Cyfaredd 8: Climbing Cader Idris

Haia Pawb (Hi Everyone)

When I stayed in Dolgellau in 2013, I planned to climb Cader Idris, that mountain on which if you spend the night you come down either mad or a poet. Unfortunately, the day before this planned ascent I climbed what I thought was Dinas Emrys, which proved a tougher task than expected (more about this in another post) and was so stiff and sore I couldn’t contemplate attempting Cader Idris. This trip, however, I decided to tackle the famous mountain first.

Cader Idris and the various paths

The route I took is called the Minffordd Path, which is steep in places (two climbs of over 300 metres), but also shorter (4.4 kilometres) than the easier track (Pony Path, 5.0 kilometres). After dutifully following signs and huffing my way up the first steep section, I came to where the track ended at a t-intersection. The way to the left seemed to take me away from the mountain, so I took the right one. I’d been walking in light drizzle to this point, but I felt sure the weather would clear soon enough. I was wrong on both counts.

It turned out the right-hand path lead to the lake in the middle of the ‘chair’, Llyn Cau, and not up the mountain. Of course, if I had consulted my map I would have realized this, but I had looked at the instructions at the start of my climb and thought I knew what I was doing. Although the choice was wrong, I was glad I came upon the lake. No sound but occasional bird call-signs. A slight breeze that wove intricate patterns on the surface of the lake. Mountains towering above me. A seabird that used the thermal above the lake to soar upwards. No other walkers. A great spot to sit for a while and contemplate whatever thoughts came up, or no thoughts.

Llyn Cau, with the back of the 'chair', Craig Cau, in the background.

Then came the time to continue my ascent. A path wound around the lake, which I assumed would eventually lead upwards. Wrong again. It ended near a steep section of scree-fall. Undeterred by the increasing rain and the descending mist--I had seen such sights around the mountain from Dolgellau and watched them vanish after a while--I started upwards. Step by step. One or two slides, but no concern. Heavy going. Use embedded rocks and knots of grass to pull myself up. Clamber. Watch the mist clear a little, the rain drop. Clamber. Stop for breath. Climb in sets of steps, each set reducing in number. Stop for breath. Keep going till the top is in sight. Dig in to scree and cracks in the rocks. Keep going. Get there.

View of Llyn Cau after my climb up the scree.

Where I emerged, happy to find the right track!

I gained the Minffordd Path and continued towards the top of Cader Idris, which is called Penygadair. The mist had thickened, but not enough that I couldn't see the cairns that had been set up either side of the track for just this eventuality. The temperature was so cold, snow still gathered in nooks and crannies:

Eventually, Penygadair came in sight:

The monument at the top of Cader Idris.

I clambered over the rocks and stood on the summit (893 metres). The mist was so thick, I couldn't see much at all. However, the sense of accomplishment, of doing the climb the hard way and succeeding, compensated for the lack of views and the tingling feeling in my fingers from the cold that penetrated my thick gloves.

Video from Penygadair when I first arrived.

After finding a cleft that protected me from the buffeting cold wind, I ate my lunch, listened to the wind whistle around the mountain and watched the mist open and tantalise with glimpses of brown, green and blue, then close. Soon it cleared completely, and the views, of distant mountains and of the coast, were stunning.

Video after the mist cleared.

Other walkers started arriving at the summit, so I decided to head back down. I took the track that continued around the chair and after a a couple of tumbles on wet stones, I reached the car park.

The plateau on the other side of Penygadair,
part of the track back down the mountain.

The whole trip took seven hours. Strangely, I wasn't exhausted but exhilarated by the experience--the physical test of the climb itself and the views of the land I have come to love.

View on the way down: Llyn Cau, with Craig Cau behind it,
and Penygadair at the top right. The long black line stretching from the lake
to the ridge on the right of Craig Cau is the scree-fall I climbed.

Of course, the climb also had a lesson for me. It showed me that sometimes I turn relatively easy tasks into difficult ones, mainly because I don't re-check my plans/facts when I should. Maybe I was lucky that the weather didn't turn worse, though if it had I would have turned back. I had faith that the rain and mist would clear, because of previous (albeit limited) experience of the mountain, and it did. Next climb, I'll be better at my planning and the execution of my plans. Stay tuned.

And to continue my jackdaw fascination, this is a photo of one taken from my room when I arrived in Moffat, Scotland:

'Made it, Ma! Top of the world!' (James Cagney, White Heat)

I hope things are going well for you and you're double-checking plans when you should :)

Until next time.

Pob Hwyl

Earl

Cyfaredd 7: An Excalibur Moment

Haia Pawb (Hi Everyone)

The last few weeks I have been busy with researching sites for my book, finishing up my residency at Corris, and travelling to Manchester and Ynys Mon (Anglesey) to visit friends and continue the research phase of my trip. So, apologies for not posting a blog for some time. I intend to write about the aforementioned activities and other events of my trip in the coming days, but these may not appear in the order I experienced them. I hope you continue to find them interesting and inspiring.

During one of my walks in Corris, the one that goes past the Italian House, I ended up at the plateau/lookout I have mentioned before. I sat there for some time listening to the birds and watching a bee flit from one flower to another as it gathered nectar.

View from the lookout on a bright day

When I was ready to leave, instead of heading down the path on the other side, I decided to explore the mountain behind me. It had been raining the previous few days and I could hear a waterfall. I scrambled through bramble and bracken and had what I can best describe as an Excalibur moment. The scene I stumbled into, with mist, rock, lush green vegetation, and tumbling water, reminded me of the colours and atmosphere of the John Boorman film (trailer can be found here).

My Excalibur Moment

One of the reasons I applied for the residency at Stiwdio Maelor was to use the opportunity of being in the UK to visit various sites in Wales and Scotland associated with my book and gather experiences I can draw on for the writing. This unexpected moment showed my intuition to follow this idea was correct. (The irony of a film about The Matter of Britain prompting an experience of the same isn't lost on me.)

For those fans of the film, here's an iconic image:

Excalibur and The Lady of the Lake

And for those of you following my enjoyment of jackdaws, here's another photo:

'Who was that director again?' 'Hitchcock.' 'Yeah, loved his Birds.'

I hope things are going well for you.

Until next time.

Pob Hwyl

Earl

PS. After finding out people were having trouble posting comments, I've changed the settings, which means you don't have to log in or create an account.

Cyfaredd 6: The Italian House

Haia Pawb (Hiya Everyone)

In an earlier blog post I talked about literary associations in and around Bridge, where I had stayed for a few days. When I arrived in Corris, I wondered what sort of literary associations I would find. Given I'm staying in Wales, the home of the bards, there must poets and poems and tales touching all parts of the landscape. What I found surprised me.

On one of my walks, I wandered past a property and did a double take. Concrete and brick structures representing different Italian buildings and architecture styles filled the gardens. I didn't get a chance to wander around the place, as it isn't open to the public, but below are some photos taken from the road:

Wilfrid Owen 'homage'

A E Housman 'homage'

Close up of the A E Housman

The last three photos comprise my 'hit' of literary association for the town so far. The constructions seem to be reproductions of gravestones for Wilfred Owen and A E Housman; if not reproductions, then some sort of homage to the two poets.

The reproduction villas, plazas and towers, the crenelated walls (using bricks showing the markers names), the tombstones (if that;s what they are), were built by a local man, Mark Bourne. He had visited Italy in the 1980s and been inspired by the architecture to produce his own versions.

The proper has passed into other hands since Mr Bourne's death, but I haven't heard if his 'folly' will be maintained and opened to visitors sometime in the future.

By the way, just a couple of corrections and additions to previous posts:

1.  A good friend pointed out that in my previous post the hawthorns were in fact blackthorns.
2. I have placed a link in the post on Alan Garner to the publication of his speech.

I hope all is well in your parts of the world. And for those who told me they liked my jackdaw photos, here's another one:

Until next time.

Pob Hwyl
Earl

Cyfaredd 5: Spring is a-coming in?

Helo Pawb (Hi Everyone)

Over the last week, we have had glorious weather here in Corris. The sun has been out, birds have been chorusing in greater numbers, and buds are appearing on trees. When I went for a walk on Tuesday, I had to take off my jacket, so warm it had become, though I haven’t acclimatised enough to be like the locals, some of who were almost in t-shirts. For a while it looked like spring had finally arrived, but then the rain and mist returned, sometimes at the same time (see short video below). The last two days, especially, have almost made me feel homesick: sun, then drizzle (or mizzle, as my Cornish friend would say), then rain, then sun—like the famous Melbourne ‘four seasons in one day’.

Below are photos from my various walks to show how the seasons have been changing, sort of, around Corris:

Late Winter

Winter trees

Afon Dulas, looking upstream

Frost on fields

On a clear day you can see for miles. View from a local lookout.

Waterfall seen from the same lookout, days later, after rain

And then the mists descend

Some signs of Spring

First buds (on a blackthorn** bush)

Blackthorn** flowers

First daffodils (Wales national flower)

Lambing season, though I missed taking a photo of the lamb
gambolling around its mother

Afon Dulas, looking upstream, with sun-scald*

Corris in sunshine

Or Not

And then the mist and the rain (filmed today)

Whatever the weather, I am loving my time here. The folks here, in the village and with Stiwdio Maelor, are welcoming and helpful, my studio is a great place to work (plenty of quiet thinking and writing times), and the landscape is inspirational.

On my last trip to Britain, I fell in love with jackdaws. Not sure why. They just seem to have an interesting mix of solo and communal activities.

Jackdaw warming itself on a chimney pot

Sometimes I hear one overhead give a single ‘chak’ and other times when one bird is excited or there’s a whole flock of them:‘chaka-chaka-chak’. Here’s a photo of two having a chat :)

'So, how's the weather?'
'Cold with a side order of wet. Don't you just love it!'

I hope wherever you are, the weather is feeding your soul in some positive way.

Until next time.

Pob Hwyl

Earl

(* See Robert MacFarlane's article on nature language.)

(** My good friend Grevel Lindop pointed out that what I had thought were hawthorn bushes were in fact blackthorn bushes. Thanks, Grevel.)

Cyfaredd 4: A Primer for Being an Artist-in-Residence

Helo Pawb (Hi Everyone)

As some of you may know from recent Facebook traffic on the Stiwdio Maelor page, a group of volunteers has been cleaning up the mess left behind by an artist-in-residence. So, in response to this situation I offer the following tongue-in-check list of rules for those wishing to be a part of a communal artist residency:

1.     Do leave the kitchen in a mess after you cook a meal. The other residents, whose art is obviously not as important as yours, have nothing better to do than clean up after you.

2.     Do leave the ring around the bath after you have had one. This will impress the other residents as to how hard you work at your 3D organic art or your volunteer activities elsewhere.

3.     Do take all the rolls of toilet paper in the place to use for your amusement. Given that the shops are miles away, this gives the other residents the chance to exercise their creativity.

4.     Do leave the tap on after you get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water. What a wonderful environmental statement about the amount of water in the world.

5.     Do leave the heater on when you visit friends for a few days. The organiser of the studio loves paying big heating bills. And if the place catches fire, the locals and other residents can enjoy the bonfire and bring their marshmallows and potatoes for a good feed.

6.     Do use the food belonging to other residents. You are more deserving than they are, obviously.

7.     Do have new friends stay overnight in vacant rooms, because the next artist in resident loves sleeping in dirty sheets.

8.     Do borrow without permission tools, iPod speakers and digital projectors from your fellow artists. Their work does not have value, so they can afford to spend time looking for lost possessions.

9.     Do deny any wrongdoing on your part and shift the blame to the other residents, who would love to take the blame because they are so awed by your personality and your art.

10.  To make room for your work, do shift furniture out of your living and studio spaces into communal areas and the private rooms of the organiser. No need to ask for permission. Nothing else matters but the art and the admiration of those who come to see it.

11.  Do arrange an exhibition of your work without asking permission of the studio management. What does it matter that strangers will be wandering through a studio complex that is meant to be a private working and living space?

12.  Do construct an enormous installation, which involves tons of labour by yourself and others you recruited to haul the materials to your studio. Then, to have your art make a real statement to the world, leave the installation for posterity, or till the studio is required by another visiting artist. Don’t worry about the takedown and removal costs in labour and time of the work itself and the materials you didn’t use. Such concerns are trivial matters for a great artist such as you.

An artist's impression of a mess

Many of you have probably experienced similar attitudes in shared houses and can add more examples of selfish behaviour.

On a more serious note, I also offer this list of Twelve Commandments for being a successful professional writer. The list is a modified version of one presented and discussed at a workshop given by the Australian SF writer Sean Williams a number of years ago. For those practitioners in other fields, not necessarily the arts, you can substitute appropriate actions.

1.     Read a lot

2.     Write a lot

3.     Write what you love but be aware of the market

4.     Define your version of success and take concrete steps towards achieving it

5.     Be professional at all stages of your career

6.     Listen to everyone

7.     Be visible

8.     Challenge yourself, always

9.     Never believe you’ve figured it out, because everything changes

10.  Work hard

11.  Develop a community

12.  Sustain self-belief

Until next time.

Pob Hwyl

Earl