Rhinogydd wild camping
To celebrate the end of the first lockdown in 2020, Helen Iles went comet-spotting in the Rhinogydd mountains. Her night under the cosmos turned out to be the perfect return to wild camping
Helen Iles comet-spots in quiet Welsh hill country
WALES WAS EMERGING from one of the most surreal times I have ever known. For months we had been able to delight in the incredible silence from cars and marvel at the plane-free skies. We could enjoy the mountain views as well – but we were only allowed out once a day for exercise and, later, to travel five miles to certain areas. We could look, but we couldn’t touch.
There was a collective sigh of relief as the lockdown eased and we could begin to move gently through our much-loved landscape once again. Still cautious, still scared, but overjoyed to visit the hills and mountains we had been daydreaming about.
DROVING ON
The Rhinogydd mountains are in the southern part of Snowdonia. They are based on a hard sedimentary rock of the Cambrian Period in an area known as the Harlech Dome. To the north the ground is rugged and broken and daunting to enter; towards the south, the landscape becomes smoother and grassier. The highest peaks are Y Llethr (756m), Diffwys (750m), Rhinog Fawr (720m) and Rhinog Fach (712m). Other peaks in the family include Moel Ysgyfarnogod at 623m and Y Garn at 629m.
This is a quieter, less well-trodden area with infrequent paths and a reputation for proper Welsh weather. It’s criss-crossed with centuriesold drovers’ paths, which once connected this remote part of Wales with the wider world.
It’s been said that paths were the internet of the area – news travelled down them as the drovers returned with tales of the wider world.
The drovers were a tough, hardy and charismatic group of people who were regarded with respect akin to fear. They were used to being on the trail for days and weeks, sleeping in the open or in farmsteads with fenced areas for their livestock. The farms were visible from a long way away because three or five Scots pines always grew nearby. In the Rhinogydd you can still see these pines growing by ruined farms. The areas where livestock was kept overnight are still sometimes visible as well, obvious from the lush green grass fertilised by generations of cattle, sheep or geese (some reports say that geese wore leather boots on long journeys in order to protect their feet).
I’ve heard stories of young men and, later, women travelling alongside the drovers, gaining a deeper and more genuine travel experience through their centuries-old knowledge – history’s equivalent of today’s backpackers.
This lesser-visited mountain range, redolent with history and legend, was where I’d be breaking my lockdown hill-fast. The plan was to enjoy a star-spotting wild camp – and the weather looked promising…
STAR SHOOTING
With permission secured from the local farmer, Ben, I hastily packed my Vango Blade 100 tent. This was my first ever wild camping purchase, many years old – small but sturdy. The forecast was for a clear, cold night, but a gusting 25mph westerly. Where I planned to camp on Y Llethr there was little shelter: I was going to be on the top of the world. Knowing the skies would be clear and there was no moon, I packed spare batteries and a camera tripod. I was off star shooting.
Over the past few weeks, I’d been following reports of a comet discovered by NASA: Neowise. Images I’d seen showed a beautiful two-tailed celestial object flaming through the northern skies. At a distance of 250 million kilometres from the Earth, the comet was only going to be visible for a few more weeks. Would I be able to see it with the camera? Would I be able to shoot it?
Parking at the top of Cors y Gedol drive, I paid my pound and started the long walk up. The rough path leads to Bodlyn Lake. It’s used by Welsh
Water so is well-maintained and clear. The road leads you up past ancient abandoned farms, then further still towards Craig y Ddinas stone fort, where the round high wall enclosure and stone circle huts are still visible. Three quarters of the way to Llyn Bodlyn, I cut up north to the Braich: the ‘arm’ or rounded ridge that leads to Y Llethr.
The air was clear and sharp as I lugged my heavy rucksack the last 50 metres to the rounded top. There I was rewarded with 360° clear views across to Snowdon to the north, round over Cardigan Bay and down towards Cadair Idris in the south. I made my way to the north side of the top. This was where the best views over Llyn Hywel and a sighting of Neowise would be.
NORTHERN LIGHT
I’ve learnt not to rush when setting up a wild camp. Instead, I’ll sit, look and really think about where the sunrise and sunset will be; where the wind
“Ben, lockdown’s eased. Can I come and camp on your mountain? I want to see a comet!”
funnel up from the valley floor during the night; where the midges will be fewer; where the flattest, softest ground will be; where I’ll leave the smallest temporary mark... I decided on an outcrop where I could sit and watch the sun slide over the lake and the Milky Way creep across the southern sky. It was going to be exposed – but, knowing I’d be photographing the night sky, I wanted to eliminate light pollution from the villages below.
Tent up, mattress inflated, sleeping bag lofted, I set up the stove and made a warm drink. This could be a long, sleepless night. I settled into the tent for a read and chillout before the sky darkened to star-gazing standard, set the alarm for 11.30pm and dozed.
Awoken by the shrill alarm, I had to remind myself where I was. The tent was warm – but it was cold out there, and dark! I pulled on my slightly chillky outer layers and unzipped myself from the comforting cocoon of the sleeping bag. Would I be able to see anything? Would the comet be visible to the naked eye? I checked my compass so that I could locate the comet from the Plough – then I emerged from the tent into the crisp, cold air...
And there it was! There was no mistaking the comet, hanging low in the northern sky like a pendulum. Its two tails were clearly visible, the brighter tail curving but the main tail strong and straight. In my excitement about spotting the comet, I had read up on this phenomenon. The straight ‘gas’ tail was strong and precise, pointing away from the sun. The other tail was curved and wider. It was caused by the comet’s icy surface heating up as it travelled through our solar system.
Simply stunning. It took me back to a night, many years ago, when my dad took me out to see Halley’s Comet. I can remember being enthralled at the elegant brush stroke gently painted in the dark sky, like a thread of web gliding in the wind. It had taken me 34 years to find, but here at last was another comet.
GALAXY GAZING
The next hour was spent talking excitedly to myself and photographing the comet from different angles and perspectives. My fingers were cold, but I barely noticed – the numbness was overshadowed by the excitement of seeing this fascinating natural wonder. It does us humans good sometimes to realise what a small part of the universe we are, temporarily allowed on this rock for a shrinkingly tiny amount of time. The next time Neowise will be visible is in 6,800 years. I might not be around then!
Finally, I fell into bed and set the next alarm for 3.30am. This was when the best part of the Milky Way would be visible. Again, Mother Nature didn’t disappoint. The huge spiral arm arced across the sky to the south, splitting the night with a pathway of glittering galaxies and gases. Once more I fell into bed and set the alarm for dawn.
Sadly, the promised light at sunrise was obscured by a haze of low clouds. Never mind; I had many wonderful memories and I’d taken plenty of photographs that I was really happy with, so further sleep became more important. I finally awoke an hour or so later, baking in the sun-drenched tent. I scrambled out, shedding layers and sleeping bags. But Y Llethr wasn’t quite finished with me yet. As I started packing away my tent, a cap of cloud gathered on Rhinog Fach and the lower clouds cleared from the lake below. Fresh, clear air filled me with renewed optimism for the future. I’d waited a long time for this first post-lockdown wild camp… and sometimes the wait is worth it.