Brecon Horseshoe Hiccups: Rambling, Scrambling, and Stumbling

So, rewind to that glorious morning. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I was feeling surprisingly optimistic about the day ahead, mainly because, well, it was a lovely day, and sometimes that's all it takes to lift the spirits. Famous last words, I know. I'd decided on the Brecon Horseshoe, mainly because I couldn't be bothered to think of anything else. Off I trotted to my usual car park in the Taff Fechan Forest, whistling a merry tune and generally feeling like I had my life together.

But then, disaster struck! Tree felling! Everywhere! It was like a lumberjack convention had descended upon my peaceful haven. Clearly, the universe was trying to tell me something. "Turn back, you fool!" it screamed. But did I listen? Of course not. I'm far too docile for my own good. Instead, I consulted my trusty map app and found another car park, conveniently located a whole two miles further away. "A bit of extra exercise won't hurt," I thought, naively.

The new route was actually quite scenic, a gentle stroll through the countryside, with the mountains beckoning in the distance. I even stumbled across the remnants of the Lower Neuadd Reservoir, a Victorian-era structure with impressive architecture, now sadly waterless. It was a poignant reminder of the passage of time and the impact of human intervention on the landscape. Anyway, before I knew it, I was staring up at the first climb, feeling that familiar sense of dread creeping in.

Now, this climb was a bit of a beast. Steep, rocky, and generally unpleasant. I'm sure they'd done some work on the path since my last visit, but I was too busy gasping for air and contemplating the meaning of life to notice. Head down, I trudged onwards, fuelled by sheer willpower and the stupidity to keep going.

Reaching the ridge felt like a monumental victory. I mean, I practically had to be airlifted up there. So, to celebrate, I decided to take a little detour to a nearby trig point. Because, let's face it, trig points are awesome. And the view? Absolutely breathtaking. I could have stayed there all day, basking in my triumph and pretending I wasn't completely knackered.

Back on track, I continued my ascent, sharing the path with the occasional fellow hiker and a few confused-looking sheep. At one point, I even saw a red kite soaring gracefully just a few meters away. It was a magnificent sight, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. "Oh, to be a bird," I sighed, "soaring effortlessly through the sky," Unlike me, who was currently resembling a beetroot with legs.

Speaking of things that you don't expect to see, cyclists! On the Brecon Horseshoe! I mean, I know they have those fancy mountain bikes and all, but still. It's silly steep in places! I was impressed, and slightly terrified at the same time. Just imagine taking a tumble down one of those slopes on a bike. Shudder. I was struggling to stay upright on two legs!

After what felt like an eternity, I finally reached the summit of Corn Du, the first peak of the day. Cue triumphant fanfare! But no time to celebrate just yet. It was straight down and then back up to Pen y Fan. You'd think reaching the highest point would mean the hard work was over, but oh no, this was just the beginning.

The descent from Pen y Fan was basically a vertical drop. I'm pretty sure I left a trail of fingernails embedded in the hillside. How those cyclists managed it, I'll never know. Maybe they had some sort of anti-gravity device hidden in their Lycra shorts.

Next up, Cribyn. And oh boy, that climb was a killer. I had to stop every five minutes to "admire the scenery," which was really just a clever ruse to disguise my complete exhaustion. I'm pretty sure I could hear the sheep laughing at me.

But the view from the top? Worth every ounce of sweat and pain. I collapsed on the summit, feeling like I'd just won an Olympic marathon, or maybe just a game of tiddlywinks. Either way, I was victorious.

The way down from Cribyn was slightly less traumatic, except for the last bit, which was basically a freefall. At this point, I had a choice: take the sensible route back to the car, or add another peak to my already impressive tally. Guess which one I chose?

Yep, Fan y Big, here I come! This peak has a rather unique feature called the Diving Board, a rocky outcrop that juts out over a sheer cliff. Being the adventurous soul that I am (or maybe just incredibly stupid), I decided to check it out. I crept cautiously towards the edge, peered over, and promptly decided that nope, I wasn't ready to meet my maker just yet.

It was around this time that a rather unsettling thought occurred to me: I hadn't seen another human being for hours, the sun was setting faster than a politician's promise, and I was still miles from civilization. Not exactly the ideal scenario for someone who's directionally challenged and prone to getting lost in their own backyard.

So, I did what any rational person would do: I panicked. Okay, maybe not panicked, but I definitely had a minor meltdown. I decided to abandon my original plan (which was to descend Fan y Big and follow the initial mountain track back to the car park) and take a 'shortcut' down to Torpantau. This wasn't actually shorter, but it did mean that the last part of my journey would be on a road, with the potential for passing cars. At least it was slightly less daunting than navigating a mountain path in the pitch black, which is exactly what it would be like up on the ridge.

As the last sliver of daylight faded, I stumbled onto the road, feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights (quite literally). Cars whizzed past, temporarily blinding me and sending me diving into the hedgerows. Good times.

But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, I made it back to the car, exhausted but strangely exhilarated. It had been a day of epic climbs, questionable decisions, and a few close calls. More than anything, it was a reminder that adventure can be found in the most unexpected places, even on a familiar path. Sometimes, it's the detours and the stumbles that make the journey worthwhile. And who knows, maybe next time I'll even remember to pack a torch.