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@platypus
Faced with a bothy rammed full of smelly hikers, we put up the tents underneath some trees, flapping like mad in the wind which was gusting horribly and specked with snow. We tried to ignore the fact we had a 2-man tent and a not-waterproof 2-man tipi between the 4 of us, our bikes and all our luggage, and the fact we’d carried all this wood - by now mostly soaking wet from the rain - all the way up the hill. Perhaps this last decision drove us to venture to the bothy, to see what we were missing.
To our amazement there were only three people inside, looking a bit sheepish and rather out of it, who welcomed us in. A roaring fire was already on, indeed it was too hot to sit in about half the bothy, which was a rare problem to have indeed! The bikes had to stay outside in the snow however. In the end T and I elected to stay put for the night, and E and A would go back to the tents. Their decision would prove to be the wiser one!
We rustled up dinner, consisting of four potatoes wrapped in foil and tossed in the oven. Heirloom potatoes from Crickhowell’s finest grocer, even. The scalding temperature of the brand new stove in the bothy meant that one potato was quickly fossilised, and after we fished out the others, nearly burning our hands off in the process, their completely black skin did not promise much. But inside they were lovely and soft, and when anointed with a lot of melty cheese and some seasoning they proved a great dinner, just what you need in conditions like these. Moral of the story - don’t judge a potato by its jacket.
Eventually E and A headed for the tented camp, and T and I dealt with the company in the bothy. Between the three guys they had polished off one bottle of rum, one bottle of whisky, and four joints between them! Their dog seemed unimpressed and stayed with us on the ground floor - very much not meant for sleeping on - whilst they retreated to the sleeping attic. We had an entertaining time trying to cram our sleeping mats out, followed by a not-so-entertaining time trying to balance the bikes on the dining table, the dog on the bench, and all the firewood around or in the stove. You will not be surprised that T barely slept a wink all night courtesy of the dog jumping on his face for a comfier bed, and I didn’t get much rest either. We envied the other two, with their bikes in the tipi and their bodies in a comfy tent up high.
Morning broke with a few glimmers of sunshine, and the fire warming up the bothy to its sauna-like temperatures of last night. Several tins of beans later we were packed and ready to head up the pass to Lord Hereford’s Knob, the majestic knoll above Hay on Wye where Powys unfolds in front of you.
However, nature had other ideas. On the route up from the bothy a stupendous hailstorm made raising one’s head above looking directly at your front axle impossible, and we cowered together like penguins in a storm, determined not to just head home the same way we came. In the end we decided to actually head home, but mother nature brought a swift reprieve by switching from hailstorm to sun and blue sky in a matter of minutes, and we turned tail to continue with our planned journey to the top. Of course then we had to sit out another two hailstorms, but after much pushing we finally, jubilantly, made it to the Northernmost point of our adventures, in time to face a real enemy - the howling wind.