Foel Fras: Carneddau Ponies, and an Air Crash

I wasn't specifically heading for Foel Fras on this walk, but wondering if I might make it a little further, to find an air crash site on Llwytmor, nearer the coast. I was strangely tired that day, though, and decided it was taking me too long, so I settled for Foel Fras, where an Avro Anson Mk.I. crashed during the night in July, 1944.

It was a fun walk, although the tiredness hung on me, making all my limbs feel heavy. It felt like a bit of a struggle all the way, and I was glad to be coming down again in the end. Joys along the way included a curious herd of Carneddau ponies, and a sudden descent of mist, leaving me in splendid isolation, briefly, on the top of Foel Fras.

We, Idiots No. 1 and 2™ and I, headed up the track past Pen y Gadair on a reasonably fine day, although there were some low clouds gathering over the mountain. 

Past the stile to Pen y Castell, the track continues along the side of the hill before dipping down.

Idiot No. 2™ seemed more keen on cutting down to Dulyn, but I wanted to go higher than that.

The footpath crosses the Afon Ddu (OS grid ref SH 7183 6800) next to a rather angular sheepfold, where track, river, and fences all come together as one. At wetter times of year it's just a case of getting your feet wet.

Is this a track or a stream? Technically I think it's the track - the river comes down at right angles - but the water doesn't seem to care.

The sheepfold on the Afon Ddu (Black River).

The river is well named, cutting a black gully through the peaty land.

We sat and rested for a while, after cutting up across the contour lines towards the summit of Foel Fras.

Some of the fence posts up on these slopes are things of beauty. Cracked and greyed by weather and age, speckled with grey-green lichen, with the steel fence wire making a blood-rust contrast against the cooler colours. These are the glas and coch of the Welsh landscape - blues that owe more to greens and grey, and reds that owe more to the soft orange-browns of dead bracken. No wonder so many places names use these descriptors. 

On the way up we met a herd of Carneddau ponies. Sometimes I can feel a little nervous of them (probably due to my childhood of being chased by a belligerent Welsh Mountain pony), but in the main they're curious but not that bothered about you. Just take care not to get between adults and foals or the stallion and his herd.

These ponies were on the other side of the fence, so I felt pretty easy with them. They could probably jump it if they wanted to, but they showed no desire to. 

In the far distance, behind the ponies and the falling slopes of the hills, the Afon Conwy is a little ribbon of silver heading to the sea.

The horses kept coming closer then shying away, made nervous in part by the dogs. This first video shows how wary they were, their wariness vying with their curiosity.

They kept coming back to the fence again, fascinated by our presence.

I sat down by the fence to make myself less of a threat to them. Then I thought that singing to them might calm and intrigue them. I don't claim to be a great singer, and I was out of breath, with Idiot No. 2™ choosing to lick my throat every now and then, but they did seem intrigued. This video shows them listening with fascination.

The ponies came very close, just standing and listening, then moving aside to let others come to the front.

 

There are too many photos of the horses but it's hard to decide to delete any because it's so fascinating seeing their individuality and their social relations. 

 

In the background, one of the big foals has gone to her mother, and they touch noses in greeting.

The nose touching was a prelude to suckling.

Eventually I got up and the horses ran off across the hill. I don't know how long they would have stayed otherwise.

We carried on up the hill, following the fence until it became a stone wall for a short time. We were looking for the site of a crashed Avro Anson Mk.I. 

The crash site isn't far from the stone wall, at about 900m above sea level.

The main bits of wreckage I saw were at Ordnance Survey Grid Reference SH 69622 67587. There's still a moderate amount of wreckage here but other sites show more. Possibly this site, like many others, has been plundered for souvenirs. 

 

A lot of these crashes happen during bad visibility in Welsh winters, but Avro Anson Mk.I MG804 of No.8 (Observer) Advanced Flying Unit crashed on July 12th, 1944, during a night-time navigation training flight. One man was killed, Wireless Operator Albert Francis Standring, out of the crew of five.

In other internet posts an 11' long wing section is also visible at the wreck site, close to these remains. Although I looked around quite diligently, I couldn't see it. It must have been taken away either by weather or human hands.

This site provides photos and an accurate grid reference and longitude and latitude for the crash. The 'Peak District Air Crashes' site gives the full names and ranks of those on the plane, and the circumstances of the crash.

 

I don't know nearly enough about planes to know what all the pieces of wreckage are, so I present them here without comment.

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I didn't notice as I was looking at the wreckage that the cloud had suddenly come down. Abruptly, from it being a fairly nice day, visibility was almost gone. 

I carried on up the mountain with the reassurance that I could follow the fence for guidance if necessary, since it goes right over the top of the mountain with the path following it all the way.

This bare patch of stones may be one of the burnt patches from the plane mentioned on the Peak District Air Crashes site. The plane did not set on fire, but was deliberately burnt later.

These little half-streams-half-ponds look even more dark and eerie under lowering mist.

Another stile on my route, although not one I had to use since I was carrying straight on along the wall. I just like taking photos of stiles.

The flat top of Foel Fras is an odd place, scattered with stones like the top of Carnedd Llewelyn, but with the occasional rock spiking up as if thrown down by a tantruming giant. In this kind of mist, caught out of the corner of the eye, at first they can look like a person standing motionless on the hill.

These mountains seem even more ancient when you consider the incredible length of time necessary for cycles of frost and rain and heat to split and fracture these great rocks into shards and leave them scattered like this on the mountain top.

I reached the trig point, and a little cairn just next to it. At 944 metres, Foel Fras is the eleventh highest mountain in Wales, and, apparently, is a good place to watch the spring and autumn migration of the dotterel. There weren't so many birds visible today, though. 

Things got a little strange here. I was listening to an audiobook as I walked, but then I became aware of voices in the mist. A person appeared, and then another couple of people, the first I'd seen on the entire walk. They didn't speak or acknowledge my presence at all on the summit of the mountain. So I carried on walking, feeling vaguely uneasy. Perhaps it was the mist unsettling us all.

I was struck by this lovely symmetrical tear-drop of grass.

We carried on walking down the other side of Foel Fras towards Drum, the strangely non-communicative walkers ahead of us.

As we got lower we came down below the cloud, and views became visible again, with a glimpse of Ynys Mon over the Menai Straits. It was nice to find the rest of the world still existed.

The Conwy Valley appeared on the other side as we got down towards the saddle between the mountains.

Llyn Anafon became visible over the edge of the slope. The lake has been a reservoir since 1931, but it seems that Dŵr Cymru plan to reduce the disused reservoir back to its natural capacity.

We were deliberately hanging back a little so as not to catch up the recalcitrant walkers, but they stopped for a break.

Instead of going up towards Drum, we took the stile over the fence and cut to the right, down between Foel Fras and Drum and back towards Pen y Castell.

A beautifully shaped sheepfold on the edge of Foel Lwyd - that being the Foel Lwyd on the end of Drum, not the one on the end of Tal y Fan.

We headed around the edge of Pen y Castell rather than gaining elevation that we'd only have to lose, to get back to the track we came out on, running from the Pen y Gaer car park, past Pen y Gadair. From the stile in the distance we were back on ground already covered. Tired, I put my phone away and concentrated on getting home.

A Snowy Walk to Dulyn

On New Year's Eve of 2020 the snows had come down hard, reaching almost to the valley floor overnight, and making a perfect winter wonderland for walking. The weather was bright and reasonably clear, and promised to be so through the day. We're currently under a local lockdown because of coronavirus, which means walks have to be taken from your house door. Luckily, all this is on our doorstep. 

From the car park at Pen y Gaer (Ordnance Survey grid reference SH 7437 6931), this walk would be a little under nine miles.

The snows were melting lower down by the time I had reached the abandoned leat by Pen y Gadair, but up here it was still beautiful. In better times one can park in the nearby small car park at Pen y Gaer. The snow meant a four wheel drive would be necessary to get up that far today, though. We were passed by a Suzuki Vitara which drifted up the hill, and a couple on skis.

Setting off into the wilderness with Idiot No. 1™. I decided to take the higher track along the side of Pant y Griafolen, reasoning that it was a good solid track to follow in the snow, in contrast to the trackless footpath that leads to Dulyn lower down in the valley. The lower footpath can be very rough and boggy. We would be able to assess the weather from the higher track and make a decision on whether to carry on or turn back along a defined path. 

 

(To be fair to Idiot No. 1™ she was much less idiotic without Idiot No. 2™ to egg her on. We were afraid that Idiot No. 2™, being very short, would become submerged in the snow, so she reluctantly stayed at home.)

In some places the track was wet rather than snowy, which makes for much easier walking. Not for long, though. As we got higher the snow became more persistent. 

Looking across the shallow valley towards the road up to Eigiau. A few sheep were startled at our presence, but not particularly bothered.

Looking up the valley towards our destination, the dark, snowy cliffs in the far distance.

An option would be to turn onto the lower footpath here, but we continued on the high road past Craig Cefn Coch. 

By this time we were breaking a path, the first humans to walk along here today. 

A rather bleak view of the main Conwy Valley below, where the snow was fast disappearing. In the far distance, the higher eastern hills looked majestic in the snow.

A redundant gateway on the track, with the wall almost completely eroded on the left, and a single gatepost on the right.

I was captured by this beautiful line of drift, oblique across the track. 

This gate and stile combination was rather beautiful in the snow. I particularly liked the little spiral details on the top of the gate at both ends.

Idiot No. 1™ had a great time making her own kind of snow angels. The snow was knee deep on the track, so we walked on the slightly higher ground beside it.

The light on the side of Foel Fras was very beautiful, delineating the sharp lines of all the deep cut water channels down its slopes. Really, it was impossible to capture with a mobile phone camera. 

We cut off the high track at this point to join the path lower down. Admittedly, we hadn't missed the worst of the lower boggy ground in taking the higher track, but it was pleasant to walk for a while on the upper path, looking down into the valley.

Up ahead, tiny in the distance, the black speck in the centre is a small stand of pine trees which can be seen almost all the way from Pen y Gadair. At the very least, I wanted to get to the pine trees. 

The undulations of the snow over the top of clumps of grass and rushes made a beautiful pattern of light and shadow.

Crossing one of the rivers that tumble down into Afon Dulyn. I think this was Afon Garreg Wen. One of the rivers has a small metal bridge, but with this one you have to jump from stone to stone, or get your feet wet.

There are a number of these thin metal stiles on this lower route to Dulyn, which follows the path of an underground cable to the lake, marked occasionally with concrete posts. These stiles are quite hard for dogs to get over, and rather narrow for turning around at the top with a rucksack on your back. Luckily this one has a gap under the fence big enough for most dogs. 

Looking back towards the main valley, snowy weather can be seen sweeping in from the north.

Getting closer to the pines at last, but walking through the snow was exhausting. In the summer I made this walk with no trouble at all. 

At last we were near the pines, but it was a struggle of walking a little way, resting, then walking again. This clump of trees is at SH 7097 6671.

Near the trees was a group of beautiful Carneddau ponies, spread out over the hillside. 

A number of the mares had young who stuck close to them, but also seemed to be pregnant. 

Nearer the trees, this mare and her foal stood amongst the rushes.

I'm not sure I can take too many photos of these wonderful trees. How this stand grew up is a mystery. Perhaps they grew from a few scattered seeds. They're not close to any industrial age dwelling, but are right on the site of a prehistoric settlement.

Beyond the trees, another pony is trying to graze. 

The cliffs of Dulyn are up ahead, so steep that even this much snow can't cling to them. 

The sun cast long shadows over the snow. It was good to stop here for a little and rest, sitting on a fallen tree. 

The rest of the pony family, up on the hill above the trees.

Looking back to where this high valley meets the edge of the Conwy Valley, and heavy weather can be seen. It was still quite bright up at this western end. 

I seriously considered turning back at the trees, but once I caught sight of the bothy I was compelled to go on. I had set a turnaround time of two o'clock. I stretched this by about a quarter of an hour to reach the bothy, which is just appearing over the brow of the hill in this photo. 

This was my closest sight of the dam and the lake. Having already stretched my turnaround time I couldn't justify extending it again, and I knew I was just too tired to struggle that extra distance. I had this glimpse of the concrete structures associated with the dam, but didn't see the lake. 

The bothy at last, at SH 7052 6640. See the place in more detail (and less snow) here. The building was likely housing for workers at the nearby quarry, or those building the reservoir. Originally there would have been two buildings here.

 

The weather suddenly seemed to be closing in, and I stopped here to eat half my lunch, and also to clear snowballs from Idiot No. 1™'s fur. Her feathery collie-retriever legs and undercarriage had picked up snow, which picked up more snow, and more snow, and by the time we reached the bothy I had to break off dozens of these snowballs, which had also frozen her tangled lead into her fur.

Turning to go back, and the weather really had changed. It had started to snow as I reached the trees and was coming down harder. We met a couple of guys who were intending to camp overnight up by the lake, but our choice was either to get home, or spend the night in the bothy without a sleeping bag. That was an option, but I thought we had enough light and visibility to make it home safely. 

We decided to walk down near the river, both so that we had a clear visual guide to where we were, and so that our location was a definite one in case we needed help. We were constantly in contact with family back home, apart from a signal blackspot right at the bothy. 

Making our way back towards the pine trees, walking in the footsteps of a previous walker. We had seen quite a few people making their way back along the valley as we walked up. 

Back at the trees, and the pony family was still there. 

This lovely grey pony, with its thick winter coat, was pawing the snow to clear it away from the grass. 

It must be quite a bleak existence for these ponies in the winter, in a landscape largely deforested due to the grazing of sheep. Sheep farming is a relatively recent development in the deep history of the people of Wales. When this unique horse species was evolving there were probably more trees up here.

Continuing along the side of Afon Dulyn. This land may be more boggy when not frozen. I haven't walked down here before. It was easy to pass the fences where they met the river, although extra care had to be taken, because falling into this freezing water would be very dangerous in the snow.

Passing one of the fences, as snow falls. The snowballs can be seen building up on Idiot No. 1™'s legs. At one point she was being weighed down with balls as large as a baby's head. We had to stop every so often to break them off again.

The weather started to clear up again, but, looking back towards Dulyn, it was still quite thick up there.

Facing the Conwy Valley again, and there's still a long way to go through the snow. 

In some places it was necessary to climb up away from the river to avoid the great scoops of the channel through the land.

The black water was a stark contrast against the pure white snow.

The lowering sun cast a lovely golden light on the water.

At last we reached the little hydroelectric dam halfway down the valley. It felt as though we'd been walking for hours just to get to this point. After so much silence it was odd to hear the works humming like an approaching vehicle, near to the dam.

Now we followed the leat, which would lead us straight back to Pen y Gaer. This part of the leat takes a little navigating through gorse and low willow branches, but it is passable. This route isn't on the footpath, but it is on open access land.

Looking across the valley towards where a cluster of little abandoned hafodau sit on the other side of the river.

We reached the end of the gorse covered part of the leat, and crossed the stile to easier terrain.

Idiot No. 1™ kept having to stop now to bite ice out from between her toes, set in her tufts of fur. If you try to bite ice out of a dog's fur, it compresses and sets harder. We know this from experience.

The ruin of Ffrith y Bont, not far from the track along the leat.

A little further back from the track is the ruin of Tan y Bwlch. 

Looking back along the track, we can see how far we've come. Dulyn is in the far distance where the hills rise up against the sky. 

The last part of the track along the leat before we rejoin the track past Pen y Gadair. 

Our final bit of rough walking before we rejoin the road. The tarmacked road down from Pen y Gaer was treacherous too, with so much ice and snow on it. I was glad, on balance, that we decided not to go on from the bothy up to Dulyn. The half an hour or more extra would have meant it was dark before we reached the road, and the temperature started to plummet as soon as the sun was behind the mountains. This was a satisfying but exhausting walk.