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Gwent, Monmouthshire, Herefordshire & Hereford and WorcesterWalk Details: The Walk: |
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It had become tradition to go for a walk in South Wales on the Saturday of Father’s Day weekend; a tradition spreading back a whole year. We weren’t about to break such a long established tradition, and so early on the Saturday we left our Dad to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet and headed off to the Black Mountains. It seemed to be a horrendously long, slow drive up the Vale of Ewyas to our chosen parking spot in Capel-y-ffin, not least because even at 9am it was already humid and warm and my car didn’t have air conditioning. Temperatures were forecast to top out at 26°C today, and after my experience on the equivalent trip last year, I was deeply concerned about getting heatstroke again. I had my hat and was fully suncreamed-up, and I was carrying 3 litres of fluid (including 1 litre of isotonic drink) yet feared it would not be enough. Still, the hills were calling... We headed up a tiny side road (as if the “main” road through Capel-y-ffin wasn’t small enough!) running northwest from the hamlet, and soon turned off onto a bridleway running up the hillside to the southwest. Initially this looked like the private driveway for some stables and a couple of houses, but a lady at the stables cheerily waved us on past and we quickly emerged onto an open grassy hillside.
The bridleway wound a stony and eroded route up the hillside that would have tested all but the most mountain-hardened horses, and rapidly steepened between sheep and stunted thorn trees. Low sandstone outcrops started to appear at the side of the path, often the perfect height to form a handy bench. On what felt a stiff climb in this heat I was happy to make frequent use of these natural benches. The gradient shallowed as we approached a cairn marking the point at which the bridleway crossed over the top of the ridge at the col between two of the hills we would be climbing today; Chwarel y Fan and Rhos Dhirion. Chwarel y Fan was first on our list, and we turned southwards and continued our ascent. We had so far walked on what (to our exceptionally untrained geological eyes) appeared to be sandstone. Suddenly the rock changed, to something more akin to slate. Chwarel y Fan was in fact a narrow ridge of this new rock, set atop the very broad sandstone ridge below. As South Wales hills go, it was quite impressive. It seemed quite a long way to the cairn marking the summit, which the OS map described unflatteringly as a “pile of stones”. We wondered at what point a “pile of stones” graduated to the more impressive “cairn” description in the Ordnance Survey’s eyes. Was there a quantitative assessment of height, number of stones, diameter or gradient of construction? We hoped it wasn’t a purely subjective assessment on the part of the surveyor – that would destroy our touching faith in the impartiality of the OS! In any case, the structure did not appear to be at the highest point of the hill. According to my GPS, the highest point was a dozen or so metres further on along the path. We walked further on down the ridge just in case, but the GPS showed it gradually decreasing in altitude. Top details: Satisfied we’d “bagged” the hill (and a couple of county tops), we took a look around. The Nuttalls had said this was the most impressive bit of this walk, and we had to agree it wasn’t half bad! Chwarel y Fan was a nice little ridge in it’s own right, and to the north and east we could see the ridges and hills that would constitute the rest of the day’s walk, looking rather like the tines of a giant lumpy fork. The Black Mountain ridge looked exceptionally flat-topped and uninspiring. To the west we looked across the temptingly cool waters of Grwyne Fawr reservoir far below, to the curious flat-topped summit of Waun Fach beyond. To the south the Chwarel y Fan curved away; it looked by far the most exciting route to walk and it was with some reluctance that we turned our backs on it and headed back from whence we came.
The 11-mile walk from here could be summarised very simply; turn right at the next trig point, right at the one after that, then right at a pile of stones. I think on a less clement day it could be a rather dull walk, but today it just felt great to be on such a nice, airy, high-level route, away from the oppressive heat of the South East England desert (yes, I am bitter about the hosepipe bans!). Besides, there was plenty to see. The map showed a further three cairns nearby (we couldn’t see ‘em – the OS terminology suddenly seemed less apt) and something called the Blacksmith’s Stone. We eventually found this some distance further north than the map implied, and it was disappointing; just a tiny squarish lump of rock on the left-hand side of the path, with no explanation why it merited a mention on the map or even a name. Next to it was an inscribed chunk of stone, but unfortunately we couldn’t work out enough letters to determine what it said. It was a long slow old slog up to the next top, Rhos Dirion, only enlivened by a brief meeting with three semi-wild horses. We passed through areas that looked like they could be rather boggy at other times of the year, but today were bone dry. Strangely the peat areas were intermingled with sandy patches that made us feel almost like we were walking on dunes. Jim unwittingly made the section feel even longer when he claimed to have seen the Rhos Dirion trig point ahead; in fact it was a deceptive cairn (worthy of the epithet) on the minor subsidiary summit of Twyn Talycefn. In fact, we did not see the Rhos Dirion trig until we were a few dozen metres away).
I was starting to feel a bit wobbly in the heat. The warning signs of heatstroke were there; the headache, the prickly scalp, and the weariness. I drank a bottle of isotonic drink to try to get my hydration levels up, but it just added to my queasiness. As we sat there by the trig point, a chap came up the hill from the eastern side carrying what must have been a 50lb pack – bedding rolls and the like were strung all about it. I asked where he was off to that required so much kit. It turned he was a member of Dartmoor Rescue, and whilst his wife competed in an equestrian event up here, he had taken the opportunity to do what he saw as a “short practise walk”. It was good to know that you had such committed and fit individuals looking out for you while you were in the hills! Top details:
Lord Hereford’s Knob was rather better than Rhos Dirion, being a distinct summit in its own right. Unfortunately this meant that there was a distinct climb up to it. My already heat-abused head now started to pound alarmingly, and we decided to take a lunch break at the top, next to a disc of stones that certainly didn’t warrant the title of “cairn” that the OS had generously bestowed upon it. I ate some crisps, and started feeling better. I then took a bite out of a sandwich, and quickly realised it was a mistake. I put the sandwich away again, but after lying down for a few minutes I suddenly and abruptly threw up. Jim was concerned and said we should head back to the car by the quickest route possible. However, after a mere ten minutes in the foetal position I astonishingly felt better enough to quote rule 1 of the Walkers Creed (“No Quittin’”), and to insist we finish the walk. Top details:
Despite the trig point, Hay Bluff did not appear on any hill lists and was therefore not considered a summit in its own right. Despite this it had sweeping vistas to the north; we watched flocks of raven-like motorcyclists swooping up the Gospel Pass, whilst further afield a herd of golden cattle gathered into an oddly geometric diamond shape in the centre of their field without any apparent human intervention. It was wonderfully relaxed here. I managed to hold down a biscuit and a couple of gulps of water and felt my strength start to ebb back. Possibly the knowledge that we had no major ascents left also helped. We now turned southwards and joined the Offa’s Dyke National Trail. In recognition of the importance of the trail it was increasingly laid with flagstones – just as well really, for this ridge was clearly dominated by peat bog. After a while we came to a path junction where we met a couple deciding which route to take. Heading northwards from here, the Offa’s Dyke Path bizarrely splits in two for a couple of miles; one part goes via Hay Bluff trig point whilst the other wanders vaguely and with little purpose off of the eastern slope of the hill. We were amused to hear them decide on the Hay Bluff route purely because it had a trig point – clearly we’re not the only hikers to love these chubby grey fellows.
It’s not an attractive enigma though. At the summit a flat and featureless peat bog stretched away from the stone flagged path (for which we were now very grateful!), restricting the views in all directions. There was no definite summit; a couple of tiny piles of stones (definitely not big enough to be cairns!) had been unenthusiastically laid by the path, but the highest point could have been either of them, or another point within a few hundred metres. Top details:
The views were somewhat ruined by the immediate landscape. The stone flagging had ended and the wandering feet of hikers had destroyed a motorway’s-width of peat bog leaving behind what looked like a desert – not a sight you expect to see in the Welsh hills! Much as I hate walking on peat bog, I had to admit that it was more aesthetically pleasing than this barren wasteland. The stone flagging was clearly there to protect the environment from hikers, rather than the other way around, and I hoped that the park authorities would soon extend the pathway to this area to allow the natural vegetation a chance to – hopefully – recover. The next “top” was again unnamed on the OS map, but this time the omission was understandable. It was a barely discernible bump on the flat-topped ridge, and only the assiduous Nuttalls had deigned to give it an undeserved place in a hill list. It was they too who named it as Black Mountain South Top. Someone had tried to give it some sense of importance with the addition of a small heap of stones a short distance west of the path, but somehow this tiny monument only served to highlight the total insignificance of this summit. It was a perfect illustration of why relative height is more likely to determine a good hill than absolute height! Top details:
The heat and humidity at lower altitudes started up my headache and scalp prickles again, but fortunately the path entered a cool shady wood before a second bout of heatstroke could get properly underway. Skirting the intriguingly named Vision Farm we turned right onto a green lane and followed a pleasant course up the east side of the valley, crossing tiny streams on the way. The OS map showed the track crossing a ford to return to Capel-y-ffin; there is also a bridge for people with holes in their walking boots (ie me – the stitching has started to go in my Karrimors after 5 years of abuse and lack of care!). Entering the hamlet we passed two small chapels and wondered at how they could exist next to each other given the paucity of residents in these parts. Obviously the Welsh are considerably more devout than their English neighbours! Although the summits on this walk had been unimpressive in themselves,
the ridge system connecting them had provided us with a most enjoyable
and airy high level walk on a day when it would have been stifling in
the lowlands. Despite my heatstroke, we both knew that it was the weather
that had made this a good’un. On a wet day this walk would descend
into a miserable trudge. So if you’re planning this circuit, make
sure you check the forecast carefully first...
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We saw a couple of kids further up the hillside
which meant that we were well prepared for when they hid behind a bush
and tried to jump out on us. Jim forestalled their ambush with a cheery
“hi guys”. The kids emerged muttering “he saw us!”.
This game was probably as exciting as children’s entertainment got
in Capel-y-ffin, but the kids had yet to learn that bright yellow and
blue football shirts do not make the best camouflage!
We stopped for a brief water break when we returned
to the first cairn we’d seen. This pile of rocks was certainly larger
and better structured than that on Chwarel y Fan, with the bottom foot
or so clearly built of rows of stone rather than simply random accretions
of dropped stones. Perhaps there was something in the OS’s terminology
after all! As we got up to leave, an elderly couple arrived – they
were to be the last people we saw for 4 miles, a mark of how quiet the
Black Mountains seem to be compared to the nearby Brecon Beacons. Earlier
in the year, in torrential rain and gales, there had been thirty odd people
at the summit of Pen y Fan. Here, on a sunny day there was almost no one
around.
Rhos Dirion was the highest point on today’s
walk, and yet did not qualify as a marilyn in it’s own right, being
outbid by Waun Fach to the west. The trig point was set on the edge of
the northern escarpment of the Black Mountains, and would have had grand
views to the north if it wasn’t quite so hazy. The top itself was
nothing to write home about though, being merely a rough grassy patch
at the end of the ridge we’d just walked along.
With a cheery wave the Dartmoor Rescue chappy strode
confidently off towards Waun Fach. We turned in the other direction, towards
the marvellously named Lord Hereford’s Knob. I know it’s politically
correct to refer to Welsh hills by their Welsh name, but in this case
the translation of the Welsh Twmpa is the rather uninspiring “mound”.
I’ll therefore stick to the more exciting English name if that’s
okay?!
To be quite honest I wasn’t really fit for
walking, and Jim had to keep waiting for me to catch up as I wearily wobbled
my way down the moderate slope to the Gospel Pass, the only time we’d
drop below two thousand feet before returning to the car. Here we crossed
the road we were parked on, albeit at the head of the valley. Jim once
again offered to curtail the expedition and I once again declined –
I don’t think ever really believed I would give up anyway. My progress
up the slope on the far side of the pass was equally slow (although I
tried to attain a respectable lurch as we passed a family sat halfway
up the hill), and it felt like a horrendously long way to the trig point
on Hay Bluff.
Our route continued southwards to the highest point
along this ridge. It’s also the highest point in southern England,
and yet doesn’t even warrant its own name on the OS maps. It’s
come to be named Black Mountain, after the range it’s in, and yet
it’s not even the highest point in the Black Mountains. It is, in
fact something of an enigmatic hill.
Descending the southern slope of “Black Mountain”,
one foot in England and one in Wales the views improved slightly as the
ground sloped away in front of us. The contrast between England and Wales
was dramatic. On our left, England was a low-lying patchwork of carefully
cultivated fields, whilst turning right revealed the raw hills of Wales.
It gave a distinct impression that the conquering nation had taken every
scrap of decent land, and redefined the border to leave the Welsh with
only the poor hill soils. It’s pretty shameful if this is true.
The OS map said that the path turning down to Capel-y-ffin
and the car would be marked a pile of stones, and bearing in mind the
meagre heaps we’d just passed I kept my eyes peeled. However, we
were pointed downhill by an obvious signpost. The faint path took us across
a couple of marshy areas before zigzagging on a steep but obvious route
through high ferns down into the valley.