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Looking north-west up the Lliw Valley (AG23)

The Migneint

This is a book on hills, but no essay on the Arenigs would be complete without an introduction to that remote wilderness known as the Migneint over which they preside.

The Migneint is an expanse of windswept moorland, cupped in a shallow depression with higher ground all around. No ridges or hills gladden the eye. Instead you have the austere beauty and solitude of virgin moors and their secret places: a haven of tranquillity for quiet contemplation with a unique ethereal charm that, once experienced, long casts its spell. The sense of other-worldliness is enhanced by the absence of landmarks in the long miles of marsh and heather. There are no tracks and scarcely a cairn; even one solitary stone astride another, marking a spot height, is an event!

The Migneint has acquired a harsh reputation as a confusing and squelchy bogland, full of knobbly tussocks and deep trackless heather. While this has some truth, it can often be exaggerated. You must treat the Migneint with respect. There will be few, if any, fellow walkers to help in case of trouble. Plenty of map and compass work is needed, and when mist swirls it is an eerie place, best avoided. Yet there are ways through which are easier than you might suppose. During the wet summer of 1985, for instance, I crossed the Migneint in both directions, a walk of some 14 miles, in an unhurried seven hours. I had ample time for pictures and a leisurely lunch on Arenig Fach, and ended the day with dry feet! I was alone that day, incidentally, and that is the best way to appreciate the Migneint's delicate charms. Despite the rigours, it is no place for groups.