Roger Butler carries on up Yr Aran

SOME HILLS are unfairly overlooked – and Yr Aran, a perfect pyramid when seen from the peaceful shores of Llyn Gwynant, suffers more than most. Many romp past its lower slopes on the way to bigger things – something called Snowdon – and this perky peak must be thoroughly fed up with being sneered at by its lofty neighbour. So let’s try to cheer it up by turning our backs on that high summit where people have to queue to reach the top.

Bluebells formed a hazy carpet amid shady pastures above Nantgwynant and the Watkin Path rose steadily between stands of dappled oak. Summer had arrived: a cuckoo sounded like a perpetual echo, hawthorn