The paths might have been limited and some questionable terrain to cross, but a day out on the Grandads of Snowdonia’s mountains and the views they offered was worth every long minute of it.

With the route plotted and map in hand, it was time to return to the Rhinogs.

The Rhinogs, whose proper name is Rhinogydd (welsh plural) also known in Welsh as Rhinogau, is one of the most remarkable rugged upload landscapes in Britain. Pale grey tiers of cliffs, jagged cascades of boulders and small lakes, which shine like jewels on sunny days, break the uniformity of the dark dramatic heathery slopes.

These uplands are carved out of the hard, acidic Cambrian grits of the Harlech dome and are the oldest rock formations in the Snowdonia national park, hence why I call them the Grandads.

The first challenge of today’s adventure was how to get to the Rhinogs from where I was staying without a car. A quick map recce and I found several paths which I could join up to get me where I wanted to be, Wern Cyfrdwy where I’d pick up the Afon Crawcwellt and follow it to its source to pick up the path to Cwm Bychan.

The paths may have been there is theory, but in practise it was hard to find anything. Even the sheep, who normally break some trails, seem to stay clear of the area. Nothing else for it except to ‘suck it up buttercup’ and plod on in the general direction. Thanks to the Open Access laws, I’d not have any farmer chasing me with their shotgun and encouraging me off their land, though in reality why they’d be here is a different question.

As with any great sacrifice, in this case exerted effort, the views are the reward. Taking a moment to look back at where I come from is a simple reward. Strange, how the terrain never looks that bad on reflection. As with the feeling of physical pain, you can’t remember how bad it is.

There are only three main passes across the Rhinogs and today’s adventure was taking in two of them. Leaving Wern Cyfrdwy, I know I’m labouring the point but Wern means ‘bog’ in Welsh, just reiterating how much ‘fun’ it was.

Reaching the top of the pass before the path leads down into Cwm Bychan, I’m struck with a wow moment view and sit atop of a well-placed stile for a few minutes taking in the view, the sounds and the warmth of the sun. As I sit there, I feel a sense of acceptance from the surrounding nature; the sheep return to grazing having decided I’m no threat, birds return to gathering nest material from the nearby Rowan tree and I gain a quick glance of what I think was a stout or weasel as they dash quickly through the heather.

With a sigh, I leave my viewpoint and head down the path to meet the shore of Llyn Cwm Bychan. The extruding gritstone rocks make for sure footing and before long my cheek muscles responsible for my smile ache as much as my quads do as I descend, probably a bit recklessly, at the bottom of the path I only have a slightly bruised knee for an injury.

On the banks of the llyn, I find my usual spot under the gnarly ash tree, which has occasionally provided me shelter from the rain, but today it’s shelter from the sun. Today’s picnic comprises a pork pie and a nice cold drink of water. Fed and watered, I treat myself to a little siesta before I start the climb out over the next pass.

The climb out of the Cwm takes the Roman Steps path. Though maybe traversed by the Romans, this path is in fact an old medieval drovers route which was part of a long distance track linking Chester to Harlech Castle.

Again at the top of the pass, I’m afforded a view of my route home. My regular viewing spot is occupied and I jokingly advise the gentleman he’s sat in one of my favourite spots. He kindly offers to release the spot, advising me he’s kept it warm. Not today, I’m heading on down the second major decent of the day. I descend, not my fastest ever, but still with the same enjoyment factor.

The descent ends in Ffridd Maes-gwyn, (rough translated to unfenced white field), where I stop to top my water up from the Nant Llyn-du and check my map. The paths look easy enough and looking into the distance the terrain doesn’t look too bad. You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson by now. No path, lots of bogs and chin high grass follows and to top it all, the marked stepping stones have clearly been stolen by the fairy folk. The only consolation to the river wade was I now have clean trail shoes.

Finally, back home and showered, I already viewing my map and deciding on the next parts of the Rhinogs I will explore. I may not achieve any great running pace over this area, and I’m sure I’ll still find myself ‘bumping my gums’ as I’m wading through knee deep bog surrounded by chin high reeds, but it’s still one of the best areas in North Wales for me.

Next time I’ll be visiting the peaks and several lakes which lay hidden from the main paths and are a treasure to behold.

From where I write this I can look out to see the Rhinogs, and every morning I wake they’re the first things I see. Enticing me to again share my day with them.