FEBRUARY 2024 · GROUNDED
The Skirrid / Ysgyryd Fawr
Monmouthshire, Wales
The Skirrid is unmistakable from the valley. It rises 486 metres above the farmland north of Abergavenny with a distinctive northern tump — a chunk of the hillside that separated in a landslide, leaving a gap and a detached mass. The legend attributes this to the earthquake at the Crucifixion. The geology attributes it to glacial action. Either way, the shape is the mountain's identity: that offset summit visible from fifteen miles in the right conditions.
From the approach road, the Skirrid rises distinctly above the patchwork of fields and scattered settlements, the winter sky behind it. There's no ambiguity about which hill it is.

The path up goes through ancient woodland before breaking onto the open ridge. In February the woodland is bare — moss-covered rocks on the forest floor, the trees still leafless, the light getting through in a way it won't later in the year. The mossy rocky peak in the foreground, dense ancient woodland below it, green fields and farmland spreading across the valley beyond: that's the frame from the summit approach, the three zones stacked vertically in the image.
The legend attributes this to the earthquake at the Crucifixion. The geology attributes it to glacial action.
Skirrid Fawr (Ysgyryd Fawr) — February 2024

The winter grey shifted to gold as we climbed. By the summit the light had changed enough to matter — a solitary figure standing on the rocky summit overlooking the layered ridges and distant mountains in soft golden light. The Black Mountains visible to the north, the ridges receding into haze.
Three images. The identification shot from the valley. The summit view looking back into the woodland. The figure on the top with the ridges behind them. The ruins of St Michael's chapel are on the summit — a roofless shell that pilgrims used for centuries before the path became a walking route. I didn't photograph it this time.
