Reaching out

The goats are long gone from the side of the road, and their temporary grazing sight by the lake has been abandoned. They could be anywhere. I look up and spy a pair of tell-tale  horns high on the cliff above the roadside car park; a small group of three or four are near the edge. 

I really don’t have the energy to climb up to their territory - and anyway, the likelihood of finding them up there is slim. I don’t know the terrain well enough in any case. The safest option is definitely to photograph from here. And fortunately, they seem more than happy to perform. 

One leans over the sheer drop to reach a tree growing on the opposite side of a chasm. Of course, forbidden fruit - or leaves - taste better, and I guess the same thing goes for anything that’s difficult to reach. Soon, another joins the quest. I’m not sure whether it’s showing encouragement, or simply trying to head-but   its way to the juiciest leaves! 

I watch as others graze the steepest slopes, sure-footed as they move almost vertically. And then, quite clearly somebody’s overstepped the mark, and horns are locked as battle commences high above. 

These are Welsh Mountain Goats - Capra Hircus, 1,000 or so of which roam the national park. These shaggy black and white creatures are very different from the silky white Kashmiri goats of Llandudno’s Great Orme - infamous for their marauding forays into the lockdowned town. And unlike the Llandudno upstarts, these may have been roaming the area for 10,000 years, since the last Ice Age. They’re regarded as British "primitives" because some believe that the family line has been unbroken from when they were introduced by Neolithic farmers, their isolation keeping them largely free of interbreeding. 

I’m pretty sure Llandudno’s goats will feature in their own Blip soon - but not for another week at least. Tomorrow we’re off to the Yorkshire coast for a week. I suspect a visit to Bempton will be on the cards!