A curious notion once prevailed that nothing would fall from the top of this hill. Many years ago an unfortunate picnicker disproved this. See the Times Index, but the statement there made that he fell 12,000 ft. is somewhat startling.
The Black Mountains, a wide stretch of charming hill-walking, have little to attract the mere climber, nor will he find much on such hills as the bastion-like Blorenge (1,720 ft.), in spite of their possessing caps of 'mill-stone grit.'
Plynlimon (2,469 ft.) is seldom mentioned except with derision.
The Beauties of Wales (1818) does indeed speak of 'the towering summit which bears the name of Plinlimmon,' and quotes the equally appropriate description given by Philips—
That cloud-piercing hill
Plinlimmon from afar the traveller kens,
Astonished how the goats their shrubby browse
Gnaw pendent.
But, in truth, the great difficulty which travellers have, whether far or near, is to ken it at all; and many of them have vented their disappointment in words of bitter scorn.
Pennant (1770) candidly admits that he never saw it, which is easily understood, for the mountain is neither easy to see nor worth looking at when seen. The ascent is a protracted bog-walk. It was made in 1767[ [19] ] by L. N., but Taylor, the Water Poet (1652), sensibly calls it
Tall Plinillimon,
Which I no stomach had to tread upon.