ELAN LAKES— WILD SOUTH WALES 



hollow where the Elan comes brawling out of the 

 wilderness into the rocky gorge which forms the head 

 of Craig-Coch. 



From this head of the pass you may look down on the 

 lake spreading far beneath you, wild and gloomy, in 

 dark weather, ruffling white-ribbed in the wind 

 against its moorish, peaty banks, while the untamed, 

 primeval hills roll away behind it to the far horizon 

 like a stormy sea. From this height, too, you can 

 look straight up the narrow, level valley of the Elan 

 cleaving its way through the billows of the hills, and for 

 a considerable distance mark its silvery coils amid the 

 bogs and mosses as it comes hurrying down from the 

 back-of-beyond to its now arrested course in these 

 tremendous waterworks. You can see also the big hump 

 of Plinlimmon not far away, and upon the northern 

 horizon the up-reared mass of Cader Idris piled 

 nobly against the sky. On a fine day this is an inspir- 

 ing roof-top. In a storm — well, there is no refuge. 

 Through the August of 191 2, the wettest and wildest 

 on record, a battery of artillery were camped here, 

 I believe they spent much of their nights and days 

 in chasing their tents across the mountains and gave 

 up attempting to dry their clothes quite early in the 

 campaign. This, too, was the road over which honey- 

 mooners and others posted or coached to Aberystwith 

 in pre-Victorian times, when Aberystwith was quite 

 the fashion. The untraveUed Essex squire may well 

 have wondered where he was getting to, and the young 

 lady ' of sensibihty ' on the look out for something to 

 faint at must have had infinite opportunities. 



Wheels are scarcely worth bringing over this rough, 



183 



