Where's that Boulder?

Driving through Blaenau I can’t resist peeking into the yard by the fire station where the latest David Nash creations are underway. This week it was a tree trunk carved to resemble (to me) a pile of standing stones. Or maybe an upright caterpillar? It was good to see the artist at work on a cherry picker with chainsaw in hand. But which artist? Zoomed in this was clearly not the grand master himself but no doubt he would have been directing the operation.

Speaking of his great works, has anyone seen the Wooden Boulder? It disappeared from the mudbank on the river bend near Plas Tan y Bwlch about 18 months ago and I’ve not seen it since.

In case you don’t know the story it all started in 1978 with the base of a large oak tree being carved into a sphere of one metre diameter, somewhere on the banks of the stream that flows down through Coed y Bleiddiau. It was pushed into the stream by the artist as a means of getting it to the lane at the bottom for onward transport by van to his studio, but along the way it became a star in its own right – the famous Wooden Boulder.

People came from far and wide to see and experience the Boulder, to photograph and sketch it as over the course of 16 years it was slowly propelled from pool to pool by successive floods until in 1994 it was stuck by the bridge at Bronturnor. 

On a mudbank near Plas Tan y Bwlch 2013

David Nash hoisted it out of the stream onto the lane and addressed the boulder something along the lines of. Boulder, shall I place you upstream on that waterfall back there, or shall I take you to my studio or shall I place you back in the water downstream of the bridge. To which the Boulder ‘answered with determined clarity. Going back upstream was entirely wrong, against gravity and geography. Going to the studio it would dry out, die, become a relic. Into the stream beyond the bridge it would have life, dignity and freedom. So we rolled it down the road through Evan’s gate into the field and back in the stream, where it breathed again with the elements’. (Extract from Wooden Boulder 1978 - 2003 The Whole Story by David Nash.) 

For the next 8 years it stayed put until an exceptional storm carried it into the Afon Dwyryd where it moved up and down the estuary until disappearing from sight in 2003. The furthest downstream that it was seen was somewhere near Portmeirion.  Had it gone out into the ocean? Was it really spotted off Land’s End? Or was it stuck in the sand and mud?

In 2013 a large oak tree fell into the river upstream from the Maentwrog bridge. I stopped to look and thought it was going to be difficult to clear, but the following day it was gone! There had been heavy rain and a surge of water washed it away.  As it twisted and turned it broke into large chunks making its way towards the sea and maybe gouged the boulder from out of the mud? It was shortly after this that someone tipped me off that the Boulder was on that mudbank by Plas Tan y Bwlch.

It was a pleasure to take visitors to see the Boulder and to tell them its story but sadly it’s gone for the moment and who knows when it will be back again. Just in case it doesn’t reappear, this is what it looked like when I watched it disappear under an incoming tide.

Smoke Box Chicken - Railway Recipes

I caught the up train from Campbell’s to Blaenau Ffestiniog to buy some provisions and the Saturday papers. When I got back from the shops the engine had been filled with water and the crew were tucking in to a roast dinner, eaten al fresco on the tender. When I asked what was on the menu, their reply was ‘Smoke Box Chicken’.

A Feast of Smoke Box Chicken

In these days of high energy costs it’s good to see the drivers of the Ffestiniog Railway making full use of their fuel. Burning coal creates the steam that drives the pistons and the surplus heat goes out through the chimney at the front of the engine. On its way, it passes through the smoke box.

I tasted a piece of the chicken pulled from the carcass, just right, tender and moist. 13 ½ miles uphill in the smoke box was clearly the optimum oven setting.

Naϊvely I asked whether the flavour was enhanced by the contents of the smoke box? ‘Not likely. There’s all sorts of noxious fumes in there. That’s why it’s triple-wrapped in foil’ said the cloth-capped driver. It turns out he’s a bit of a gourmet. One of his favourites is ‘a half leg of lamb, slivers of garlic, rosemary, potatoes and parsnips – give it about an hour of gentle shunting around the yard and then the journey up to Blaenau, and it’s really tasty…’.

He must be the Fat Controller’s favourite driver. Next time a steam train passes by, sniff the aroma and see if you can guess what’s on the menu.

Alternatively, call in to the newly refurbished Spooner’s Café at the station in Porthmadog. It's looking very smart.

Mountain Racing

Between Moelwyn Mawr and Moelwyn Bach

It’s that time of year for extreme sports; 2^nd April was the Boat Race, 8^th April is the Grand National and on the same day it’s also Ras y Moelwyn. The Moelwyn Race is a fell run over the three peaks of Moelwyn Mawr, Moelwyn Bach and Moel yr Hydd, a mere 10 ½ miles and 2,800 feet of altitude gain. 

The route of the race makes an excellent walk with fantastic views but the front runners in Ras y Moelwyn don’t pause to take in the scenery. In 2015 there was a record turnout of nearly 400 and the course record was well and truly smashed - a runner from Scotland finished first in just 1 hour 13 minutes and 9 seconds for what most people would take a whole day to walk! This short film sequence gives you an idea of the terrain.

At the other end of the scale was Kurmang Rashid, the Blaenau Ffestiniog baker who is famous for his spicy Kurdish Pasties. He always competes and completes … in about three hours. It’s not the winning but the taking part!

Another local race starting in the town square of Dolgellau is Ras y Gader (The Chair Race) which takes you to the top of Cadair Idris and back. It’s the same length and altitude gain as Ras y Moelwyn but it isn’t a circular route. As you slog up the mountain it can be very dispiriting to see the front runners flying past you on their way to the finish line. This year’s Ras y Gader is on 20^th May.

Mountain racing is an excellent spectator sport!

The Great Trek up Snowdon

To walk up Snowdon is a great trek. Especially from your back door, and I don’t mean from Llanberis or Beddgelert, I mean from the Vale of Ffestiniog.

We set off from Campbell’s Kingdom on a fine summer’s day; estimating one hour to Stwlan Dam, another to Llyn Adar and a further hour to the start of the Watkin Path. Each leg was under-estimated and it took almost 3 ½ hours to cover those first 9 miles.

Despite it being a sunny Sunday the path was quiet. A few bathers were splashing in the alpine turquoise pools above Hafod y Llan and the view across Llyn Llydaw was superb. For the first time in several years I approached the top of Snowdon free of cloud – on previous occasions it had been a steep scramble through the mist, but this time I was able to follow the more gentle angle of the ridge, then turn right to the summit.

There were French, Welsh, English and German walkers and train passengers of all shapes, sizes and ages ... it was really cosmopolitan, and busy, busy. By the time I squeezed my way onto the compass at the top, it had been just under 6 hours since leaving home and an estimated 1,600m of altitude gain.

We had a drink and some jelly babies before descending the ridge overlooking the Watkin Path towards Y Garn and then stopped at Caffi Gwynant, a brilliant community café, for ice lolly and ‘Powerade’. Our heavy legs plodded up the narrow lane, then through meadows alongside streams to Llyn Llagi, and up to the plateau between Snowdon and home.

At Rhosydd quarry we turned down into Cwmorthin, adding an extra mile, but avoiding the steep descent from Stwlan Dam. Our weary legs finally reached home 27 ½ miles and 12 ¼ hours since setting off. That’s what I call a great trek!

Our Good Samaritan

For an Italian themed dinner with neighbours Ann prepared canapés, I did carpaccio, Ian rolled meatballs, Marie served cheesecake with flutes of Amaretto and Ann topped it off with petit fours. The food, the setting and the company were excellent, but one story stood head and shoulders above the rest. Or should I say hand and arm?

One of our neighbours is Denis, retired from the London fire service and well used to emergencies. At this time of year, the field in front of his house is busy; lambs racing around, weary ewes trying to get a break and pregnant ones keen to get on with it. Most manage an unaided natural birth, but some need the ministrations of a shepherd. 

Spring in the Vale of Ffestiniog

As Denis admires the view, he sees that one is lying on its side, with wriggling legs, up in the air!

A phone call to the farmer; no answer. A phone call to the next farmer; also no reply. A third call was answered by that farmer’s wife who said ‘If you do nothing, the ewe and the lamb will die’.

Denis had seen the farmer at work and knew roughly what to do. Rolling up his sleeves he inserted his right hand, but that hand was too sore for any serious probing. So he took off his watch and tried the left hand. Somewhere inside should be some legs or something else to pull out, but it was beyond his reach.

Professional help was needed and eventually the farmer at the far end of our lane was contacted and, picking up his bottle of fairy liquid, agreed to come and assist. On arrival he looked at the ewe with her legs in the air and asked the would-be rescuer if he’d been fired from the fire service? Did he always stick his hands up anyone who called for help? 

‘That sheep’s not pregnant, it’s fallen over and can’t get up.’ He grabbed the sheep by its wool, rolled it onto its feet and off it ran.

Each time he walks down the lane our good Samaritan neighbour gets a strange look from this ewe. I like to think I would have been as willing to ‘lend a hand’ and not just walk on by. If nothing else, I am sure that within a couple of weeks, the story will have brought a smile to hundreds of shepherds across North Wales.

Deliveries to Campbell's Platform

Easter is approaching and the railway will be busy so it’s time to make Campbell’s Platform look its best. A quick mow of the grass. A new hanging basket or two. And a lick of paint on the signal box. Not any old paint – it needs to be the Ffestiniog Railway platform specification.

The friendly person in charge of paint agreed to send up a tin on the next train.

I waited for our delivery at the platform and the train came into view with the wind whipping up the steam. But as it approached there was no slowing down and it steamed straight on to Blaenau. Surely they hadn’t forgotten?

No, they dropped it off on the way back down. It’s more energy efficient to start when you’re pointing downhill.

The Snowdonian on Grand National Day

At about the same time as the horses and jockeys race around Aintree on Saturday 8th April I'll be looking out for The Snowdonian.

It's a triple marathon covering the 80 mile round trip starting from Porthmadog at 08:45. Breakfast is served on the train en route to Caernarfon, with lunch at The Goat in Beddgelert on the return to Harbour Station. Then it's up and down the Vale of Ffestiniog and back to the starting point at 18:15 if all goes to plan.

The very few first class tickets cost £400 but if you don't mind slumming it in 3rd class it's a mere £180. Booking details are here. 

The last time I watched it going past it was running a bit late as it rounded Tank Curve and past Campbell's Platform.