Day 3

Our day began with sausages for breakfast - provided by Sophie, having been so inspired by our eggs! Additionally fortified with porridge and melted Mars bars, we set off down the valley and through the woods on what was to be the only flat walking of the whole day. We tried to set a good pace, aware that we should make the most of the good path as it travelled through the woods and then along an old railway line beside the estuary.

Able to see the hills that were our destination beyond the opposite banks of the estuary we talked of finding a boat, rowing across, or even meeting Sophie on her mountain bike and managing some kind of elaborate jump! In fact, Sophie did meet us, just before the George Inn with the disastrous news that the toll bridge across the estuary was closed! We walked to the bridge, which apart from a few barriers looked crossable, but a site worker told us there was a hole and that we couldn’t cross. We established that it was all down to Health and Safety and Insurance rules, but despite promising to walk very carefully, and contemplating running across when he wasn’t looking, we were defeated.


	Not impressed by the prospect of an extra 5 miles walk inland around the estuary, we struck on the idea of trying to hitch, and with not a little contemplation of the ethics of the journey we begged the first couple in a large car to please take us around! After again consulting our (weakening) inner-ethical-guides, we accepted the offer of a lift the additional 5km to Bontdu. We retrieved our sacks and the baton from the back of our slightly bemused saviours’ car, and had a fruit snack before walking through the village and then turning up the lanes which headed into the hills.



			This was the start of a day of major climbing. We began through steep lanes, seeing melting tarmac on the sharp, steep hairpin bends. We were soon moving beyond the lane, and into the hills on a gently climbing grassy track. This rose above the valley with a superb view back down to the estuary behind us and the colours of heather in flower beside us. The walking became more like climbing, and we staggered through the heather, over rocky streams, and endlessly rising tussock grass.


	We started to see the cloud beginning to tumble over the top of the crags, and to feel the wind increasing. We decided that it would be good to stop for lunch while we still had some shelter from the wind - and likely rain, but headed on to try to gain a bit more height before stopping. It was steep climbing to our lunch stop, but we found a sheltered rocky hole, protected by the bilberries and heather. Lunch was simple, a variety of snack bars, dried fruit and chocolate, but with a view all the way back to Cadair and beyond, we were refreshed by the food and seeing how far we’d already come.



			As the wind continued to rise and the clouds continued to tumble over the top of the ridge, it was on with the waterproofs before continuing the steep climb. We tramped up 300 feet of loose slate inclines, marveling at the effort expended in their building, the time it must have taken, and disbelieving that there couldn’t have been an easier place to mine for slate.



	We didn’t manage to meet Sophie at top as we’d hoped - but visibility was low, and unless she’d been within 50 feet we wouldn’t have met! Later we heard that she’d been wearing a flourescent jacket and had been frantically waving at us from the top before we stopped for our lunch break, but we’d not been able to spot her. We continued climbing upwards, over rough terrain though now less steep. There was unrelenting thick drizzle, occasionally becoming driving rain at our backs, and with the mist increasing, visibility decreased. We headed on along the ridge, heading for the summit peak before Llyn Hywel. We found that we were moving much slower than we realised, hindered by the visibility and constantly searching for the path. We took a quick GPS check to confirm our map work, and with some very satisfyingly accurate pacing we came to the top of our descent path.

			The way down to Llyn Hywel was steep, loose and rocky, sometimes scree-like and washed out. We reached the lake, but couldn’t see it till we were 10 feet away! We decided that there really wasn’t much point in camping here as planned, so we opted to continue on down. However, this first required clambering over the wet boulders in order to circle the lake, before dropping on down to the next col. Despite the weather I had many moments when I just giggled with glee, delighted to be out, truly in the wild, surrounded by only the earth and its elements, comfortable in my waterproofs and relishing the fact that so many people just wouldn’t ‘get it’! The lower lake was similarly shrouded in mist, equally obscuring, and so we headed down further. The path was very rocky, passing through dense heather and bracken, and a number of times we lost it or mistakenly took more prominent sheep tracks. We finally reached the wall at the bottom of the valley, still in thick mist. As we rested at a stile I noticed a tiny caterpillar on a jacket sleeve. I gently rolled it onto my glove, and it instantly became rigid and stick like, and absolutely perfect camouflage.

	We wandered around, losing the path a bit as it was barely more than a sheep track, and its direction completely obscured by the mist. The mist was extremely disorientating, and the compass hard to trust when we had neither a personal sense of direction with which to interpret its pointing, and the niggling knowledge of the magnetic rocks in the Rhinogs. We decided to pitch the tent on the first flat ground we could find. After tramping through much boggy ground, we found a flat corner - in the middle of the path, but this was going to be as good as it got! Jell got the tent up while I got the brew on, and we soon peeled off the wet gear and threw it into the tent porch, and crawled into dry sleeping bags (dry bags are such a worthwhile investment!) We had tea and a hot meal - dehydrated pour-in-the-hot-water-and-let-sit-for-10-minutes packs have never tasted so good. Tired out, we’d never have managed to cook a ‘real’ meal, so it was perfect to have these on board. Sleep came quickly, but not without some concerned thoughts for Nick and Daniel, who were braving the elements of their only wild camp in their lightweight bivvy-style shelter.


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