March 10, 2017
When I was young my parents rented a station wagon and drove the family to California and back for summer vacation. Not only was this an exceedingly far drive from the northeast coast of the US, but pre-internet, we actually didn't have all that much background knowledge to go on, outside of, if I remember correctly, some type of coupon booklet for hotels.
So when we got to Wall Drug in the Badlands and learned about the famous deer-horned jack-rabbit of the region (the jackalope), I can't guarantee we didn't believe it existed. I can remember that we sent several postcards home to people who definitely believed it was a real animal.
Of course, in Bob Sagat's America's Funniest Home Videos of my childhood (yes, youths, the voice from How I Met Your Mother had several jobs before that), America was taught via an adorable recurring jackalope puppet character that the jackalope was entirely a fantasy, a rodent version of the unicorn.
So I was quite surprised when I found a jackalope in a castle in Wales.
Dolwyddelan Castle
Having spent the day buying gear and not walking in Betws-y-Coed, I decided to break up the 1h45m drive back to Aberdyfi with a visit to another of Llywelyn ab Iorwerth's (Llywelyn the Great's) 13th century castles in north Wales. Just like Castell-y-Bere, Dolwyddelan Castle is spectacularly sited on the slopes of Moel Siabod (I guess it's hard not to be spectacularly sited in north Wales).
Maybe halfway between Betws-y-Coed and Blaenau Ffestinog, there's a well-signed entrance and parking lot, and signs that point you along the 10-15 minute very steep walk to the castle. Although the signs point out that you have to pay to visit, I couldn't for the life of me figure out where - since the bunkhouse on the way looked closed and a sheep dog came bolting out of the only other house, bearing its teeth and barking madly at me. Although actually, it didn't matter for me as I conveniently became a CADW member at Strata Florida, so it would have been free anyway.
In any case, the walk was pleasant and slightly muddy, with mountain views on all sides and sheep running away from me every which way. When I got to the top I meandered around the ruined part of the castle, and then walked up the stairs to the castle door, assuming it would be closed but that I could take pictures from a higher angle.
Well this is creepy. But informative. Creep-formative.
But when I got to the door it wasn't locked. There was a lock on it. But it wasn't locked. So inside I went.
I entered through the keep, which was restored in the 19th century and at that time used as a hotel. Nowadays, the keep is a large, dim, empty stone room with a fireplace you could cook a whole cow in (i.e. my favorite kind of fireplace, since I love big fireplaces and hate cows - see Bearded Lake).
There are several helpful panels describing the background of the Norman conquest of England, their push into Wales, and Llwelyn's subsequent rise to power and his relatively short-lived unification of the previously entirely separate kingdoms of Wales. This is not a period of history I recall learning about at home, so the display was quite welcome.
Anyway, having read all the panels, I was about to leave when I went to inspect a warning sign that looked like it was warning you to beware of standing on your head while a staircase fell from the ceiling on top of you. When I got closer I realized the warning sign was upside down, and it was warning you not to fall down the stairs. I further realized, obviously, that there must be stairs to which this warning sign related.
Close encounters of the jackalope kind
And that's when it happened. The cloudy sky wasn't letting much light into the keep's few tiny windows, and the stairs in the corner behind the warning sign were pitch black. Except for one narrow window.
On which was a single jackalope skull.
The creepiness of seeing any kind of animal skull in a window in an old castle wasn't helped by the wind screaming through the windows and all around the keep. But it also wasn't helped by the skull being so small. And having tiny antlers. And it was further not helped by said window being at the bottom of a pitch black staircase, with a thick, damp rope handrail, that lead a long way up to who knows what.
I didn't really want to think why that skull was there, or how it had gotten there. Thinking like that just makes you embarrass yourself by running as fast as you can away from things. I did, for a very brief moment, however, think that this jackalope looked like more of a sheepalope. Or perhaps a lambalope. But then I decided that it would really be better for everyone involved if I didn't examine this skull, or these thoughts, any further.
So, motivated by getting as far away from the skull as possible, I blindly groped my way up the seemingly never-ending staircase, hoping it didn't lead to a herd of live, adorably murderous jackalopes who had left the skull at the base of the stairs as a warning. That would be an interesting way to die, really, murdered in a 13th century Welsh castle by a pack of horned bunnies. I feel like there's a Monty Python movie in here somewhere.
Luckily, it actually lead to ramparts with a really beautiful view - made even more beautiful when, as I was about to call it a day, the sun started to come out and actually lifted some of the mountain-top fog that had been obscuring everything all day. To the north, west and south were craggy mountains, some still with snow on top, and to the east were large grassy whale-back hills.
I took my time on the ramparts - partly because of the stunning beauty, and partly because I didn't want to go back down the dark stairs past the skull.
Obviously, I eventually made it out safely since I'm writing this blog about the experience. But I'll admit that some part of me kept looking in the rearview mirror the whole way home, convinced that at some point, like in a horror movie, I would suddenly see a jackalope sitting in the backseat, laughing maniacally.
