• Explorers:
  • Stephen
  • Adrian
  • Andy
  • Patrick
• Apologies:
  • 60 R&M SIG Members
• Mission:
  • Brecon Beacons, Main Ridge

Being virtually my back yard, the Black Mountains are so close to home that I can go any time I like. As a consequence, I rarely do. So this Meet gave me the perfect opportunity to explore my own patch. The weather forecast predicted a weekend of complete contrast: fine, sunny Saturday followed by wet, windy Sunday. Friday evening was clear and dry and a trouble free drive saw me to the Ty'n y Caeau Youth Hostel around 8:30pm. Nestling close to Groesffordd, about two miles East of Brecon, this hostel revelled in its desolate, isolated setting ... apart, of course, from the thunder of the traffic on the A40 about half a stone's throw away.

Patrick had already established base camp in Room 1 and it was not long before Stephen arrived, considerably earlier and less haggard than might have been the case after his battles with the M's 6, 5 and 50. The amusement factor took but five minutes to set in as he wandered forlornly around the kitchen clutching his microwaveable chilli con carne to his breast. Carelessly, he had forgotten to throw a microwave or conventional oven in the back of his car and thus was forced to resort to boil in the tray chilli.

The forecast left little doubt as to our planned manoeuvres: the main ridge of the Brecon Beacons on Saturday, encompassing the highest point of the Black Mountains - Pen y Fan at 886M. Saturday dawned precisely as Fish and Co. had predicted and the view from the hostel car park elicited a breathtaking view of the Beacons, resplendent in their dusting of icing sugar, rising majestically above the hostel roof. Andy joined us around 8:30 on Saturday morning, having left Surrey at 5am.

A two car job allowed us the flexibility of a non-circular walk. Having abandoned Stephen's on a precariously muddy verge at the planned end of our walk, half a K outside the village of Llanfrynach, we all piled into mine for the 8K trip to the car park at Llwynbedw. Seemingly 80K of twisty, mazey, single track passages later we arrived and at 10am set off by the side of the Nant Cwm Llwch stream through pleasant, thin woodlands and scattered farm dwellings with Andy leaking continuously as we walked (water bottle problems, you understand).

Photo: Corn Du (left) and Pen y Fan (right) (19k)

The Pen y Fan ridge is cycloid shaped with spurs descending northwards from its nodes. It affords straightforward walking with no scrambling required. Our start traversed the East flank of the Pen Milan spur and as we gained height, the conversation turned to Stephen's disparaging comments on the merits of climbing on limestone, and organisations dedicated to the removal of female undergarments (at least, I think that's what Basque Separatists do). (In your dreams - Ed)

At 600M we hit the wet, crunchy snowline and shortly thereafter gained the main ridge at an obelisk commemorating the discovery of the remains of 5 year old Tommy Jones, some 29 days after his disappearance in 1900. The dead calm of the ascent was interrupted by the inevitable breeze on the ridge and after it had persuaded us to don extra layers, we turned East along the ridge towards Corn Du, our first top. The snow was at its thickest on this section, albeit never more than 5cm deep. Now regularly passing other walkers, we conquered Corn Du to be rewarded with fine views in all directions with the only clouds confined to the horizon.

The main summit of Pen y Fan beckoned a mere half K East although throngs of some thirty odd walkers already there slightly lessened the appeal, as summed up by Andy: "There are more people here than on the M4 this morning". Nevertheless, Pen y Fan dispensed more fine views, particularly of llyns (lakes) and reservoirs. A rest break and the obligatory group photo followed - or group minus one photo if Stephen's sprint failed to beat his camera's timer.

Photo: The SIG party on the gritstone outcrops of Fan y Big (14k)

A series of descents and reascents followed as we conquered tops of ever decreasing height. One col intersected a four wheel drive track but our visions of pubs, pints of Guinness and cream tea shops at the saddle were rudely jarred by the reality of their non-existence. Other walkers thinned as we completed the round of the ridge. Ignoring a false spur, we continued to our main line of descent, Gist Wen, a long but easy angled, grassy spur enlivened by occasional patches of slippery sandstone mud.

The only minor navigational difficulties of the whole day involved tracing the route through fields back to the red Escort. Fording a stream a half K before the road permitted boot washing, immediately followed by remuddying on the farm track on the far bank. A 100M road stretch led us back to the car after 6.5 hours, 16K and 900M of ascent.

Declining the maze, Stephen opted for the Brecon bypass to reclaim my car, followed by a return to the hostel. Later that evening, the Three Horseshoes at Groesffordd was honoured by our presence but failed to respect our demands for food. After a round of liquid nourishment, a car trip into Brecon unearthed a Balti House which amply satisfied requirements amongst discussion of Mensa politics and forthcoming SIG Meets.

A second and more serious investigation of the Three Horseshoes was later followed by some half-hearted thoughts for Sunday. The only factor in favour of Sunday's weather was that it left absolutely no doubt as to the appropriate course of action. The howling which greeted my awakening ruled out any desires to attack high ground. You can walk in the rain if you like; you just get wet and see nothing. But high winds on the tops sap energy and can be dangerous. Even the waterfall walk now seemed unappetising - after all, we could accomplish this merely by stepping outside the Youth Hostel.

Stephen expressed a desire to potter round Symonds Yat, particularly as this was on the way home for three quarters of us. So Andy bid goodbye and the remaining three rendezvoused at Yat an hour or so later. The rain having eased off, this sheltered spot allowed us an hour and a half of strolling through woodland paths, egging canoeists to capsize and eyeing up the massive River Wye U turns and Symonds Yat rock.

We bid our goodbyes and a smug feeling of satisfaction enveloped us as the rain resumed minutes after we had returned to our cars.