Departure from Beddgelert.—Vortigern’s Hill.—Snowdon.—Llyn
Gwynant.—Gwrydd.—Public Houses.—Lake Fishing.—Pass of Llanberis.—The
Lakes.—The Castle of Dolbadarn.—View of the Lakes.—The Church of
Llanberis.—Story of little John Closs.—Capel Curig.—Moel Siabod.—Castle
of Dolwyddelan.—Falls of Benglog.—Llyn Ogwen.—Llyn Idwal.—Route to
Llanrwst.—Falls of Rhaiadr y Wennol.—Bettws y Coed.—The
Church.—Monuments.—Pont y Pair.
“Oh, who hath stood on Snowdon’s side,
And glanced o’er Mona’s virgin pride;
And gazed on fatal Moel y don,
But thought of those once there undone?
When Saxons and their foreign band,
Were crushed by the sons of the mountain land.”
T. J. LLEWELYN PRICHARD.
ON the following morning I quitted the inn, where every attention was
shown that a traveller could desire, and proceeded over the Ivy bridge,
through which the Gwynant flowed, deep and smooth as glass, without an
obstruction to ruffle its clear waters, that glided along, kissing its
verdant banks, like the stream of a happy life. Quietude reigned in this
region uninterrupted. About half a mile from Beddgelert, a rocky
eminence projects into the road, called Vortigern’s Hill, or Dinas Emrys,
a magician, who was sent for to this place by Vortigern, when he found
himself hated by his subjects, and fled from their just anger to this
secluded spot. Passing this memorable place, a round clump of rock
attracts the eye, rising as it were in the centre of the valley, and
called Moel Wyn. Looking backward, Moel Hebog, the Hawk Hill, rises
majestically and closes up the entrance to Beddgelert. Moel Siabod
towers in front, and, as we pursued our delightful path about two miles
and a half from Beddgelert, an opening of the hills upon the left
displayed a deep gorge, and the base of Snowdon, whose high peak, rising
in the unclouded skies, held up the holy symbol of Christianity, as if in
adoration of the Creator. At length I reached Llyn Dinas, a lake of
about three quarters of a mile in extent, through which the Gwynant runs;
it is surrounded by lofty mountains of a deeper tint than is usually seen
upon the Welsh hills. A beautifully situated cottage here at the far end
of the lake, belonging to Mr. Sampson, nestles among the protecting
woods, and forms a delightful object. The river which feeds the lake,
winds through the verdant and undulating grounds which form a miniature
park between the cottage and the lake. Following up the course of the
stream, I left Llyn Dinas behind me, and proceeded by a gradual ascent
through the most delightful scenery I ever beheld, until I caught
glimpses through the plantations of
LLYN GWYNANT,
and after a while beheld it stretching beneath me upon my left hand. The
valley forms a bowl among the hills. The bottom is a small grassy plain,
dotted with trees, which has obtained the appellation of Beauty sleeping
in the lap of Terror. The mountains that surround the vale have a wild
and rugged appearance. As I proceeded along the road towards the head of
the valley, a horn was sounded from the mountain, and I perceived a Welsh
girl standing upon a projecting eminence: bare headed and bare footed was
this nymph of Cambria; her cheeks were swelled out with her occupation,
and she looked like a female Boreas, bursting with the wind she was
sending forth by degrees to alarm the world.
[Picture: Snowdon, from the Pass of Llyn Gwynant]
She eyed me with glances of curiosity all the while, and I thought she
could perhaps give me some information about the valley, which might be
interesting; so quitting the direct road, I scrambled up the hill side,
and asked her the meaning of her sounding the horn so loudly? But she
either did not, or would not, understand me; and after vainly
endeavouring to extract anything from her, I quietly sat myself down,
delighted by the splendid view beneath me.
Having nearly reached the extremity of this valley, I gazed, from my
elevated situation, upon the dark and perpendicular rocks on the opposite
side; and towering in the air immediately over the centre of the valley
was a hawk with expanded wings, apparently motionless. Presently it rose
a little higher, but without the slightest visible exertion, then stooped
again, mounted once more, and, as fast as the eye could follow, swept
round the huge buttresses of sharp ridged cliffs, that hang over the
entrance of the Pass of Llanberis.
As Llyn Gwynant is gradually shut out from the lingering gaze of the
traveller, (who, it may be said, during the whole of the ascent, should
turn his eyes behind him,) and he at length looks forward in the
direction of Llanberis, a new scene of grandeur bursts upon him. He has
left beauty behind in its loveliest form;—but the sublime and wonderful
now call forth all the springs of admiration.
Snowdon again appears in all his splendour! Mountains that by comparison
looked like hillocks rise round his regal waist, in groups numerous and
picturesque. The deep black crags that form the western side of the
valley make a magnificent fore-ground, and open here like nature’s gates,
to disclose the secrets of her bosom. The accompanying etching gives an
admirable idea of this imposing scene. About a mile from hence is a
place called Gwrydd, where there is a small public house, with a sign
signifying nothing. Here I resolved to “rough it” for a day, intending
to fish the lakes, situated immediately above this spot, as nature’s
cisterns to water the pleasant valleys.
The public house possesses a small parlour, carpeted, with half a dozen
hair-bottomed chairs, and a mahogany table. A silent but most
importunate monitor urged me to discover what food this mountain chalet
could produce. “Eggs and bacon,” was the expected reply to my question;
and I soon had the pleasure of seeing this humble, but most grateful,
fare placed before me, and in spite of the indifferent style of the
cooking, I partook of it eagerly, having that incomparable sauce “a good
appetite.”
After I had repaired my broken rod, I ascended the mountain at the back
of the house, and arrived at a large oval lake, in which the black and
sterile rocks that form inaccessible ramparts on one side are reflected
in its generally unruffled surface. The scene is wild and desolate, such
as Despair herself would select for her abode. There are plenty of fish
in this lake, but they are all small and extremely shy. I remained upon
its margin until the shadows of night gave me warning to attend to my
safety, and make the best of my way to my lodging, where I speedily
ascended by a ladder-like staircase to a kind of cock-loft, which was
divided into two compartments, one for the accommodation of the family,
man, wife, children, and servants, the other fitted up for travellers.
Sleep soon overtook me, and I should have continued to sleep, I have no
doubt, until breakfast time, had I not been awakened by a trifling
accident
“At the mid hour of night, when stars were weeping,”
and ghosts of the mighty walk upon the hills, with a variety of other
interesting objects that poets and nursery-maids have described
infinitely better than I can pretend to do, I was visited by a dream in
which the ghost of a lobster popped his head out of a salad bowl, and
demanded upon what authority I had presumed to make mince-meat of his
body, when a loud crash roused me from my slumber, and I found myself,
with my knees doubled up to my chin, upon the floor; the bedstead having
broken in the middle, and deposited me in this unenviable position. I
need not say that for the remaining part of the night I was wholly left
to waking reveries, and uncontrollable desires for the blessings of
daylight, which at last greeted my longing eyes, and hurrying on my
clothes, I descended, and walked forth to scent the morning air in the
direction of Llanberis. The mists rolled like troubled lakes in the
valleys, and the black bleak rocks looked cheerless and forbidding. The
breeze was keen and piercing, and I started at a round pace to get myself
warm by exercise. Having reached the summit of the roadway, I plunged at
once into the pass of Llanberis, wild and gloomy. The precipices on my
left looked truly terrible, like the shadow of death wrapped in a vapoury
shroud. This pass is above four miles in length, and is a fine specimen
of rugged grandeur. Not a single tree enlivens with its verdure this
tremendous chasm. Range above range of rocks tower over the traveller
upon either side, bearing various tints of black, brown, green, and
purple, according to the disposition of the sun’s rays, and the distances
of the ponderous masses. The rocks on both sides are nearly
perpendicular; and, about two miles down the pass, the tourist will
perceive some prodigious masses of rock upon his right hand that have
fallen from the overhanging cliffs, which, when he pauses to look upon,
will strike a feeling of terror into his heart, as he inwardly exclaims,
“could any one have witnessed the descent of this tremendous mass?” The
accompanying sketch gives a most accurate description.
[Picture: Pass of Llanberis]
We soon obtained a view of the lakes that spread themselves before
us—viz.: Llyn Peris and Llyn Padarn, with the romantic castle of
Dolbadarn upon its rocky promontory. On issuing from a pass on our left,
as I was informed, is a valuable copper mine, and a stream of water
conveyed over the road, by the aid of a wooden conduit, into the lake,
which stream was for the use of the mine.
At length, I reached the inn, called Victoria, ordered breakfast, and
procured an admittance to the Castle of Dolbadarn. This ancient fortress
is supposed to have been built by one Padarn Beisrudd ab Idwal, for the
purpose of guarding the mountain pass which I had just quitted. A single
round tower is all that remains of the castle, although traces are left
of a much more extensive building. Here Owen Gôch was imprisoned twenty
years by his brother Llewelyn, the last Prince of Wales of the British
line; and an ode is still extant, written by Howel Voel, wherein his
captivity is affectionately lamented.
The view from the castle is truly sublime, comprising the two lakes, and
the tremendous range of mountains, that seem to admit of no outlet from
the vale. But the most beautiful prospect is from the lake in front of
the promontory on which the castle stands, and is reflected in the smooth
waters beneath, while the majestic Snowdon towers in the distance.
Returning to the Victoria, I partook of the refreshments provided, and
then retracing my steps, I visited the little rustic church of Llanberis,
which, for its simplicity, is well worthy of attention. Upon entering
the doorway, there is a small stone font placed upon a pedestal which is
approached by three stone steps: it resembles a small washing tub, and
its cover is much like a copper-lid. Advancing into the interior, the
music loft is upon the left, under which is a dilapidated screen,
opposite to the font. A doorway in the centre of the screen leads into
the body of the church, where ancient oaken benches are ranged upon
either side, and the pulpit and communion table are immediately in front.
The old arched roof is held together by iron pins, which project on each
side of the timbers, and the whole interior is whitewashed. The only pew
in the church adjoins the communion table, both of which have suffered
materially by the worm and time. The few monuments in this simple
structure are upon small slate slabs, about the size of a school-boy’s,
and are hung up on the wooden beams.
On leaving the church, there is a monumental slate slab on the left of
the path, bearing the following inscription and verses:—
Underneath
Lieth the remains
Of John, the son of
Robert Closs, who was
Interred Decr. 1st,
1805, aged 7 years.
Ar ben mynydd dydd-y-daith oî howyder
A che dodd y maith
Gadewais (gwelais goeg waith)
Drueni’r Byd ar unwaith.
Oerfel fu uchel a chos, i angau
Llyn ingol i’mddangos
Mantell niwl mewn tywyll nos
A dychryniad dechreunos.
Upon returning to my inn at Gwrydd, I discovered that the landlady was
sister to little John Closs; and from her I learnt the story of his
melancholy fate. It is as follows:—
John was a pretty boy, about seven years of age, with fair hair and blue
eyes, of a sweet temper, adored by his parents, and loving them most
affectionately in return. Indeed little John Closs was the talk of the
parish, and held up as a pattern of filial love and reverence to all the
children in the village. His uncle had a small farm at Nant Bettws; and
John’s father having sent him to reside there for a few months, the fond
mother would often cross the mountain to see her son and her sister,
returning home in the evening of the same day. Little John got tired of
living away from home, and one night, after his mother had quitted the
cottage to return to Llanberis, he wept so bitterly, and prayed so
earnestly to be permitted to follow her home, that the good people at
Bettws permitted him to try and overtake her, which they considered he
might easily do, as she had not left the house ten minutes before he
started.
The mother reached Llanberis in safety; but the poor boy lost his way in
a snow storm on Moel Einion, and was not heard of for more than a week
afterwards; when, one day, a man crossing the mountain, found the child
stretched on the ground in a slumbering position, his face towards the
earth, buried in his hands, and quite dead.
The following morning, I proceeded towards Capel Curig, but this road is
very uninteresting. The tourist is, however, amply gratified, if it
happen to be tolerably clear weather, on his arrival at an ancient stone
bridge which crosses a stream that tumbles over some black rocks on the
right, and winds its way in graceful variety, forming a pleasing spot to
rest upon. Looking back towards Llanberis, the mountain scenery is very
fine; and I here took my farewell look of Snowdon arid Snowdonia.
CAPEL CURIG,
is in the parish of Llandegai. It derives its name from a man who was
canonized, and founded a chapel in this mountainous region. He was the
son of Llawdden Lluyddog, of Edinburgh. There are here two lakes, and
some tolerable fishing may be had, if you take a boat; but from the banks
it is quite useless to attempt it. From this spot, excursions may be
made to Llanberis, and
MOEL SIABOD,
from the summit of which a magnificent view is obtained of the mountains
of Snowdonia, of nine different lakes, and the sea beyond Carnarvon. The
distance from the inn to the apex of the mountain does not exceed three
miles and a half.
DOLWYDDELAN CASTLE,
situated about five miles from Capel Curig, and on the eastward side of
Moel Siabod, deserves notice. It is built upon a lofty rock, which on
one side is inaccessible. There are two square towers, and a court in
the middle. It is surrounded by mountains, and must in ancient days have
been a fortress of considerable importance. It is said, Llewelyn the
Great was born in the castle; and this fact is sufficient to interest the
stranger who is capable of appreciating and feeling reverence for a hero,
who so long struggled with unwearied assiduity and unconquerable bravery
for his native land, and who fought and died in the sacred cause of
liberty.
Within four miles of Capel Curig is an oval lake, of about three miles in
circumference, called Llyn Ogwen which must by no means be overlooked.
The scenery around is delightful and the waters are well stored with
excellent trout of fine flavour, and surpassing all others in that
respect, in the Carnarvonshire lakes.
At the western end of this lake, are the Falls of Benglog, (being three
in number and upwards of one hundred feet in height) from whence the
waters take their course through Beavers’ Hollow, a wild and romantic
glen, rocky and barren.
Powell, in his History of North Wales, says, “In Tevi, above all the
rivers in Wales, were, in Giraldus’s time, a great number of castells,
which may be Englished beavers, and are called in Welsh avanc, which name
onlie remaineth in Wales at this day, but what it is, very few can tell.
It is a beast not much unlike an otter, but that it is bigger, all hearie
saving the taile, which is like a fish taile as broad as a man’s hand.
This beast useth as well the water as the land; and hath a voice, sharp
teeth, and biteth cruellie till he perceives the bones cracke. * * * * He
that will learn what strong nests they make, which Giraldus calleth
castells, which they build upon the face of the water with great bowes,
which they cut with their teeth, and how some lie upon their backs
holding the wood with their fore feet, which the other draweth with a
crosse stick, the which he holdeth in his mouth, to the water’s side, and
other particularities of their natures, let him read Giraldus in his
Topographie of Wales.”
In this stream are found the fresh water muscle, which the country people
call _cregyn diluw_, i.e. _shells_ _of the deluge_, supposed to have been
brought into it by Noah’s flood.
On the left of the lake are the Crags of Trivaen, huge shattered ridges,
which overhang the pool and keep it in continual shadow, while the sides
of Braich-ddu slope gradually to the lake’s margin. The Francon
Mountains, in the distance, are astonishing, and altogether this lake
scene may be considered the finest in Carnarvonshire.
A gentleman, in the winter of 1831, was driving along the road which
skirts the borders of the lake, when upwards of a thousand tons of rock
fell from the heights of Benglog, a little below the Falls, into Nant
Francon, a short time after he had passed them, and he beheld one portion
roll into the valley and river, while the other rested upon the road he
had just travelled, rendering it impossible for any carriage to proceed
by that route, until the obstruction was removed.
A mile distant from Llyn Ogwen is another lake, well worthy of being
visited, which lies in a deep hollow of the Glyder Mountains, called
LLYN IDWAL,
where the gloomy horror of the scenery is most appalling; particularly
the terrific chasm of Twll Du, or the Black Cleft. This spot derived its
name from the following crime which was perpetrated here.
Prince Owain Gwynedd, who reigned in the twelfth century, had a favourite
called Nevydd Hardd, to whose care he intrusted his son Idwal, and who
betraying his trust, commanded his son Dunawt to destroy the young
prince, a crime which he too faithfully obeyed, perpetrating the cruel
deed at this place. But, being discovered, Nevydd and his posterity were
degraded from the rank of nobles to bondsmen, and Rhun, the son of
Dunawt, who again became possessed of the property of his ancestors,
granted the ground upon which the Church of Llanrwst now stands, as an
expiatory gift for the foul crime imputed to his father. The grave of
Idwal is still pointed out by the inhabitants, close to the lake.
The scenery around is well calculated to inspire fear in the timid, as
being adapted to the committal of atrocity of any kind. Bleak, black,
desolate, and stern, it thrills the beholder with an indescribable
sensation of terror.
The lake is well stored with fish, of a darker colour than those in the
Ogwen, and of a less delicate flavour. These lakes are in the parish of
Llan Tegai, so called from its patron saint Tegai, the son of Ithel Hael,
a nobleman of Armorica, brother to Credivael and Flewin, who built
Penmynydd and Llanflewin, in Anglesey, about the year 636. _See
Rowland’s Mona Antiqua Rest_. _p._ 189.
After a delightful day’s ramble amongst this wild and sublime scenery, I
returned to the inn at Capel Curig, and on the following morning took the
road to Llanrwst, which in a short time becomes particularly interesting.
The dark and comfortless sterility is exchanged for a delightful valley,
with luxuriant woods, which stretch to the summit of the hills upon
either side; and near the two mile stone is one of the most picturesque
cottages imaginable, placed on the side of a hill above the bridge, which
crosses the river Llugwy, and gives additional beauty to the romantic
dell.
Half a mile beyond is an Observatory, which stands upon the highest point
of a towering cliff, a portion of whose summit is clothed with purple
heath, and the remainder presents a face of grey barren rock, while
beneath a forest of rich foliage creeps from its base far up the craggy
sides.
Within a mile of this place are the celebrated waterfalls, called
RHAIADR Y WENNOL,
i.e. the Cataract of the Swallow—a fall of about sixty feet in width.
The river, at the top of the first fall, flows in an unbroken sheet, but
soon becomes dispersed in various streams that dash and struggle through
the impending masses of rock, charming the ear with their complicated
roar. At the second fall, it rushes in a collected volume into the
boiling vortex, from whence, at the third, it is dispersed in spray. A
small wicket gate by the road side, leads to a footpath through the
grounds to the Falls, where the visitor cannot fail to find an adequate
reward for his digression. The old oak trees that overhang the ravine
are beautifully grouped. On one side, a large rock rises perpendicularly
nearly 500 feet, and the earth is clothed with velvet moss and decked
with wild flowers. Fancy would picture just such a retreat, for a
wandering sylph! while the rays of light, darting through the greenwoods,
remind us of the flittings of Sir John Wynne’s ghost, which was said to
haunt this glen for many years, but is now laid at rest in the depths of
the Lower Fall. Journeying onward, I reached the village of
BETTWS Y COED,
which, being translated, is the Station in the Wood; and a most
delightful station it is. The Shrewsbury and Holyhead road runs through
it, and the junction of the Llugwy and the Conwy rivers is at no great
distance. The church is a venerable structure, and contains an old
monument, erected to the memory of Gruffydd, the son of David Gôch, who
was a natural son of David, the brother of Llewelyn, the last Prince of
Wales. He died in the fourteenth century, and a stone statue of him is
in a recess on the north side of the church, with this inscription: “Hic
jacet Gruffydd ap Davyd Gôch, agnus Dei miserere mei.”
At about a mile from Bettws is an iron bridge of one arch, which carries
the Holyhead road over the river Conwy. Its span is 105 feet, and it is
called the Waterloo Bridge, from its having been erected in the year that
tremendous battle was fought. But the principal object is
PONT-Y-PAIR,
the Bridge of the Caldron. It has four arches, and the natural rock
supplies it with piers, that seem to defy the efforts of time or the fury
of the waters. Immediately above the bridge is the fall and salmon-leap.
The river rolls and plunges into a deep reservoir below. The grandeur of
the scene during the floods, I was informed, surpasses imagination, and
unfortunately for me, the heat of the sun had dried them up, when I
visited this celebrated spot.
For this bridge the inhabitants are indebted to one Howell, a mason, who
resided at Penllyn in the year 1468; and having occasion to attend the
assizes at Conway, he was unexpectedly prevented from passing the Lleder
by the fury of the flood. That a similar disappointment might not occur
to others, he erected a wooden bridge across that river, and trusted to
the generosity of travellers to remunerate him. The success of this
attempt encouraged him to erect the bridge at Bettws y Coed, which is now
called Pont y Pair, but he died before it was completed.
Upon the right of this bridge is Carreg y Gwalch, or the Rock of the
Falcon, well clothed with trees, through which the bald cliffs peep, like
a body of sharp shooters from a brush wood anxious to escape detection.
In this rock is a recess called the Cave of Shenkin, a celebrated outlaw,
who found shelter here from the unremitting efforts of justice during the
reign of Edward IV. It is blocked up by a piece of rock.