Perhaps the title is a little deceptive -- it wasn't all purple, of course. In fact, there was quite a lot of green, but it was the purple hillsides that never failed to take my breath away, hike after hike, particularly on this next leg of our journey.
When we last saw our intrepid travelers, they had voyaged to Caernarfon Castle, only to flee it shortly thereafter in search of softer terrain and fewer tourists. The rain continued at a sprinkle as they selected the most tantalizing remote hillwalk in their trail guide and guilelessly guided the car up and down the tiniest of squiggles on the map, until the single-lane roads cozied their way into the most beautiful pocket of forest they could have dreamed, ancient and overgrown, a silent keeper of centuries of secrets. They were almost tempted into its depths, but the call of the purple hillside echoed through the valley, driving them on, so drive on they did.
Once out of the woods, we curved around a particularly bendy bend in the road to find ourselves suddenly under observation by this village's entire security force -- and what a noble force it was.
We finally found the Coed y Groes parking lot, and after a damp detour, found the trail as well, leading the way past pasturing neighbors and up the rocky path to the crown of the hill. Thus began the Precipice Walk.
The trail never went to the top of the hill, but rather ran evenly along the side, high enough to tempt you with views of the surrounding hills and valleys that drifted in and out of the mist. Our hill was particularly splendid, with striped fields, sheepie droppings galore, and colorful patchwork flora that was simply, impeccably, beautiful.
As the song goes, the hills are alive with the sound of purple rain, purple rain.
Other than the occasional sounds drifting up from the road far below and the quiet, rustling song of the wind in the gorse, it was very peaceful. We hardly ran into anyone else until the lookout point towards the end, which was fine by me.
Eventually the trail led back down and around a reservoir that had clearly seen wetter days. The far side of it was completely dry, and we walked along the lake bed, examining its secret rock collection lain bare for all to see. A dramatic sight, emphasized by lonely, windblown trees.
After wiping off our hiking boots on clean-looking stretches of grass, we arrived back at the car and first had to take a few moments to confer and appreciate what an excellent walk it had been. Less dramatic than the peaks of Snowdonia, of course, but alone the color and the misty stillness of the landscape was enchanting.
We had traveled a significant distance south for this walk, almost to Dolgellau, and considering we still had a little sunlight to go and an appetite for adventure, we decided to take the coastal route along the A496 back north and stop at Harlech Castle along the way. This road turned out to be a smooth one, with a few twists and turns through seaside towns and a dramatic incline leading up to Harlech. The castle itself was closed by the time we arrived, but it was still quite admirable from the outside.
At that point our adventure appetite had been satiated, so we hopped back in the car and I enjoyed being chauffeured through the countryside, navigating and giggling at the streetsigns while Simon did all the driving (thank yooou, u da best).
Once home and post-dinner I went for a long night walk along the beach and through our sleeping little village.
The next morning we decided to stick to another low-level walk, as Snowdonia's peaks were still snuggled in clouds with little chance for change in the forecast. Flipping through our hiking guide, we decided on a tempting little piece of hikework through the Aberglaslyn Gorge and up and over to Llyn Dinas.
The trail started in the picturesque town of Beddgelert, which we had driven through a couple times already but hadn't stopped to explore. We didn't do much exploring this time either, as the trail soon took us along the river out of town and over a slippery, rocky path that was both mildly perilous along the whitewater areas and full of local walkers, making progress slow. It was a good time to practice both patience and sturdy steptaking, not to mention relish in every moment in which I was not falling to my death.
The line of tourists dwindled somewhat as the trail left the water and headed through a forest and up a steep hillside, finally levelling out in a plateau with a misty view. Again, the purple heather covered the valley, set off by the rusty remains of an old copper mine cableway. We watched the clouds move around us as we walked, the landscape in a constant shift of clearness.
From the peak of the route, one can supposedly see the mighty Mount Snowdon looming ahead, though there was no proof to support this. What we saw was more wild, rocky, heathery, barren, beautiful landscape, turning into a lush, colorful, almost tropical descent to the lake, then an easy footpath with ample puddles leading back to Beddgelert.
At this point we were quite wet -- par for the course -- and still wanted to do some adventuring in a place that wasn't quite so rainy, such as deep underground in the Llechwedd Slate Caverns. I called ahead to make sure they still had tours running and we drove 15 or so miles to the silly-sounding town of Blaenau Ffestiniog and beyond to the mine and adventure sport mecca. There we quickly got our tickets for the deep mine tour, gulped down our sandwiches, put on hardhats and squeezed into a railcar that grumbled and bumpled 500 ft into the ground.
The guide was an actor and the tour used a lot of multimedia shtuph, which was admittedly cheesy while still remaining informative enough that I learned a lot from it. The light show over the pond with the dramatic music at the end was decidedly Too Much and rather spoiled it for me, but in the end I think it was worth it and I'm glad we decided to make the trip. Another good decision: buying some of their cavern-aged Cheddar to bring back to Hamburg, enjoyed slowly and mightily.
We added another road to our repertoire for the journey home, stopping briefly to admire another castle tower on the way.
After the long, wet hike, the cold, wet mine tour, and hour drive home, we were pretty beat and hungry by the end of the day, so went to the one local pub in the village hotel for dinner. We walked in, two strange-talking strangers looking for grub, and were told that they didn't do food that night, all local eyes on us. Upon inquiring where else one might settle an appetite in town, we were sent to The Jolly Fryer, where a Chinese couple sold us fish and chips, which we ate while perched on the beach wall, staring down seagulls, just in time for the sun to dip below the cloudline and cover everything in gold. The perfect way to end Such a Day.
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