​It was the day after I’d had a tent break in the wind, and I returned to the same area with a very similar forecast, this time armed with my Hille. Typically, the wind died down and there was no need for such a hardcore tent, but I was unexpectedly treated to one of the most beautiful camps!

I pitched on an open, rock-scattered plateau up at 400 metres. The stars came out during the cold night, I slept deeply and I unzipped the tent in the morning to see clouds flowing down the nearby cliffs, billowing out into the open expanse behind me

The waves flowed for hours and were absolutely mesmerising. It was like a giant waterfall, but made of cloud. A cloudfall. I’ll never forget it

DAY 1

I arrived in Eryri prepared for interesting weather, but not knowing that the bad weather system due to come in had actually been named – Storm Bert was approaching. It was a cold and snowy November afternoon as I hauled myself with my heavy winter rucksack up to an open shelf in the mountains, up at around 400m elevation and perched above a Welsh mining town
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The scene was beautiful; everything sparkly white and snow-covered, the sun shining in a still, blue sky, and the Moelwyns sitting pretty in the distance on the other side of the valley. But my gut told me that this was not a place to stay. This peace and prettiness was deceptive; it was the calm before the storm. A text pinged through from Ash, letting me know that the oncoming storm had been given a name, and to be careful

I pondered that when the weather came in up here, surrounded by all this snow and ice, I might find myself in blizzard conditions. The snow hid the ground below it, leaving me unable to tell what I was walking on, or what I would be pitching on. There were small, partially frozen lakes dotted around, and ruined mining buildings. I decided to head back down the mountain. Overnight, the temperature was due to rise. The snow would melt. I’d spend tonight in my car, and head out the next day

I drove round to one of my favourite laybys on a quiet, single-track road, made my tea and settled down in my cosy car bed

​My last trip of winter! It was the 1st of March and armed with a pretty grim forecast as usual, I expected this to be another godawful-weather-ordeal so I didn’t even plan any kind of route, thinking I would be hunkering down in the forest all weekend. But instead, I was granted cold starry nights, clear skies, silence, snowy mountain views and babbling brooks surrounded by evergreens. Having no planned route to follow, I instinctively wandered in whichever direction I felt most drawn to. I visited mines, paddled in biting water and peered into some giant freaky holes too. This was the perfect end to the long, wet winter of 2023/4

To read the trip journal and see my maps, click on 'read more' at the bottom of this blog post..

The first day of my Rhinogydd Adventure. It was January, and I intended to start the year with a few days in the wild, and hopefully blow away some of those winter cobwebs. Feeling slightly jaded by the dark days, with my home on my back, I wandered through the evergreen goodness of the valley forest before heading up rocky paths, interspersed with old stone bridges. Already I could feel myself waking up, coming back to life

To continue reading this trip journal, click on 'read more' at the bottom of this blog post..

Day 1 | Distance travelled: 5km | Weather: mild & pleasant
 
I arrived in the Moelwyns to a bright afternoon with a few butterflies in my tummy.. I’d not been out for a multi-night for a while and the weather forecast was all over the place. I didn’t know what to expect, but, prepared for everything from sunshine to snow, I sloshed off from the Crimea Pass into the soggy November mountains

Moel Siabod watched over me quietly as I picked my way through mud and heather, heading north. I was carrying 18kilos, on the lookout for bogs and shuddering at the thought of falling into one. The day was mild and pleasant, and I stopped to look over a valley. I’d need to cross this valley to get to where I’d hoped to pitch for the night, so I started heading down, soon hearing a chorus of mooing cows. I really don’t like cows. I’ve been chased by a heard of angry horned cows before, and had to throw myself over a barbed wire fence to escape

I came through a short stone tunnel and emerged to see the cows wandering all over and around the footpath. Cows on a public right of way – not the best, at least, not for someone who’s afraid of them

Usually, I’d find another way around, but I needed to cross this valley. I nervously wombled through, talking to the cows and hoping they didn’t mind my passing, which they didn’t. Thankfully they weren’t bothered by my presence at all, and I soon emerged out from the cow-ridden tracks and started climbing up the other side of the valley

It was almost dusk as I found a place to pitch at 310m elevation, a little bit wonky, but flat enough. Moel Siabod stood behind and views of Ysgafell Wen, Moel Druman and Allt-fawr graced the distant skyline; the 20km circular than I was hoping to do would take me along this ridge, but a quick look at the changing forecast gave me an uncomfortable, nagging feeling. Apparently, heavy rain and gale force winds were coming, and I didn’t want to be up there alone, in unfamiliar territory and insane weather, not even knowing if my way would be passable

I took off my boots, gaiters and waterproof over-socks to find that my lil merino under-socks were still dry, despite splashing though water and trudging through mud all afternoon. Have I finally cracked it? Figured out how to keep my feet dry? This is promising.. I hate having wet feet, especially so early on in a trip
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I heard the distant rumbling of a train. The Conwy Valley Line passes underneath these mountains, a 4km long tunnel under the ground – the longest single line railway tunnel in the UK. It was feeling fresh now, about 5°C and Pleiades and the milky way sparkled through passing clouds as I had my tea – a warming, home cooked chicken tikka masala – and settled down for the night. I looked over my map for hours, trying to decide what to do to no avail, and fell into a restless, wondering sleep

Hmm.. a night in the wild with a busted ankle.. this was not what I had in mind.
 
I twist and turn my right ankle multiple times, every time I go out. Usually escaping injury by bracing onto my trekking pole, although I have torn a ligament in this ankle twice previously. However, this time, I had just left my car and hadn't yet retrieved the pole from the side pocket of my rucksack (where it's no use to anyone, I might add!) The twist was so painful that I initially wondered if I'd broken it. I wailed like a wounded animal and breathed, and waited. And then something strange happened. It was only a few minutes later when the pain faded away. I tried putting weight on the ankle, and it was fine. I tentatively tried walking on it, and it was fine. I was a little baffled by it all, and was aware that the ankle felt a little.. weird I guess? But it didn't hurt at all now, so I decided I must just be having a low-pain-threshold kinda day, I had clearly over-reacted to a twisted ankle, and so I decided to carry on - this time with my pole in hand.
 
I arrived at the most beautiful spot by a lake, only 1km up into the mountains at 280m elevation. The water was still and mirror-like and the sky and the surrounding ridges & peaks shone in it's surface. The day was getting on - it was 7pm in mid September and the sun had already dipped below the hills. I popped up my tent, had a quick dip in the water and settled down for the night, warming my tea and hoping to see stars - it was a new moon, and I was excited to see the milky way before the summer was out. The night sky was entirely covered with cloud though, and outside the tent was black as ink. I love it when it's like that - it's a proper, deep darkness that I never experience at home near the cities
 
A few sheep-friends skittered about on the rocks behind, and hoard of Whirly-Giggs (crane flies) descended on me in the tent, dive-bombing my face (they were loving the red light on my head torch haha) and resulting in some fairly unhinged screeching before they were promptly evicted (cue more unhinged screeching). Only then did it occur to me.. my ankle was starting to throb. I had a look at it, and it looked fine. I'd planned for this to be a 2-night trip. So I thought maybe I'd just have an easy day tomorrow and not go as far as I'd planned.
 
I lay and listened and dozed to light rain on the tent, and then the clouds parted - just a little! But enough for a blanket of bright stars to come sparkling through ✨ and I fell into a lovely sleep in my lil tent next to the lake
 
When I woke up in the morning, my ankle was clearly quite angry with me. It hurt pretty bad and had a lovely swelling sticking out of the side of it. I tried standing, and struggled to weight bear, and I knew it was injured. I cursed my stupidity at coming up here on an injury, hopping and jumping over streams with 17kg on my back on a torn ligament, because the injury was initially so painful, that my body had flooded itself with endorphins to kill the pain. Well, it worked pretty effectively, but now I was up in the mountains with a busted ankle, which was less than ideal
 
Thankfully, I was only 1km up. I took painkillers & anti-inflammatories with my coffee and bandaged the offending ankle up while I waited for them to start working. Slightly heartbroken at having to leave already and dreading the hobble back down, I packed my things. Then I put away the tent like a wonky donkey.
 
Unable to jump over the boggy end of the lake as I had done on the way up, I carefully traversed the drystone dam instead, and then slowly descended. So that was that, not only was there no night 2, but they'll be no multi-night trips for a while.
 
I have a connective tissue disorder called Hypermobility Spectrum Disorder which makes me injury-prone (among many other things haha), and it turns out that I've now developed a chronic instability in my right ankle due to too many injuries. It just can't hold itself up any more. It's 3 weeks later now and I'm getting around fine, it doesn't hurt to walk on it but it's not completely healed yet. It's also very weak. So I'm back in physio again, starting next week. The swelling has nearly gone, but I've no other option but to brace the ankle with splints for hiking going forward. I've tried this on a couple of short walks and it's been fine so far. I'll find out through physio if it's gonna be possible to get a suitable amount of strength back in the ankle or not. So that is the plan

​Day 1
 
My Western Rhinogs Adventure – Day 1
In early July, I arrived in the valley of the Afon Artro with a 3-night, 22km trip planned. It was a beautiful warm day, although I carried the burden of a questionable weather forecast and a heavy tent. The regular forecast was a bit mixed but not too bad, whereas MWIS warned of gale force winds, thunder & lightening and torrential downpours. Prepared for the worst just in case, I was hauling my Hille Soulo, which isn’t something I would usually be doing in summer. I had to offset the weight of it by switching some gear around. I really don’t love the weight of this tent, but I do love the peace of mind in case of bad weather

I had to cross a section of head-height ferns to reach my first stop – a gorgeous lil waterfall, just off the beaten track. I donned full waterproofs to keep the ticks of my skin and was absolutely roasting by the time I arrived, so the lil pool felt amazing to rest in and fill up on water

Next was the ascent of Foel Ddu – a 477m hill where I was hoping to camp for the first night. As I climbed higher, Tremadoc Bay came into view, the sun glistening over the water and the silhouettes of the peaks on the other side of the bay standing against the summer sky. Scrambling over a drystone wall, I came upon the remains of what looked like a plane crash. A quick web search informed me that this was the wreckage of an RAF plane, which came down on Foel Ddu in 1945, sadly taking the lives of all 7 men on board;

David Henry Robert Evans     
Maxwell Walter Moon
George Edward William Hodge         
Charles William Souden
Alfred Ernest Oliff       
Harold Nielsen           
Arthur David Gash

Rest in Peace

The views from high on Foel Ddu were quite something, the sea to the west, and the Rhinogs to the east. I pitched at 440m, just down from the summit and out of the worst of the wind, although it was still fairly gusty, and I was glad that I’d carried the sturdy-but-heavy tent. Loving the solitude (I’d not seen another person since parking up in the valley) but unsure of what tomorrow would bring, I settled down for a noisy night of broken sleep as the wind whipped about my lil tent

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​I took my Hilleberg Soulo into the mountains to give it a good test in wind and rain and the weather gods obliged with 60km/h winds and hours of heavy rain

The tent didn't budge at all and felt like a perfect lil safe haven - exactly what I wanted for winter in the mountains :D

It feels incredibly well made and sturdy, although I do struggle with the weight of it on top of my winter sleep system, so I won't be able to walk too far with this tent. I've included some specs and likes/dislikes so far in the video