“I find my personal sanctuary in a soggy tent in wet Wales”
RUSS MOORHOUSE is on a mission to camp out on every Trail 100 peak – a challenge that spans four countries, 100 of the UK’s finest hills and mountains, and a punishing 88,339m of ascent. This month Russ has a spiritual awakening on the side of a very damp
Throughout my existence, I’ve been irresistibly pulled towards the mountains. This magnetic attraction is fuelled by both a conscious appreciation for the Earth’s magnificence and variety, and an unconscious, spiritual longing to connect with the natural world. Here I find my personal sanctuary and discern my place within the vast canvas of creation. And that place this month is in a soggy tent, drenched in clag on a chilly mountain in wet Wales.
My feet are tired, and trying to avoid the bog on the long hike over many summits on Aran Fawddwy is impossible. Every col is a quagmire. This feels like nowhere, or at least nowhere you’d want to be. Which is obviously why I have the mountain all to myself. As I sit on my air bed, feet sticking out the tent, I realise how much I enjoy this moment. The crossover point turning from hiker to camper. Zipping the tent shut I can forget about what is happening outside.
Three-quarters of the way up Maesglase I am bent over with hands on my knees, balancing the rucksack horizontally on my back, trying to find rest without sitting on the wet ground. Nant Maesglase waterfall is streaming over the edge of the cliff. The steep climb is a charming yet hard path through scarcely walked grass, and at the summit I find true isolation. A magnificent cliff edge runs all the way to the uncelebrated summit.
It’s nice weather if you are a waterfall on
Cadair Idris. The Pony Track is very welcome today, a nice, easy path to follow made from man-laid stone. I pitch a fresh tent, not wanting to climb into a pre-soaked one at the cloud line. The summit is hidden and I set off chilled to the bone, struggling to stand up in the wind as raindrops feel like needles as they are blown into my face. This is more adventure than I’d bargained for and the summit shelter comes as a nice surprise.
It’s even better weather for waterfalls on Rhinog Fawr and there is a fog hanging low, completely hiding the mountain. Visibility never gets beyond 10m and my final chance for a sunset has gone. It’s a lovely start to the hike through the pine trees of Cwrt Forest, and Pistyll Gwyn is in full flow.
Passing through a kissing gate the scenery changes, and I enter a landscape of rock and the best heather in the UK, nature’s natural spring mattress. I enjoy – or maybe endure is a better word – a wet bivvy by the shores of Llyn Du, as the wind blows, whipping waves across the surface.
Despite a week of the absent sun, dripping clothes, wind-numbed fingers and cloud-hidden views, did I have a good time? Yes, because I love wild camping and if one loves, one loves the whole as it is, and not as one might wish it to be.
Follow Russ and his ‘Trail of 100 Nights’ adventure on Instagram @amountainbivvy
“I climb the madman’s mountain You sing the poet’s dream I’m looking for a pitch of grass You say you hear me scream When all around is rock and stone Upon the giant’s chair I find myself tormented sleep You are capricious air”