Bwlch - a mountain pass or col
Carnedd - a cairn
Cefn - a ridge
Clogwyn - a crag
Coed - a wood
Crib - an arete or knife-edge ridge
Cwm - a hanging valley, usually bowl shape - related to the word 'combe' which is used in Cumbria, (a 'corrie' in Scotland)
Dyffryn - a valley
Foel - a hill; similar to the word fell, but apparently unrelated.
Llyn - a lake, the equivalent of a tarn in the Lake District
Maen - stone
Moel - a hill
Mynnedd - a mountain
Nant - a stream
Rhaeadr - a waterfall

The suffix -au usually implies the plural

(Apologies in advance to any Welsh speakers for any innaccuracies - please feel free to correct me).

Moel Siabod

Planning the Trip

This trip coincided with the Eclipse of August 1999 - I had in fact considered camping on Dartmoor, but in the end decided to go to Wales because, quite frankly, volunteering for experimental rectal surgery would have had more appeal than trying to get to Cornwall by public transport that week. Still, I'd set my mind on at least going a few degrees south, so I got the map out and decided to check out Moel Siabod and the lesser known hills that rise to the east of Snowdon, (a latitude that would give 93% totality, about 3% more than back home in Liverpool).

Who wants to see an eclipse on their own? Nobody. So on this trip I was accompanied by a friend with whom I used to climb a lot, Jeanette. As neither of us particularly liked circular walks, we decided to buy return tickets to Blaenau Ffestiniog, but get off a few stops early at Betwys-y-Coed. From there we could hop on a bus to Capel Curig, then spend a couple of days walking to Blaenau, from where we had the ticket home. Sorted.

Camp at Llyn y Foel

9th August, 1999

The plan was put into action and we got off the bus at Pont Cyfyng, about a mile from Capel Curig. It was quite late in the afternoon, and the skies were darkening. The track running south west up Moel Siabod is not too steep, so we found the going quite easy, though it was a little drizzly. After a short while, the path narrowed as it passed between the steepening escarpment on our right and a small lake on our left. Surprisingly, this 'llyn' is nameless on the map.

Soon we were above the cloud base, and the ruins of an old quarry appeared spookily from out of the mist. Here too was a small lake, though it appeared to be artificial, probably an old pit which had filled with water. Visibility was now quite poor, but we were able to take a compass bearing over a small rise to descend into the hollow containing Llyn y Foel, where we planned to set up camp. We never saw the lake that evening, but a small stream suggested we were a couple of hundred yards to the east of it. There was a small patch of level turf near the stream, and so we quickly threw the tent up as the weather took a turn for the worse.

10th August, 1999

It was a misty morning, though as I got out of the tent to stretch my legs I could see the lake. We were camped beneath a large amphitheatre of crags, and the mist hung in shadowy layers within the gullies. There was an eerie silence, punctuated occasionally by the braying of a sheep, and Jeanette lighting the stove.

After breakfast, we got the tent packed and headed for Daear Dhu, the steep west ridge that leads to the summit of Moel Siabod (872m). The skies had cleared up quite considerably, so the views from the summit were excellent. From here we could see the huge arc hills that we would be following for the next two days. We set off on the long descent eastward to the rocky knoll of Clogwyn Bwlch-y-maen, then turned south onto the top of Carnedd y Cribau (591m) with its tiny summit pool. Far below to the east lay Llynnau Diwaunedd, a lake shaped like an hour-glass, forded at its 'waist' by large stepping stones.

Though it was a hot day, the walking was easy as we followed the ridge south, taking in several minor tops. (One such top, the spiky Moel Meirch, is one of those hills in the 600m-610m range whose stature was improved slightly by metrication. It is now on the 600 metre-plus lists rather than just missing the 2000 feet-plus lists). Beneath Moel Meirch was a beautiful blue lake, Llyn Edno, and though it was still early enough to get a few more miles in, a look at the map showed that we probably wouldn't find a more pleasant spot than this to pitch camp. There was a good patch of level turf near the outflow, with only the slightest evidence of previous campers. It's always a good rule never to get drinking water from or downstream of lakes, running water close to its source being preferable. Fortunately, there was a small feeder stream not far from the camp.

Camp at Llyn Edno, with Moel Siabod beyond

It was a particularly pleasant evening, and we were able to have a meal outside the tent, sitting on a rock beside the deep blue waters of the lake. Moel Siabod dominated the view across the lake, as to the west the skies reddened as the sun began to set over Snowdon and Moel Hebog.

Sunset over Snowdon

11th August, 1999

There's something primal about a mountain top. One imagines that the high priests of many ancient cultures viewed their eclipses from some holy summit, before throwing some hapless virgin dressed in white over a huge precipice to her sacrificial death. Or at least I do, maybe I watch too much TV. But to view whatever we would get of the eclipse from a mountain top seemed as good a spot as any, so after breakfast we set off for the long ridge of Ysgafell Wen.

There are several distinct tops along the undulating ridge, and shortly before 11.00am, we arrived at a small peak with boulders naturally arranged into a windshelter. The eclipse itself wasn't particularly spectacular at this latitude, though we we're fortunate to have a fairly clear sky. In fact, the slightly wispy clouds which passed overhead made it easier to view the crescent Sun.

The eclipse from Ysgafell Wen (enlarged below)

There was a mystical feel to the moment - it was appreciably darker, the larks had stopped singing, and the temperature had dropped so much that we had to reach for our fleeces. Though associated with magic and mysticism, I remember thinking that the true magic of the moment was that someone long dead had predicted this moment, probably centuries ago. His name is forgotten, while inexplicably Nostradamus lives on. It seems almost every year people climb some hill ready for the end of the world, only to return home in time for tea. Then they say that the prophet has been misinterpreted. Surely true prophesy is saying 'This will happen and it will happen at this time - not before, not later, and if a little man with a Charlie Chaplin moustache starts World War II his name shall be Hitler, not Hister, which is a river'.

After ranting on pretty much in the same vein to Jeanette, we carried on to the highest point of Ysgafell Wen (672m) before dropping to a col beside the attractive Llyn Coch. From here an electric fence runs over the top of Moel Druman and on towards the fine rocky summit of Allt Fawr. This was to be the last hill of the day, and it's unfortunate that the view down to Blaenau Ffestiniog is disappointing. Blaenau is not like any of the towns typically found in National Parks, such as Ambleside or Keswick. It is in fact an industrial centre in its own enclave within the National Park. The scarring to the valleys around the town is fascinating.

From the summit of Allt Fawr, we descended to the town, the route becoming ever more industrial. Having already climbed some of the hills in this area on previous occasions, (notably Cnicht), we headed for the station just in time to catch a train to the coast.

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