One of the unexpected side effects of landscape photography is that I occasionally set out in search of a photograph and accidentally stumble into a history lesson.
That is exactly what happened when I visited Buarth Brwynog near Trawsfynydd.
Like many photographers, I spend a questionable amount of time studying maps. What begins as sensible route planning usually descends into me zooming in on random tracks and thinking, "That looks interesting." This often results in disappointment, wet feet, or a heated debate with a sheep. Occasionally all three at the same time.
Buarth Brwynog sits quietly within the upland landscapes of Meirionnydd, surrounded by rolling hills, rough grazing land and enough history to keep an archaeologist occupied for several lifetimes.
The name immediately caught my attention. In Welsh, Buarth means a cattle enclosure or farmyard, while Brwynog refers to rushes or rush covered ground. Together they translate roughly as 'The Rushy Farmyard'. It may not sound like the sort of name dreamed up by a tourism board, but it is wonderfully honest.
Standing there and looking across the landscape, the name makes perfect sense. The ground remains wet in places and rushes still dominate parts of the surrounding fields. The people who named it were not trying to create a marketing strategy. They were simply describing what was in front of them. Refreshingly straightforward when compared with modern estate agents who would probably describe it as "a desirable waterside location with extensive natural vegetation".
As it turns out, the name has genuine historical depth.
Records from the 1840 Tithe Survey identify the fields around Buarth Brwynog as arable land within the holding of the same name. Like many Welsh field names, the name itself is probably much older than the survey that recorded it. At that time, the land was owned by Owen Jones Ellis Nanney Esq and farmed by William Ellis.
The fields were given practical names that reflected their purpose or location. These included Weirglodd Uchaf (Higher Hay Meadow), Weirglodd Isaf (Lower Hay Meadow), Cae Tan y Ty (The Field Below the House), House, Barn and Garden, Cefn y Ty (The Ridge Behind the House), Cae'r Ty (The House Field) and Ffridd Goch (Red Rough Pasture).
I must admit there was something strangely satisfying about standing in a landscape knowing that names recorded nearly two centuries ago still survive today.
Although I appreciate that I may be one of a very small group of people who get genuinely excited by nineteenth century tithe records.
The wider landscape only adds to the feeling that you are standing somewhere ancient. Not far away runs Sarn Helen, the Roman road that once connected forts and settlements across Wales. Nearby lies Tomen y Mur, where Roman soldiers occupied the landscape almost two thousand years ago. Then there is Yr Ysgwrn, the home of Hedd Wyn, whose story remains woven into the history and identity of this part of Gwynedd.
Every hill seems to have a story attached to it.
Buarth Brwynog itself survives largely through its name. Today, little remains beyond a scattering of stones and the faintest traces of human occupation.
Long after ownership changes, boundaries shift and buildings disappear, old names often remain stubbornly attached to the land.
There is something rather comforting about that. Technology changes every few years. Mobile phones become obsolete. Software demands endless updates. Yet Welsh field names seem perfectly content to ignore the passing of time altogether.
Of course, all this historical reflection was only possible because the light had not quite arrived yet.
Landscape photographers spend a remarkable amount of time standing around waiting for sunlight while attempting to look as though we are engaged in highly skilled artistic observation. To anyone watching from a distance, it probably appears that we are simply staring at fields.
Which, if we are being completely honest, is often exactly what we are doing.
Eventually the light began to break through gaps in the cloud, casting patches of sunshine across the hillsides. The landscape suddenly came alive. Walls, tracks and distant ridges emerged from the shadows and, for a brief moment, everything aligned.
Those fleeting moments are why we keep returning.
Not because the landscape is famous.
Not because it appears on postcards.
But because every now and then the light reveals something that makes you stop, look a little harder and appreciate a place in a completely different way.
As I packed away the camera and headed back across the fields, I realised that Buarth Brwynog had given me more than a photograph.
It had provided a glimpse into how generations of people understood this landscape long before modern maps, satellite navigation or social media location tags existed.
They named the land according to what they saw.
Wet ground. Rushes. A farm enclosure.
Simple. Practical. Somehow still surviving centuries later.
Not bad for a place that most people have probably walked past without ever knowing it existed.
Which, if we are honest, is exactly the sort of place photographers love finding.