Guy Procter, Editor

Miles walked this month: 73

It’s easy to think that because our National Parks are by definition our most celebrated regions they must be overrun with people. Stories about hyperpopular hotspots like the summit of Snowdon don’t help. But for every stadium-filler of a location, there are a dozen others quieter, waiting to be claimed as your own special place. A staple of my childhood was an annual visit to Snowdonia, where we walked mostly in a range of hills called the Rhinogydd (pictured, on one of the very occasions) – and here, to meet another person even on the sunniest Saturday in July was an occasion worthy of remark and rejoicing. Here we swam, scrambled, picnicked, squabbled, grazed knees and had great adventures in what felt like the privacy of our own kingdom. Don’t let anyone tell you a National Park is an overplayed Greatest Hits album. It’s more like a vast barely-suspected back-catalogue of treasures from your very favourite artist.

Note to self: Let’s go back to the Rhinogydd just as soon as we can, eh?