To get a feel for where this is coming from, I recommend Chapter 1 be read first.
As the week went by I found myself thinking more and more about the weekend ahead. Having got approval from my parents, and a note written to excuse me from afternoon lessons on Friday I began to realise that what I was doing was real. A whole weekend, away from family, away from Karl, with my best buddy and our two best mates, who just happened to be going out together. Synchronicity!
I’d got everything ready, come Friday, for a whole weekend in the Welsh hills, including clothing to cope with all the vagaries of weather those mountains could throw at anyone, and normally that meant everything. Paul and Tim had the canvas, and Nessie and I had thrown together the basics of the dried food packs and snacks that would sustain us.
Friday afternoon came, and Paul drove round to pick me up in his Escort, only a basic little Ford but he was proud of it, and it was transport, so none of us were complaining. We kicked off out of town and headed to North Wales, with a sound track of Def Leppard, Queen, Human League and Madness, just for variety, making small talk as we went, with Paul and Tim in the front, and Nessie and I hogging the back seat, complete with snacks and girlie comments on the guys’ singing ability!
We drove through to Welshpool, where we stopped for a last-minute chocolate top-up, including coffee, dried milk and sugar for the hot drinks we expected to make in the hills where there was no other source. Another hour or so saw us at Bontddu, a small village on the Barmouth road, where Paul knew people who ran a campsite.
After Paul had introduced us at the site we spent 20 minutes putting up our small two-man tents, keeping our packs in Paul’s car, and then left the whole lot on the site to walk to the village pub to get a decent meal before our early-morning start.
Being North Wales, the pub was a conservative sort of place, and two English girls caused a bit of a stir, but as we were with men, it wasn’t too much of a problem. We managed to corner a table at the back of the saloon bar, the better of the two, and Tim ordered beer all round, a welcome break from the poor wine I usually had at home. I never had the heart to tell my father that Liebfraumilch was perhaps invented purely to annoy visitors to Germany.
Tim and Paul quickly got the maps out and talked Nessie and I through our itinerary for Saturday/Sunday, a walk up through two of the larger peaks in the area, Rhinog Fach and Rhinog Fawr. It was a challenging schedule, over only around 18 miles, but the important part was the ascent and descent up to 750m twice over steep, loose, rocky terrain.
“What does Rhinog mean”, I asked Tim, who I knew was really familiar with the area.
I sensed it was the wrong question when I realised half the bar had shut up to listen to Tim’s response.
“It’s both a name and a piece of Welsh history, Frank”, he replied. “The Rhinog’s were both giants back at the dawn of the age of humankind in the area. Remember Cader Idris, the mountain just south of here?”
I nodded agreement. Everyone had heard of ‘the Chair of Idris’, another local giant. Those who spent the night night there either woke up mad, as poets, or never woke up at all.
Tim continued “It’s a little known fact, but the Rhinogs were brothers, and they fought to a standstill over the right to woo the Moon, the most complete female giant in the universe. Eventually their continual warring took them here, to the West coast of the UK where the Moon flees each night. They disturbed Idris so much with their fighting that for his own peace he turned them both to stone, here, where they still stand today. Legend has it that even now their yearning for the love that neither can have manifests itself, drawing down shooting stars toward the moon on clear nights.”
I was going to laugh, then realised that the locals were hanging on Tim’s every word. He, only an Englishman, had them wrapt in his telling of the story.
“Surely it’s only a myth!” I said. There was a sharp intake of breath from the landlord.
“Frank”, Tim replied “Who are we to say what is myth and what is history. After all, how does history start, but with the telling of the story?” There was a chuckle from the men at the bar, who obviously approved of Tim’s dramatic tale.
After a couple of rounds, Tim and Paul disappeared to the toilets, leaving Nessie and I together.
