This extract is taken from Upon high places, stories from the mountains of Wales by Mike Perrin, published by Gwasg Byntirion Press at £6.99, and is used with permission.
From high on the hillside above, only the occasional bleat of a sheep broke the silence of the night. A gust of wind rustled some rushes nearby. I shivered, drew the hood of my sleeping-bag a little tighter and lay there looking up at a host of stars.
With no rain for several weeks, the ground was hard and my boots did not make the most comfortable pillow, but in that moment there was nowhere I would rather be. The steep cliff of Clogwyn Du'r Arddu rose from the scree on the far side of the small lake. Those who had ascended Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) by track or by train in their hundreds during the day had long since returned to their comforts in the valley below. Now, for these few hours of darkness, the high places were mine to appreciate alone.
