Cambrian Mountains Hostelling Adventure

I’m not anti-social, I’m really not. I just crave open spaces and places for my mind to slow down for a while. When looking at the map of Wales there is an area which takes up a large proportion, and very few roads cross it. I fathom you could spend days walking without seeing a vehicle. These are the Cambrian Mountains; the central belt of upland that runs south-west to north-east across the centre of Wales. I’d spent very little time exploring this area in the past. It intrigued me. The blue lines carving through the vast uplands, depicting rivers, streams and larger bodies of water were irresistible. Around the same time, I learnt of the Elenydd Wilderness Hostels. The name alone was enough to turn intrigue into a plan, so I called one of my best adventure friends, who was as easily hooked as I was. We decided to meet there, and leave a car at either end of our trip. Public transport here is little to none, so unfortunately we did need to drive, though we ditched the vehicles as soon as we could to continue on foot. With overnight bags packed we set off just north of Rhandirmwyn.

It was a beautiful late spring morning, we walked along a quiet lane alongside the river Tywi, bordered by native oak woodland alive with the sound of chiffchaff, warblers, and with tits, tree creepers and nuthatches flitting between the trees. The sun warmed us quickly, so we stopped to de-layer more before very long. We hadn’t walked very much further when we heard the sound of rushing water, so climbed a rock overlooking the gorge to see a set of cascading waterfalls where the Doethi river meets the Tywi. There was a solitary fisherman far below us. I know little about fishing, but I do know that the Tywi is one of the best rivers in Wales for Sewin or sea trout, apparently best caught at night, as well as sizeable salmon, and brown trout.

After stopping on the rock for our lunch, as it was already afternoon, we continued up along the lane, crossing the river to follow it along the other bank before passing through a farm with a pack of collies neither friendly nor overly threatening. The farmer was in the drive so we asked if we were on the right track, more to make friendly conversation than because we didn’t know where we were going. ‘Depends where you want to go’ came the answer. Our reply ‘Doethie Valley?’ was met with a nod, so we carried along our way. Shortly we left the lane and headed off along a path which wound it’s way through woodland and along the side of bracken-clad hillside, following the Doethie river.

We walked steadily along the narrow trail which clung to the hillside. There was little wind in the valley and the spring sunshine was warm. Even though the path wasn’t particularly steep our bags were full and when we spotted a deep pool in the river, we looked at each other'; ‘swim’? Clambering down through the bracken in bare feet, the thought suddenly crept into my head that this was the perfect weather and environment to come across an adder, and wished I hadn’t left my boots back up on the path. Relieved to reach the water, we slipped and toe-stubbed ourselves on the rocks until we reached an area big enough to submerge in, where the gorge suddenly narrowed, trees provided a canopy and the river cascaded into a deep, inky blue pool with no apparent floor. A cuckoo’s call echoed from the rocks in the gorge, and we felt as though we were in a lost world. Dragging ourselves out before we’d had enough to ensure we didn’t get too cold, I raced back uphill through the scary adder-infested bracken of my imagination to reach the path and put feet reluctantly back into boots.

From there we began to climb and leave the Doethie behind. We still needed to cross another two valleys before reaching the hostel and by now it was late afternoon. After a steep climb, and a slight detour to avoid some very inquisitive cattle, we passed through a farm, then descended to Soar y Mynydd chapel, on the Camddwr river just before it flows into the north western arm of Llyn Brianne. A remote Methodist church constructed in the 1820’s to serve a sparse farming population, it now feels very isolated, hard to imagine how full it would have been on Sundays 200 years ago.

We opted for a rough forestry track up from the chapel to the top of the next hill, where we joined a very well made road, devoid of vehicles. Huge forestry trucks thunder along the roads here at times, but other than that there are very few users of these roads, and we didn’t see a single vehicle. The birdlife here had changed, from the deciduous woodland birds of the Tywi valley and the Doethie, we were now spotting more birds of prey, and finches. We reached the north east arm of Llyn Brianne, where the Tywi flows into it from the north, and with the sun lost to the hill behind us, suddenly cold, thoughts turned to the hostel. We hoped that the warden wouldn’t mind that we were going to arrive later than we’d planned.

The path alongside the Tywi was impossibly boggy and we began to hallucinate about log fires and boiling kettles. It was getting late as the hostel finally came into sight. The windows were steamed up as we pushed the door open, to be greeted by the warden, who had, indeed, been boiling the kettle. He made us a cup of tea and told us about his volunteering with the trust, how there were many wardens who each took turns in caring for the place. We were shown our room, a simple, clean bunk room, and then made dinner and sat in front of the fire - which, incidentally, wasn’t working, because the warden had accidentally knocked down the plate inside. It didn’t matter, we were warm and cosy inside the hostel anyway; the maps and rocking chairs and years of walkers having been through the doors made for an atomsphere all of its own. With no phone signal, no electricity and just solar panels for hot water and gas for cooking, there is more than a dose of nostalgia here; I imagine it is what hostelling was like in the 70’s, but with recycling and hand sanitiser. If it feels remote now, I can only imagine what it would have felt like then. Climbing into the most comfortable bunk I’ve ever slept in and turning the light off, it was impossible to know whether my eyes were open or closed, such was the darkness.

We made breakfast, and sat outside listening to the birds. Then, reluctantly, packed up, bid our farewell to the warden and headed off. Our plan for the day was to walk up Drygarn Fawr, the highest summit of this part of the Cambrian Mountains. However the forecast thunder and lightning for the day put me on edge so we decided to stick to lower ground. We followed the forestry road steeply up to the top of the Devil’s Staircase, a steep winding pass, and then down to Cwm Irfon. The rain arrived, and we continued along Abergwesyn common to Camddwr Bleiddiad, or Wolf’s Leap, a raging gorge. Then before we knew it, we were surrounded by oak woodland once again, and back to civilisation with houses and the odd car or two, as we reached ours, which we’d left at the parking area in Abergwesyn.

This is a story and not intended to be advice or information. We always leave no trace and go Adventuresmart.