Gwaith 26 (Catch Up): Hart Fell: Take Two

Hi Everyone

Unlike the previous day, the weather was forecasted to be ‘fine and sunny’. Sure enough, when I parked at the large shed near the trail to Hart Fell, I looked over my shoulder and saw a rainbow. A nice, positive omen.

The start of the climb

The walk itself started in sunny weather—as they say in Wales, Mae’r haul yn gwenu (‘The sun is smiling’). However, even though the sky was relatively clear of dark clouds, a constant drizzle filmed my glasses. Halfway to Hart Fell spar, the drizzle faded, but the glistening grass made the way a little slippery at times.

On other occasions when I have tried to reach the summit of Hart Fell, I would visit the spar itself, then climb from there. This time I strode past the side trail to the spar and continued along the main path. Unfortunately, this path soon petered out and I had to make my way up and sideways along steep trails, past gorse, bramble, bracken, and heather.

The river on the way to Hart Fell Spar

Sheep were annoyed at my disrupting their feeding, with one group making funny huffing noises at me. Crows and ravens circled overhead. The river sparkled and rumbled on my right.

After consulting my map, I continued to follow the fence line and, when it changed direction in the distance, I headed straight up the slope in front of me. I expected the summit to be over the ridge.

It wasn’t.

I heard voices and saw two men descending a track on the other side of the fence. We nodded to each other, then the man in the yellow jacket asked if I was okay. Even though the whole climb had left me huffing and I had to pause numerous times, I said I was fine.

Further up the mountain, I came across a plateau area that I initially thought might be a useful setting for my novel. It led to a saddleback, after which was the final ascent to the trig point at the top of Hart Fell.

The summit there is a broad plateau, much bigger than the previous one, big enough for tents and the rituals and celebrations I’ve written about for a kingship ceremony. The only vegetation is grasses, heather, and clumps of bracken. The views—those I could see—are amazing. One can even see the Solway Firth and beyond.

Vegetation at the summit of Hart Fell

I was pleased to have made it to the top after so many failed attempts, but of course the mountain still had a surprise for me. Just as I decided to take photos and videos of the views, for later reference when I re-write the scenes set here, a heavy mist rolled in, accompanied by a bitterly cold north wind.

Huddled in the cairn at the trig point, I ate some lunch and meditated for a few minutes. As the weather wasn’t letting up, I started down again. I angled across the slope I had come up earlier and kept this up as I tried to hook up with paths I had spotted from higher up. Occasionally, I stopped to write notes about the terrain and vegetation, but mainly I stumbled, slid, and sideways stepped my way back. Sometimes on a track. Sometimes from one sheep path to another.

On the way back, showing the mist

The trip up took 3¼ hours. The trip back, not counting a stop at the spar, took me around 2¾ hours. At the spa itself, I offered a small gift to Merlin/Myrddin, as I had done earlier at the summit of Hart Fell, and drank three drops of water that dripped from the roof of the cave. With the day wending on and my not wanting to be caught in a late afternoon change of weather for the worse, I didn’t stay long. On the way back I noted the ash, birch, rowan and oak lining alongside the river that leads back to where I parked my car.

I left The Bonnington around 10am and arrived back at 6pm. I was stiff, sore and quite tired, and I immediately jumped into a hot shower. After making notes about the climb—including descriptions such as the swirls of dragonflies and damselflies, the give-way of moss, the knock of water on rock, the expanse of rust-coloured bracken—I had an early night.

I hope you enjoyed this post. As always, I welcome your comments.

Best Wishes

Earl

Gwaith 23 (Catch Up): Rain-affected Site-Seeing

Hi Everyone

After visiting Clochmabenstane, as recorded in an earlier posting (here), I travelled to my next base, The Bonnington in Moffat. I’ve talked before about my time in Moffat (here), so I won’t go into any details, other than to say I was once again warmly welcomed by the proprietors, Lesley and Paul, who greeted me with banana cake and a cup of tea. As with my previous stays there, they were always extremely helpful and hospitable.

Mine hosts: Paul and Lesley

The next day I left The Bonnington and made my way to the parking place near the trail to Hart Fell. As Nikolai Tolstoy states in his book The Quest for Merlin, if there ever is a sacred place in Britain, it is here, where it is said Myrddin (the historical character that Merlin is based on) escaped to after the battle of Arfderydd, in which he went mad. I have visited Hart Fell Spar twice before and drunk of its waters and honoured the presence of Myrddin/Merlin.

Hart Fell Spar. Note the ram's skull above the entrance.

Signage at the spar.

On my first visit, I climbed to a plateau just above the spar in the mistaken belief that this was Hart Fell itself. It wasn’t. As those of you who have followed my blog about my previous trips would know, I tend to climb first and check maps, etc., afterwards. So, on my next visit, I knew where I had to go, but heavy rain defeated my trudging from crest to crest towards the ever-receding summit that kept disappearing into mist.

View of area above Hart Fell Spar (2013).

On the way to the top of Hart Fell, before the rain really set in (2015).

I was determined this time to make it, but half way to the spar, the weather defeated me yet again—mist became a drizzle then a steady rain. My new hiking boots became waterlogged, even though they had been ‘proofed’, as did my jacket and my new waterproof overpants. I was starting to think that the spirits of the place had in it for me, or at least were testing me as if they were Threshold Guardians like those in Joseph Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey. I returned to my car and, after picking up maps and directions from my room, I headed out to sites I hadn’t expected to be visiting for a couple of days.

Signage at Castle Loch

I travelled down to Lochmaben, a small town about fifteen miles (30 minutes) south from Moffat. Nearby is Castle Loch, on the shores of which is Lochmaben Castle, the home of Robert the Bruce when he was Lord of Annandale. I had been to the loch and the castle area before, as I was using the setting for a major druid location. This time, I wanted to check out the area in a different season to those other visits. By the time I got there, the rain had stopped, but the temperature was still so cold my breath plumed in front of me.

Woods of Lochmaben

Sky above Lochmaben 

I spent an hour or so wandering the paths around the site and through the surrounding wood, accompanied by the constant drip of water from the rowans, hawthorn, beech, oak, and sycamore, like someone’s footsteps in the undergrowth, and by the calls of robins, thrushes, tits, and jackdaws and the flashes of colour as they darted through the trees. Two crows complained to each other about the weather. Out on the loch, two swans upended themselves as they fed, a line of ducks cruised across the dimpled water, and noisy geese passed overhead.

Swans swimming in one of the bays of Castle Loch

Line of ducks across the middle of the loch

Behind the castle ruins, to the west, is a low mound on which are perched six massive, gnarled beech trees, their trunks moss-wrapped near the roots. When I wrote the first draft of my novel, I described a mound that was used for the meeting of the druid community. I had been to Lochmaben before writing this, but I don’t remember noticing the actual mound that time. Some sort of synchronicity, perhaps? This time, I mapped out the mound, its guardian trees, and the flat amphitheatre area in front of it.

The mound behind the castle

Path to the mound from the castle area

One of the beech trees on the perimeter of the mound

I then travelled to Rockcliffe to climb The Mote of Mark, an Iron Age hillfort that seems to have been a centre for metalwork, which is how I am using it in the novel. My hero travels there as a test on his decision to become a druid. Brambles, beech, sycamore oak and rowan trees line the nearby stream, some of them with vines hanging down from their branches. Around the base are hawthorn and apple trees, wreathed in moss. The mound itself is quite sparse, with grass, bracken, gorse and tufts of spinifex, though there are some oak saplings in the hollow where I imagine the master metalworker had his dwellings and smithy. Moss covers some vitrified rocks that may have belonged to the original stone walls surrounding the dwellings on top of the summit.

Signage at the Mote of Mark, which overlooks the Urr estuary

The Mote of Mark

Moss-covered hawthorn tree

The mound has a great view of the bay to the south and the hills and valleys on the other sides. On the mudflats, oystercatchers called to each other as they searched for food. At one point, they were in a line, like advancing warriors, but most of the time they were scattered around, like fighters in their individual single combats. A flock of sparrows darted above the broad flat space between the north side of the mound and the next hill. When the chill breeze from the across the bay dropped, I could hear people talking on properties a quarter of a mile and more away.

The summit

Artistic rendition of the layout of the settlement on top of the mound

Possible vitrified fortifications

The mudflats south of the mound

View to the north of the mound

After more photos and measurements, I headed back to The Bonnington for a meal from The Moffat Chippy and a relaxing evening writing up my notes, planning my next day’s research, and purchasing train tickets for my upcoming trip to Germany.

I hope you enjoyed this post. As always, I welcome your comments and will answer any questions you have about these Iron Age sites.

Best wishes
Earl

Cyfaredd 22: Arrival in Moffat

Haia Pawb

The drive from Ynys Môn to Moffat, Scotland, my next research venue, took over five hours, with a couple of rest stops along the way. When I left Ynys Mon and travelled towards Scotland, North Wales was in bright sunshine, but the weather became colder and greyer the farther north I went.

The Menai Suspension Bridge (opened 1826) over the Menai Strait, which is at low tide

The Britannia Bridge (opened 1850) and some Welsh sheep

Clouds, mist and landscape, Moffat

During my last trip to Moffat, I stayed at The Bonnington Hotel, which is on the main street of the town. I enjoyed the hospitality and convenience of the place so much I decided to book there again. Paul and Lesley, the proprietors, remembered me from last time and were again welcoming and helpful.

The Bonnington Hotel on High Street

Moffat (from the Scottish Gaelic Am Magh Fada, ‘The Long Plain’) was a centre of the wool trade and was also a popular spa town. In the town’s marketplace is a statue of a ram by the sculptor William Brodie, which commemorates Moffat’s wool trade importance. The ram was presented to the town by William Colvin, a local businessman, in 1875.

The Moffat Ram--the ears have been missing since 1875

The High Street looking up from The Bonnington

The High Street looking down from The Bonnington

The Moffat Post Office, from where I sent home, on both trips, packages of books and gifts

As some of you may realize, I have not indulged in my love of jackdaws for a number of postings. However, here's another instalment. After I checked in, I went to my room to unpack and when I looked out my window I noticed a few jackdaws on nearby rooftops. Suddenly, a whole flight of them decided to put on a display for me, I kid you not, for the next half an hour. Below are some photos I took of their aerobatics and antics:

After dinner from the local chipper, I spent the evening writing up notes and preparing my research schedule for the next few days. My next posting will feature an account of a wet climb up a nearby landmark.

That’s it for now. As always, I hope you’re enjoying these posts and I welcome any comments.

Cofion Cymes

Earl