The top of the falls

Around a month or so either side of the winter solstice, the rising sun finds its way straight up the small valley behind the village of Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant. The valley itself is unremarkable, and the single track road that undulates and twists its way along the northern flanks would be little used without the secret that lies at its head.

Here, at the foot of Moel Sych, can be found the 240-foot waterfall of Pistyll Rhaeadr—often considered the highest waterfall in England and Wales, and mentioned in George Borrow’s Wild Wales.

Arriving at the car park by the stream, I take the small path that zigzags through the woods and steeply up to the moorland of Rhos y Beddau. It’s minus 4 degrees and the path has frozen into thick black ice—not really what I was hoping for when I’m weighed down with camera gear. I always forget how steep it is as well.

Further up and the track levels out, with a path leading down into the trees. A short distance later and the view opens out at the top of the waterfall, above a dizzying drop for anyone brave enough to take a look. From here I hope to capture the water tumbling into the valley in the early morning light.

I’m a little bit late though, the sun is already too high in the sky and the light is harsh and contrasty, making the composition a mess of highlights and deep shadows. I console myself with the fact that the atmospheric conditions wouldn’t have been quite what I was hoping for anyway. Maybe another time.

I’ve actually had this photograph in mind for a few years now but it’s a long journey for me, and it’s also extremely weather dependent. I don’t want to get too obsessed with it.

Transient Midwinter

We don’t seem to get much snow in southern Britain these days and, when we do, it never seems to stay for long. I try not to miss the opportunity to photograph it when it happens.

The chance comes surprisingly early this year as late October brings a fleeting snowfall, covering the hills for a couple of hours.

Abandoning the car on the increasingly icy road up to Trannon Moor—mainly because it isn’t mine and I don’t fancy the idea of stuffing it into a ditch—I continue the journey on foot. A couple of sets of wheel tracks up to the windfarm offices but after that I’m really out on my own. It feels like a different world, and I don’t completely recognise it.

I love the way snow can transform a landscape. The rest of the world now seems a long way away, separated by layers of silence. I’ve visited the moor on many occasions but I’m especially glad to have made the effort this morning.

Experience tells me to work quickly and two hours later I’m on my way back to the car, the snow dropping from the trees, the lane slushy and running in water. It’s 9 o’clock, another hour and this magical landscape will have gone as quickly as it came.