We drove up the A470 and turned off to the left shortly before Trawsfynydd. Narrow track, two gates and then ignoring the signs warning that we weren't to stray from the footpath, due to tree felling, drove on up the forestry track to finally park at the foot of the craggy bit leading up to Llyn Pryfed (Lake with flies).
There is a misconception amongst some people that Welsh place names are romantic and evocative. In fact they're just totally prosaic. Trawsfynydd just means "Across the Mountain". As in:
"Where are you from?"
"Across the mountain."
But Trawsfynydd sounds more mysterious. *g* But the reason for naming Llyn Pryfed didn't become obvious until we got there.
Anyway... The first bit of the scramble was hard going because it turned out that we had been perfectly OK to ignore the warning about forestry operations. These trees had had been felled years ago, leaving that awful layer of twigs and small branches to cunningly hide the ditches and rocks. Once above there it was still quite hard work, though there was a sheep track that picked the best route up through the boggy bits and the rocky bits. There were lots of bilberries to graze on as we ascended.
I took some macro photos of little plants, including a rare sedge, that I thought was just a slightly wilted and dried out grassy thing. Oops! Another fairly rare sedge was in flower, which they only do for a couple of days a year, so we were lucky to catch it.
I would have taken more pictures, but it was, unfortunately, rather misty. So misty that when we came upon the lake, it looked like something out of ancient legend.
We sat for a while, eating our packed lunch and watching the flies skimming around on the surface. I don't know what they were and I've never noticed them on any other lake, but they were all over Llyn Pryfed and are obviously what give it its name.
I took a few pictures of the mistiness and then, while I was trying (unsucessfully as it turned out) to take pictures of the flies, G suddenly said, "Look!" And lo! The mist had miraculously cleared.
I took lake pictures, plus a little movie as an experiment. And then, just as we were about to go, G realised that the white dots at the end of the lake were not sheep, as I had assumed, but the wild Rhinog goats. Fishing out the little binoculars, I confirmed that they were indeed goats. We've seen them before, but didn't know they came this far west. Possibly they were escaping from the hordes who are no doubt trudging up and down the Roman Steps. I don't know whether they saw us, but if they did, I can imagine them saying to one another, "Oh, no! Humans! And we came here to get away from them."