Remember the series “Pen Talar” with Richard Harrington and Aneurin Hughes, set in our village – Cilycwm? Perhaps not, but you will more likely remember the ultra-gloomy Welsh and English series “Y Gwyll” or “Hinterland” by the same team. The hinterland is that of Aberystwyth and I knew parts of it from my distant youth, staying alone in a caravan in Borth and walking in the mountains to the East. I did not remember many of the bleak locations of the series so I set out to do some exploring.
The decision to spend a couple of days to the east of the town had recently taken on a special significance. As friends and family will know I’ve been struggling with a nasty form of nervous tension which has been with me off and on for most of my life. It’s got worse recently so I decided to get my head shrunk by a nice man in Swansea called Barry. With his help I have discovered a mass of good and bad things about my past, and finally come to the conclusion that most of my problems stem from a mis-match between my actual abilities and my efforts to make use of them. Too many of my enterprises failed because, for example, as a businessman I wasn’t really interested in profit! I have an unusual mixture of manual and intellectual skills: I’m an Explorer, a Pioneer, a Plant. How do I square that with the settled life of a little village?
Well, I set myself projects and I go exploring.
(internet picture)
First I took the mountain road West from the village up to Llyn Brianne and, at the head of the lake the lovely lonely chapel at Soar y Mynydd. I wanted to walk to the most remote hostel in Wales, Ty’n Cornel, but the weather was wet and gloomy so I pressed over the mountain to Tregaron and the bog. There’s something sad about Tregaron bog. Partly it is to do with the fact that in half a dozen visits over the years I’ve never seen more than half a dozen birds. Now the sadness is in neglect. There is no indication that the longest walk (the Blue Walk) is closed until you reach the turn-off from the current boardwalk and see, beyond a wooden barrier, a moss covered section of old boardwalk sinking into the marsh.
Sad, but not surprised I spent the night in the camper and set off north early in the morning. Past the gloriously named Pontrhydfendigaid (Bridge of the blessed ford) I discovered a hamlet called Ystrad Meurig with a glorious view over the valley of the Teifi and the bog. The old railway line turns south and then runs like a ruler 2 miles down to the road I had just driven up. I parked at the old station cottage, donned the photographers burden and set out.
After a mile, my spirits rising, I found a decaying wooden gate on the right with, hidden on the ground, a footpath sign. Sure enough after a few metres through the boggy field I found an old section of boardwalk – I’d found the other end of the Blue Walk! I’m here, alone but for a Kestrel and a herd of Welsh Black Cattle which seem to be in a hurry to get into the heart of the bog. It’s a “fist in the air” moment and the point where I should have turned back and retraced my steps. No, I’m a Pioneer; I have to go on. Ninety minutes later I am back at the van, soaked and exhausted.
Old haunts have traction and I want to see if the Ringed Plovers are still at Ynys Las, the sand peninsula north of Borth. Even in this cool August there are too many people there. The old haunts don’t cut it so I decide to revive an old dream – a patch of land where I can build a cabin. If it ever was remotely practical, it certainly isn’t now my capital has dwindled. Still, the patch for sale on Zoopla looks wonderfully wild and can serve as a focus for some more exploring. Dried out and refreshed I drive along a ridge above the Rheidol valley which culminates at Devil’s Bridge. To capture the distant light and some good foreground interest is a challenge. I’m using ISO50 and f16 at 1/4oth second – Please check the detail.
I never found the patch for sale but I did discover some fascinating places, mostly associated with the mineral mines of mid Wales. It’s a haunted landscape of bare scree, for nothing can grow where there is a hint of lead. Ruined mine buildings draw the eye, black walls and blank windows staring out at the dead land.
This is what was Pont Ceunant Generating Station as described on a notice board:
“This ruin is virtually all that now survives of the attempt to resurrect the neighbouring Frongoch & Wemyss Mines, by a Belgian company, between 1898 and 1903. This hydro-power station was the first example of its kind to be erected in Wales. It is interesting to note that at this time electricity was a “new science” and principally only used by industry. The nearby town of Aberystwyth did not have a reliable domestic supply until the 1930s.”
Just round the corner was an astonishing sight:
It used to be one of the biggest mines around – Frongoch. There are now, I estimate, around 130 Land Rovers parked up here. All I can think of is “why?” Perhaps the mad collector would ask the same of me. Later I do another tiring walk in gloomy morning weather round the NT Hafod estate – a model of the late 18thC idea of the Picturesque. It’s hard to capture in this light.
Then on to Cwmystwyth and the long mountain road to Rhayader. This was new to me and a fascinating exercise in the imagery of desolation. Here are tunnels and doors leading nowhere, doorways and walls in mid-air, and mounds of grey rubble dead as the moon.
At one end are the mine workings and then you are in what Wynford Vaughan Thomas many years ago called “The Green Desert”. Now we understand why it looks like this and why there is so little life here. Our ancestors cut down all the trees and replaced them with sheep. One day trees and shrubs will return, there will be flowers and butterflies and birds and hares and cattle and horses. I hope I live long enough to see it.
