Y BERWYN
HE FIRST REAL HILL-WALK I ever did in Wales was the moorland ridge of Y Berwyn. For me, there’a kind of magic about its name. I’d first encountered it in the library of my school’s outdoor section, which had a few mountain books that I devoured time and again: Charles Evans’s , Colin Kirkus’s . Both of them recounted outdoor odysseys that began on Y Berwyn. The latter had, between pages 40 and 41, a Bartholomew’s 1:63,360 map of the Berwyn high tops, contour-shaded in fawns, umbers and russets at strangely irregular intervals, its summits white in unconscious – the bible to anyone interested in Welsh toponymy – explains Berwyn as deriving from – white-headed – having the same meaning as in Welsh). I was transfixed by this map, at the age of 12 knew its every name and hill and detail, their position and their meaning, by heart.
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