the morning of the 13th kilvert is up bright and early. he visits the marian mawr (a greenspace near the town) where wombwell's menagerie are parked up - lions, ostriches, gnus, antelope.
he meets his guide, 'old pugh', and, after breakfast at pugh's, they head up to the mountain.
'dros gadair idris gedy' ('and then over cadair idris') - the 15th century welsh poet lewys glyn cothi.
at this point there is the tale of a man who died upon the mountain ('the foxes and ravens had eaten him. his eyes were gone. his teeth were dashed out by the fall...').
old pugh comes from a family of welsh harpers.
they climb up with the mountain from the south with views of the harlech mountains, cardigan bay, snowden and plynlimmon but then the wind changes direction and the top of the mountain becomes shrouded in fog.
'cader idris is the stoniest, dreariest, most desolate mountain I was ever on... it is an awful place in a storm.'
having reached the top (and paused for refreshment) they descended via the foxes' path and so back to dolgellau.
kilvert (and his father) continue their journeyings (next installment the 16th).
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last night rain fading out (no thunderstorm as yet). horsemouth was planning on going off to the bell-ringing (this involves a walk in to ewyas harold and blagging a lift back - or walking back). he was being a bit anxious - the mobile phone was refusing to recharge and this was leading to communications anxiety - he seems to have got it sorted.
a pleasant morning. a coolish day. rain in the afternoon.
today a friday the 13th. a good reason to stay home.
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