We'd seen some vehicles on the Land Rover track below Fan Gyhirych and wondered what they were doing. The track itself presents an ugly scar across the pristine hillside, but I'm sure it wasn't built for the paragliding enthusiasts who were using it today, so good luck to them.
On reaching a cairn near Fan Gyhirych's summit, we enjoyed our lunch in the company of a local couple, whilst watching the paragliders trying to make the best of a windless day. A couple took off, and proceeded to plummet like stones to the valley below, under the watchful eyes of chatty crows and defecating red kites (there's a feeding station nearby).
After half an hour at this lovely spot with fine views towards, inter alia, Titterstone Clee Hill, we adjourned for our now traditional (has anyone noticed? probably not) summit photo. It was my turn. This summit had a moat that reminded me of the bad old days at Black Hill!
Luckily, M2's 'Rules for Marilyn Baggers' tome required him to touch the trig point, so his boots also got a dunking.
After that we headed back east taking the least line of resistance, part of which involved a boggy path beside a wall to the north of Fan Nedd. M2 fell behind again; 'he's getting tired' I thought. It turned out that despite not having had to cross a fence he had contrived to rip his hand on some barbed wire. "Have you got a plaster?" he whimpered from above a pool of blood as I sat on a bench enjoying the last dregs of my flask of tea in view of .... Titterstone Clee Hill? That made me feel guilty about telling the Welshman with a can of Carling, with whom I'd had an interesting "where's the pub" "I don't know" encounter a little way up the hill, that my 'lazy companion back there only speaks Gaelic'. Luckily, there were no repercussions, and M2's hand injury was easily repaired.
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