Rhinogs, January 2004

The Rhinogs are Wales' secret hills. They lurk bulkily between Barmouth and Llyn Trawsfynydd, visible from the coast and Snowdonia's peaks, but somehow off the radars of those who swarm up Snowdon's glamorous routes. I've walked the Rhinog ridge three times in the last year and met only three people on the mountains in all that time, a more magnificent sense of isolation is impossible to achieve on this island without travelling to Scotland. The ridge route is short, probably not much more than eighteen miles, and low, never exceeding 750m, but extremely tough, taking around ten hours, ideal for a two day route.

Ignoring the numerous alarming weather forecasts - Rain! Wind! Snow! - we piled into the car on a Friday evening and swished into Wales on roads so quiet we feared the reckoning had begun. The gritters were out in force on the motorways, flashing harbingers of cold to come. Light traffic and a liberal interpretation of licensing laws let us reach the pub in Bontddu in time for last orders, which we followed up with port, beer and whisky at a picnic table in the deserted campsite until 1am. We laughed and giggled as the collected fatigue of the week's work drained out into the cold, quiet night.

The route started on the shores of Llyn Trawsfynydd, overlooked by the sleek blocks of the decommissioned nuclear power station. The two boxy gravestones for the first generation of Magnox reactors are set to remain for at least 130 years but from this distance they didn't look too out of place among the dark peaks. Of the threatened rain and snow there was no sign, it was cold, but it was clear, crisp and dry. As we climbed clouds came from the North East, drifting across the valley and looking like they might cover us, but they passed quietly overhead and added another filter to the winter light show.


An inappropriate port decanter	The climb of Diffwys

From where we parked the car it was perhaps an hour to the summit of Diffwys, the first small peak of the route. From Diffwys the narrow and poorly defined path follows the wide ridge, picking through outcrops, scree and heather, never dropping or climbing more than 100m, but packing in many undulations between stepped crags. Snowdon beamed brightly over our shoulders like a misplaced Alpine peak wearing full winter garb.


Diffwys summit		Summit plateau		Snowdon looks on

We walked for about five hours until, with a slice of inspired route finding by me, we managed to find the bivvy spot; a flat piece of grass on the shore of the small Llyn Morwynion, sheltered from the light breeze by by a small buttress. Here we unpacked our heavy bags, pulling out a tent, three bivvy bags, two stoves and enough Super Noodles to feed a primary school.


Along the ridge		The bivvy spot	Making camp	Barry explores the anterooms

We ate quickly as the temperature and sun dropped, and retired to the tent to drink the port and whisky we had brought to keep out the cold. Once that was finished there was little else to do but go to bed. As I climbed into my bivvy bag at a geriatrically early 7:30pm a frost was already settling on any exposed surface, that I was never cold during the night is thanks to the fabulous warmth provided by 800g of goose down stuffed into a Rab sleeping bag.


Unwanted visitor	Cold, cold morning		Dawn over the campsite	The Great White Hunter

At 7am, refreshed by eleven hours' sleep, I cracked the ice off the bivvy bag hood to look at the new day. I lay in the sleeping bag making cups of tea as the sun chased the stars from the sky and daubed the upper crags of Rhinog Fawr with pale orange. The frost covered everything; each tent was laden with a sparkling sheen, water bottles had frozen solid, sodden leather boots were breezeblocks of ice. Persuading everyone to leave the warmth of their sleeping bags, eat a small breakfast and pack camp was slow work and we didn't get underway until 8:30.

The weather was clear and still, and the mountain was so quiet we could have been the only people alive in the world. As we arrived at Llyn Du, midway up Rhinog Fawr, we found company - with a loud rattling cry and a noisy clatter of wings, a grouse flew from across the lake to land and squawk just twenty yards away. Gus seized his opportunity and, with digital camera in hand, crept up on the noisy bird like the perverted stalker he is. Closer and closer he crawled, belly flat to the frosty heather, until the beast filled his viewfinder when, with victorious cry, he snapped a photo. The grouse seemed upset at the potential misuses of its image and, giving in to urges we've all felt at some point in our lives, flew repeatedly at Gus' head. After driving Gus away, the grouse started strutting around and giving the rest of us the evil eye. We swiftly made for the safety of the summit.

The Rhinogs were coy in revealing their views and cloud descended to cover the top 200m of the peak as we climbed. From the sunny lower slopes we ascended into a grey world of murk and treacherous hoar-frost covered scree. The frozen summit was no place to hang around, so we walked rapidly past the summit cairn and down the steep sides towards the next hill; between Rhinog Fach and Rhinog Fawr the path drops and rises 400m, picking a precipitous route over scree, cliffs and through deep fern. With a heavy pack it is the most strenuous part of the route and left me grovelling miserably for air and a worldwide ban on lactic acid production.


Iceman	Up Rhinog Fawr...	..down Rhinog Fawr...	...and up Rhinog Fach...	...and up.

From the summit of Rhinog Fach the terrain eased and we started to make good speed over Y Llethr and Crib-y-rhiw. In a pleasing act of symmetry the final peak on the ridge is also called Diffwys, and as we started up its flanks the cloud finally lifted. From the trig point at the summit we were allowed a view through crystal clear air of the whole of Cardigan Bay, from the Lleyn Peninsula in the North, to Fishguard in the South, perhaps fifty miles across.


	The second summit of Diffwys	Walking off, in the shadow of Cadair Idris

The fast miles from the summit of Diffwys to the car we'd left near Bontddu the day before were wallpapered with fabulous views of Cadair Idris' enormous North face.

If you would like a high resolution copy of any of these pictures, mail me