He'll Be Coming Down The Mountain When He Comes

According to the Devil’s Dictionary, the definition of twice is once too often, but despite having hit the Berwyn Mountains already this year, I could not resist another visit.

When myself and walking companion arrived at the sleepy, curtain-twitching village of Llandrillo it was already late morning. The walking conditions were perfect: no win, not too warm and slightly overcast.

After a steep climb through the conifers we were soon out on the fringes of Moel Pearce. A handful of Tree Pipits were the first birds of note, their distinctive tzeeping call separating them from the more ubiquitous Meadow Pipits.

A few juvenile Wheatears were still hanging round too, tracking our progress as we ascended to Cadair Bronwen whose environs were the focus of a hovering Kestrel.

The final push along the escarpment to Cadair Berwyn practically finished me off and I was delighted to flop on the grass next to the cairn and enjoy the sound of silence.

Not that that lasted too long – a pair of Ravens was quickly on the scene kronking enthusiastically. They soared over our heads for good thirty minutes and as soon as we vacated the summit they were swift to land on the craggy peak as if to reclaim their throne.

The path descending down over Foel Fawr was extremely boggy. A couple of months previous, the area had been teeming with Skylarks and Meadow Pipits, but now it was deserted.

It was not totally devoid of wildlife though. From the corner of my eye I caught a critter scurrying through the grass in front of me. I bent down and slowly separated the grass, and there in front of me was a Common Lizard!

It soon slipped away and we continued our walk. A raptor then appeared from over the brow of a hill and began to cruise over the heather – a cracking male Hen Harrier that sadly soon disappeared into a valley…

Until later.