Day 32 - Cadair Idris & Blaen-y-Cwm

Today followed the penultimate day of my dad’s walk (though not of mine), which went like this:

I intended to follow it exactly, but for a few changes - the school minibus would be replaced by a train one stop from Llanbedr to Barmouth; I would be joined on the climb by Judith, Kate’s sister; and that night I would be staying at Blaen-y-Cwm.

Judith was a good friend of my dad’s at university (they met at the Cambridge Young Quaker group), and not long after he wrote this journal, she invited him to a get together at a windmill in Norfolk where he met her sister Kate, who he took a shine to and, 30 years later, would become his wife! For many years thier family have owned a cottage called Blaen-y-Cwm perched high up a hill above Dollgellau, and this week Judith and her husband Tony were staying there, so it was perfect timing to see them and visit it for the first time. My dad had been there several times and even climbed Cadair Idris again with them, so it was a perfect fit for my journey. Here is a pic of Dad and Kate with my niece Leo and Bob the bridled collie-cross.

I hit my first hurdle when I discovered that, although the trains were running, during the strikes they weren’t stopping at request stops (Llanbedr being one). Furthermore the weather on Cadair Idris was due to be dry throughout the day but then turn rainy and stormy in the afternoon. Therefore we crafted a plan. Judith would collect me in the car and drive us to King’s, then we would climb Caedir Idris in the morning whilst the weather was still holding up. Then later on we could backtrack and do the first part of Dad’s walk across Barmouth Bridge and along the old railway line.

Here is the view from the car as we turned the corner into Barmouth Bay, and then crossing Penmaenpool Toll Bridge, the other rickety old wooden bridge that spans the Mawddach.

From here we took the wooded lane to Kings YHA, which is still operating as a hostel but is currently only taking group bookings so I wasn’t able to stay there but we stopped to have a good look around.

We then continued up a narrow lane, stopping several times to unlock gates, and thankful that nobody was coming the other way, ‘til we reached the car park at the foot of the Pony track.

From there we set off to climb the beast. Thankfully I was also sans rucksack for this walk, though I borrowed a light day bag to bring a picnic, water and a jacket in.

After a short section on lanes, the path was as my dad described it - a long, steep uphill trudge.

Each time I turned around the views became more expansive until I could see Blaen-y-Cwm, Snowdon and the beach at Barmouth (first, second and third pics below respectively).

Atop the ridge the going got easier until at last we reached the summit. The views were incredible. We had lunch at the top, and watched a team of guys who had carried building materials all the way up there on a quad bike repair a hut that had been damaged by the wind thrown up by a recent helicopter landing there.

Here's a pic of my dad atop Cadair Idris some years back with beloved Basil.

I couldn't sit around after lunch as I was being overwhelmed by swarms of flying ants! But what was a nuisance to me was an opportunity to others - vast numbers of swifts were filing the skies above us, darting about and swooping down to feed on the ants.

We were unsure about going down the Fox’s Path as it looked very precarious but we asked the rangers about it and they seemed to think it was safe enough so we went for it. Two cairns marked the start, then there was a short section of easy path before the going got steadily rougher until the last section in which the path gave way to a very steep loose scree slope which slid away from beneath us as we scrambled down it. After a cautious and challenging descent we reached the safety of the crystal clear crater lake below.

A few more miles of path zig-zagging down through a fertile valley brought us out at the former Gwernan Lake Hotel and pub, now sadly closed down.

So having done the hard bit and avoided any major thunderstorms, we hopped back in the car, went to collect Tony and backtracked to the Southern end of Barmouth Bridge to tackle the first part of my dad’s walk. Parking up by Morfa Mawwdach station, we walked across the old wooden bridge, which carries the railway and foot passengers. Although still a toll bridge the tollbooth has been replaced by an “honesty troll” that you leave the money in!

Crossing the bridge was very atmospheric in the rapidly storm-darkening skies. Barmouth in all its glory lay to the far end, to the left the ferry terminal and minature railway station and to the right sweeping views down the Mawwdach estuary.

Having crossed most of the way over, we turned around and returned. The difference in scenery was noticeable - compared to walking North to the relative civilisation of Barmouth, the view to the South was wild and untamed, like something from a jurassic age, with brewing storms gathering over Cadair Idris in the distance.

Here I took some great shots of the clouds forming to the West over Fairbourne.

At the end of the bridge, Tony and I took the footpath which marked the very start of our old friend the Barmouth to Ruabon railway, at the point which the line branched off. Here it is veering off to the left from the main line, with the former platform still visible. We were trying to figure out what the configuration of the line must have looked like, so it was quite a coincidence when later that evening we saw a painting of it on the wall of a pub!

This part of the line is preserved as a footpath which we followed as far as Arthog, where Judith collected us. I had now seen the start and finish of this former railway line as well as scrambing along huge closed sections of it and catching two steam trains along other reopened sections!

After the walk we drove down the estuary to the George III inn, situated by the Penmaenpool Bridge by yet another spot along the same line, complete with the original train signals. Sadly the proprieters were bizarrely unaccomodating (we only wanted a drink but were told we couldn't sit in the half-empty main bar room as that was only for diners and were instead directed to a windowless basement) so we left and went home.

The famous Blaen-y-Cwm is situated, as its name translates, at the head of a valley, high above Dollgellau. It’s accessed by a long drive that climbs up through farmland until the cottage appears at last.

It was a warm and welcoming retreat from the bleak weather outside. We had a delicious dinner of veggie bake prepared earlier by Judith then reclined in the cosy living room with the fire blazing in the hearth.

Here are some pics we found of my dad in Blaen-y-Cwm - outside with Judith and Bob the dog, and in the living room some years back with (L-R) Kate and Judith’s mum Emma, family friend Sebastian, Tony and their son David, who has just become a father himself only a few months ago!

It’s a lovely old building and kept simple (a bit like the youth hostels of my dads day!) with electric lights but no running water or the burdens of modernity such as TVs and internet. Water is fetched by bucket from the stream outside, one’s business is done in a small outhouse, and washing (both of oneself and laundry) and is done by hand from a pale heated over the fire.

I am one of the last visitors to see it like this though, as the family are about to do a major refurb which includes adding showers and a flushing toilet, so I’m glad I got to experience it as they have done for generations.

We spent an enjoyable evening by the fire, though the warmth soon sent me to sleep. I retired up to bed in the attic bedroom and drifted off beneath the rafters.