Snowdon - at last.

Oh no! The alarm hadn't gone off - I'd overslept!

Except I hadn't. I'd just dreamt that I had. This recurring (and very irritating) dream plagues my sleep whenever I have something exciting or important to look forward to the next day. And I certainly had something to look forward to. Even the thought of a 3:30am wake up and a long drive were not enough to dampen my spirits.

I dragged myself out of bed after what felt like a woefully inadequate sleep; that dream has a lot to answer for! My kit was all packed and stacked ready to go. After well over a decade of procrastination I was finally heading to Snowdon.

Having double-checked and loaded my kit, I left home and headed west for the Welsh border. On my drive I listened to the audio book of that classic tale of British wilderness (albeit Scottish rather than Welsh wilderness) 'The 39 Steps' by John Buchan. The sky was bright with a nearly full moon, although I knew that clouds were forecast to be my fate as my journey progressed.

Sure enough shortly after I crossed into the land of the Red Dragon the clouds blocked the moon as completely as if I had driven into a cave, limiting my view of the wider world to the reach of my headlights for the remainder of the trip. I made good time across Wales - at that time of morning traffic isn't exactly heavy - and arrived at Pen-y-Pass car park and the proper start of my days adventure at about 6:30am.

Here I listed my spare kidney on Ebay to fund the parking charges, donned my warm clothes and a head torch and rechecked the map of my route. When I initially started planning for my trip to Snowdon I had hoped to complete it in milder weather and follow the Snowdon Horseshoe route, along two precarious ridge lines up to and back down from the summit. When I learned that there was sure to be snow on the higher ground, and that I would need to start my ascent in the dark because of when I needed to get home, I shelved that plan for a later day. The revised plan was to get as far into the ascent as possible as quick as possible in case there was a sunrise worth photographing. So I settled on the broad and well surfaced Miners track and started on up.

The thick cloud still obscured the moon, and sunrise was still over an hour away so I began in total darkness with no view ahead, but I knew that the mountains towered ahead of me. Soon a few chinks opened in the cloud letting through the first hints of dawn and giving me enough visibility that I could turn off my torch. As my eyes adjusted to the new, lesser darkness I could make out a snow capped outline ahead of me! I assumed this was Snowdon and smiled to myself, my goal was in sight - I was wrong though. What I could see was just a part of the ridge, some 300m below the still cloud bound summit.

The Miners track is straight forward and easy going until the far side of Llyn Llydaw where it gets a little steeper and rougher, but it is above Glaslyn that the path, and the view, starts to get really interesting. This is about 2/3 of the linear distance into the route, but only 1/3 of the vertical ascent, leaving a steep route to negotiate over the last few kilometres. It was also around this point that the laying snow became persistent and the rising sun started to break through a chink in the low hanging clouds. The combination of cool blue lake, majestic snowy mountains, broken cloud and warm sunlight made for a breath taking view!

But the concept of 'a view' was about to become irrelevant. The laying snow and the lowering cloud merged into a wall of white before me. I lost the route of the path in the snow several times and struggled to gauge how much further I had to go. I couldn't see the track 30 meters ahead at times, let alone the summit. The wind driven snow had done a comprehensive job of smoothing out the hill side, blending series of steps into smooth icy slopes. With the aid of poles and studded snow walking aids (proper crampons don't feature on my kit list yet) I made it to the summit ridge feeling in my inexperience as close to a proper alpinist as I've come yet, with just a short walk along the ridge remaining to arrive at the actual summit.

The ridge looked alien! The frigid temperatures and driving winds over the preceding days had sculpted icy feathers over every inch of it. Snow remained only in the most sheltered of spots, the rest blasted off by howling winds. The swirling ice traced the eddies of the wind as clearly as smoke in a wind tunnel and coated the entire landscape, with only the dark rocks beneath breaking the white of the ice. The now brightening cloud still firmly clamped on top of the mountain cast a flat, contrast-less light uniformly over the ice-coated everything and created conditions unlike anything I have seen before - a completely monochrome landscape.

The summit cairn and trig point looked like a chaotically iced wedding cake, and the deserted train station like a movie set from 'The Day After Tomorrow'. I was the first to the top that morning - no one else had been crazy enough to start out for the summit as early as me - and the solitude was palpable, although short lived. A trio of walkers had been gradually catching me for the past hour while I kept stopping to take pictures and they arrived just a few minutes later. I'd like to think that pioneering a path through the fresh, unsullied snow for them had slowed me down, but the reality is almost certainly just that they were faster than me!


I didn't stay long at the top. I had made my pilgrimage, had my adventure. Call me anti-social but sharing these special places with throngs of other people spoils it for me. More often than not it is the solitude itself that I am seeking, and the personal challenge of completing the ascent in the first place, the views are a bonus, but a very welcome one when they are there! Sure enough I passed many other hikers toiling upwards while I descended, but even when the cloud lifted and the iced-gem summit appeared against a bright patch of blue I didn't envy them, because they had to share it, and I had had it to myself, if only for a few minutes.

Now that the clouds had lifted and the sun was properly up the views on my trek back down were every bit as stunning as you would expect of the Snowdonian Mountains in winter. Snow capped peaks were there to be seen in every direction and the low winter sun picked out the finest of topographical details in a landscape which begs the question why we Brits ever feel the need to travel abroad to see beautiful scenery. I made it down about 5 hours after I originally left the car. I shed my cold weather kit, now feeling distinctly over dressed among gaggles of children and young couples who at midday were only just arriving. I left quickly, keen now my adventure was over to get back to my family for the remainder of the day. A few miles away I had to stop and take in the view behind one more time. The clouds had now lifted fully and the snowy summit of Snowdon had revealed herself to all the world. It was the perfect parting memory, one that is certain to bring me back again soon. This may have been my first visit to Snowdon, but it won't be my last!

Richard

Who doesn't love Autumn?

Surely even the most resolute townie can't look at the warm spectrum of colours in the UK's woods, hedgerows, parks and gardens at this time of year and not be moved, somewhere deep inside, to smile.

Is there any better type of day to explore the British countryside than a bright, crisp, autumn day where the chill of winter round the corner is tangible, but the memory of summers warmth on your back has yet to fade?

The vibrance of summer is gradually consumed by the slow-starting, but all encompassing fire of autumn until the trees and woods blaze into colour fore one last unified hurrah before dying with dignity, awaiting their phoenix like rebirth a few months ahead in spring. 

Even the difficult to love features of the countryside demonstrate a softer side, and become a little more lovable. Non-native, straight-lined, opinion-dividing blocks of commercial conifer forestry can look easier on the eye at this time of year. It depends on whether they contain some Larch, a conflicted species whose needles turn yellow-orange and fall, more like a deciduous species. Large, sprawling beds of bracken, the bane of upland land owners and managers turn a mottled, rusty brown which adds a subtle undertone to the last vestiges of the purple heather on the high moorlands.

I've been particularly lucky this year to have many opportunities to be out soaking in the autumn colours: all round the Peak District 'in the line of duty' for work, down in Riddy Wood on the handful of occasions I've been able to get there so far this season, and as a family we've taken the chance to get out and about.  We put in some effort and made quite a few opportunities - its not like they're difficult to find if you look for them - even your local canal towpath, city park or country lane holds coloured treasures not present at any other time of year.

Of course you can head further afield to make the most of it, and a few weeks ago we visited the Forest of Dean for the first time. It was fortuitous timing as much as anything that took us there at this time of years, and the good fortune favoured us again as we had a beautiful day to enjoy while we were there. The golden autumn colours were positively glowing, and we followed our children and their cousins (who we were visiting with) round the muddy paths, splashing in puddles, being fascinated by deer slots and wild boar rooting, and calling out the mushrooms which were making the most of the warm, humid woods and adding to the kaleidoscope of colour and texture on the woodland floor. It was great!

Did I mention that Autumn is my favourite season? I hope you're enjoying it as much as me! 

Richard

Family Adventure Day: Take 1

Who better to share adventures with than your family? Growing up as one of seven children there was never a shortage of adventure buddies. We were lucky with the places we lived, and the places our extended family lived - there was never a shortage of places to have 'adventures'.

Now, as a semi-responsible adult and with a family of my own I have the priviledge of introducing the next generation to the concept of adventure. What better place to start than where many of my own childhood adventures were based: Mid-Wales. This naturally raises the question of what 'adventure' really is, but I think I'll leave addressing that question for another time.

Anyway, as a birthday treat to myself back in early March, Emily (my wife) and I woke the children (Megan 4 and Jack 1) early, loaded them into our all-terrain family adventure wagon, Rhino (a Suzuki Grand Vitara) and headed west for the heartlands of Wales. 

To say the weather was perfect would be stretching the truth, but the excitement factor was high, the snack bag full, the traffic light and the views getting better by the mile. Our plans were simple: 1) visit an area of forest which hosted many a family outing plus an annual easter egg hunt when I was a lad; 2) next on to the Ystwyth River where I basically learned to swim and where if I was feeling brave I'd go for a dip, then 3) onto the beach at Aberystwyth for fish and chips on the beach while we watched the sun set. 

We arrived at the forest where the adventure was to start - while I had been many a time to walk there was adventure which had been denied me; a 'green lane' which snakes for miles across the Welsh mountains following the route of an ancient road. Indeed as a green lane it is still legally a road and public right of way and I had wanted to drive it since well before I ever had a driving licence - the realities of adult life had prevented me for a long time from acquiring a vehicle capable of tackling the route. But a change in work circumstances had finally allowed me to justify buying a 4x4 and so my wait to attempt to tackle this route (although only a small part of it on this occasion) in something more substantial than a pair of wellies was about to come to an end. In Megan's parlance we were going to 'drive the bumpy road!'

Unfortunately we were turned round sooner than hoped by a puddle (more like a small lake really) which pushed the limits of what I was comfortable to drive without a snorkel and a back up vehicle. Sadly there was clear evidence that many people had come to the same conclusion about the puddle and forged their own path instead, carving up the surrounding land and making a mess alongside the legal right of way - something I was not willing to do. With a slightly heavy heart we turned around and headed back down. But I will be back, when the water levels are lower and with back up to make the whole trip. Rhino might just be getting a snorkel too!

 Ystwyth River, one of my favourite places in the UK. It will always hold a special place in my heart. We paddled and threw stones, had a picnic on the pebbles and watched Dippers fly up and down past us for an hour or so, but I wimped out just short of a proper dip - wading knee deep was enough on this occasion. It was still pretty chilly

On to the Ystwyth River valley, one of my favourite places in the UK. It will always hold a special place in my heart. We paddled and threw stones, had a picnic on the pebbles and watched Dippers fly up and down the river for an hour or so. I wimped out just short of a proper dip - wading knee deep was enough on this occasion. It was still pretty chilly!

The weather had been pretty changeable up to this point ranging from dull, damp and chilly through to beautiful sunshine, although never really warm. As we were leaving the Yswyth to head to its mouth (the literal translation of Aber-yswyth is 'mouth of the river Ystwyth') the rain set in with greater determination and the weather was against us when we arrived at the coast earlier than planned. Megan and I took some time to throw stones, watch the waves, and take some pictures on the beach while Emily and Jack napped in the car, then with the weather getting ever less friendly we changed our plans and started heading for home via a scenic route North up the coast. We got our fish and chips, but there wasn't really a sunset to watch!

Regardless we had a great day - we were outside in the fresh air, surrounded by nature; we were spending quality time together as a family. My own little ones were learning the concept of 'going on an adventure' and this won't be the last family adventure day. In fact we are heading back to Wales, although North Wales this time, in the next few weeks.