I then totally forgot about this till Dave mentioned it some months later and we got an e mail from the Braich Goch checking that we were serious about the booking. At first I thought we’d never get 12 people in February to return to Corris and Cadair Idris let alone a beer festival in a village with no shops. However bit by bit the numbers built up and we ended up with ten (though admittedly I press ganged my son Tom and his girlfriend into it, he was keen on the beer bit and I swear I mentioned Cadair to him as well).

So off we went back to Wales and the hills and the sheep — whoops! – mustn’t mention sheep — remember Trefin? I went with Liz and Boh, this time we kept to the main roads and missed last year’s tour of the country lanes — with the result we got there first at 5pm and found the festival in full flow. There were about 12 varieties of real ale with exotic names and strengths and by the time the others came several hours later we had already sampled a number of them.

By now it’d started snowing, though fortunately everyone got here OK in the end. Walking out of the door of the hostel to greet a new arrival a gritter roared past and covered me in grit and very wet slush. At least that should stop me from slipping on Cadair. We also met the hostel cat who was a tabby with a delusion he was a Manx as a passing lorry had taken off his tail. Needless to say Chris soon struck up a rapport with him.

By now the festival was in full swing and the local band arrived. I forget their name but apparently they’re very big in Machynlleth and reminded me of some middle aged late punks with a demon keyboard player in a pork pie hat. It was at this stage that Dave reached for his ear plugs though the pub was heaving and it was obviously the mad night of the year in Corris (I even thought I saw Owain Glyndwr dancing in the crowd and also King Arthur, who is reputed to sleep in the nearby hills but must have been woken up by the noise).

So next morning we woke up bright and early. Tom had gone missing from his bunk and I thought he’d had enough and done a runner, but he was sleeping in the lounge as he’d found the combined snoring of our dorm a bit much for him — I’d forgotten to warn him about that as well. We looked out of the front door and saw nothing except mist in the valley and several inches of snow. So it looked like a good day for Cadair via the Minffordd path and off we went at a healthy 9am.

On the way we passed some sort of portakabin by some road works with the title “Welfare Office” in large letters on it. What was this? — a bold plan to bring welfare services to rural Wales or was it for distressed sheep — sorry said it again! — strange though as there wasn’t a house for miles.

Once we arrived at the mountain, the mist had started to clear except on the tops, and all the trees were covered in snow – which looked great. The sky was blue and the sun came out as we started climbing the infamous steps –or staircase to heaven as a rock band (Sorry Dave) once put it. The steps were very giant friendly for anyone over 8 ft with long legs but unfortunately none of us were that size. Is there an 8 foot high planner who makes a living out of planning massive steps in upland areas? The snow was starting to melt off the trees and we all got roasting, but the snow looked brilliant against the blue sky with bits of cloud rising out of the main Cwm around the lake like smoke from a waiting Welsh dragon round the corner.

As we began to climb up the south ridge we could see the lake half frozen over but I failed to get Liz to repeat her swimming in the lake feat from Brecon two years ago. When we got to the top of the first ridge there was a great view over half frozen Tal y Llyn lake with snow everywhere and fleecy clouds floating below us. The thing with Cadair is that it is really a collection of several summits and you can’t see the highest summit till you’re right on the top, so you think you may have reached the top but of course you haven’t.

You get up to 690 metres on one summit and then on to the next at 791 metres. It was at this stage that the clouds covered the tops and the snow that must have been lying there for some time turned out to be a foot deep (oh, and I forgot the wind as well). Last time I came over this one it was boiling hot! You then get to a bit of path right near the edge with a 900 foot drop to the lake at the bottom. There were footprints in the snow going right to the edge but then turning back… Was this a member of the kamikaze walking group who changed his mind at the last moment and got a lifetime ban from the group? — who knows.

So at 791 metres you comfort yourself with the thought that the highest peak is only 893 so it’s a mere 300 feet or so to go — then you hit the downhill. If we’d all carried old tin trays with us we could have tobogganed down to the bottom but as we hadn’t it was a matter of slip slide and slurp in the snow drifts down to 700 metres which made it 600 foot or so to the top. That’s not much really but you couldn’t see the top and it was uphill through a foot of snow. I’ve got a photo of part of the group disappearing up the snowy slope in the mist which looks very like Scott trying to find the South Pole having wished he hadn’t made a madras curry of the last husky (overdid the garlic too said Evans, as he disappeared in to the blizzard saying ‘I may be gone some time’).

Having inadvertently mistaken Boh for a polar bear we dragged on upwards through various snowy clad rocks rocks till we found the summit with a highly frozen trig point. (It was at this point that I was asking myself do I like hill walking or am I just a ******* masochist?) After a brief lunch in the bothy at the top with well chilled chardonnay and sarnie glace we noticed that the cloud had cleared from the summit — as it often does on Cadair — remember Kings, where it cleared and Dorothy could see as far as the sales in Barmouth? The sea still looked cold and oddly the valley to the north was snow free while the one to the south wasn’t. Last year when we came up we could see Snowdon to the north, the Brecon beacons to the south and well into England in the east. This time it wasn’t as clear though you could make out the Snowdon range.

So on to the downhill. First we had to go across a snow covered plateau and the mist came down again. This and the wind made it look very like Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow and at one stage I thought I saw a ghostly French dragoon till I realised his helmet and plumes was in fact Dave’s multi coloured woollen hat. Anyway eventually we started going steeply downhill — and downhill — and downhill — till we were sick of going steeply downhill and almost started wishing we could go uphill again. Eventually we got out of the thick snow and the views were great with the fading winter sunlight over the sea and the snow clad hills. Then down the “giant’s’” steps and to the car park and the general feeling that that it had been ‘One hell of a walk’. Also congratulations to Donna. Tom and Lisa on completing it on their first walk with the group – they’re not all like this one!

Back at the Bunkhouse it appeared that Shep the singing sheepdog and his band from Pontllanfraith Uchaf had cancelled due to lambing problems and were replaced by the heaviest metal band this side of Dinas Mawddwy. Led by Dave we then decided to try the village pub which thank goodness is still open and the very hospitable landlord fitted us in for food and quite a lot of drink — we must have given his takings a good boost. By the time we returned to the bunkhouse the party was still in full swing (King Arthur had just got barred and gone back to his cave in the mountain) but they’d run out of my favourite stout and most of us crashed out fairly quickly. After last night’s experience Tom opted to sleep with Dave and Stuart who proved snore free!

So next morning most people went off but some of us stayed for an “undulating” walk up the side of the valley from Corris to the old slate mine at the top and then on to Upper Corris and back via the teashop. On the way we passed the ‘Italian House’ where an Italian spent a lifetime building models of Italian buildings in the garden from a large variety of bricks.

This led to a keen ethical debate on the role of women between Liz and Stuart — did Mrs Italian pine away alone in the house while her chauvinist neglectful husband sublimated in his garden with his beloved bricks or did she breath a sigh of relief when he went outside and settle down to watch the telly in peace free from his endless talking about bricks? Perhaps this topic could be on the agenda at the next AGM?

Anyway that was that and for once some beer assisted idea raised in a pub had led to a great weekend.

Having said all this we went to see the Autumn colours in Monsall and Chee Dale and were not disappointed. The hostel is a great old house built by your usual Victorian Industrialist, who had made a few bob ripping minerals out the ground, with a brilliant view and surrounded by a beech wood in full Autumn golden mode. Surprisingly the 70 bed hostel was virtually full with two separate “reunion” walking groups. However their warning about the catering was correct, one sink, one small fridge and one kettle between 70 people!

We also discovered a very good pub, the Anglers Rest, down the hill in Millers Dale with real ales at £2.50 a pint, good cheap meals and very friendly staff. The pub was very quiet and they must have been glad of our trade as nearly all the group went there rather than enjoy the keg Boddingtons at the hostel. These threatened pubs are vital in country areas and traditionally got good trade from walkers so it was sad to see no one else from the hostel. Hostels always played a key part in supporting local village businesses and this will decline as hostel catering takes hold.

Anyway on to the walking – the first day was foggy and damp though it promised better things. We trudged up the Limestone Way through traditional Derbyshire mist and mud with the vague shapes of bored looking cattle. All those who’d walked Monks Dale before swore to keep clear of it and eventually we stopped for elevenses (At Anne’s steadfast request) by a charming mist shrouded stone cross watched by a misty brown cow with triplets and a rather emasculated looking bull.

Then on to Wormhill where Dorothy was disappointed to find she had missed the sales and Liz looked in vain for Charity shops. Actually Wormhill was a picturesque village and we had a good lunch stop by a monument to a man called Brindley who built the Bridgewater canal (In Manchester not Somerset)

After that we finally got to the top of Chee Dale and it stopped raining. The view was brilliant with the valley going one way to Buxton, the railway cutting through towards Chinley and the old railway in the valley that’s now a walking trail. The sides of the gorge were covered in trees in autumn colours with some clinging on to the white limestone cliffs and the sun decided to threaten to come out as well.

So we went down to walk along Chee dale, the wildest bit of the Wye gorges going down to Monsal head with only a rough path right by the river side with two sets of stepping stones and the very high rail viaducts cutting across at regular intervals. It was very, as the Victorians would say, “gothic” with a deep gorge with sheer white limestone walls and Autumn golden trees all along the top with dense vegetation on the floor alongside the river. As it had been raining it was very wet with a bit of mist in the gorge to add to the atmosphere.

The wetness also made the limestone “Monksdale” slippery with the result that Boh headbutted the floor (But fortunately did not damage to the path) and Dorothy did a “wet limestone” slip but luckily no harm done . At one stage Liz dropped her pole over the edge where it was stuck just over the river. In harmony with the gothic atmosphere brave Sir Mick and Sir Boh rescued the pole for the damsel in distress before the dragon of the gorge leapt out of the river from it’s sleep and King Arthur appeared with a risk assessment.

We then came to the stepping stones which go along the edge of the cliff face. Last time Anne and I walked here the river was in flood and the stones were covered by about 4 inches of water. Our group waded across (Carrying a dog) and you got the feeling that if you slipped you would get carried away in a roaring torrent. This time the stones were uncovered and it was a bit mortifying to see that it was only about 6 inches deep around them!

We finally got out of the gorge and up onto the railway where we stopped at Millers Dale station though we’d just missed the last train. (Well by 30 years but you lose touch with time when you’re in the gorge). After that back to the hostel by several routes and then back to the pub to eat in the evening. (Apart from Dave who subjected the kitchen to his “curry test” first)

So next day, plus Andy who turned up, we did the quick post breakfast rush down the hostel back entry and up the gorge the other side. Nothing like that to wake you up and great views from the top to Kinder, Stanage, Bretton etc. Then along the top with a view of Taddington that Anne assures has a bunkhouse that was so cold that Captain Scott used it for training for his Arctic mission.

Finally then a view of Monsal Head and back along the railway to Cressbrook where there’s a good tea stop shop where you can eat your own food, it’s a good idea. The tea stop is in the old lodging house for the child labourers at the mill and Liz was even able to have a mini spending spree there. Then back along Water Cum Jolly and Cressbrook and back to the hostel and off.

It was a good weekend but Anne and I both wrote letters of complaint about the self catering facilities.. We both got fairly unapologetic replies from YHA and mine stated that groups who went to hostels that provided catering should use it, as the self catering facilities were not suitable for groups to use. Well I suppose that was being honest about what they’ve been trying to achieve by stealth for some time. Fortunately I have a copy of the Independent Hostels Guide.

One can imagine the walker who fell asleep on Cadair and woke up in the dark with the full moon overhead. He or she then walked down the mountain towards Dolgellau and came into a thickly wooded valley. After a while stumbling in the dark he came across a clearing in the woods. There was a bonfire with various figures gathered around it. Then a formally dressed man with druidic looking white hair approached something on a table and drew out a knife. Thinking this was some ancient Celtic sacrificial ritual the walker rushed off into the woods in utter panic and was not found till morning………

However if he had waited he would actually have found that this was Leicester Local YHA seventieth anniversary weekend at Kings hostel . this was the celebratory barbecue and Alan was about to cut the cake.

Nearly thirty people came on this weekend organised by Dorothy at Kings hostel near Dogellau which is now the only hostel in the area after the closure of Barmouth, Corris and Bala. It’s in a wonderful situation at the northern foot of Cadair Idris, in a clearing in a narrow wooded valley reached by a winding lane.

The hostel consists of an old building and an annexe. As it is nowhere near any mains it has its own water supply which means water can sometimes only be found at the lower annexe so toilets and showers in the main building don’t work! Apart from that though it was great.

Everyone got here in the end, though some cars decided to do a few detours around Dogellau first. The most unfortunate was the car with Mick, Dave and Stella in it who found that an accident had blocked the road in mid Wales so that they had to make a massive detour and didn’t arrive till 1.30 the next morning. Fortunately Bo had stayed up to let them in.

On the next morning the whole group set off to climb Cadair led by Chris who had quite a task with such a multitude. Cadair is in fact a series of five separate peaks with various tracks going up it from all directions. We opted for the pony path which is a fairly easy but longer walk up the mountain. Other tracks such as the Foxes path or the Minffordd path from the next valley would have been steeper. However as we started climbing from near sea level the actual climb was about 2700 ft which was quite a way.(The summit is 893 metres or around 2930 ft which is just under a Munro.)

The heather looked good and the weather was fine till we hit the mist that covered the top of the mountain. For some time it was just a matter of climbing in the mist and on the way we met two intrepid runners who were on the way to their usual run up the top. Also a large number of dogs and, for some reason red headed walkers (Anne had read an article saying the number of red heads was declining).. When we eventually reached the west to east ridge known as the saddle you could see the beginning of the nearly sheer drop below but nothing else and no sign of the lake Llyn y Gadair about 1000 feet below.

However as we began a steeper climb to the summit we could see blue sky above the mist and eventually climbed out of it. The top was a plateau with several small summits and also a bothy on top. It must be a bit cold in the bothy but would be a wonderful view in the morning. The mist was now beginning to break up and the clouds became quite spectacular scudding past at great speed so that one minute you could see a view and then it went again. In the end most of the cloud cleared and you could see the summits though the view to the south was a bit obscured. It was now a clear sunny day and you could see the Snowdon range foothills to the north and the Mawddach estuary below as well as the two lakes directly below the ridge which were really deep blue, though Liz resisted the urge to jump in this time!

On the way down one of Dan’s boots disintegrated which led him to muse that ‘He had left his soul/sole on Cadair Idris’. Dave is considering making this phrase into a song for Tanners. Further down we passed a plaque commemorating a runner who ran up Cadair in record time of about an hour and a half if I remember and then died in a climbing accident on Cadair the next day. Must be a moral in there somewhere.

After a well deserved break we began the descent in the sunshine and eventually got back to the hostel at 6pm after 8 hours out so it had been a good day and thanks to Chris for having the patience to deal with such a large group.

That evening was then barbecue night organised by Dorothy and everyone chipped in one way or another. The highlight of the feast for me was Rob’s brilliant cake which banished any thoughts of Atkins diets or weight watchers deep into the woods. Stella performed her usual service of tearing down a few trees and dragging them out of the woods, with Andy providing professional horticultural advice and the fire got going while Liz and Bo provided and organised the actual barbecue equipment.

Alan, formally dressed for the occasion gave a speech, the cake was cut, rivers of wine flowed and the fire burned merrily so a good time was had by all and thanks to Dorothy for organising the barbecue.

The next morning we decided to split up. Chris led a walk of great variety including travel by water, train car and foot. They crossed the Mawddach by ferry at Barmouth . had a trip on the Fairbourne narrow gauge railway, drove south and then had a walk. I led another group that had a swim at Barmouth walked over the mile long footbridge over the river then along the old railway track that followed the river .to Dolgellau. Thought he tide was out it was still a,. great walk surrounded by mountains. It was so sunny that at one stage we were forced to take a break in the George Pub in Penmaenpool where we sat with points of beer or Earl Grey depending on preference. Dave thought some people speaking in Welsh must come from eastern Europe. Then up the valley back to the hostel. Some others swam and walked on the beach at Barmouth while others just swam and sat on the beach and thought about walking. Mick and “one boot” Dan went to Portmeirion for the day but escaped without being made prisoner or being chased by any large spheres.

Next day we all went our separate ways. Bill’s car with Anne and I in went via the really spectacular coast road south to the Dysynni valley which is very remote and which used to be tidal marshes till it was reclaimed 500 years ago. In the valley is a quite spectacular outcrop Craig y Aderyn which is home to the only inland colony of cormorants who stayed where they were when the land was reclaimed And commute daily to the sea. There’s also the site of an old castle which was one of the last to hold out against the English.

After that across to Abergynolwyn up the valley to Minffordd by Lake Tal y Lin. This takers you along the south side of Cadair Idris which is far steeper then the north and on to the Dolgellau junction. This is a quite spectacular route and well recommended to anyone driving around there.

So that was that and it was a brilliant seventieth anniversary weekend with good weather, great walks and a fine barbecue with a classic cake.

Thanks to Dorothy for organising it all and I hope she’ll do the centenary weekend and Alan will be ready with the speech again!

Everyone eventually arrived at the hostel, though Kathy checked out Llwyn y celyn hostel on the way. One passenger in a car did phone me in a panic to say they had just passed a sign for Llandudno but in fact it was Llandovery so no one got lost.

The hostel will go down as one YHA hasn’t been able to spoil, with bathroom plumbing running along the kitchen ceiling and unducted electric cables with a tree filled garden outside – just great! There were lovely views and a field of sheep next to us, with whom the staff seemed to have a close relationship.(Possibly linked to the excellent shepherd’s pie?) Also a nice quiet lane (Dave could remember what is was like before they built the by pass when that was the main road.) to a smoke free pub at the bottom. This hostel is very much recommended for a quiet rural weekend.

The Saturday was brilliantly hot and sunny so we decided to do the horseshoe. This involved driving through more winding lanes with high hedgerows full of flowers to a disused army camp at the foot of the ridge. There was a map there which showed amongst other things an area for mortar practice so we decided to avoid that. At first we thought the hill in front was Pen y Fan the highest point in the Beacons(886m/roughly 2900 ft,not quite a Munro) but of course it wasn’t.

The Beacons are red sandstone with high ridges going West to East and deep valleys cutting north and south into the sandstone from either side leaving finger-like hills sticking out between. We started climbing up one of the fingers which was Bryn Teg. At this stage Dorothy asked whether the route was going to be steep, but in true Tony Thompson talk I assured her it was “undulating”. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and it was blazing hot so we sweated up to the top of the hill, where of course there was another hill.

On the way we saw a large adult Kite. It’s great how these are so common now in South Wales as they used to be on the edge of extinction. In Swansea Museum I have also seen the stuffed remains of the last Golden eagle in Wales shot in the beacons by a “collector” in the eighteenth century. There’s peregrines around here living on the cliff faces though we didn’t see any.. However to beat all wildlife spottings must be the grey squirrel we saw in the Beacons on the Llandeusant weekend in 2005 wandering over the moor grass at 2000 ft miles from the nearest tree. No sign of one this time.

Having got to the top of the first hill there was of course another and when we walked up that in the heat we were then confronted with what looked like a sheer sided hill with people clambering up a path like a line of hard working ants. This was the first beacon, Cribyn(795 meters) and the undulating theory did rather go out of the window.

Having finally clambered up to the top though and onto the main ridge the view was brilliant. Behind us was the Usk valley and Brecon with the Black mountains and Hay Bluff to the East while off to the west was the Black Mountain at the west end of the beacons. Facing ahead we looked down to the Taff valley that goes all the way down past Merthyr through the coalfield to Cardiff. In the last century Merthyr would have been covered in flames and smoke from the iron works and pits but that all disappeared long ago.

While having a break at the top a party of soldiers then appeared, much to the excitement of certain members of the group. Knowing that the SAS train here I had expected them to be jogging past with 60lb packs at great speed. In actual fact they all looked exhausted and crawled past up the next ridge. It turned out that they were Dutch soldiers who I assume were off to Afghanistan so had been sent here for some mountain training because of the total lack of any hills back home (It must be very hard being a Dutch Munro bagger.) We didn’t have the heart to tell them the mountains in Afghanistan are a lot higher then here.

So then along the ridge to the real Pen y Fan,the highest point in the Beacons where we stopped for lunch and admired the view.

We then moved on to the third beacon, Corn Du where you had a great view of the horseshoe valley and started our descent. From the top you could see a Tarn, Llyn Cwm Llwch, which looked very inviting in the heat. After I got home I read it up and, not surprisingly, the lake has a legend of being inhabited by fairies who appeared there every year and partied till a human interfered and they were never seen again. There may of course be a link with this and what followed.

Whether it was fairy enchantment or because it was very hot Kathy decided to have a dip in the lake, followed by Alistair. She was then followed by Liz, encouraged by Bo with his walking pole, who gave an excellent demonstration of backstroke. Meanwhile Dorothy and Stephanie decided to do a Copenhagen mermaid tableau which did rather shock a local welsh newt sloping around by their stone.

Everyone else dipped their feet in the water and a much cooled group continued the walk. We were unaware of what trauma may have been caused in fairyland but no one was turned into a frog or woke up later to find it was 2107.

After a quiet amble down the Llwch valley we followed quiet lanes with flower filled hedgerows back to the car park and back to the hostel. This was definitely the best day of the weekend. with non stop sun and blue sky.

Next day the weather had changed with clouds and the promise of some showers. We proceeded to the Storey Arms on the Merthyr Cardiff road which had once been a drovers inn but is now the base for the mountain rescue team. Dave entertained us with a short display of continental style driving and we then went along an old drove road with the intention of going onto the Fan Frynych nature reserve.

We proceeded around the back of Llwyn y celyn hostel and then, in true Welsh tradition the path disappeared (or that’s my story). However a quick fence climb got us back on course and into the nature reserve. We were then joined by 3 sheep who led the walk for some way. Though Dave is always keen to recruit new members he decided against it as he wasn’t sure how they would pay their subs and they wandered off looking lost which led someone to say they reminded them of YHA National Management.

After getting to the top we had a good view of the Senni valley across to Fforest Fawr (Big forest in English) that is the next bit of the beacons going as far as the Swansea valley with the Black mountain again in the background. Though there were showers it was still a nice walk and we then skirted more sandstone cliffs and over the moorland to Storey Arms. On the way back we stopped for a further walk around Morrison’s car park in Brecon though the vegetation there was a bit sparse.

That evening Bo, Liz and Dave tried the hostel meals which proved to be gargantuan while others of us sampled the Brecon brewery ales. We then adjourned to what seemed to be a games room with our bottles and glasses and spent the evening either watching snooker on TV or, for those non TV addicts playing games. It was only at the end that Kathy noticed a notice on the door saying that the room was for children only. I don’t know what the cleaner made of any bottles left in the morning – they could have told the Sun which could have led to a headline – “Children in drunken orgy in YHA hostel!” but as I don’t read the Sun I wouldn’t know.

Next morning the three cars each went their own ways. Dave Anne and I dropped into Brecon which still has it’s old medieval street pattern and looked at the cathedral which was quite pleasant followed by a short river walk. The others also got back one way or another and all in all it was a good weekend, especially the Saturday. Thanks to all drivers and all the party for good company and entertainment.

Next year there is the possibility of the Black Mountains at the west end but I’ll probably do Pembrokeshire around St David’s head as there’s more hostel options.