Llyn y fan fach - Craig Cerrig Glesiad

Oh boy. You’d think that after 130 nights of wild camping, I would sleep at least tolerably in a tent by now. The night had been balmy and quiet, but I’d felt oddly unsettled and struggled to fall back asleep every time I awoke. Thank god no one was there to see my wrinkly morning face. Today was a 30 km whopper all the way across the west and central Beacons.

I climbed the western slope of Black Mountain in a fierce gale wind, passing a sorry sod who had camped up there “to test whether his tent was windproof”. While the structure was still standing, I cannot fathom how he got a wink of sleep surrounded by flapping nylon. Llyn y Fan Fach glittered a steely blue in the morning light. I powered along the dirt trail all along the summit ridge for several km.

The trail swooped steeply down towards the edge of Llyn y Fan Fawr. Walking back the same way was a breeze, and I was back in Glyntawe before I knew it. The day had been overcast until then, but as I lunched by a roadside pub alongside a group of scouts, the sun pierced through and bathed the valley in brilliant light. It was the May/June bank holiday weekend, and prime hawthorn season. Every bush and tree in the whole valley were cotton clouds of white flowers.

The climb out of the Glyntawe valley and up towards the wild central Beacons was slightly confusing. Make sure you have your route plotted into OS Maps or another trail app, as old trails have been blocked by a stone quarry. Once you have regained some height, the path becomes wilder. Follow wide tracks along a stone fence that takes you eastwards and away from the valley view. You’ll soon be on a gravel road which climbs to the high point of the way – from the top you can see Pen y Fan in the distance.

Here begins a long stretch on small paths through the grass. This is a much less travelled park of the Beacons, and I didn’t meet a single person for hours as I strode past Fan Gyhirych, Fan Need and Fan Llia. Any of them would be a fun addition to this stretch but would add more (and steeper) mileage to an already long day.

I was getting proper tired and started looking for campsites by the time I crossed Sarn Helen Road. There was still not a single human in sight. There were, however, herds of cows around. Ever since I was attacked by a cow in the Spanish Pyrenees on the GR11, I have avoided bovines at all costs. I didn’t want to camp within a 5-mile radius of anything with horns. Onwards from Sarn Helen, the “path” on my map wasn’t more than faint sheep tracks appearing and then disappearing in the long grass. I climbed up the ridge of Fan Fawr off piste among the grey sheep.

From the top, a vast valley spread out before me. It was late now, and I was tired. Yet more cows and no trail. To the south I could see Ystradfellte Reservoir. It had been a hot and dry year, and its river arms Nant y Gaseg and Nant y Gwair trickled only shallowly through muddy banks. The water situation wasn’t great, and as I crossed the valley and started up the final slope of Craig Cerrig Glesiad, I realised I would have to dry camp in order to escape the cows. Eeeergh.

I stuck my filter in the dark marsh water and squeezed as hard as I could to fill up my water bottles. My little Katadyn BeFree bladder squealed in protest. At this point, I was getting a bit desperate to find a flat piece of non-boggy ground. Just as I rounded the mountainside, a little flat opened up with two grassy shelves perched next to each other. The top shelf was taken by a 40-something man and his tent. There was nothing for it, I just had to share.

Turned out, he was a sociable fellow, incredibly another Chris who also worked in defence. We had a merry conversation as I battled the winds to set up my tent and make tea and dinner on my gas stove. My honey and spice rooibos tea bag read “inner strength”. Did they have a “hamstring strength” one? Spiritually I was all in. But I was shattered after the long day and lay paralysed on my sleeping pad for an endless hour until the sun started setting.

Sunsets in the Beacons are a league of their own. The endless expanse was entirely bathed in liquid gold and dark pink. With views for endless miles and Pen y Fan straight ahead, I snuggled into the two sleeping bags I’d brought and stuffed my earplugs into my brain stem against the wind.