Ten years on – the brutal snowstorm that killed thousands of sheep
Last week’s weather was bad, but not on the same scale as that which brought calamity to the hills in March 2013. Andrew Forgrave reports
FOR a couple of days last week, the uplands were a white-out and there was little rest for the men and women who earn the harshest of livings.
Blizzards swept across Wales’ mountains, sheep huddled against walls and farmers hurried to find them.
For a brief moment, memories came flooding back.
Conwy producer Gareth Wyn Jones said the past week had been tough with a touch of deja vu, but comparisons with the great “snow crisis” of 2013 didn’t bear scrutiny.
This time the snowdrifts were smaller, the weather forecast was more accurate and hill farmers were better prepared.
Still, as the sector approaches the 10th anniversary of the 2013 disaster, what happened this week was a salutary reminder of the power of nature and the fickleness of farming.
This time Gareth didn’t lose stock, or dig out snow-buried sheep, but the margins are often fine.
“In 2013 the snow arrived on March 22 and lambing was a little more advanced,” he said. “No-one then expected the power and velocity of the snowstorm that was about to hit us. This week we had plenty of warning. I was able to go around the farm to check areas where ewes like to shelter and to open up the hill gates for any that wanted to come down.”
Gareth continued: “It’s always the wind you worry about. It did pick up but the snow only drifted to eight or nine feet. In 2013, the snowdrifts were 20ft to 30ft deep.
“As a farmer you have to expect these things, to go out in all weathers and deal with the elements when they are at their worst. The forecasts are much better now, which helps – when the Met Office lifted the amber snow warning for north Wales at 9pm on Thursday night, we knew the worst was probably over.”
Even allowing for climate change, snow, ice and gales remain part and parcel of rearing livestock on the hills of Wales. Which is why 2013 was so shocking. Out of the blue, disaster unfolded in a way that harked back to the great snowstorms of the 1940s and 1960s.
A lunchtime forecast on Friday, March 22, warned of hill snow.
But it wasn’t until Gareth ventured up the mountain that he realised the scale of the looming threat. Struggling to breathe in the lashing blizzard, he did what he could before returning to his Tyn Llwyfan farm above Llanfairfechan.
As darkness fell and the wind howled outside, Gareth, wife Rhian and their three children sat out the storm and shuddered to think what they might find the next morning.
Rising at first light, they checked for damage and found two dead calves suffocated by snow that had blown into an exposed shed. It was merely a taste of what was to come.
The next few days were a blur, an unending round of walking, prodding, digging as pregnant ewes were lifted from their snowy prisons, some alive, some dead. Some sheep were easier to find than others, their bodies forming humps in the snow.
Speed was of essence. Relatives and friends rushed to help and neighbouring farmers assisted each other as much as they could. Farm dogs scratched out likely spots where sheep were buried and farmers looked for small air holes in the snow.
At the time, Gareth recalled the enormous physical toll.
“Everything was burning,” he said. “We had to carry the carcasses down the mountain too.
“Some ewes had given birth in their holes, and were next to their dead lambs. Others had aborted – their way of saving themselves.”
The snow fell for three days and the digging went on much longer – Gareth dug out a live ewe and her lamb 16 days after they were buried.
In total, around 100 were found alive and 80 weren’t.
For Gareth, one memory remained more disturbing than the rest.
While many sheep had vanished completely under the drifts, others were stranded up to their necks, their heads still peeking out from the snow.
Unable to move, their eyes were easy picking for hungry crows.
“It wasn’t a nice sight,” said Gareth. Sheep can survive for days in a snow drift if there are air pockets.
Five years laters, in early March 2018, this manifested in a surreal sight for Denbighshire farmer Iwan
Davies.
Fresh from digging out 60 snowbound ewes, he fetched silage for survivors and watched wide-eyed as a snowdrift moved across the field. Underneath were 300 hungry ewes, alerted by the prospect of food.
In 2013, thick snow blocked roads for weeks. Exhausted farmers across North Wales dug up thousands of carcases while trying to lamb the survivors, always a 24-7 task.
A Ceiriog Valley farmer lost more than 600 lambs when drifts blocked up his 19ft-high shed.
Emotions ran high and in Dinas Mawddwy, 200 farmers demanded the resignation of Alun Davies, then the Welsh minister with responsibility for agriculture. A 12-strong group of hill farmers was elected to represent snow-hit producers running short of livestock forage after the previous year’s floods.
It was estimated that 100,000 sheep and cattle in Britain perished in the drifts. Hundreds of farm sheds collapsed under the weight of snow.
With many farmers still suffering hardships the following year, applications soared for loans and overdraft extensions, prompting opera stars to stage a fundraising gala in Llandudno.
For Gareth, the awareness of the crisis he generated through Twitter was to provide a launchpad for his media career. TV crews descended on his farm and one stayed to film The Hill Farm, a BAFTA-nominated account of the snowstorm and its aftermath.
Looking back, he said the disaster was a reminder that the food we all take for granted often comes at a heavy price.
“I don’t mean the financial cost of buying it,” he said.
“Producing it and getting it to shops often has a physical and emotional cost, with farmers pushed to their absolute limit.”