• Small hill adventures On Britain’s low peaks
OFTEN OVERSHADOWED BY MOUNTAINS, OUR LESSER PEAKS ARE EASIER TO GET TO, TAKE LESS TIME TO CLIMB, AND ARE, OF COURSE, MASSES OF FUN
The clouds were thick in the sky like giant balls of grey cotton. Looking towards the mountains of Snowdonia, I felt my heart sink – today was not going to be much fun up in the mountains. If I went up Snowdon or Tryfan or any one of the highest peaks in Wales’s most famous national park, it would mean several hours of being tossed by the wind like a Gore-Tex crisp packet. But then I looked to the north and spotted it: Moel-yGest – a small 263m peak that no hardened lover of the outdoors would take the time to visit. It sat blissfully free of the swirling mist that its taller brethren were attracting like magnets. It was then that I made the decision that would change my entire way of thinking. I abandoned the glory of the higher summits and made resolutely for this little lump.
It had been many years since I’d climbed anything less than 700m and I was surprised how fast I made progress. I started under the canopy of evergreen trees, passed the smooth and dramatic lines of a quarry beneath the trail and heard the scuttle of a squirrel running to hide. I decided I was missing the point, going fast – so I slowed my pace.
Then I began to notice more: gulls swirling on the thermals, the sprawling blanket of russet heather saving its energy to explode into purple come summer, boulders strewn like confetti making the route ahead one requiring the use of hands as well as feet, flattened areas just right for nestling in with my bivvy bag. I made out the impossibly steep remains of a boundary wall, and foundations of an Iron Age hill fort.
When I finally reached the top, the views floored me. Out in front was the sliver of water that is Glaslyn estuary and, beyond, the expanse of Tremadoc Bay. I felt the same excitement of climbing a giant, but with only a fraction of the effort. When I got home, I dug out a photograph of me, aged six, standing atop a tiny hump called Bryn Euryn – a massive smile glued to my face. Despite its diminutive 131m height, it had felt like a proper adventure. It was then I recalled a quote by Robert Brault: “Remember the little things, because one day you’ll realise that they were the big things.”
It may have taken bad weather and my six-year-old self to make me realise it, but finally I got it. The small hills that peppered my childhood had set the stage for the adventurer I would later become. And, now, it was time to revisit them, slowly, mindfully and deliberately, to rediscover the joys pintsized peaks can offer us all.