I’m often trying to ram as much as possible into my weekends, usually involving making plans with others. Last weekend I was craving a bit of introspective me time, to take some time away from the internet and spend time in my own thoughts, something that I’d enjoyed a lot of last year but had struggled to make as much time for in 2024.

I nearly bailed on my plans as soon as the idea had popped into my head. I had Sunday and Monday to play with, and Monday’s weather forecast wasn’t looking good. I’d need to re-evaluate my plan of a camp at the top of Pen Y Fan to catch the sunrise, and find shelter lower in the valley. This would mean walking much further on the first day, and left me feeling a bit at sea as to what to do.

I had to give myself a good talking to and very almost gave up on the plan all together. Having done some backpacking and wild camping in quite harsh and remote places spending two days in the Brecons near the tourist trap of Pen Y Fan somehow felt a bit pointless, a bit unambitious. The devil on the shoulder was suggesting I just sleep in my bed, and go riding with the friends who were doing that. No. Commit to the plan. Often people will only share the more impressive feats that they get up to, but everything we do doesn’t need to be big and epic and limit-pushing to be worth doing.

As I drove over to my starting point at Tal Y Bont Reservoir the excitement began to build. Gone were the mornings negative thoughts that had crept in whilst led in the comfort of my bed, replaced with singing along to my favourite Fleetwood Mac track (Silver Springs, obviously) and scheming about where I might pitch my tent. I love the moment of parking up, turning my phone off, burying it in the bottom of my bag, slinging my big pack over my shoulder and locking the car. To me this is the embodiment of making time for yourself, making yourself completely unreachable by others, free from the influence of whatever might pop up on your phone or ping into your email inbox, every little decision is your own. When to take a break, to stop and check out some cool moss, or to stomp on relentlessly for a couple of hours because you feel like it.

As I set off up the steep climb from the reservoir the sensations in my legs were not what I’d have expected. I was really exhausted, and hauling myself and my pack up the climb felt like tough going. My calves were burning, and that sneaky negativity crept in again. The last time I walked this route was almost exactly a year ago, not long after finishing the Cape Wrath Trail, and in the shape of my life as far as walking was concerned. I barely remembered this feeling like much of a hill, but today it had may as well have been a mountain. Fortunately this subsided after half an hour or so, the legs rose to the occasion, and everything was well, I just needed a warm up.

A few hours into my walk and I’d picked up on something which I spent some time mulling over. I saw several groups of women of various ages, walking together, chatting, smiling, enjoying the outdoors and each others company. Two seperate groups asked me to take their picture. All were very friendly. Contrastingly the majority of the men who crossed my path were alone. I considered that this is at least in part reflective of my local community, and of society as a whole. Women seem to do a better job of socially organising themselves, wheras men are more commonly seen in this position of solitude. For whatever reason we are disposed to being worse at forming communities and at looking out for one another. Perhaps due to societal pressures to be seen as strong and independant, or maybe we’re often just happier doing are own thing. Probably a bit of both. I feel very fortunate to have people around me who don’t fit that mould. I don’t know who coined the phrase ‘No man is an island’, but it’s a good one.

That trail of thought was abruptly halted when I was asked for directions by a lost looking couple. I think they were what countryside people might call ‘townies’, and didn’t seem very appropriately dressed for a day in the hills in changable weather. What struck me the most though, was the large nautical style compass tattoo on the mans arm. The irony of being lost, having walked three miles in the wrong direction, whilst having a literal compass tattooed on your body was not lost on me, even if it was on him. I suspected pointing out his tattoo might not go down well so I got my map out and showed them just how far they had to go to get back on course, but it did leave me smiling.

I pressed on over the peaks of Fan Y Big and Cribyn and every closer to Pen Y Fan itself. It’s an unusual feeling, to walk for hours seeing relatively few people, and emerge at the top of the highest point in the Brecon Beacons to be surrounded by crowds, queing up for thier summit photo. The shortest route up to here is only two miles from the road, so it attracts huge numbers. It’s great to see people enjoying the outdoors, although it leads to a funny feeling of being overdressed when kitted up with a fancy jacket and all the gear for an overnighter, walking past people in jeans and slip on shoes. I wouldn’t personally do this walk in the summer, and would suggest avoiding it at weekends if you want a little peace. I stolled past the summit plaque and past the crowds, along the ridge and in search of a place to sleep.

My expected camp spot was to be in the trees surrounding the drained Upper Neuadd Reservoir. I hadn’t picked anywhere out specifically, and was looking forward to a little time wandering around the area in search of the perfect spot. This is one of the most fun points to be going solo. Choosing a camp ground with others has adidtional considersations. Is there room for more than one tent, for a start. When you’re solo, your eyes can scan the forest seaching for that perfect little spot to call home for the night. Nobody can say ‘how about over there?’ This spot is yours, and yours only. I wandered along the bank of the reservoir for a little while under the watchful eye of a few sheep, and found a perfectly flat little space to nestle my tent. A fallen tree would make a great place to sit and eat dinner, and the tree cover should shelter me from the wind and reduce condensation in the tent. Perfect.

The picture below shows the shelf on the western side of Cribyn where i’d slept a couple of times before, and my sheltered location in the trees i’d opted for this time.

When people think about camping they often associate it with summer, but personally I think spring and autumn are by far the best times to get outside. For a start it feels like we need it more at these times when the daylight hours are shorter, but also It’s an opportunity to get a huge amount of sleep. I’d finished my dinner, done a little stretching, and got cosy in my tent all before 7pm. I dozed off by 8, and didn’t wake until 8 the following morning. Contrast that to sleeping in a tent in the summer and you’re woken by birds and sunlight at the crack of dawn. Maybe I’m just lazy, but I love a cosy lie in in a warm sleeping bag on a brisk autumn morning.

I had planned to head back up into the hills for Mondays walk back to the car, but was faced with so much rain and fog that I opted to stay low and follow the Taff Trail back instead. This was undeniably boring, but sometimes that’s OK too, It was an opporunity to test out a new rain coat, and I was satisfied with the previous days scenery and camp spot exploration.

It felt overdue to get out for the weekend and embrace a little solo mission, to refamiliarise with all my kit, and awaken the enthusiasm to get me scheming for another longer walking trip at some point next year. It’s amazing how easily one night in a tent can make you want many of them in a row. A couple of friends and I have been talking about doing the Snowdonia Way, from Machynlleth to Conwy, including 32,000 ft of ascent. I’ve not spent near enough time exploring Eryri National Park and this would be a fun and challenging way to do a big chunk of it in one go. I’m not sure my knees will agree, but there’s one way to find out.

Until next time ✌️