All the Trails in Wales

Dolgoch

Thomas the Tank Engine and several, but not all, Waterfalls

October 4, 2016

While I knew that the inspiration for Thomas the Tank Engine came from Wales (my law school roommate's son's love of Thomas means I learned this just this summer) - I didn't know that we had moved only one village over from the refurbished line itself - the Talyllyn Railroad. I learned this after I bought my first Wales OS (Ordinance Survey) Map from the tourist information center and randomly found some waterfalls marked to the east of Tywyn.

Checking my guidebook it seemed that there were known paths to the falls, so I took the quick 15 minute drive - still in a rental car as we hadn't found an automatic yet, as P can't drive stick shift - from our new home in Aberdyfi. The road was the same one we'd driven to Castell y Bere - i.e. very small, lots of 90 degree angles, but very pretty.

Man vs. Train

I parked in the lot, checked my guidebook, and noticed that there was a narrow gauge rail stop - Dolgoch station, right next to the falls. I then ran across the fact that the Tal-y-llyn was the narrow gauge railway that inspired a reverend to come up with Thomas the Tank Engine. Further interesting facts are that when the line was closed in 1946, it was then run and operated by volunteers. And, in my personal opinion, the best fact is that every summer there is a 'Race the Train' event, where runners compete against the train on its 14 mile (each way) path - apparently some humans actually win!

In any case, I made a note to myself that I should consider going to Dolgoch Station to see what this was about, because I love the British word 'twee' and I thought I could really use some good twee today. I quickly found signs and paths for the falls and the station, and set off having further learned that this piece of land was part of an estate of a man named RJ Roberts, and he gave it to the town at the turn of the 20th century.

Many, but unfortunately not nearly all, the Waterfalls

Walking up the path, I passed the signs to the station pointing away to the left, and followed the river to my right. As I stood neck craned back to look up to the top of a railroad bridge - a train crossed it. Quite the coincidence since in the fall these trains run only once or twice a day, and only a few days a week.

I hiked along, past a lovely carved bridge and under a beautiful huge green canopy. You can stand right next to the first set of falls and there's a very pleasant view. Here the path gets a little steeper, and you cross over a larger moss covered hill up some steps that can be a little slippery, but nothing terrible.

At the top of the next set of falls, there's a bridge and a second set of falls to the right. I know this is ridiculous, but to me they looked just like a picture my mother showed me of Hawaii. The difference being it was probably 30 degrees colder, there were no flowers or palm trees and I had absolutely no interest in bathing under them. But I swear they looked the same - in other words, lovely. Of course I've never been to Hawaii, and I do seriously doubt whether they compare, but I tell you . . .

Here, not seeing where else to go, I went back down the path that traced the other side of the river. Thinking that while this had been a pleasant walk, it hadn't actually been a very far walk, so I'd go take a look at the station.

As it turns out when I got home I re-checked the map. In fact, I think I missed half (if not two thirds) of the falls. At the top of the second set of falls it looks very much like the path continues up along the river, although I couldn't see it at the time. You would think I would at some point learn my lesson and actually take the map with me rather than trying to memorize it like I always did at home - since trails aren't marked here. But there you are. Old habits.

Twee, twee, and more twee - and a very angry ram

So, back in a world where I think a 20 minute walk has been a 45 minute one, I went back to the beginning of the path and turned right to go to the station. And in my desire to find twee, I found miniature railroad twee - that is to say, twee on an almost Disney twee scale. While there wasn't much to it - just a tiny little wooden station, a platform, a water tank and another small stone structure - everything was just, well, children's amusement park train ride cute.

Everything was so clean and green, and although I've literally only seen about two Thomas episodes in my lifetime, I could easily picture a cartoon train coming through and adorably picking up amusing British passengers in front of the immaculately green painted itty bitty booking office, while loading some cargo of something or other to take against all obstacles to, I don't know, near the base of Cadair Idris where the line ends in the east. Although I suppose normally the cargo and the people were going the other direction to Tywyn, it was easy to imagine regardless.

I wandered the platform for a little bit, checked the train schedule, and since there wasn't another for several hours, made to walk back to the car. I found what I thought was a path leading away from the main path - it even had its own sign indicating who maintained it. But after going only a few minutes I ran into a patch of brambles on one side, and a nasty looking ram on the other who refused to do anything but follow my every move with his beady red eyes and breathe rather heavily every time I took a step.

So nevermind, I guess I'll just be going then. I considered regrouping at the tea rooms at the base of the path and trying to find another path in the area, but decided it was time to move on, since the sun had already moved behind the hills. On getting home and realizing I probably missed half of what I'd set out to see, I once again resolved to go back to someplace I'd already been - at this rate I'm never going to check anything I want to see off my list!

For the rest of the (notably darker and colder) December hike to actually see the falls, click here.

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Aberdyfi Walks - Cemetery Hike

Not at all funeral related, I swear

October 13, 2016

So - we've all heard this story before - I plan a hike, I try to memorize a map of the trail, I then leave the map at home either intentionally or by mistake, and I get lost. Well, this particular hike was by far the worst instance of that happening to date - and better yet, I was literally in my own backyard.

Of course the first step toward recovery is recognizing you have a problem. So as soon as I got home I emailed the national mountaineering center at Plas y Brenin to take a navigation course in a few weeks. So hopefully I'll learn whether this is a 'me getting old' issue, or whether this is a 'me in the UK' issue - as I don't recall having this happen this often in the past.

Turn left out your backdoor, and you're there

Anyhow, in an effort to get to know the neighborhood, I decided that when P drives to school and thus I'm left stranded in southern Snowdonia National Park all by myself (boo hoo, I know), I will try to do hikes directly from the house. The Aberdyfi Visitors Guide had a few recommendations, so I decided to take the one that seemed to leave closest from the center of town.

Walking north up the central road of Copperhill St, I turned left after the railroad bridge, up a short hill, and then right at the bench with the lovely view over the firehouse, the playground and the estuary. Passing some construction, within five minutes from my front door I was on an empty hillside. Taking a slight left along the fence and skirting the hillside, within ten minutes my only companions were sheep.

The views to the south and west were stunning - Aberdyfi sits on a south facing hill over a massive estuary, and with even the slightest elevation you could see all the way from the holiday town of Borth on the opposite side to the hills behind Machynlleth. And to the west, I could see over the golf course, through the dunes, and past the beach for miles out into the Irish Sea - with waves that, at least from afar, looked like perfect corduroy (although I've yet to pick back up surfing here, as I'm wary of the currents).

The trail/sheep path continued to rise slightly up the southwestern side of the hill, until I reached a gate and found a disturbing site. So I've never seen a dead sheep before. And here there was a picked apart sheep skeleton, with giant balls of wool blowing all over the green hillside like cotton tumbleweeds. I'm actually not sure I was bothered as much by the sheep skeleton as I was by all the other sheep who just kept grazing around it.

Because, yuck.

Anyway, skirting this scene, I walked to the opposite gate, and found a lovely bench to enjoy the great views from. I've always said that if the British have mastered one thing - it's modern bench technology. Even the most remote hillsides here always seem to have a conveniently placed bench, and there's always a commemorative little bronze plate dedicating the bench to someone, which I love. When I die, all I want is for someone to dedicate a bench to me (and a Viking funeral, but that's a story for another time).

From the bench I went somewhat north east, along the top of the hill (I've since learned the trail actually runs along the bottom of this same field, but it's full of deep mud and a little harder to navigate). I spotted a signpost at the bottom of the hill, and headed for it, crossing a small stream, then over a fence, and through a small farm and some caravans, until I hit another sign.

Lost but not Lost

Thinking how lucky I was that this trail was signposted, I continued on. Of course, from here I got quite lost. What's strange about being this kind of lost is - I knew exactly where I was at all times. I mean, how couldn't I? There's this giant thing called the Irish Sea to the west, which I could clearly see. There's a golf course, and a highway snaking north, and I wasn't that far from home, so I always knew exactly where I was.

But where I was supposed to be going, that was an entirely different question. Following the direction the sign pointed me in, I soon came to a broken down stone house with several sheep out front. Continuing on along the only (likely sheep-related) path I could see, I started to steeply skirt a hill heading north west.

While the views were really beautiful - in particular given the bright blue October sky, I couldn't really tell whether I was going in any particularly useful direction. Hitting the other side of the hill and turning to the north east, I saw something even stranger than the dead sheep - a giant bird, literally not moving at all, sitting 50 feet above my head.

And when I say not moving - I mean not moving at all. It was just sitting there, fifty feet over my head, completely still. After staring at it, willing it with all my might to flap a wing, maybe drift to the left or a few inches down, so I could confirm I wasn't insane, it dropped just the tiniest bit and looked at me. From what I can gather, the bird was hovering with absolutely no effort on an updraft over a valley, possibly trying to hunt some of the small animals in the area.

I suddenly started worrying that it was going to mistake me for prey, and, remembering once when I was walking on an island off the north coast of Norway and was repeatedly dive-bombed by a very angry seagull, I scuttled off on my way. Whatever way that was.

Somehow, at the head of the valley, I came to another signpost. This signpost notably only had an arrow pointing one direction - it looked like someone had taken off one half of the sign showing where to go. Hoping I could guess the direction from the way the base of the sign was positioned, I followed what may or may not have been a path west along a ridge, figuring that once I got to the end of the ridge, I could either walk down to the road from there, or cut a less steeply-sloped path down the hillside. I could clearly see a gate onto the road far away at the bottom of the hill, on the north side of a cemetery that cut into the valley, so I tried to make in that direction.

When I got to the edge of the ridge, it was obvious I couldn't just walk down it toward the sea, it was far too steep. So zig-zagging back and forth along the hillside's many sheep paths, I slowly worked my way down. With only one very skittish rabbit to watch my progress, I hoped no one would catch me trespassing.

I made it! No, wait a second, crap.

The land here was very steep and hillocky, and I occasionally worried about tripping and rolling down the hill Princess Bride-like. I heaved a giant sigh of relief when I got to the bottom. I then immediately took that back and turned it directly into a face palm. I could now see that the gate was at least 15-20 feet off the ground, set in a fence with barbed wire, surrounded by several feet of brambles, and set directly over the highway.

Basically, if somehow I made it through the thorns, over the barbed wire, and jumped blindly off the fence, I would land directly in the middle of a highway.

Deciding I would call this Option B in my grand plan to escape this hike, I started to walk north along the fence that lines the highway, hoping to find something more reasonable. Unfortunately, when I came to what from above had looked like my best second option, it turned out to in fact be a 20 foot long driveway ending in a rusted gate, said driveway, however, being covered with thorn bushes reaching to about my armpits.

Not able to decide whether I should call this Option B or C, I stopped for a minute and took a breath. If I kept going north, for all I knew there wouldn't be a gate for miles. But turning around, there was a cemetery just sitting right there, steeply angled in the valley and surrounded by a spike covered wrought iron fence, but clearly a cemetery would open onto the road . . .

So I started surveying the fence, and noticed what looked like a lower part where, if one were so inclined, one could potentially hop the fence into . . . the cemetery. I walked over and stood in front of the fence for a bit, contemplating the fact that I was about to hop a fence into a cemetery.

I stood up on a rock and tried to look down the fence toward the road, hoping maybe an alternative would present itself. Then I turned in the opposite direction - looking up the valley hopefully, the hill looked a little steeper and I didn't see a gate to enter the cemetery except directly across from where I was, and there was no easy way to get there.

So crossing myself, and saying out loud to a graveyard empty of life but full of dead Welsh people 'I'm really sorry, really I am, I swear I'm just trying to get out or else I wouldn't be doing this, I swear.' I quickly hopped the fence, and scuttled as fast as I could to the other side, exiting the gate and following an entrance road to the highway.

So this is actually an obstacle course, not a hike

So now I was on a highway with no breakdown lane or sidewalk. The only place that looked safe to walk was a small parking lot across the road. Going into this I saw a small path to one side, that headed toward the beach. Figuring I could follow this to the beach and then back south east all the way to town, I walked eagerly down it.

First I hit a gate for some train tracks, and a notice about how not to get hit by a train. Opening the gate and checking thoroughly for non-existent train traffic, I continued on.

Then I hit the golf course. The sign for the golf course seemed to imply that while I was allowed to cross it to get to the beach, I would be crossing the middle of the course, and that I should be taking care not to get hit by golf balls. Not being a golfer, I literally had no idea what to do with this information. As the sun was in my eyes, I also couldn't figure out where any kind of track led. Walking south, I noticed someone looking like they were teeing off in front of me, and I ran back to where I started and ducked into the bushes.

Sitting there for a minute, I noticed that halfway across the golf course there was a patch of longer grass, and what looked like a bench. Looking to my left to see if I was going to meet my end via a golf ball to the head, I ran across the golf course to the bench. Looking back I could see that there was in fact a path that crossed the course to here that I hadn't seen in the glare.

Laughing at myself because surely people crossed here all the time, and I was being such a baby, I confidently took the path through the high grass, expecting at any moment to hit the dunes that edged the beach. Of course I then found myself in the open, on what looked like the putting green part of a particular hole. Of course I still had the back side of the course to cross.

Looking to my right this time, I saw that someone had just finished a swing. I didn't get hit or anything, but suddenly found myself walking across a golf course literally through the middle of a foursome of golfers, none of whom acknowledged my presence as being normal, weird, par for the course (I had to) or otherwise.

So, taking my cues from them that I was totally within my rights to be walking through the middle of a golf course, I walked casually across the putting green, trying to look conscious of not tearing up the grass, since that's something I remembered golfers cared about from watching Caddyshack. Getting to the other side, I almost ran into the sand dunes and onto the beach.

Laughing, I continued along this beautiful portion of the Wales Coast Path until I hit Aberdyfi. Because it was fall, the beach was virtually empty, and with the high sea grass-covered dunes to the left, and the endless sea to the right, for a second it felt like it was summer, and that I was back in Nantucket, visiting a friend from high school who works there. Shaking off the uncanny resemblance to Ladies Beach sans private school ladies (in the American sense of private school), I got back to Aberdyfi after at most a 20 minute walk, taking in views that never cease to impress me.

Getting home, I felt enormously relieved, like I'd been lost in the wilderness for hours and only made it home through the grace of god. As it turns out, I'd barely been gone for two hours.

Sighing, I decided to find a navigation course so I could lessen the chance that I would win a Darwin award for getting lost and dying of starvation five minutes from my home.

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Cwmer Abbey

Near the Precipice Walk? What?

October 21, 2016

If you're ever driving near Dolgellau, you'll see the big signs that direct you toward Cwmer Abbey. When we'd bought our car nearby the week before, I thought we could come up one day and combine a visit with a walk in the hills - with Cadair Idris and the Mawddach Estuary right there, I imagined the views would be spectacular.

While I ultimately wasn't wrong on the views, I made the mistake of trusting in one line in my Rough Guide that told me, simply, that a path nearby Cwmer Abbey would take you to the nearby Precipice Walk. So off we went, trusting that if the guidebook were that blase about it - surely it would be obvious once we got there.

It was easy enough to find the Abbey - following the signs from Dolgellau we parked near a signed bike path by the river. We should have known there was a problem when someone stopped their car and asked us for directions to the Precipice Walk. Obviously we didn't know yet, so on they drove.

We then took a pleasant enough walk along a road toward the Abbey - which it turns out we could have parked right next to. We went past some holiday rentals which looked like they might have formerly been part of the complex, and went through the gate into the Abbey itself.

Not the richest Abbey in Wales, but still pleasant

Although the Abbey itself looked like it may have been smaller than the only other Abbey I have to compare it to - Strata Florida - I thought what was left standing was rather nice. The fall colors in the background lent a nice warm autumnal hue to the place. Most importantly, unlike the authors of the Rough Guide, I didn't at all dismiss the place as 'whatever remaining Gothic slabs' it has as being 'marred' by the nearby caravan park. There wasn't that much there, but it seemed very nice - possibly it's somehow different when there are loads of people in the caravans, but on a Friday in the fall it was pretty serene.

Like Strata Florida, it was founded for the Cistercians in the 12th century, who were also later given mineral rights to the area where gold had been found before. Unlike Strata Florida, it ended up relatively poor, with only 5 monks left in the late 14th century. Ultimately it was shuttered under Henry VIII's Dissolution - some of the Abbey's remaining treasures were nonetheless hidden away in small villages near Cadair Idris.

So, where is that path again?

After a short stroll around the grounds, we went to find the Precipice Walk. Having seen a woman walking toward the Abbey off of an obvious path, we went to check a sign we'd seen. The sign showed a small path that ran along the river - when I'd studied the map before, it looked like the Precipice Walk would have been in the other direction - but we didn't see any other path anywhere near the Abbey.

So we took a very pleasant walk down by a gently bubbling river through several fields until we came to a gate. Having left the map in the car and not seeing how this path would go anywhere near the Precipice Walk, we decided to turn around, walk back to the car and drive until we found the actual signed trail head - as this was supposed to be a well-worn path that many people drove to.

We followed a small track back to the river, hopped a few fences and small rivulets, and had ultimately a very nice short walk through some woods.

Thinking that surely the Precipice Walk would be easy to find, we drove off from Cwmer Abbey, happy to have done a little touristy jaunt before our walk.

Of course nothing is ever easy for me to find.

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The Precipice Walk

Neither a Precipice, nor a Walk

October 21, 2016

Ok, yes, the title is misleading - yes, the Precipice Walk is a walk, and not a particularly strenuous one, but with stunning views, as it turns out. However, what it was not is a walk from Cwmer Abbey - or at least the two didn't connect in any particularly obvious way that we could figure out. But it definitely isn't a precipice - although the slope off the side of the trail is steep, it isn't always entirely a cliff.

So after leaving Cwmer Abbey, we basically drove around in circles for half an hour. Not having the correct map actually on me at the time (yes, I know, I create my own problems - but actually, I am currently holding a map in front of me as I write this. I still have no idea what trail supposedly goes between Cwmer Abbey and the Precipice Walk.), I was basically at this point using the guidebook as a treasure map, and just guessing where the trailhead might be based on where you would expect to be if you wanted to see the views it described.

So I inevitably guessed wrong and we ended up driving back into the middle of Dolgellau. Luckily my good friend Chunk found the secret basement tunnel to One Eyed Willy's treasure, I later put my ability to read music to use on an organ made of bones and all ended well. The End.

I've been wanting to make a Goonies reference, now I have. Moving on.

Anyway, after making several more wrong turns, eventually I got us on the right road (the road from Dolgellau northeast-ish to Llanfachreth), and we actually drove it far enough to find the extremely well signed trailhead for the Precipice Walk, rather than getting frustrated and turning off of it too early.

For a Friday afternoon in mid-October (don't all you other people have jobs?) the walk was surprisingly busy. On the way around we passed and were passed by several people, and the parking lot probably had 20 cars in it. That said - it was busy because it had that much sought after trail-combination of having beautiful long views, being a decent length, but not feeling particularly strenuous.

Starting from the bottom of the parking lot, the trail goes through some light woods and fields, turns left up a short incline past a small cottage and then turns right again, following several stone walls that curve left through a gate, again still lightly uphill. At this point there's a stone wall to your right with lovely views north to northern Snowdonia and the mountains, and a reservoir to your left - as far as I can tell, this is where the circular loop starts.

The whole trail is well and obviously signposted. We chose to go counter-clockwise, which seemed to be the prevailing choice - we passed very few people coming the other way, but saw many people going the same direction.

For a trail that can't be much more than three miles in length, the variety of beautiful viewpoints was amazing. To the north, the hike started with views of the larger mountains of Snowdonia in the distance.

When we got to the western side, we were effectively walking along the edge of a steep cliff over a green river valley, edged on the far side by a similarly sized (~300m) hill, and dotted with the occasional large stone manor house.

When we started to turn more to the south west, that valley opened to views over the Mawddach Estuary and the Irish Sea.

On the southern face of the hill, that view opened even further to encompass all of Dolgellau and sweeping views of Cadair Idris. And of course, here there is a bench - this is, after all, a trail in the UK.

Turning back to the northeast, the trail went past the Llyn Cynwch reservoir, which on this remarkably still day reflected like glass the oranges and reds of fall leaves and berries against the looming backdrop of Cadair Idris, silhouetted by a crisp sunset.

Basically, it was worth the struggle to find it.

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Harlech Castle

Water-front property that's half a mile inland

October 31, 2016

I woke up on Halloween and of course it was gorgeously sunny and 70 degrees out. I'm starting to think that the terrible weather of Wales is a fairy tale made up to keep people away. "Wait until January" the butcher keeps telling us - apparently that's when the Irish Sea washes over the road in front of our town during storms - although since there's no chance of our stone-framed house washing away, I think we're in better shape than at home in New England on the island.

In any case, this is all neither here nor there - it was sunny, so I decided to take a drive up to Harlech Castle, which is just south of the Llyn peninsula, and just north of the peninsula I live on. It's a UNESCO World Heritage sight, so I was hoping for something grand - or alternatively a photo of the large bag of money someone gave to the Russian delegation to UNESCO to get them to not break consensus and give it that designation (sorry, I believe my UN wonkish-ness may be showing).

Luckily, it turned out to be the former. The castle is perched formidably on a 200 foot bluff, with long green and blue views of both the seaside and the mountains. The surrounding town is quaint Wales to a tee. My only complaint would be that I had an impossible time finding the parking lot, although that may be because I was dangerously staring the other direction as a giant castle floated past my range of vision.

I don't know why, but for some reason I absolutely loved the introductory video in the visitors center. Normally these videos are either over the top kitschy descriptions of the wonders of the attraction, or they are from 1972 and everyone is in bellbottoms, in both cases they are usually hysterical. Though minimal on description and big on size (the video is projected on three entire walls), the 7 minute video was just very simple and effective. I'm not going to pretend I then went into the castle actually understanding its history, but I could say I saw a very nice giant rose on a screen.

A note of caution however - there's a lot of water in the video - you should probably go to the bathroom before watching it rather than after. Just trust me on this one.

After the video, and a short break I don't need to mention, I noted the glass cafe with views of Mount Snowdon has tapas nights... How very traditionally Welsh . . . Even this, and even coupled with the London Millennium Bridge style modern span out to a 13th century castle, couldn't detract from a sense that all these elements actually fit together nicely. But maybe it was just the sunshine and blue skies.

On entering the castle itself, I once again noticed a sign describing all the ways I could hurt myself, just like the one in Carreg Cennan. I saw a few more inside the castle, mostly with the notice 'Control Your Children' under them. I get the distinct sense if your child were to fall off a giant turret, if you tried to blame someone else, instead you would be found at fault for not 'controlling your children'. Moral of the story: don't let your children jump off a turret.

So, Harlech castle. A place I'd never heard of, and yet one of the most dramatically set castles I've ever been to (ignoring, of course, the ubiquitous caravan parks of Rough Guide's worst nightmares). Built in 1283 by Edward I and the Germans, Harlech of course in German means 'a whale's va . . .'. Or maybe that's from Anchorman. Wrong kind of whales.

As I understand it, basically, Edward I had had a hard time securing mountainous northern Wales. So he commissioned a series of castles called the 'Iron Ring' to crush those pesky Welsh who didn't want to be ruled by England. Not only were these castles - including Harlech - plopped right in the middle of where the previous Welsh resistance had risen up, but the towns surrounding the castles were then populated with English settlers - Welsh people were only allowed in during the day, and even then, not to trade or do anything else. Definitely the way to become bff's with the citizens of the country that's unlucky enough to be your neighbor.

The Welsh didn't like this that much. They oddly seemed to like having their land not being taken from them much more than having their land taken from them. So, in the early 15th century Owain Glyndwr - a name I'd never heard before I came to Wales - led a rebellion against England, besieged and took Harlech and made it his court and family home. After a few years of ruling all of Wales, England retook Wales, and Glyndwr's family was later captured at Harlech and taken to the Tower of London. Glyndwr disappeared, never to be heard from again.

Walking around, I can see why you'd make this your seat. First, even if you weren't one for sea views, you could see the enemy coming for miles from the height of the turrets. Second, the castle used to sit right on the water, and so could withstand sieges while being supplied by the sea (in the 17th century massive storms created beautifully windswept, Cape Cod-style sand dunes that now keep the sea much farther away from the castle). And third, assuming the 'Weathercock Tower' was already named that when Glyndwr arrived, he would surely have gotten hours of amusement out of my favorite childish joke stemming from British English. In this particular case, I can only imagine what a Weather Channel broadcast would have looked like. Ba-da-bing.

Aaaaanyway. Late October is not tourist season, so I ran up and down the spiral staircases and along the ramparts with very few people to bother me. I have to say, it was only about 5 million times better than sitting at my desk at work.

I'll be honest - I recognize that strictly speaking, this castle isn't really a 'trail' or a 'hike' as such. But it's a big enough place and has nice scenery and . . . Ok, it's not a trail - though when I left the castle, returned to the main road and took a right, not only did I find a quaint little park just behind the church for a quick 2 minute walk, my guilt at not hiking an actual trail led me to get lost while finding a very interesting five or six thousand year old burial chamber just south of Harlech . . .

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Dyffryn Ardudwy

Halloween is always the best time to visit ancient burial chambers

October 31, 2016

I wasn't having a very good day for finding parking - it turns out it wasn't a good day for finding things full stop. This time, the signage for the Burial Chamber off the main road had me turning into what I thought was a church, over the curb. Eventually I just parked on a side road - I think legally - but I think the best parking for this quick hike may actually be the Church/Hall that the road sign indicates (as usual, at the last possible second).

I didn't have any kind of map, so I just hoped that maybe this time the signage would actually point me to the right place. Well, that sort of happened. There was a placard just after a quick walk past the school describing different burial chambers in the area and - miracle! - it appeared to describe that the trail leading away from the placard led to these various burial chambers. Wonderful.

So a very short hike later, I found myself at Dyffryn Ardudwy, two burial chambers which used to be linked by a cairn. Now, one of them is supported with some not-particularly-lovely brickwork, but the other is just standing on its own. I've since learned, on reading 'Cromlechs and Cairns' in Northern Wales - a true page turner that P had to have because he loves rocks in fields - that the un-brickworked one is older.

Interesting? Yes. Worth my eternal soul? Probably not.

So, the interesting thing about these burial chambers is that they were uniquely built with an 'immovable' door. In other words, the giant stone door wasn't put there after the dead person and their belongings were put into the chamber, it was there before. Assumedly everything in the tomb was put in through cracks in the stones or over the door.

As to why this happened, 'Cromlechs and Cairns' says that either, boringly, this was just a unique practice that was never adopted elsewhere, or else, more terrifyingly, that the door wasn't built to keep the living out - but was intended to keep the dead in.

On learning this, I suddenly regretted having visited a 6000 year old burial chamber on Halloween, after which I would be returning home to my black cat. Although there was nothing described about the burial chambers being cursed or anything, certainly getting too close on Halloween could result in the release of several 6000 year old Welsh horsemen of the apocalypse?

Lost, Season 5

Anyway, having convinced myself I was probably damned to hell for gazing innocently at a well-sealed tomb, I moved along the trail to the left of the site and decided I'd try to see the other tombs mentioned in the placard at the beginning of the trail - in for a penny, in for a pound. I hoped beyond hope that, maybe this time, there would actually be signs that told me where I was supposed to go.

And there were - to a point. Following the green arrows behind a house, over a brook, over a stone wall, across a field and into a lane, I finally arrived at a closed gate, seemingly to the driveway of a farmhouse. Across the street was a trail sign clearly pointing at the gate. Now, British people, I don't know, they might just open the gate and walk on through. But little old American me had an (unlikely) vision of a farmer with several dogs and a shotgun chasing me off their land, and most likely shooting me in the back. I decided that the rest of this walk could wait until I found a map telling me whether this was actually a right of way.

So I succeeded in not getting shot by an irate Welsh farmer, as well as having heard a Robbie Williams song called 'Party Like a Russian' for the first time ever on the drive out to the burial chamber. And that alone would have made the trip a win.

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