Llanfechan campsite
The site itself merits description. It is a narrow tongue of meadowland, level and dry as a bone, lying between a steep hill covered in oak and hazel, and the rocky banks, 20 feet high and fringed with alder and birch, of the River Irfon, whose golden clear water rushes past in alternate pool and rapid on its
way down to the Wye. There is running washing-up water permanently laid on, a clear still backwater, deep in parts, for a bathing pool, an island, and trout – in fact everything a river should provide. There is unlimited dead firewood, drinking water 300 yards away, and – new to many of us – all sorts of natural accompaniments, such as silver-washed fritillaries and buzzards and mountains in the background.
Summer 1947 Magazine
way down to the Wye. There is running washing-up water permanently laid on, a clear still backwater, deep in parts, for a bathing pool, an island, and trout – in fact everything a river should provide. There is unlimited dead firewood, drinking water 300 yards away, and – new to many of us – all sorts of natural accompaniments, such as silver-washed fritillaries and buzzards and mountains in the background.
Summer 1947 Magazine
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