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ConwyWalk Details:
Top details (2): Top details (3): The Walk: |
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Our current walking buzzword was “gnarly”, and the landscape certainly lived up to this description as we headed up the A5 to our rendezvous with our first 1,000-metre top. On our left, the cone of Tryfan shouted for attention against the background noise of the spiky Glyderau. Growling ominously to the right behind the steely waters of Llyn Ogwen was Pen yr Ole Wen. I say ominously, for its steep and particularly gnarly southern slopes would be our first challenge of the day.
The Nuttalls recommend climbing Pen yr Ole Wen on its east flank, from the east end of Llyn Ogwen. However, their route seemed to barely show up on the maps, and we decided that, for safety’s sake on our first “biggy” we would stick to the more usual route, ascending from Idwal Cottage to the south. Plus, that would mean that I could use the loos there! Pen yr Ole Wen looked even gnarlier from here, and we looked in vain for some sign of a path. Fortunately we could see a group of people about halfway up the slope, which gave us some confidence that there was a way up somehow. The whole area was crawling with walking types, but most of them seemed to be heading in the opposite direction, up to the Glyderau and Tryfan. We bucked the trend and walked a short distance northwest up the A5 to find the start of the “footpath” up Pen yr Ole Wen. As small stone stile on the right was hidden until the last moment; after clambering over it the scrambling started immediately. The path clambered steeply and slightly precariously up between big slabs of rock, and immediately we started using our hands to help balance.
Jim soon forced me to move on, and rapidly pulled ahead of me again. He soon hit a section so steep that he shouted back that it couldn’t possibly be the path and shouted back at me to look for where he’d gone wrong, or to find an alternative way round. I scrambled round the edge of some large boulders, and explored a few likely routes, but was forced to conclude that Jim’s steep slippery slab between rocky outcrops was the best way. Jim took the right side, and took some time to struggle up it. After looking ahead and plotting my route I chose the left side, and went up as quickly and unrelentingly as petrol prices, using nothing more than fingertips and toecaps. I liked this sort of walking – it involved thought as much as fitness!
It had taken us over an hour and a half to complete one mile so far. Whilst we were well chuffed with our first proper big scrambly ascent, we thought we’d best get a move on. We headed at speed northwards off of the summit, descending onto a broad grassy ridge. Here we descended to the right briefly to stand in the snow we’d seen from the top. This was rapidly becoming an April tradition – on Jim’s Birthday weekend last year we saw plenty of the white stuff on Moel Famau. Below us the slope plummeted away into Cwm Clyd, the dark waters of the tiny Ffynnon Lloer miles below us.
Carnedd Dafydd was a short stony ridge, and another cairn at the far end seemed to be almost as high up as the wind shelter. Beyond that, the ridge dropped gently and curved northwards to the imposing bulk of Carnedd Llewellyn, bordered all the way by the high black cliffs of Ysgolion Duon. We tried to descend rapidly to the col between the mountains, but it seemed to take an inordinately long time – we had to clamber over or find a way around a number of large bouldery outcrops, which gave good views up the Afon Llafar valley. The ridge eventually narrowed to the impressive Bwlch Cyfryw drum, with a steep drop into Cwmglas Mawr to the left and an equally vertiginous drop to the lake of Ffynon Llugwy on our right. Beyond this the slog up the steep, barren stony slope of Carnedd Llewellyn began.
The summit was a large flat boulder-strewn plateau, completely devoid of life bar hikers and large black birds (crows? rooks? ravens?). We wondered what they ate – possibly lost hikers, or at the very least their sandwiches. The birds seemed to perch on top of every high rock and cairn, like soothsayers of doom. Despite the sunshine, the possibly-ravens gave the barren grey plateau a sinister and ethereal appearance, especially at the western end where strange rock shapes framed the views across Anglesey. The plateau is surprisingly level, and several spots seemed to be contenders for the highest point. The GPS showed the cairn nearest the wind shelter to be marginally higher than the other cairns, and with our 5th marilyn and second county top of the weekend under our belts we descended off the hill to the east down a surprisingly gentle grassy slope. Looking back we could see large snow deposits and the remains of cornices on the northeastern face of Carnedd Llewellyn. It was soon after this that I realised I’d lost my hat, presumably in one of the summit wind shelters. It was a wonderful hat and had been given to me by my wife, so I was rather upset at losing this. I did consider going back for it, but decided that we had now come too far down to return. Besides, a could-be-a-pterodactyl had probably eaten it by now.
It certainly felt mountainous when we left the east side of the peak. Hands were used for much of the descent, and there was a nervy long step needed where a gully had eaten its way back across the path. The path then made an exciting (read: a little scary) descent of a steeply sloping smooth slab of rock. Jim made an undignified and slightly uncontrolled sliding-on-his-bum descent down the middle, whilst I wedged myself into an angle at the edge of the slab and climbed down ladder-style. Once again we agreed that this scrambling malarkey was great fun, and we could see why Trail magazine is always promoting it. As if that wasn’t enough, we now hit the spectacular Bwlch Eryl Farchog, where a narrow rocky path meandered across the arête separating Ffynon Llugwy from the Afon Eiglau valley to the north. It goes without saying that the views were once again stunning. Amazingly a path plummeted off to our right, but we continued eastwards towards Pen yr Helgi Du. We had been meaning to climb this, but were getting tired and starting to think about dinner, so instead we followed a path around the side of the ridge. This path was awful – I’d not recommend it unless you have one leg longer than the other. It wasn’t long before my ankles started to hurt through the constant sideways pressure, and walking on a scree slope that constantly threatened to cast us into the valley below did nothing to help.
The hill walking part of the day was now over, and we simply had to follow the A5 for 3 miles back to our car. Needless to say this wasn’t a particularly pleasing prospect (although we did make good time), and we turned off as soon as we could. A path ran round the back of Llyn Ogwen, and we imagined a pleasant gravel lakeside tourist trail. This unfortunately just showed how we had become tarnished with the southeastern trainer brigade brush, for the “lakeside path” was nothing like this. Firstly we had to navigate a farm. The path was meant to go straight through it, but there were no entry signs and the farm yard was full of farmer’s family. I always feel bad about walking through the centre of farms anyway, but in the circumstances we decided it would be more polite to find another way around. We took another path up the hill, cut across a field, over a bridge, and tried to follow the stream back down to the original path on the other side of the farm. We were forced to cross the stream again on some rather dubious improvised stepping-stones before reaching it. The path took us over the stream for a third time and we were finally onto the lakeside path. Initially it ran some distance above the lake through boggy ground. Stepping-stones helped us across the first few hundred yards but beyond that it was a hard trudge through the mire. Even the lake wasn’t that attractive – steely-grey and backed by the traffic of the A5. Maybe it was just end-of-day tiredness, but we weren’t enjoying this bit of the walk. Halfway along the lake I was lucky to spot the path diving right down to the lakeside. If you don’t spot this, you’ll start to reascend the rocky flanks of Pen yr Ole Wen. Unfortunately taking the lakeside route meant even more intense bog. Soon more and more rocks started to poke through the sodden turf, and by the time we reached the western end of the lake there were a few brief but satisfying scrambly bits through a mess of fallen boulders. We re-emerged via the stile we’d started at and were back at the Idwal Cottage car park shortly after. Despite the disappointing end to the walk, Jim and I agreed it had been
one of our best days walking to date. The weather had been ideal, the
views superb, and we’d enjoyed our first real scrambling over satisfyingly
gnarly territory. Jus & Cat had truly missed out. Roll on Snowdon
tomorrow!
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Jim and I would be walking on our own today; Jus
and Cat had decided to take the day off so that they were well rested
for Snowdon tomorrow. It was a shame, for they were missing out on some
cracking walking weather. Heavy rain overnight had cleared to reveal blue
skies from horizon to horizon, and a gentle but chilly breeze would keep
us cool on the ascent.
This really set the scene for the rest of the ascent;
a mix of very steep walking or easy scrambling, sometimes on rock or sometimes
on dangerously loose scree. Jim had started doing six-mile runs three
times a week and was distinctly fitter than I was; I soon started to lag
behind him, although he never let me get too far behind. I think I’d
have been okay if I’d have had a bit of a warm up, but going cold
into an ascent this steep was a bit harsh first thing in the morning!
It wasn’t too long before we were overtaken by a super-fit couple
of lycra-clad chaps. Soon after that a burly Welshman caught us up - he
hesitated a bit when I slipped on loose scree and threatened to send rocks
cascading onto his head. As he went across he agreed “that is a
bit dodgy, isn’t it!” He was doing a similar route to us at
first (as I think most walkers here were), but would be extending it –
astonishingly – across to the Vale of Conwy! 
With the hardest part out of the way the ascent
levelled out somewhat, and, now warmed up, I could keep up with super-fit
Jim more easily. After pausing briefly to stand in a heroic pose on a
mini-summit, we emerged through a jumble of boulders and scree to see
a large cairn and wind shelter – both having already occupied by
a large group of walkers. We knew from the map and GPS that this was not
the true summit (although it was no doubt a comfier place to sit), and
we passed by the group with a cheery “hello there”, leaving
the broken rock behind as we emerged onto a long grassy hump. A small,
flattened cairn on the far right hand side of the hump marked the true
summit of Pen yr Ole Wen. From here there were great views in all directions
– to the south, Snowdon and the Glyders; to the north west, Anglesey
and Holyhead Island lay like a map; to the north and east, the long ridges
and summits that we would walk over for the rest of the day. We were pleased
to see snow along the next section.
Returning to the path, we scrambled over a couple
of huge cairns without realising that the path actually ran round them.
One of them had a huge – if rather tumbledown – wind shelter
on top of it. Beyond the cairns the grass faded out as we hit the rocky
slag that constituted the southern slope of Carnedd Dafydd. This was a
fairly short and easy ascent, the path winding its way up the scree. The
path levelled out and led to the summit proper, a messy cairn next to
a cluster of four back-to-back wind shelters. Despite sunny weather, at
this altitude the gentle breeze was a little on the chilly side. The best
shelter (from the point of view of wind direction) was already fully occupied
by a group of five friendly blokes, one wearing the brightest orange T-shirt
I’ve ever seen. We stopped for a break in the next best shelter,
where I inadvertently sat on a very wet rock – I’m sure other
walkers were laughing at my wet bum for the next few miles!
Up until now we’d only seen hardcore walkers
with the usual poles, Goretex jackets and the like. Now we encountered
a local girl, out proving that she was far tougher than all us pasty-faced
lightweights from the southeast. Clad in T-shirt and trainers and towing
a dog, she headed at high speed diagonally across the mountainside making
it look like it was just a minor obstacle on her route, rather than the
second highest marilyn south of Glasgow. We felt shamed into speeding
up our slow trudge up the hillside, and as a result quickly arrived at
the summit shelter. It was a very comfortable one, so we decided to stop
for lunch there, much to the chagrin of the 5 friendly blokes from Carnedd
Dafydd who turned up a short while later.
The walking now became very easy for a while, a
pleasant stroll on a good path across rough grass. All the time though,
we could see the next obstacle ahead – a small, but very jagged
rocky summit. It wasn’t shown at all on our Harvey’s map (I’ve
never liked Harvey’s maps, but happened to have got this one free),
but the Nuttall’s refer to it as Craig yr Ysfa. It turned out to
be an easy ascent to what was (despite it not appearing on any hill list)
the most impressive summit of the day. You could take any one of a number
of routes up through a maze of shattered stone, and stand imperiously
astride the jagged rocks at the top. With steep drops on all sides and
a rocky summit, this felt much more like a mountain than the relatively
flat-topped peaks we’d visited so far today.
I was glad when our path finally curved up to join
the one along the top of the ridge. We followed this as it took us partly
down towards the A5, then right for a while alongside a stream that had
bizarrely been forced to flow in a man-made ditch around the side of the
hill, before finally following a track down to the A5.