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The Arans and Creiglyn Dyfi from Drysgol

So compelling is the aura of impregnability that it comes as quite a surprise to find that the emperor has feet of clay – two breaches in the ramparts give hope to the humble walker! A grassy nose sweeps down to Creiglyn Dyfi, smooth and inviting, before carrying on (albeit with diminished vigour) to the rounded grassy top of Foel Hafod-fynydd. The second line of attack hinges on Drysgol, a grassy spur overlooking the sodden moors above Llanymawddwy.

South of Drysgol the cliffs temporarily abate. The severity, however, does not as now Gwaun y Llwyni throws green slopes a stupendous 1400ft down into the depths of Hengwm. In any case the change is short-lived. The cirque at the head of Cwm Cywarch, beneath the placid moorland tops of Glasgwm and Pen y Bryn-fforchog, restores the magic and undiminished grandeur with a massive rock face over 1 mile long. It is a fitting epitaph to the mountains of north Wales.

I say ‘epitaph’ because as you wander further S in Wales never again will you experience such power and desolation, such wild, cold beauty. This is the moment of truth, the Rubicon; from now on softer climes prevail and thoughts centre on hills rather than mountains, on rambling rather than scrambling or climbing. Gazing N from the Aran spine the eye feasts on the impressive serrated skyline of Snowdonia. As you turn S the skylines mellow to rounded hills, the greys of crag and rock give way to the greens of turf and bracken and the higher ground becomes less thrusting, less intense, rising from meadows and pastures as often as from moorland heath. Wild Wales lives on, to be sure; but wildest Wales has gone. (Cader Idris does not fit into this neat division. Great mountain that it is, why should it? No, Cader is Wales in transition, offering the best of both worlds – the rocky grandeur of the N and the more feminine charms of the S.)