Holy mountains are ten a penny in the “Celtic realms”, of course, but even among this plethora of landscape spirituality, Skirrid Fawr, at 1,594 feet, stands out, its great distinguishing landslip cleft clearly visible on its weather slope, gothically accentuated and strange.
I’d viewed it the previous evening, a blue peak with a rockfall on its western scarp. So I ambled towards it on a dank afternoon from the valley of the little Afon Troddi, along delightful paths enlivened now and again by statuesque bulls sporting great brass rings through their nostrils.
Soon the contours were crowding together. The way ahead lay steeply up a twisting ridge that led to the gable of the ridge, where two squat pillars of the local sandstone stood within the confines of the site of Llanfihangel – St Michael’s chapel – of which just the ground plan remains.
It’s only a little hill, close to the southernmost reach of the Black Mountain ridges, but the Skirrid is the most marvellous viewpoint. On a clear day, the eye takes in the closing channel of Severn Sea, Somerset and the Mendips beyond it. To the north-east, hill upon hill through the length of the southern march are visible: Herefordshire Beacon in the Malvern Hills, Brown Clee Hill, the Shropshire Hills, Caer Caradog prominent among them.
Gyrn Wigau – distinctive outlier of the Berwyn range – peeps down from far away to the north; to the south-west lurks the desolate expanse of LlangynidrLlangatwg Mountain, beneath which stretches some of the longest and most arduous cave systems in Britain, including Agen Allwedd and Eglwys Faen. On the sedgy moor above, Aneurin Bevan and his friend Archie Lush promenaded, engaging in heated discussions that led ultimately to the formation of the National Health Service.
I left the summit of Skirrid Fawr and made for Crug Hywel, or Crickhowell – a pretty little town with good pub and cafes, in one of which, this week, I had a ticket for a reading by the first and pre-eminent national poet of Wales, Gwyneth Lewis: gifted, witty and a national treasure. But that’s Wales for you. Its hills breed poets.
• This article was amended on 12 November 2024 because an earlier version referred to Llangynidr Mountain whereas Llangatwg Mountain was meant.
• Country diary is on Twitter/X at @gdncountrydiary
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
