Everyone who comes to Crickhowell looks out for Table Mountain, the slanted, flat-topped outcrop of old red sandstone that rises about 365m above the little Welsh border town.
Distinctive though its shape is, you scarcely notice the hill when you are down in the streets of Crickhowell. Nevertheless, it is Crickhowell’s guardian hill that everyone must climb, willy-nilly, a tasty starter for the delights of the Black Mountains that loom in the distance.
Proud householders have landscaped the lower banks of the Cumbeth Brook. We climbed the northward field path beside the wooded dingle whose stream came rushing down over smooth sandstone boulders. A stumbly stretch over the stream-bed led up to a stone-walled sheepfold, where we sat on a fallen bough to absorb the
