Wednesday, 6 January 2021

The Elan Valley 2015

 The Elan Valley, Dams and Reservoirs, Sunday 13th September 2015

Our 2015 holiday was in a converted water mill in the middle of a field in Brilley, Herefordshire. It was a fantastic place. Away from it all, surrounded by beautiful countryside, the only noises coming from a few sheep, a trickling stream and, at night, one or two owls. 

During our second week we decided to drive across the border (some way across the border, in fact) and up to the Elan Valley. 

The following is once again from my journal notes ~

"I think we might call today 'Super Sunday'. Woke at 9 and felt better for the lie-in (think we'd had a very busy day in Hay-On-Wye the day before). Martin was outside, as usual, with a coffee and a book. The weather looked promising. Retrieving the road atlas from the car, we perused the map and Martin suggested a drive up the Elan Valley to the reservoirs. So that we didn't dither, I said 'yes let's go'. So we made probably our fastest getaway from the mill and headed for Kington and the A44.  Very quickly we were in Powys with sun breaking through the clouds. We managed a photo stop and then drove on to Rhayader, turning into the Elan Valley and pulling up at the top of the dam. Some photos taken, we drove back down to the visitor centre and had coffee and a bite in the cafe before starting on a walk. A path took us back to the top of the dam. From there we were able to cross the dam to the other side and took a short walk around the edge of the reservoir. The walk back down was one of the most beautifully wooded walks we've taken. The sun was out, everything was very verdant and lush. The oaks and ancient birches were hung with moss; the ferns were catching the rays of light and toadstools appeared amongst the clumps of moss, the red-capped spotted Fly Agarics giving an air of Faerie. It was just lovely. 

An hour or so later, with photos galore taken, we reached the foot of the hillside and then made our way down to the river's edge. It was actually blue as it tumbled over the rocks and the river bank was soft with mosses. We picked our way up-river for a short distance, around odd-shaped fallen trunks and then ambled back to where two bridges spanned the water. One earlier bridge was now blocked off at either end, clearly no longer fit for purpose, so we crossed using the one next to it and slowly came back to the visitor centre. 

It was very warm and the clouds were sailing above the surrounding Cambrian mountains. Purchases made in the shop, much needed drinks drunk, we got back to the car and headed up to Garreg-Ddu reservoir for another quick photo stop. The road meandered around the foot of the hills, the waters of the reservoirs blue as the sky, the wooded slopes of pine and hardwoods marching down between the still purple heather. 

In a bend in the road we came to Pen y Garreg, another reservoir and another dam. We were lucky to have chosen this day to visit because the dam was open to the public and we couldn't pass up the chance to look inside. 

Entrance fee was via a donation to Water Aid. That made we went down some steps and faced a very long, dark, damp tunnel lit only by window embrasures at certain intervals. At least it was flat! In the middle, steps led up to the central tower, the reservoir behind it and the massive wall of the dam before it with a thickly wooded gorge and river at the bottom. There was an exhibition in the tower with photos of the dam's construction.  Soon we were back down the steps and along the tunnel to the further end, coming out onto the hillside to look across the brilliantly engineered face of the dam. Considering the dams were constructed in the 1890s, they are a feat of Victorian engineering and endeavour and worth taking the tour to the reservoirs to see them. Not just that, but the Elan Valley is beautiful; majestic mountains guarding the wooded valleys. 

We trekked back to the other side of the dam again and then drove down the valley a short way before coming across Penbont House, a pretty tea room and guest house on the hillside. We parked and walked up the path through the garden, where chickens roamed freely on the lawn and around the flower pots and where hanging baskets and window boxes of blue and white lobelia and red begonias adorned the verandah. 

A cream tea was definitely in order, surprisingly the first of the holiday. Martin opted for plain scones, while for me I had lavender ones. They were served on a Welsh slate platter with a pot of clotted cream, pot of jam and a fresh strawberry. I had a pot of Darjeeling, Martin Russian Caravan. It was delicious.

Suitably refreshed and after Martin having made friends with one of the hens, we continued our journey back to Brilley via Rhayader and Builth Wells and Kington. 

Too late to cook the roast dinner we had planned, we settled on an 'end of day breakfast' before a bit of TV and then bed. 

A good day. Super Sunday."

~ oOo ~


Photos to follow when I can locate them!



Climbing Haystacks 1999

Lake District - September 1999 - Haystacks

For many, many years, my brother Martin and I have taken a two week holiday somewhere in September. We started by using my son's orange nylon play tent (yes really) and with usually little more than sleeping bags, a calor gas burner, a saucepan, a couple of mugs, plates and a bit of cutlery, we'd drive to some remote part of the UK, often Wales or the Lake District and stick the tent wherever we happened to end up. Over the years we graduated to better tents, though not much better camping equipment and then to renting holiday accommodation. We stayed in some really lovely cottages in some really amazing places and once in a not quite so wonderful cottage in the Lake District, close to Buttermere (one of Martin's favourite places). 

This Blog is about a walk we did in 1999 and is taken from the original notes in my journal of that year.

"TRAVELS IN THE LAKE DISTRICT".  BUTTERMERE. The very name conjures up images of lake reflections, protective fells, pretty shoreline walks, swallows dipping for flies. It is all this and so much more. 

When we set out at just before nine this particular morning, I had no idea the day would become such a test of stamina and character. I had said all holiday (and before) that I wanted to climb a mountain. I really had in mind Helvellyn!

However, we had begun previously with a few leisurely strolls around the lake - they can be regarded as strolls now - and then, one fine morning we drove up from Buttermere, through Newlands Hause and stopped half way up. Full of determination and cameras at the ready, we ascended Knott Rigg. Even so comparatively small a hill, there was a sense of achievement as we sat there in the blustery wind, snapping away furiously. (see photo in gallery) We could have gone on, but instead trudged back down and then went part-way up the other side to the waterfall, Moss Force. From there we stood above the car park, gazing back down the pass at the evening sun glittering on the southern end of Crummock Water. Great shafts of light - golden beams - splayed out over the fells and it was a wonderful sight. 

But still we hadn't climbed a mountain. We struck out a day or two later, Sunday, once again from Buttermere village, where all paths lead from, taking the route around Crummock, through the woods and up to Scale Force. The trees were old and gnarled. Weather-beaten. The stone-strewn track likewise. There was a different feel here. No hidden vistas. No sudden opening of windows onto the meandering shoreline of Buttermere. Crummock was always in view; large, sedate, comfortable beneath its fells. 

We struck upwards again beyond the falls to a place where the land was wet and boggy. It was like walking on sponges and before us spread a wilderness valley - wild and uninviting. We trekked back, followed the ghyll down the fellside through clusters of yellow gorse and stiff bracken. Another path forked away north and we took it, away around the shoreline to the spit of land that juts out on its narrow causeway below Ling Crags. We sat for a while, took one or two more photos, then trudged back over boggy ground, across swathes of marsh and along shallow rivulets of tinkling water. We were tired when we got back. 

Still the thought of conquering mountains was in my mind. I wanted to do "The Buttermere Trio" - High Crag, High Stile and Red Pike. 'The Book' said the ascent could be made in four and a half hours. It didn't sound too bad. A bit steep and tricky in places perhaps - especially for us relative novices.

I sat (last night) and wrote down the directions. It all depended on the weather. We made a packed lunch. This morning looked fine. We were awake early. We filled bottles with water. We rolled up extra clothes and waterproofs. We were going. 

As already mentioned, a walk around Buttermere's shoreline is an absolute delight. But when your climb doesn't begin until you've reached the far end of the lake - and you've already spent twenty minutes getting from the cottage to the lakeside, it seems to take twice as long as usual. But then we were there and the long haul up began. 

The path is steep, over loose shale and boulders. We made several water stops before we were even half way up. I was hot. When I get hot I go red in the face. I felt like a sweating beetroot. But we made it to the point where, according to our instructions, we should take the path that ran to the right, up and alongside the wall. It looked daunting. Steep. Almost vertical. We dithered. Some more people came up behind us. 'Our first real climb' we said. 'Maybe you ought to think of doing Haystacks' they suggested. We watched them go and decided to take their advice. Others were already making the ascent - the majority of them much older than us. Determination kicks in then. We've come this far. If they can do it, so can we. It's that that sustains you then. You have to make it to the top.

And make it we did. 

We stood on the top of Haystacks and knew we'd conquered our first 'mountain'.

It was wonderful. The views were spectacular. This time there really was a sense of achievement and we took photo after photo - of Buttermere, of Crummock , of Ennerdale, of High Stile and Fleetwith Pike. Of Blackbeck Tarn and the distant sea. Yes, we even saw Scotland way across the Solway Firth and all the mountains to the south, Green and Great Gable. 

We took photos of each other by the cairn and ate lunch. 


Me on the top of Haystacks. Red faced, aching knees, but happy.

It was then we asked the question everyone else had - 'which is the way down?' Once again we followed another pair of 'climbers' (for that was what we felt like now. Virgins no longer!) We started the downward trek.

The going was quite good. The path was obvious and decisive. We passed two more tarns, dark and silent. We descended a trickier, more boulder-strewn stretch. My knees began to protest. We turned a bend and found ourselves peering out between lofty crags. Perched we were, like eagles. It would have been so easy to swoop down on gliding wings, to sail over Buttermere and Crummock, beyond and up again, veering eastwards towards Keswick and Skiddaw and the beckoning of Helvellyn. Imagination would have to suffice. 

We went down and then up again. Another tarn. It was warm. It was tiring. We came to a parting of the ways. Up and over onto Fleetwith Pike, or across and down? We threw out Martin's idea of following the course of the waterfall - a good call as it turned out. I hadn't relished the thought of vertical drops over rock faces. 

It was the last lap. Methinks me knees doth protest too much. Walking down over loose scree is hard work. I was hot again. I had a headache. The view temporarily banished both. It was as breathtaking as when we had stood on the summit. Warnscale Bottom fanned out before us with Peggy's Bridge beckoning. Once there, it would be a simple jaunt back to the cottage. No it wouldn't. The last part of the downward path was hard. I collapsed on the grass - Martin some fifty or so metres ahead of me. I was hurting. I wanted to rest. I wanted to get to Gatesgarth and catch the bus! We didn't have any money. So I struggled on. 

We hit the road and I began to feel sick. Lack of water? Low sugar levels? Just plain fatigue? Once more I summoned up the last ounce of determination and walked back to Craggfoot Cottage. 

We're rested now. A cup of tea and a bit of chocolate soon restores the spirits.

In the little enclosed garden I look out towards the fells. Golden sunlight illuminates the trees. There isn't a cloud in the blue sky. A new moon touches the mountain top and slides unobtrusively from view.

We climbed a mountain today and it feels good. But Helvellyn will have to wait. "

~ oOo ~


We never did climb Helvellyn. 

~ oOo ~


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