It's a struggle to leave the tent as I hear the depressing sound of rain pattering on the flysheet, and only the knowledge that I have at least 20 miles to go drives me forth. Before long I regret the decision to climb down to the pub last night, the ascent is brutal, and the conditions horrible. The weather is like a living thing, a malign entity determined to drive me off the mountain, presumably so it can continue to consume it with infinite patience...
I consider turning back, but I reckon it is almost as easy to head up and over, and besides, can't let the thing beat me. At some point I reach the summit of Pen Y Fan, highest point of the walk, and indeed Southern Britain, but I scarcely notice, locked in my personal battle with the elements. Oddly, there is a tent at the summit - belonging, I think, to the army cadets who are the only others mad enough to be up here.
Descending from the mountain I get some relief as the Way follows an old railway line gently downhill for a few miles, but then it climbs steeply again, and I realise I've been walking for some 5 hours and need food. It is still hammering down however, if I stop in this hypothermia beckons... I decide to pitch the tent, and indeed cook up some of the hiker staple, macaroni. After an hour and a half I emerge, not exactly dry but ready to continue.
As it happens the rest of the day is easy enough, though I do briefly get lost, nonetheless I find my way to Cwmdu - pronounced Kmmdi - campsite. It has that most wonderful of things, a tumbledrier... so after a brief sojourn at the Farmers' Arms I return to wash my socks, pants and shirt, the water turning a deep, rich chocolate as I plunge them in. And then, dry clothes and a dry sleeping bag! I think about sticking my boots in too, probably a bad idea...
Photos to go with this post can be found here.
I consider turning back, but I reckon it is almost as easy to head up and over, and besides, can't let the thing beat me. At some point I reach the summit of Pen Y Fan, highest point of the walk, and indeed Southern Britain, but I scarcely notice, locked in my personal battle with the elements. Oddly, there is a tent at the summit - belonging, I think, to the army cadets who are the only others mad enough to be up here.
 |
| Cwmdu Campsite - first place I dared to take the camera out of its waterproof bag. |
As it happens the rest of the day is easy enough, though I do briefly get lost, nonetheless I find my way to Cwmdu - pronounced Kmmdi - campsite. It has that most wonderful of things, a tumbledrier... so after a brief sojourn at the Farmers' Arms I return to wash my socks, pants and shirt, the water turning a deep, rich chocolate as I plunge them in. And then, dry clothes and a dry sleeping bag! I think about sticking my boots in too, probably a bad idea...
Photos to go with this post can be found here.
No comments:
Post a Comment