The Ascent

Garn Boduan rises up steeply from near the eastern end of the Llyn Peninsula.   It is the site of an Iron Age Hill Fort where the remains of over 160 circular stone huts have been found, remains that are clearly visible even today.  The hill is one of those places where you either roast going up, or freeze at the top.  I have tried both options, and usually find being over dressed is preferable than under, especially if you wish to admire the views.  My latest visit there made me glad that I had taken a warm fleece with me: it was a beautiful sunny spring day - lovely and warm when out of the breeze, but bitter in exposed areas.

The path from the road rises steeply in a southerly direction between conifers, small saplings and my most hated plant: Rhododendron - I would exterminate this plant from the UK, having seen the devastation that it has caused in our native woodlands.  I don't even find it attractive, and consider its gaudy flowers to be totally out of place in our subtle and beautiful countryside. Sorry, rant over for today!!

Onwards and upwards: the path snakes round towards the north through tall conifers and more mature native trees.  As the path starts to turn to the south again you will see a much narrower path cutting up through tall conifers, it is this path that I always take to the summit.  You only walk a short distance before the conifer cover thins out to be replaced by a patchwork of bracken, heather, stunted gorse and the occasional sapling. 

 Up ahead the rocks rise, sheer and bleak, providing an outcrop from which the Ravens view their territory.  There is always a pair here.  They flap slowly from rock to rock, watching your progress with a wary eye.   The path continues to zig-zag to the summit through patches of buzzing bilberry.  I stand and listen, and watch the Bumblebees busy at work.

And then I spot a small patch of Fairy Bells better known as Wood Sorrel.  I have never tried eating this plant but I have read that it has an acid taste and makes a pleasant addition to salads.  It also makes a 'Sirrup for a Feaver':

"Take Sirrup of Violets two ounces; Sirrup of Woodsorrell two ounces; Sirrup of Lemmon two ounces, mixed altogether, and drink it."

It is so sad that we have lost so much knowledge of the herbs of wood and field due to the influence of the drug industry, an influence that is in the interests primarily of profit and not health. 

 Just after the Fairy Bells I reach the first wall of the hill fort.  

I stand and think of our distant ancestors climbing this hill to reach safety from oncoming attackers, attackers who would be so vulnerable when traversing this steep rocky land. 

And then I reach the first of the stone huts: what a bleak and inhospitable place to live.

Just beyond this hut is a small patch of water.  Whatever time of year I have visited there is always a puddle.  I assume that underneath is a spring of some sorts, perhaps the one where the Iron Age people got their water from.   

And then we head towards the summit: visit again tomorrow for the last installment!

The Llyn Peninsula

The Llyn Peninsula is like an arm outstretched from the main body of the UK, its finger pointing towards Barsdey Island, and beyond, across the Irish Sea, to Ireland.  As you enter the Llyn from the Caernarfon direction you will pass, on your right, on one of the summits of Yr Eifl, the Iron Age hill fort: Tre'r Ceiri - Town of the Giants.    As you look to your left you see the wide open expanse of Cardigan Bay.  

This is a peninsula steeped in history, with a strong religious connection, being on the Pilgrim's Trail, and as you carry on along the Peninsula, you will pass, over on your left, several other Iron Age hill forts: Boduan, Garn Fadryn and Mynydd Rhiw.  These are situated on the remnants of the Llyn's volcanic past.  The views from these summits are quite stunning, giving you clear views to Snowdon and Ireland when the weather is fine.  We will visit these peaks in more detail in future posts, as well as taking a look at the Pilgrim's Trail.

This is a land of small farm fields bounded by dry stone walls and hedges; a place of sea cliffs, long stretches of sand and small quiet coves.   Lonely single track lanes meander across the countryside, lanes where you can easily lose yourself, and certainly no place for those drivers who can't reverse!

It has the ever changing climate of a land governed by the sea: one minute calm and balmy, the next wild and stormy; one moment basking in the sun, and the next moment the fingers of sea mist creeping in to grasp you; gentle lapping waves, or wild leaping torrents of foam lashing the cliffs.   A place of extremes.