeavoured to put the plan into action...
Day one
Everything started well; we caught the train with no problems and our pronunciation of 'Talsarnau' was sufficiently good that the guard understood where we wanted to go. Before long we had left the (limited) signs of civilisation behind and were surrounded by craggy wilderness. Leaving our heavy packs hidden in the remains of a small ruined hut, we headed north to bag the first two peaks of the weekend, Moel Ysgyfarnogod and Foel Penolau. Both of these are very satisfying tops, with the second requiring some minor scrambling in order to reach the summit, and are well worth a visit. We were fortunate in that the cloud was quite high at that point, and so we had some stunning views, with the Llyn Peninsula to the west and a vast valley to the east.
Soon afterwards we were in a slight quandary: the next peak on our list, Rhinog Fawr, was some way to the south. Did we embrace Pythagoras’ theorem and take the direct route, or did we stick to the path, which would mean walking further and required considerable re-ascent? Given the trickiness of the terrain, the rapidly-lowering clag and the fact that Murray had just become intimately acquainted with a bog, we plumped for the latter.
By the time we reached the ‘Roman Steps’ path that skirts the side of Rhinog Fawr we were all beginning to feel fatigued, and started looking around for a possible campsite. As all around us was steep, rocky and heather-infested things didn't seem too promising. Fortunately we did manage to find a place that was fairly flat and wasn't too squelchy, and before long we had all three tents set up. Dinner was pasta tarted up with ground pepper from sachets 'acquired' from a workplace canteen, followed by hearty slices of Yorkshire Tea Cake. This tastes good anywhere, but in a cold tent after a hard day's walk it is elevated to the divine. The evening’s entertainment consisted of an unsuccessful game of 'mind snap' (i.e. the card game but with no cards), a rather more rewarding session of tent-bound ‘I Spy’ and a great quantity of borderline-amusing jokes.
Day two
The next day we awoke to much more typical Welsh weather: cold, wet and windy. Before setting out on the trip we had scoffed at a weather forecast which had promised a cloud base at a mere 49 m - far too low even for the Rhinogs, we thought; unfortunately that prediction appeared to be coming true. Despite many and prolonged protestations – ‘You expect me to come out in that?!’ - we eventually got everyone out of their sleeping bags and packed up ready to go.
We followed a reasonable (for the Rhinogs) path up to the summit of Rhinog Fawr, where we hunkered down to eat some snacks and wonder what the view might look like in the absence of cloud. This is one of life's great mysteries, and I am not sure anyone truly knows the answer. The way down Rhinog Fawr is rather less distinct than the way up, lacking any real paths, leading Murray to comment that it is never possible to descend by the same way twice. Our chosen route was perhaps the worst of all the possible options, and I take comfort in the fact that I am very unlikely to repeat it. We unsteadily picked our way down a steep, unstable pile of boulders, unpleasant at the best of times but made worse by the rain which had made them incredibly slippery. With these conquered, the terrain turned more heathery; equally steep and even less reliable.
A typical Rhinogs view
It was a grumpy group who finally reached the bottom. Soaked through, with strained knees and sore wrists we contemplated the shadow of Rhinog Fach in front of us and thought 'no thanks'. Not liking to bail the walk, but at the same time having no desire to continue hacking through the heather, we decided to head west down the valley, hoping to catch a train from the station about 10 km away at Llanbedr. A couple of hours later a much happier gang were mere minutes away from the station when we heard a train approach. We tried to speed up, but to no avail. There was no chance that we could get there in time, and so the train trundled past without us.
It turned out that we had just missed the only train running that day - such is the nature of public transport in rural Wales on a Sunday. Somehow, being late by such a short amount of time felt much worse than if we had missed the train by a good few hours. Dejected, we slumped on the station bench and consoled ourselves with Bournville. Then it was back to the village to inspect the bus timetable, which was similarly sparse. Luckily, however, a helpful soul at one of the pubs provided us with taxi numbers and for the princely sum of £12 a friendly driver allowed the four of us and our gear, all damp and smelly, into his nice clean car.
Barmouth is a seaside town which still has character and, despite the tackiness of some of the establishments, I like it. It also has a very good chip shop, the Harbour Fish Bar, which we were very happy to make use of. Alas, time was getting on, and so after finishing our meals we got back in the car and began the long drive south. All in all, it was a good weekend despite the unforgiving nature of the hills, although it may be some time before any of us attempt to the Rhinogs again.
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