As is only fitting for the most iconic peak of the Black Mountains, the Sugar Loaf, or to give it its far more impressive Welsh title, Mynydd Pen-y-fal, sits in regal repose two miles northwest of Abergavenny.

This volcanic-like mountain dominates the skyline of the surrounding countryside for as far as the eye can see, and rumour has it that when a young JRR Tolkien visited Buckland Hall in nearby Bwlch, the distant view of the Sugar Loaf’s conical summit inspired a key part of The Hobbit.

Erebor, the Lonely Mountain where the dragon Smaug guards his hoard is said to be based largely on the Sugar Loaf, and nearby Crickhowell is said to be the inspiration for the village of ‘Crickhollow’.

There’s no doubt that Tolkien knew both Monmouthshire and Powys well, and when it came to writing The Lord Of The Rings, many suggest the author based his apocalyptic and grim vision of Mordor on the fire and brimstone sky which lit up the skies of South Wales during the industrial heyday of the early 20th century.

Mynydd Pen-y-fal is just four metres short of being classified as a mountain, but it’s a fancy, fine, and frolicking fact that the Loaf is perfect for loafing on during a midsummer’s day when the skies are blue, the temperatures are soaring, and a strong southwesterly buffets around the summit to keep you chilled.

When the elements conspire in such a fashion only a fool would ignore the opportunity to enjoy a glass of wine and the panoramic views before the leisurely descent down this languorous mount.

As you descend from the heavens, along the well-trodden paths leading from the peak, try and visualise how they must have once looked in the early days of the twentieth century when they were carriageways with a cavalcade of about 90 horses two abreast, drawing carriages of people too lazy or inebriated to walk who wished to take in the mountain air.

The most world-famous visitor to this mighty Monmouthshire mount was Buffalo Bill Cody. The Wild West wanderer visited Abergavenny with his travelling show in 1907 and was so taken with the Sugar Loaf he just had to climb it. Which he did, and nearly the whole population of Abergavenny accompanied him.

Perhaps one of the most fascinating tales about the mighty Loaf is the lost village found on its slopes in 1999. Thick woodland had obscured this hidden Atlantis for nigh on a century. It was discovered during a survey of archaeological sites and experts were at a loss to explain its sudden disappearance and subsequent reappearance.

It’s believed the settlement of about 25 ruined dwellings has its origins at the end of the 17th Century.

Some suggest a rich landowner bestowed the land upon a group of like-minded people who wanted to form a new community away from the hoi polloi.

Whatever the truth, the village didn’t last, by the beginning of the 20th Century, the site was deserted. Why? We’ll probably never know. Perhaps they simply didn’t have a head for heights.

Presence is that most elusive and undeniable quantity. You’ve either got it or you haven’t. And the Blorenge has it in a big way. The mountain stands imperial with the villages of Llanfoist and Govilon at its feet. It possesses a brooding and magnetic quality that captures the eye and spirit and implores the curious soul to climb its 1841 feet and explore its myriad charms.

If there’s one hill that appears to watch over the nearby town of Abergavenny like a sentient and kindly guardian, it’s the Blorenge. Shaped like the throne of some giant king who’s long gone wandering, the Blorenge carries many a scar from the Industrial Revolution, but the tram roads have now become popular walkways for those who want to experience the might and majesty of this grand old eminence.

The Blorenge bestows upon all those who walk in its shadow a comforting sense of tranquil wonder.

To walk up the near-vertical face of this imperial mount is an arduous task but well worth it. Large swathes of Monmouthshire stretch out beneath its fierce elevation like a toy town, and with lungs full of burn and legs full of lead, the open-minded hill-walker is left with new and startling perspectives on the transitory nature of history and the eternal fortitude of nature.

The striking symmetry of the Blorenge was born during the Ice Age and a walk on its fair flanks will reveal amongst other things, the site of a Second World War bunker, the grave of Sir Harry Llewellyn's famous Olympic-winning horse, Foxhunter, and on a fine day you’ll find many a multicoloured paraglider throwing themselves off the top of the Blorenge in sheer unbounded joy.

Interestingly, Blorenge is the only word in the English language to rhyme with orange and the mountain’s name is thought to be derived from the Welsh word for pimple - ‘plor.’

The breathtaking beauty of the mountain also inspired Cecil Frances Humphreys Alexander to write her world-famous hymn, “All Things Bright and Beautiful” when she was staying in Govilon. The fourth verse, “The purple-headed mountain, the river running by" is a direct reference to the Blorenge and the nearby river Usk.

Leaving the Blorenge to re-enter civilisation, a soul is always filled with a strange sense of loss for something elusive which was briefly reawakened in the modern mind on those euphoric and ancient heights.

The Blorenge is a fine mountain to experience in any season, but perhaps it is most spectacular when its technicolour reds and golds are shrouded in Autumnal mists and the fresh bite of the turning air and twilight’s glow conspire to paint its glory on the most apt canvas.

Visitors to the Black Mountains often overlook the Deri in favour of the more imposing peaks such as the Sugarloaf and the Hay Bluff, which is a shame, because as anyone who has made a hike up this beautiful and benign little charmer on the outskirts of Abergavenny knows - it’s well worth it.

The Deri is a cheeky little mount with a sunny disposition and gentle flanks which even the laziest of walkers will not find too challenging.

It’s often described as the ‘Magical Mountain’ because of the otherworldly woodland leading to its summit, but also because in late Autumn it is abundant with a bumper crop of mood-enhancing mushrooms.

The Deri is always a rewarding hill to climb and one to lounge idly upon, especially on a warm spring evening when the birds are full of sweet song and the air is heavy with promise and the intoxicating perfume of a warm southern breeze.

In 2016, a few days before the National Eisteddfod, the delightful Deri caught more than just a roving rambler’s wandering eye, it captured the attention of the entire town of Abergavenny after deciding to get a “tattoo” on its fair flank of a smiling face and the Welsh word for “welcome” - ‘Croeso’.

It was not the first time this chirpy and cheeky Monmouthshire mount has been emblazoned with a smiley face.

This universal symbol of unbounded joy has often popped up periodically on the Deri from time to time in a mysterious fashion, and it usually likes to make a show for the big occasion.

Local legend has it that in 1971, Black Sabbath rented a cottage on the Deri to write and rehearse their third album, Master of Reality. How much the classic Sabbath song ‘Sweet Leaf’ was influenced by this little Abergavenny hill we may never know.

Standing on the outskirts of Abergavenny, in splendid isolation from the other six hills that surround our guarded and gated market town, stands the Skirrid Fawr. This symmetrical oddity stands aloof and alone, and its scarred and broken appearance gives it the impression of a perpetual outsider.

Although lacking the stature of the nearby Blorenge and the SugarLoaf, the Skirrid has an undeniable presence that invites the curious passer-by to question just how this curious and distinctive mound of earth situated on the eastern end of the Black Mountain range is often called the Holy Mountain or Sacred Hill.

Myth and mystery surround the Skirrid, and its very name was forged in the furnace of folklore and fable.

Adopted from the Welsh phrase Ysgyryd Fawr, Skirrid Fawr translates as ‘shattered great’. The Skirrid got this striking name because of its distinctive shape which appears as if some giant or beast from an age before history had slashed and gouged out a part of the hill and left a desolate hollow and gnawing absence in its wake.

When the sun is full, the sky is blue, and all is well in our fair age of reason and enlightenment it’s difficult to imagine the Skirrid got its ‘split personality’ from anything other than a land-slip which occurred during the Ice Age. Yet when the moon is full, the shadows creep, and the primal memories of darker days hold sway, it is easy to believe that the Skirrid was split in two due to the terrible wrath of the devil himself.

The story goes that Satan flew into a furious rage after failing to recruit the Archangel Michael into the ranks of the fallen. In a vile temper, the horned one stamped like a toddler having a tantrum upon the Skirrid and created the mount’s distinctive shape.

Another tale suggests that the devil was having a heated debate with local legend Jack O’ Kent about which was bigger, the Sugar Loaf or the Malvern Hills. Disgusted that Jack was right, old Nick collected a huge apron of soil which he intended to dump over the Malvern hills and make them bigger in stature than the Sugar-Loaf. His plan backfired. The apron split and the soil crashed all over the Skirrid and formed the tump at the northern end.

Another theory was that Noah’s Ark passed this way during the great flood when Abergavenny and its seven hills laid beneath the water, and the hill of that great ship ploughed through the once intact Skirrid.

A legend popular with locals suggests the dramatic landslide was caused by an earthquake or a bolt of lightning that hit the hill at the exact moment Christ was crucified.

Whatever the truth, the earth from the Skirrid has been considered holy and fertile for time out of mind. In days gone by it was often scattered on coffins and has been used in the foundations of churches.

Take a trip to the top of the Skirrid today and you’ll still find the remains of the ruins chapel of St Michael’s, an Iron Age hill fort, and a curious stone which is known as The Devil’s Table. So-called because at the tail-end of the nineteenth century, a man who lived on the Skirrid apparently gave out advice and magical gifts to anyone who placed money on the table.

Whether you hold any truck with the old superstitions is up to the individual, but today, people still make pilgrimages to the Skirrid in as great numbers as they did in times gone by. And the instinct that calls us to the high and lonely places of this isolated island or ours remains the same - the need to connect with something natural, timeless, and magnificent.

When walking upon the brow of the Skirrid and immersed in the invisible forces and elusive energies found on all mountaintops, it often feels and appears as if one is walking on the back of a sleeping dragon.

Its head is hung low, its body is crouched in slumber, its hidden eyes watch warily, and its contours in repose suggest a state of guarded distrust against the modern world and all its trappings.