Ascending Yr Wyddfa

Finally we had a good view of Snowdon over breakfast this morning, then we took another drive to Beddgelert, this time to go over the Aberglasyln Pass down to Llanberis, thronged with visitors as ever. It's my father's birthday today, and I though how much he would have loved this adventure. We met other Trigonos guests going up by train, as we set out for the climb wondering how far we'd get this time. It's two years since rain and cloud called off our last attempt at the half way mark. Today's weather was just perfect. 

We made it to the half-way cafe and had our picnic lunch. Clare wanted to quit while she was ahead. I had enough left to accompany Rachel another kilometre up to the steepest section, before returning to join Clare on the descent. Rachel went on to the summit with enthusiasm, and amazed us by jogging back down in an hour and ten minutes to rendezvous with us at half past four.

We waited for her at Pen y Ceunant Isaf Tea Rooms, just at the end of the very steep first section of tarmac road out of the village of Llandberis - you're advised to allow three hours! The tea room is one of the most friendly places I know in Wales. Stefan, who owns and runs it, loves the mountain and its hosts of visitors, and knows how to make every one feel really welcome. Rachel met another couple of Trigonos guests walking, as she descended. There was plenty to talk about over supper.

It was an enjoyable outing, and I'm glad I quit while I was ahead, before ankle joint pains became intolerable. By bed time, my legs felt decidedly wobbly, and I thought I was walking like a really old man. Must get out and exercise more while I still can, even if it does take longer to recover these days! 

I was definitely too tired to stay up and watch for meteorites on the second night of the Persied passage. In any case, the valley sides obscured the south western sky, high up sightings would be that much rarer. One group of half a dozen went on a night hike to a high place. I hope they were suitably rewarded for their effort.

Snowdonia with Rachel

Owain came over yesterday to spend a 'brother and sister' day together with Rachel, the first opportunity they've had this time around, so Rachel drove them to Ogmore for a walk along the shore, a favourite pastime from years back, and then they went out for supper. This left us with a quiet day to prepare our trip with Rachel to Snowdonia.

My first duty this morning was at eight o'clock at St Catherine's. Clare came too, so that she could be free to have breakfast with Owain and Rachel, when they arose from their night on the town. As I was about to begin I was asked if I could fit in an extra service at St John's before returning to St Catherines for the ten thirty, as the other locum priest was unwell. It's the first time for a long while that I've taken three services in a morning. I wondered how I'd stand up to it, as I do seem more prone to the after effects of cumulative stress these days, but it was fine, nothing to worry about, and by half past twelve, we were heading out of Cardiff up the A470 to Snowdonia for four days at Trigonos, our favourite place to stay in Dyffryn Nantlle.

We started out in rain, and our first task was to get a windscreen wiper blade replaced. The roads were surprisingly quiet, and it didn't rain all the way. We enjoyed a picnic lunch beside a reservoir in the Brecon Beacons, with a flock of pied wagtails busy around the bushes nearby. We arrived at tea time to a warm welcome and some good company and conversation over meals, as is usually the case in Plas Baladeulyn. 

Once again our room looks out over the lake. The last of the hay bundles was being removed from the lakeside meadow, so we missed its exquisite carpet of wildflowers by a few days. But the little blue dragonflies were still around in the garden, and a buzzard family in lakeside trees. Lots of low cloud obscured the peaks and crests above the valley, and Snowdon, making for an ever changing atmosphere of mystery and colour as the sun set. There is clear weather to come while we're here, nevertheless. Rachel is delighted to be here. It's her first visit.

 

 

Springtime in Dyffryn Nantlle

We were out of the house and on our way up the A470 to North Wales by nine thirty this morning, and found only light traffic all the way. The weather was good and everything made for a relaxed and pleasant journey. We stopped for a pub lunch in Caersws, and arrived at Trigonos in Dyffryn Nantlle by three. We noticed once we crossed over the Brecon Beacons bluebells were in bloom everywhere in the hedgerows and mountainsides. Ours in the garden at home were over two weeks ago. 

In Snowdonia the visual impact of rhododendrons, mostly purple, is a striking contrast to bluebell blue. Rhododendrons are an invasive species, imported by the wealthy from the Himalayas in the nineteenth century, and now running wild, regarded as an invasive species. In and around Beddgelert, the National Park authority is taking initiatives to curb if not root them out, before they destroy native species which cannot compete with their vigour.

After unpacking, we walked out by the lake at the bottom of the garden at Plas Baladeulyn, saw several ethereal powder blue dragonflies in the long grass, a fish jumping and two white butterflies mating, one of them had bright yellow wing tips. As well as the sound of blackbirds, robins and chaffinches, we heard the solitary distant voice of a cuckoo. It don't think I've heard one since I was last here three years ago. 

It's very quiet here, and also difficult to get a phone signal in such a deep valley. Nothing from BT and a very poor one from Orange-EE standing in a corner of the car park. So we have to rely on wi-fi, and for that, a short walk from the main house to the neighbourhood around the estate office. The government talks about improving rural internet services, but in some parts of rural Wales mobile reception is in a worse condition. I couldn't help noticing so many UKIP posters on display in this region, symptomatic of disaffection with the Westminster political elite, and for that matter the Cardiff political elite, for failing to deliver resources which have become critical for economic development and success.

Snowdon half way

We had no trouble finding our holiday let - a slate quarry worker's two bedroom terraced house up the top end of Ffestiniog village. It was nicely renovated and equipped for visitors, with comfy beds, and a starter pack of essentials to welcome us.  After supper we went for a stroll down the village and had a drink in the Pengwern Arms, the village pub by the church entrance.

After a good night's sleep, we made an expedition to Mount Snowdon, driving via Blaenau Ffestiniog up to Capel Curig, then down the pass to Llanberis to park and start our walk along the route which follows the line of the mountain railway up to the summit.

The weather wasn't perfect for such a climb, but the rain didn't arrive until we were eating our picnic lunch at the Half Way House cafe. By that time, we were reaching the limits of fitness levels, and were glad of an excuse to head back down the mountain.

We then headed across the valley to the National Museum's superb slate industry museum. Clare took Owain around. I stayed in the car to rest my aching limbs and promptly fell asleep for an hour. Much refreshed, we drove home by way of Caernarfon to show Owain the town, castle and the waterfront. The sandbar in the Arfon estuary provided supper for many seabirds, including this flock of oystercatchers.

North Wales pilgrimage

While the world around us was enjoying a second Bank Holiday lie-in, we rose early and were out of the house by nine to collect Owain for the long drive up the A470 to North Wales, on empty roads in persistent light rain. We ate a picnic lunch on high, astride Bwlch Oerdrws, surrounded by misty crags, before the long descent to Dolgellau, and the last leg of our journey northwards towards Trawsfynydd and our destination nearby, the old slate mining village of Llan Ffestiniog. We reached Trawsfynydd an hour before we were to take possession of our holiday cottage, and at Clare's suggestion went into the village to enquire about the location of the family home of Ellis Humphrey Evans - 'Hedd Wyn', one of Wales' eminent twentieth century poets, who was killed in the same month, serving in the same regiment (the Royal Welch Fusiliers) as my Great Uncle Will, during the second battle of Paschendaele.

The story of how a young farm hand with just six years of primary schooling behind him could rise to become an Eisteddfod prize winning Welsh language poet six times between the ages of twenty and thirty worth examining. No doubt regular attendance at Sunday School and Chapel in the village had something to do with it. Hedd Wyn is remembered because he sent his last prize winning poem to the adjudicators of the national Eisteddfod from the Western Front, not long before he was killed. The announcement of his victory in the closing ceremony of the Eisteddfod, would have normally been completed with his enthronement on a ceremonial chair specially carved for the winner of the year. On this occasion the chair stood empty, draped in black - 'y Gadair du', the black chair of Hedd Wyn. Outside Trawsfynydd Baptist Chapel stands a commemorative statue of him. 

Just up the street there is a plaque over the house where he was born. The place most associated with him is 'Yr Ysgwrn', the family hill farm where he grew up, a few miles from the village. Clare made enquiries at a shop to obtain directions. We then drove there to find its location with the aim of arranging a visit later during our stay. We found it easily, and as we still had time in hand we couldn't resist the temptation to park outside the farm entrance, and walk up the quarter mile track to the house. As we stood gazing at the view, a tractor crossed the fields to meet us. We were greeted by Hedd Wyn's nephew, farmer Gerallt Williams, now in his eighties, still hale and hearty, still working. 'Yr Ysgwrn' is currently closed for renovation, after purchase by the Snowdonia National Park Authority to preserve for future generations of pilgrims. Gerallt now lives in a new bungalow nearby, and receives about 4000 visitors a year from Wales and the world. Official closure didn't prevent him from welcoming us graciously, however. He ushered us into the farmhouse parlour where all six of the Eisteddfod poetry prize winning chairs are kept.

What followed was a delightful inspirational hour of conversation in a mix of Welsh and English,spiced with humour, insight, stories and philosophy. The radical Welsh non-conformist ethos kept Hedd Wyn creative, harbouring profound misgivings about the englishman's war far off war, as his parents and ten siblings struggled against rural poverty to stay on the land. He remained on the farm, away from active service until he was finally compelled to enlist and dispatched to Flanders. Virtually all of his generation of young men from Trawsfynydd were lost, over forty of them. I learned that the ornate, symbol laden 'gadair du' had been carved by a Belgian refugee. Owing to a wartime shortage of suitable timber, it was fashioned from ancient beams salvaged from the ruined site of Valle Crucis Abbey, a mediaeval site near Llangollen, about forty miles to the east. 'Historic' in Welsh culture has a different meaning and value to that assigned to it by today's loose tongued media men with little new to say.

Our unique spontaneous visit to 'Yr Ysgwrn' while it still looks much the same as it did a century ago made a profound impression on me. Instead of feeling ashamed as I generally do about the poverty of my grasp on the Welsh language, I found that in a small way I was able to reach into what I could recall and make use of it. Currently, learning Spanish for my stay in the Costa Azahar takes my attention, but at the same time, my desire to reconnect with my much neglected roots in Welsh culture is re-awakening in a surprising way.