Summer at the Secret Waterfall
Somewhere in the Brecon Beacons National Park of South Wales there's a quiet bothy beside of the top field of a remote farm that nestles under the mountains. My sister and her partner discovered this lonely gem a few years ago now, and later had the good grace to share the location with other members of the family. I'm not allowed to tell you exactly where it is as I had to sign up to a solemn non-disclosure pact, but suffice to say it's somewhere in Wales. On our first visit I remember driving along very narrow lanes in the gathering darkness of a Friday night where any form of human habitation seemed unlikely, before finally crawling along the last few yards on a track where our small town car was never designed to go. When Ali, Tom and I arrived, the others were already looking comfortable in front of a log fire drinking ale by candlelight. There was no electricity and no hot water, and an almost total absence of 4G signal. If we wanted warmth we needed to collect the fallen wood from the fields. It was silent and it was perfect - just what was needed with the start of another long autumn term lying in wait. It was the bank holiday weekend, so we had three nights in this sanctuary ahead of us to savour.
The following morning we headed out of the bothy, straight onto the lower slopes of the nearest mountain, Fan y Big (no sniggering at the back please). Apart from one hardy fell runner we didn't see another soul until descending the summit on the other side towards Pen y Fan, the highest mountain in the southern half of Britain. Stopping for snacks and tea from our flasks along the way, we gradually made our way towards the second summit, amid increasing numbers of day trippers who'd arrived from the opposite side. The vast majority of people who make it to the top of Pen y Fan park at the Storey Arms along the main road between Brecon and Merthyr Tydfil and wander up to the summit in thronged masses. In contrast our own route was almost completely devoid of humanity. It's hard to describe how smug we felt as we watched them all getting in each others' ways as they made their way back down the long track to their cars.
On the last day of the trip we made the best discovery of all. Even if I were allowed to share the exact location with you, I don't think I could. It took an age to walk there and it's a place that you could quite easily miss, even if you were looking for it. But nestling deep in the valley beneath the Rowan trees we chanced upon the most exquisite waterfall you might dare to imagine. On a hot August afternoon it was an opportunity to bathe, to take lunch and to simply enjoy the most beautiful and intimate scenery you could ever hope for. We spent a few hours here, quietly enjoying the extraordinary sense of calm and not seeing another human all day. Tearing ourselves away was tough, but there was a long journey back to Cornwall ahead of us. We vowed to return, and so we did a year later. I made sure I booked the Tuesday off so we could stay an extra night this time.
If I could talk to my former photography self I'd be having a few words with the earlier version of me about exposure times and keeping raw files instead of deleting them after the first edit. I'd also tell him to think about blending two images to freeze the leaves, although there are those who like the effect. It's all about taste after all. But the blown out highlights in the lower rush of water are unforgivable and I bet I never even thought of using the polariser. But this one's all about the story anyway. And just look at that lovely mossy boulder. Worth its own show I'd say.
A couple of weeks ago my sister shared the news that although subsequent leaks have made the bothy more popular, it was free for a week in July and would we like to come along too. It didn't take long to decide. After all, where could be safer in these times than the middle of nowhere in fresh mountain air? I just hope that Delta variant doesn't derail everything between then and now. Fingers crossed.
Have a good weekend everyone.
Summer at the Secret Waterfall
Somewhere in the Brecon Beacons National Park of South Wales there's a quiet bothy beside of the top field of a remote farm that nestles under the mountains. My sister and her partner discovered this lonely gem a few years ago now, and later had the good grace to share the location with other members of the family. I'm not allowed to tell you exactly where it is as I had to sign up to a solemn non-disclosure pact, but suffice to say it's somewhere in Wales. On our first visit I remember driving along very narrow lanes in the gathering darkness of a Friday night where any form of human habitation seemed unlikely, before finally crawling along the last few yards on a track where our small town car was never designed to go. When Ali, Tom and I arrived, the others were already looking comfortable in front of a log fire drinking ale by candlelight. There was no electricity and no hot water, and an almost total absence of 4G signal. If we wanted warmth we needed to collect the fallen wood from the fields. It was silent and it was perfect - just what was needed with the start of another long autumn term lying in wait. It was the bank holiday weekend, so we had three nights in this sanctuary ahead of us to savour.
The following morning we headed out of the bothy, straight onto the lower slopes of the nearest mountain, Fan y Big (no sniggering at the back please). Apart from one hardy fell runner we didn't see another soul until descending the summit on the other side towards Pen y Fan, the highest mountain in the southern half of Britain. Stopping for snacks and tea from our flasks along the way, we gradually made our way towards the second summit, amid increasing numbers of day trippers who'd arrived from the opposite side. The vast majority of people who make it to the top of Pen y Fan park at the Storey Arms along the main road between Brecon and Merthyr Tydfil and wander up to the summit in thronged masses. In contrast our own route was almost completely devoid of humanity. It's hard to describe how smug we felt as we watched them all getting in each others' ways as they made their way back down the long track to their cars.
On the last day of the trip we made the best discovery of all. Even if I were allowed to share the exact location with you, I don't think I could. It took an age to walk there and it's a place that you could quite easily miss, even if you were looking for it. But nestling deep in the valley beneath the Rowan trees we chanced upon the most exquisite waterfall you might dare to imagine. On a hot August afternoon it was an opportunity to bathe, to take lunch and to simply enjoy the most beautiful and intimate scenery you could ever hope for. We spent a few hours here, quietly enjoying the extraordinary sense of calm and not seeing another human all day. Tearing ourselves away was tough, but there was a long journey back to Cornwall ahead of us. We vowed to return, and so we did a year later. I made sure I booked the Tuesday off so we could stay an extra night this time.
If I could talk to my former photography self I'd be having a few words with the earlier version of me about exposure times and keeping raw files instead of deleting them after the first edit. I'd also tell him to think about blending two images to freeze the leaves, although there are those who like the effect. It's all about taste after all. But the blown out highlights in the lower rush of water are unforgivable and I bet I never even thought of using the polariser. But this one's all about the story anyway. And just look at that lovely mossy boulder. Worth its own show I'd say.
A couple of weeks ago my sister shared the news that although subsequent leaks have made the bothy more popular, it was free for a week in July and would we like to come along too. It didn't take long to decide. After all, where could be safer in these times than the middle of nowhere in fresh mountain air? I just hope that Delta variant doesn't derail everything between then and now. Fingers crossed.
Have a good weekend everyone.