The Lady of the Lake
What makes an ‘adventure’? They say that adventure is an undertaking where the outcome is unknown and death may be the ultimate price to be paid for the experience. Fair enough, but less of the death-defying for us: we’re settling for a definition more in line with “time outdoors, fresh air in the lungs, mighty views, an escape from the day-to-day”.
Simple pleasures. Guiding Travis the Van along narrow country roads, hoping against hope not to meet anyone careening towards us. Edging around corners, peering over hedges. Rediscovering the familiarity of the bumpy track, last navigated almost exactly 13 years ago to the day. A time - then - of rebuilding after Mrs Feasts’ course of chemotherapy; Back then, a gentle, restorative stroll as far as Llyn y Fan Fach, inspired by the tale of ‘The Lady of the Lake’.
A folklore legend connected with Llyn y Fan Fach is the myth of ‘The Lady of the Lake’. In the folktale, a young farmer of the 13th Century spotted the most beautiful girl emerge from the lake; she was a princess from the kingdom of fairies. He courted the fairy princess by baking bread for her; after three attempts he succeeded in winning her hand in marriage on the condition that if he should strike her three times she would leave him. He complied easily; they were happy for many years, bringing up a family at his farm near Myddfai, helped by her magic dowry of farm animals. Sadly, in time, he did hit his wife and she disappeared back into the lake taking her prized animals with her. The farmer was left with their sons who became known as the ‘Physicians of Myddfai’ in the English royal court.
Fortified by coffee, sausages and sourdough.
Stepping out onto the track … a gradual incline, slightly sharper than we recalled; perhaps our legs are a little older, which changes the perspective. Pausing at the trout farm … the splash of water on the pools; sun glinting off the surface. The pathway is rocky as it follows the shape of the wall. The initial twinges of an ankle injury felt first thing that morning … “I’ll walk it off” is the hopeful cry.
Onwards, up to the Llyn stretching out in the natural basin of the ridge we would be skirting. The water level lower than we recalled, but this has been a particularly dry April; none of the rain showers necessary to top it up.
A younger couple higher up the ridge to aim for. And, a second couple striding away off into the distance, unfettered by the dogs straining at the leash with the closest walkers. Then, a high-pitched whine, the buzz of a drone; a modern-day addition to the sights and sounds of a hillside walk.
Hearts pounding; ‘photography’ breaks to catch our breath. Breathtaking views. Upwards. Cresting the ridge. Striding on … rhythm faltering as the troublesome ankle becomes, well, even more troublesome. No time for heroes or heroines. A not-so-gentle descent and an early return to the van for well-deserved mugs of tea and sausage rolls by the babbling brook. Ten kilometres under our belts. Five hundred metres of height gained. Adventurous enough for us.
Open skies; fresh air; open hearts.
