A July Evening Walk Up Penwyllt

My Tuesday evening jaunt with the lads from the rugby club sees me returning to walk Penwyllt — only my second time here (not including the short walk with my young daughter before I found out I’d left the car door wide open in the car park and had to hurry back).

With my first ever visit in December 2022 giving me bitter winds, sleet, rain and low visibility; after a day of rain, high humidity and sunny spells, the weather this evening is a far cry from that first visit over two and a half years ago.

Has it really been that long? The lay of the land is familiar, but there are parts I don’t remember from last time. I have better bearings this time around. I know the form of Fan Ghyrich — a peak I’ve wanted to tick off for several years now; only found out it’s actual name last year; and hope to scale at some point before the year gives way to Christmas. But to be honest, at this time of year and in this light, it feels like a whole new location entirely.

The boys head the track happily chewing the cud together. But me… well of course, I’m lagging behind, lost in the photo gold that is this kind of light — dark skies and sun-drenched landscapes. There’s no hope for me when it’s like this, I’ll even stop by the roadside to capture it when it’s there. There doesn’t seem to be an official term for it. I just call it Storm Light. It seems to make sense in that the skies are dark and stormy, but sun is still creeping through.

Even just after the ascent up the old tram line, the views were incredible. Sunbeams blasting the contours of the hillsides while the glaciated valley that is home to the old Trecastle road is steeped in shadow. Then for the rest of the walk, the normally quite uniform landscape of yellowed green grasslands interspersed with rock and rushes takes on an infinitely fascinating appearance with incredible, fleeting textures and highlights in the sky and on the ground.

I strongly feel the best light is always on the edges — on the edge of day and night, on the edge of seasons, on the edge of rain and sun… and this evening’s walk proves that.

Something curious I find walking Penwyllt this evening is that even in the company of others, the landscape still evokes a deep sense of peaceful solitude. Something about the way the clouds obscure the lonely peaks, the gentle, silent movement. It’s breath-taking.

We only walk for about an hour before turning back to retrace our steps. Heading up past the forestry, it is incredible how fierce the winds are. The hills and valleys must somehow funnel them all down through one place with incredible force — considering it’s quite a calm, mild evening, the chill encouraged jackets to go back on.

The descent down the old tram line back to the car park ss a whole different affair this time. Skylarks with their nesting song that epitomises summer countryside comfort bounce in and out of the tall grass beside us and up into the sky as if enjoying a mad five minutes before bedtime. Looking south down the valley with the clouds smoothing out in the mid-evening sunlight, seeing the little white specs that are the houses of Abercrave and Caehopkin and knowing that I live just beyond that imparts a certain cosy feeling of coming down the hill to home.

Being able to jump in the car for 15 minutes on a weekday evening, get out on foot and enjoy the riches of the landscape like this — this is wealth, and I am wealthy.