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Gwynedd & Caernarvonshire (former)Walk Details: Top details: The Walk: |
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After our enjoyment of Carnedd Llewelyn yesterday, Jim and I would have liked to test our newfound scrambling skills on the Snowdon Horseshoe. A couple of factors conspired against this. Firstly, we had the long drive home today and didn’t feel that we would have the time to do Crib Goch (or possibly the energy to drive home afterwards). Secondly (as we would discover later) Cat was scared of heights and consequently didn’t much fancy Crib Goch. We decided to compromise – ascending the Pyg Track but returning via the southern half of the Snowdon horseshoe. The car park at Pen y Pass charges £4 a day, which elsewhere would seem rather steep; here you feel that it is a just penance for a car park having been forced onto such glorious surroundings. It was just as well we were paying per day and not per hour, as Jus and Cat turned up late (“again” is a word I’m tempted to use here…). Jim and I had been unable to contact them by ‘phone, and were on the verge of giving up waiting and heading up the mountain without them – Jim would have been champing at the bit if he had one! At least we didn’t have to wait in bad weather – it was a bright, if slightly overcast day. The tip of the summit was obscured by a few wisps of cloud that we hoped would burn off as the sun grew stronger – it looked like a good day to climb the highest point in the UK south of Glasgow.
A moderate ascent began immediately, as did the groaning from my pre-tired legs. The rocky path swung out around the western flank of the Captain’s Bluff and ran alongside the Carreg Gwalch (Grey Cliffs). Great views opened up down the Afon Nant Peris valley towards Llanberis. We weren’t to know it, but these would be some of the best views we’d have all day. We were sharing them with many other people – despite having deliberately chosen to climb Snowdon on a Monday, the mountain was heaving! For most of the ascent, there were always people visible in front and behind. Rather than spoil the solitude, it gave a tremendous spirit of camaraderie as we passed and were then re-passed by the same groups of people at strategic food and water halts. God knows how busy it must get on summer weekends though! The path soon curved upwards and to the left to reach the Bwlch y Moch pass, where we crossed over into the Llyn Llydaw valley. A path off to the right here led to the Crib Goch scramble. Jim and I looked at it longingly, as lycra-clad muscle-bound walkers (nothing like me then!) peeled off to start the famous scramble. Looking ahead into the now overcast skies, we noticed that the wispy cloud of earlier had now developed somewhat and obscured the view of the top hundred metres (we guessed!) of the mountain. Perhaps it wasn’t a good day to “do” Crib Goch anyway! So we carried on up the Pyg Track, which for a while flattened out as it wound its way along below the Crib Goch cliffs, with the steely waters of Llyn Llydaw scowling at us below. The dark face of Snowdon threatened from the head of the valley, with its “little” brother, Y Lliwedd glowering from our left. We were planning to walk over Y Lliwedd on our return via the southern half of the horseshoe; from this angle the prospect chilled us slightly! In the meantime, the path had resumed its ascent, and become ever rockier – there were even a couple of places where one might have to use a hand to steady oneself. I’ve read that it’s classed as scrambling as soon as you start using your hands, but this really didn’t feel like the real thing! At one point someone had even built large slabby steps – I derided these as cheating and found myself a different, more challenging route past them.
The Famous Zig-Zags are an incredibly popular place to rest, mainly because the path has been protected from erosion by building bench-shaped defences of pebble-filled webbing. I can imagine there’d normally be a great view from here down to the waters of Glaslyn many hundreds of feet below, and to Llyn Llydaw beyond; today we couldn’t see anything through the hill fog. Nevertheless, there were a good dozen people taking the chance to rest here in something of a party atmosphere. A couple of friendly dogs amiably tried to save us the effort of eating our lunch ourselves; I defended my pepperami with extreme vigour. We also ate some Huntley & Palmers Explorer biscuits, which I unaccountably failed to discuss on my last Ridgeway report. I’d bought these for Jim simply because the mighty H&P used to be based in his home town of Reading (they’re now in Suffolk) and they claimed to be nutritionally tailored to walkers. On first sight we unfairly compared them to the dwarves “cram” from Lord of the Rings, for they looked like small rectangles of compressed sawdust. Fortunately they tasted better than they looked, despite being a curious combination of sweet and salty, and didn’t leave the much-feared oaty grit in our mouth. Rejuvenated by H&P’s finest we marched off up The Famous Zig-Zags. Halfway up I realised I’d managed to leave the OS map behind somewhere. I wasn’t doing well this weekend; I’d forgotten to bring the beef jerky, left my hat on Carnedd Llewellyn and now this. The others threatened to tie my possessions to me in the manner of a small child’s mittens. Soon the path crested a ridge where it joined the Crib Goch route and the Llanberis Path – with the Snowdon Mountain Railway running alongside. We waited here for Cat & Jus to catch up – Cat had been rather overcome by vertigo when faced with the steep drop away from The Famous Zig-Zags and was being slowed up by having to hug the cliffs on frequent occasions. Jim and I would have had ample time to look around if there had been anything to see – unfortunately visibility was now less than a hundred feet. A big slab of green-tinged slate had been set up to mark the path junction, and must prove invaluable in these conditions – you could quite easily miss the Pyg Track turning on the way down otherwise.
We continued onwards up the path – it was amazing how much of a boost we’d got from reaching this point. On The Famous Zig-Zags I’d been feeling distinctly weary and in need of a lie down. Having joined the other paths I knew (even without my missing map) that we were nearly at the summit – it was like we’d passed some sort of psychological barrier. From the happy faces and laughter of the other pilgrims I could tell we were not the only ones feeling this euphoric burst. It was reflected in our surroundings – what little we could see of the path through the fog was most attractive, winding a pleasant and well-worn route between great boulders. Eventually the path turned left and upwards away from the railway, and, we assumed, led to the summit. We found the large circular stone-built trig point just a couple of dozen metres away, and Jim was quick to ascend it. The wind was whipping around up here at a rate of knots and he had to get Jus & Cat to support him whilst I took the obligatory summit snap. The views were… well, simply not there. Visibility was probably now less than tem metres, and we couldn’t even see the summit café from here. It was a good job that we all remembered which way we had come from (I checked with a compass reading too). We could easily see how the poor chap who’d died on Saturday had got lost.
We wandered clockwise around the hut (for it really is no more than that) and eventually came to the terminus station of the Snowdon Mountain Railway, a platform between two arms of the building. Here there were large numbers of people resting away from the damp breeze, including many who’d we’d chatted to on the way up. Despite being a relatively easy and highly accessible and crowded mountain, there was no mistaking the joy and sense of achievement shining from everyone’s faces at having made the ascent. We too felt a great surge of pride and a lightening of our hearts, probably more so than on any other hill we’d climbed. It felt great to share the highest summit in England and Wales with so many happy and friendly people, and I’d like to thank everyone who was up there with us. With the job done, it was time to head for home. We had already decided to abandon our plan to walk the southern half of the Horseshoe – my loss of the map would make it awkward (although through the waypoints in my GPS it would still have been possible), whilst the minimal visibility would make it a pointless and possibly dangerous trip. We decided to make the return via the Miners’ Track instead. At the upright stone marking the start of the Pyg Track I paused to compose a text to my wife whilst the others headed down the Famous Zig-Zags. To catch up I started a mad fell-running style high speed descent; it was only seconds before I caught and passed Jus and Cat, Cat once again glued firmly to the cliff in the hope that this would somehow get rid of the vertiginous drop below. Soon after I caught Jim too, and he joined me in an insane gallop. At the bottom of the Famous Zig-Zags we paused to wait for the other two and a small horde of “proper” fell runners belted past, clad in matching red lycra vests and embarrassingly tight shorts. Another gallop took us to the top of the Miners’ Track, and finally clear of the hill fog which had clearly advanced further down the mountain since we ascended. Here we started taking rather more care as the Miners’ Track plunged abruptly into the valley below. This was rather more awkward than the Pyg Track – the path wound its way steeply downwards between and across fallen boulders, and at times it was not clear which way it went. However, it descended so rapidly that we were quickly at the bottom, and here the nature of the path changed completely. Crossing a small bridge we found ourselves on a broad and relatively level track, running around the edge of Glaslyn with steep cliffs on all side.
Onwards there was a choice of two routes across a small side valley. The main paved track ran round the back, whilst a small path with a rickety looking bridge dipped down to cross the stream lower down the valley. It appeared that the main track had been washed out for a while, and although now rebuilt, had for a while been replaced by the lower path We took the higher path so that we could look down onto some more mining constructs, the purpose of which was not clear. The track now curved down to run alongside the lake. Round a rocky bluff we found the most impressive ruins in the valley; we thought they might have once been part of a foundry. It seemed an inordinately long and boring way along the lake to the low causeway, built to save an even longer walk around the north-eastern end of the lake. Walking across the causeway, with water to each side, we noticed a strange, perfectly square enclosure on the slopes of “The Horns” to the north-east. We couldn’t imagine its purpose – maybe to protect some rare vegetation?
Humanity soon fought back. Rounding another corner we were greeted by what seemed, after the almost spooky silence surrounding the ghostly mining remains around Llyn Llydaw, to be a raucous cacophony. We caught up with a party of a dozen or so people, some clad in inadvisable heels, struggling even on the now very well made-up track with a number of pushchairs. We wondered how far up the valley they’d got before realising that it just wasn’t designed for pushchairs, and why they hadn’t thought of trying the Llanberis route instead. Jim and I speeded up to pass them, and started to pull rapidly away from Jus & Cat safe in the knowledge that from this point even their abysmal navigation could take them safely back to the car. It turned out to be much further than we thought, but our high-speed march soon bought us within sight of Pen y Pass. Before we reached the car we had to negotiate a school class oddly being taught about wrens, and a reporter and cameraman recording a piece on the walker who’d died on the Watkins Path on Saturday. We felt that they may not be too successful in their careers as they were recording it two days too late and on the wrong path! By the time Jus and Cat arrived Jim and I had returned from the café
bearing cups of tea. Before starting on the long drive home down the A5,
we reminisced about the walk. Despite the zero visibility at the summit,
and despite the crowds we’d all had a great day. Although Carnedd
Llewellyn, the previous day had been a tougher, more beautiful and certainly
sunnier walk, I felt a far greater sense of achievement about Snowdon.
Reading other people’s trip reports on the web reveals similar sentiments.
No matter how experienced the walker, no matter what path they take, everyone
seems to love this magical mountain and yet can’t quite explain
why. Jim and I decided we would definitely be back to do the full horseshoe
one day. First, of course, we had another 83 county tops to visit! |
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I didn’t really mind the wait – my
legs were aching a bit from the previous two days walking and they felt
strangely reluctant to start walking up another hill. Super-fit Jim, of
course, was virtually jogging on the spot. Eventually Jus and Cat arrived,
bearing the sad news that a walker had died on Snowdona couple of days
before, straying off the Watkins Path in thick hill fog. With this sobering
thought in mind, we headed carefully up the Pyg Track, which started at
the back of the upper car park. I had assumed that the path name was a
reference to the ore mined up here (eg pig iron), but it turns out that
it’s actually an acronym for the Pen y Gwryd hotel at Pen y Pass.
We were soon joined by the Miners’ Track,
coming up from the valley below. From the Pyg Track it appeared to plummet
over the edge, and we all agreed that we wouldn’t have fancied coming
up that way much! We were disappointed to see that the cloud now came
even further down the mountain; indeed, by the time we reached what seem
to be universally known as “The Famous Zig-Zags”, we were
into it. Contrary to popular opinion clouds aren’t fluffy and white,
but grey and cold and damp. As icy water started to settle out into our
hair and clothes we decided to call a halt to build our energy reserves
for the final push to the summit.
The Llanberis path is known as the tourist path;
as if to prove the point a woman arrived from that direction trailing
two tiny tots. When Cat arrived, she said she’d read that the train
was only running halfway up at the moment and the summit restaurant wasn’t
open yet. I was surprised at that – I thought it would have been
open since Easter. I hoped the Mum had enough supplies on her to see her
kids happily back to Llanberis.
We soon found the café – Cat’s
sources had been correct and it was closed. It was also not just a monstrous
carbuncle (as Prince Charles would say) but also in a dire state of repair.
The blasted, obliterated structure was evidence of just how harsh the
weather could be at this altitude. Despite being so ugly and tumbledown,
the building seems almost to have moulded itself into the landscape. I
am worried that the proposed new summit building will be a much more commercial
effort, larger and more intrusive, spoiling the rustic charm of the top.
The Miners’ Track somewhat predictably gained
its name from the people who used it, and almost immediately we started
to see signs of its industrial past. This used to be the site of the Britannia
Copper Mines, and apparently the ruins we saw here were the site of ore
crushing machines. The path continued on a level route around the edge
of Glaslyn until it reached the outlet stream. The Afon Glaslyn cascaded
down out of the cwm past more industrial detritus to join Llyn Llydaw.
The sloping track here was cobbled with large stones which were exceptionally
awkward to walk on – I found the easiest approach was to resume
my fell-running gait on the larger, flatter stones along the edge. I think
it was this that later started to give me twinges in my knees, which would
lead to several days of bad knee pain. This was to be my first experience
of a problem that had plagued Jim for years, and I didn’t like it!
On the far side of the causeway a pumping station
took water from the lake and sent it off down a huge and ugly pipeline.
It was quite the most repulsive thing I’ve seen in a National Park.
Justin rather admired it, but I just wished they’d put it underground.
Fortunately Snowdonia had thrown up an exquisite bit of landscape to counter
the pipeline. The tiny hill-ette of Clogwyn Pen Llechen, a smooth grassy
slope on one side falling away in a jagged cliff on the other, was a tiny
piece of landscape perfection. In fact, apart from the pipeline, this
area seemed beautifully remote, peaceful and a world away from the busy
Pyg Track. In fact we hadn’t seen anyone since the steep descent
at the start of the Miners’ Track.