Monday, May 8, 2017

An ascent of the Welsh 'Mount Analogue'

Top Dog: Fergus on the summit of Mynydd Anelog.Bardsey Island in the distance. 
‘Mount Analogue: A Novel of Symbolically Authentic Non-Euclidean Adventures in Mountain Climbing is a classic novel by the early 20th century, French novelist René Daumal.’

That is, it’s not really a type of mountaineering book that will appeal to readers of ‘Country Walking’ or ‘Trail’ magazines! ‘Mount Analogue is pretty, dense, obscure and to many, unfathomable. According to MA’s Wikipedia page, “The novel is both bizarre and allegorical, detailing the discovery and ascent of a mountain, the Mount Analogue of the title, which can only be perceived by realising that one has travelled further in traversing it than one would by travelling in a straight line, and can only be viewed from a particular point when the sun's rays hit the earth at a certain angle.’.....Got that !

One person who did was my late friend and Grade A Clever Clogs, Harold Drasdo who had a stab at writing the ending of the unfinished novel in ‘Mount Analogue and Free Will’ Currently the Featured Archive article on Footless Crow.


Yesterday, I finally ascended Mount Analogue and the views all around were stunning! I’m not talking about ascending the mountain in a spiritual or intellectual way, but by putting one foot in front of the other and actually reaching the cairned summit. OK...here the link becomes somewhat tenuous, but last year, when perusing the OS Lleyn Peninsula west map, I discovered that right down near the furthest point of the Llyn was a little high point, Mynydd Anelog. I was amused that here was an unknown Welsh ‘Crystal Mountain’. Standing above the waves which crash in from the west. A relative pocket Mynydd...just 192m/629‘ high but because it rises from the flat plains of the Llyn and sits above the sea, an attractive and shapely elevation nonetheless.

From the top, Bardsey Island loomed up, larger and closer than I remembered, the high points to the east were sharply delineated against the perfect deep blue sky and the jagged coastline unfurled into a distant haze. I wondered if the bold Bradford lad had ever stood here? I could have stayed up here for hours but despite the strong sun, the easterly wind was nipping at my bare arms and all too soon, I had retreated out of the wind to the sheltering protection of the mountains’ western flank. 
St Hywyns, Aberdaron
A pint of local, Nefyn brewed ‘Glyndwr ‘ golden ale awaited, and an appointment with the ghost of RS Thomas in St Hywyns churchyard at Aberdaron.

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