Wild Moments: Off we go again...

We made it out again! We got back out to the woods.

The weather was OK, in the sense that it wasn't raining, but it was dull and grey compared to the gorgeous, blue sky evening we had last week. But the crucial thing was we managed to stick to our goal to get out for a family walk again. 

What we call "The Woods" is about 75 acres of mixed woodland and grassland tucked away behind housing estates and industrial areas in the eastern portion of Stoke-on-Trent city limits. The woodlands are the key feature, and they are beautiful - a mix of older woodland, and younger trees grown up over the site of what I understand was an old brick works. The older areas, full of twisty old oaks and birch, is our favourite. In the spring it is an amazing display of bluebells!

Anyway, this evening the goal was a stream. There are two which flow through 'the woods' and we headed for the furthest with the children running ahead, beckoning us to follow and stopping to check which path we needed to take at each fork. Blossoms were out and added small spots of brightness to the otherwise dull woods on a grey evening. However, when we reached the furthest one the children decided they preferred the other one, you can't win them all.

We learned a lesson the hard way today, when at the furthest point from home one of the children decided they needed the toilet... typical. So we turned for home via the shortest possible route a little sooner than we may have done otherwise, but we still had a decent walk. When I say 'learned a lesson', that isn't the first time that has happened, so we haven't learned yet! 

Our youngest was hilarious with the mud today, despite wearing wellies he was tip-toeing round all the muddy areas - funny boy! He hasn't always been like that, so hopefully it is just a phase and he'll get out of it soon. 

That will do for yesterday's family micro-adventure, this weekend holds a bigger adventure with another part of the family, but that's another story!

Richard

Barra (Part 2)

This has been partial written for a while - finally finished it.

I love the routine of waking up in a tent. There are usually a few seconds of semi-consciousness before
I remember where I am, why the ceiling is so close and why it is moving. Then it all comes back and I
unzip the outside world and let the morning in. The famous adage that 'you only get one chance to make
a first impression' absolutely applies to this moment each and every day of each and every camping trip.

Of course first impressions can be misleading. Waking up after my first night on Barra I took a brief look
outside, promptly re-zipped the door and went back to sleep. I needed it, I hadn't slept well. Although I was
awake enough to notice I was feeling much better than I had the night before - thankfully. My alarm had
been set to wake me up before sunrise, to make the most of any photographic opportunities it may have
afforded. After all it isn't ridiculously early at that time of year. But the combination of extensive grey cloud
and the aspect of my campground meant there was little to be gained from such an endeavour, and the
chill air which invaded my tent during my brief reconnoitre made me appreciate the warmth of my sleeping
bag even more. I dozed for another hour or so, with my first impression of the day distinctly mediocre. At
least it wasn't raining anymore, silver linings and all that.   

But the British weather is fickle. My first impressions were misleading and by the time I peeked out again
the clouds had blown over and the sky was well on its way to a cloudless, brilliant blue. I scolded myself
for indulging my sleepiness. The sun, though not yet high enough to shine down into the valley where I had
slept, was strong and bright on the hills of Vatersay which filled the horizon to the south. They were my goal
for that day and what a goal they looked!.

Despite the sunshine hinting at relative warmth to come, it was a cold morning in my shady valley. I wrapped
up warm (my Buffalo Mountain Smock was worth more than its weight in gold on this trip) and made hot
chocolate in the lee of a large boulder. Wanting to leave my tent pitched until the sun rose high enough to
dry the remnants of the rain and dew off, I took my camera and explored the little cove I had camped above.
In the rush and the rain of my first day my camera had sat idle for much of the day. I wanted to make up for
lost time today. The rocky cove presented all sorts of visually pleasing scenes from the colourfully striated
rocks to the long, but quickly shortening shadows cast onto pristine sand by lonely boulders.

I say pristine sand, but sadly, despite the tangible isolation of these islands, they were still not immune from
the now commonly discussed plague of ocean plastic. Bits of rope, plastic containers, nuggets of polystyrene
long smoothed through years (or more) of being tumbled in the surf - all were present on 'my' little beach,
perhaps in lesser numbers than mainland beaches further south, but plentiful enough.

With the sun now well up I packed the good-as-dry tent and set off up the hill on the start of my frustrating
loop back around to the road (see Part 1). I was feeling much better than the previous day; my stomach
was no longer engaged in abdominal acrobatics and with a good breakfast inside me I was raring to go,
although some of the aches made for a moderate rather than brisk pace! As I got higher the views expanded
around me until I crested the ridge I was crossing and the whole of the sound between Barra and Vatersay
was opened to my view. The fishing fleet in the distance was active already - the first boat of the day had
chugged out westward past my camp ground shortly before I left it. From my distant vantage point the fleet
on the calm water bordered by the sinuous coastline appeared like a flotilla of toy boats in a park pond.

On my back down to sea level I passed the site of an ancient settlement tucked into the side of stream
valley, the subject of an archaeological excavation several decades earlier. I considered what life may
have been like for these early islanders. The coastline was just meters away, presumably their primary
source of nourishment. The peat of the moorland I had just crossed would have provided their fuel.
Doubtless the high ground I had just descended from would have acted as a good look out point, whether
looking for family and friends returning from a fishing trip, or keeping an eye for less friendly visitors. I
reckon I could have managed that life for a bit! Bleak and lonely winters though, I would hazard a guess.

My contemplation and accompanying rest over, I did something those early settlers could only have dreamed

of - I walked to Vatersay across the recent (relatively speaking) causeway.

It was about this time that I seriously considered pinching myself. The combination of the weather (stunning),
the location (breath taking), and the opportunity to explore it all for a few days was very literally the stuff
of dreams. Crossing a small stream at the apex of a coastal inlet I noticed half a dozen seals playing in the
water - they saw me as I saw them, and watched me as I followed the road south east. So I stopped and
watched them back for a bit - there aren’t many seals in Stoke-on-Trent after all.

A car pulled up as I prepared to move on. On rejoining the road I was heartily greeted by a local man out
to stretch his legs. We chatted for over half an hour while the seals continuing their play in the bay. He was
generous with his local knowledge and as welcoming as anyone could ask for. He answered many of the
questions which had been forming over the 24 hours that I had been on the island, and I found my new friend
to be both open and honest. He welcomed the tourists (like me) but was saddened and frustrated by a
lack of respect for his island which many of them exhibited, a sadness and frustration which I immediately
shared.   

A parting impression was that I had timed my trip well - given the choice my islander acquaintance would
take the winter rains and wind over the midges which plague the island in the summer. My trip hadn’t only
coincided with the last cheap flights before prices rise for the high season, but also some of the first ‘good
weather’ of the year - and not a midge in sight! Good is relative of course, it was pretty cold. I’d been wrapped
up, and with the miles I’d covered had been warming myself pretty effectively too, so I suppose I hadn’t
really thought much about it. But as the road continued east and rose a little above the shore line I could
see back towards the mainland of Scotland and the inner Hebridean islands - there were snow covered
peaks! I shouldn’t have been surprised I suppose, the forecast had suggested snow for the highlands, and
the morning before in Glasgow there had been a dusting on the surrounding hills.

The backdrop of snowy mountains and the rocky bays and inlets in my foreground gave a feel of landscapes
much further north, perhaps Canada or Fjord-land. But then my focus was distracted from the far distance,
because an Eagle was flying toward me! It was way up there, riding the late morning coastal thermals
against the bright blue sky, a distant silhouette. But what else is that big!? I was torn - binoculars or camera?
I settled on camera which meant a hasty lens swap was required. By the time I’d got my telephoto attached
the eagle had cruised directly above me towards the high moorland to the south of the road. I took a couple
of photo’s but they were never more than a proof to myself than I didn’t imagine it. I regretted going for
the camera as it disappeared behind the ridge; why couldn’t I have just enjoyed the moment? Nevertheless,
I had seen my first ever eagle - it was a noteworthy occurrence, and one which would prompt a change
of route a little later.

While feeling much better than yesterday I was still a little below par and not particularly happy with the pace
I was able to manage as I passed a view over the very literally named Castlebay, the main town of Barra
(more on that later) and the road doubled back on itself to head towards Vatersay's back-to-back beaches
and main village. A view point at the site of a World War II plane crash gave me another opportunity to
contemplate and enjoy the sunshine (obviously resting my legs was only a secondary consideration) before
pressing on for the last stretch to the beaches.

Few roads I’ve walked (or driven for that matter) reveal a better view than this one offers to its diligent
traveller. As it rises and turns a strip of white is unveiled, a strip tenaciously keeping the turquoise sea
at bay, backed up by a rear guard of dunes standing in readiness. Not since I lived on Caribbean islands
for a year have a seen water that colour. I’ve heard Barra referred to as ‘Barrabados’ and this view easily
justified that nickname! (It was Trinidad and Tobago by the way - and they are lovely).

My initial plan had been to go the southern extreme of the island, but consulting the map I decided that as
I didn’t have a kayak with me - darn those luggage restrictions - there wasn’t much to be gained from that
plan (that’s for another trip!). My new plan was height, as much of it as I could manage. But first it was lunch
time so I kicked back in the dunes between the two beaches and actually dozed off for a few minutes on
the short, rabbit nibbled turf in the warmth of the noon sun.  

Refreshed from lunch and a snooze I headed up, straight up to the highest point of the island. And what a
view wanted for me up there. The sun was starting to sink by this point, but still plenty high enough to highl
ight the stunning beauty of this island landscape. This was the ridge I had seen the eagle disappear over
earlier, and I had harboured at least a distance hope that I might see it again, but it wasn’t to be. The hills
themselves were a fascinating blend of stony outcrops and sodden peat bogs, not an ideal camp ground
especially when you throw in the bitterly cold and furious wind which blew consistently over its summit.

Deciding that there was room for comfort and a good night sleep as well as adventure on this trip, I descended
the hill to find a more sheltered campground. Preferably one close enough to the beach to enjoy the sunset
that looked like it was going to be pretty special. I hoped to find something suitable but I found something
better - probably one of the best wild camping spots I've ever had the pleasure of utilising. It overlooked
a white sandy beach dotted with black rocks, facing west, with the wide open horizon of the North Atlantic,
unbroken now until Iceland pounding waves energetically onto the shore. The grass was short, the soil
sandy and dry, and a natural berm provided a windbreak for my little tent to nestle under.

I'd allowed myself a relatively early night - I was there for fun after all - and settled down on the grassy rim
of the beach with a hot meal and a book to watch the sun go down - now that is the way to spend an evening.
After the views I had enjoyed during the day the sunset was a little disappointing to be honest, albeit
enhanced by the drama of the crashing waves on the dark rocks - but by then my standards of scenery had
been raised to a new level! I waited up long enough to see the stars come out before turning in to my warm
sleeping bag. I slept well that night, very well.

Final instalment coming soon!

Richard

Finished; failed; learned; excited for the next time.

This blog post has been two months coming - apologies for the delay. 

I'm getting settled into the new job and new circumstances now, so 

hopefully from now on the gaps will be much smaller!

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We made it to the coast! But while that is where the story meets its logical conclusion, that doesn't really sum up the story very well. You see, our adventure didn't quite go to plan.

Rob, my younger brother and adventure companion on this trip enjoying one of the briefer than hoped for spells actually in the water, upper Ystwyth Valley. This picture (and several of the others below) was taken on an Olympus TG-5 waterproof camera kindly lent to me by Olympus UK for this trip, I'll be writing a brief review of the camera in due course. 

The goal was simple enough: travel from the source of the River Ystwyth in the hills of mid Wales, to it's mouth at Aberystwyth. The plan was to spend as much time in the water over the course of that journey as possible. As such we were travelling simultaneously light and heavy.

Light in the sense that our normal 'camping' kit list had been slimmed down pretty much to the minimum; bivvy bags rather than tents, that sort of thing. But then... camera gear to record it, swimming gear, towels, a spare pair of shoes each, buoyancy aids, 5 car tyre inner tubes (our water based transport solution!), a foot pump to inflate them, wet suit, and an assortment of dry bags to keep everything which was supposed to be dry, dry! You get the idea. 

Ironically it was those final items, the dry bags, which we hoped would be our salvation from certain discomfort and inconvenience, which proved to be almost the opposite, and ultimately were the main reason for the departure from our original plan. We packed everything we could into a couple of large dry bags fitted with 'rucksack style' straps and the rest into two smaller dry bags. This meant we were carrying two each from the start. The weight itself wasn't too much of an issue; it was reasonably heavy, but a lot of the stuff was fairly high volume, low density - we had both carried heavier loads before, but the weight bearing system was the weak point. 

'Rucksack style' straps, it turns out, do not come with guarantees of comfort, or even with an assurance that it won't cause you excruciating pain within the first few hours. 

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This bridge at sunset was particularly photogenic, and the location for our swim before we headed for home at the end of the second day. Another Olymous TG-5 capture

Early starts are an integral part of any adventure. Even after a late night, and way too few hours kip, when that alarm goes off... it's go time! And when the first stage of 'going' involves driving right across Wales - which is stunningly beautiful for those of you haven't had the pleasure - why wouldn't you look forward to it? Departure day dawned pristine, much like the days preceding it, and the forecast was for the blue skies to remain and the temperatures to rise. That outlook made the prospect of getting in the water later that day even sweeter! 

As we drove we kept an eye out for the spot on the route where we would need to come back to later that day. The fading earth mounds marking the remains of a Roman fort was the 'X' that marked our spot on this occasion; when we saw that again we'd need to get off the bus. It looked steep! Beautiful, wooded and wild, but steep. 

We drove west until it wasn't an option anymore, well, not without a boat anyway - Aberystwyth. Gathering our gear, we made the most of civilised plumbing facilities before catching a nearly empty bus back to our start point. The real adventure was about to begin! 

It's rare to do all the uphill in one go on a big hike - but that was what we were looking at! The bus had done a fair chunk of it of course, which was not unappreciated! But we still had a few hundred meters of elevation to gain to reach the source of the river, and there was no path! We followed a forestry track for a while but before long it started contouring around the hill and we needed to go up it. We turned up the slope, pushing for the glimpses of blue sky between the trees.

The slopes were north facing, damp. A deep blanket of Sphagnum moss covered decades worth of spoil from forestry work. Every other footfall penetrated the blanket and caught on unseen twigs and branches, or slid off damp and smooth logs and stumps. It was a botanical mine field, on a 45 degree slope, with brambles standing in with admirable accuracy for the barbed wire! A little scratched for our efforts, and not particularly proud of our average speed, we eventually breached the final barrier of wind blown trees and the blue turned from a glimpse to a panorama. The trees surrendered to peat bog and moorland; the sponge from which the first trickles of our river was being wrung!   

We pushed on to the top of the ridge and stopped for a late lunch. Our source to sea trip was about to begin.

A kilometre across the grassy tussocks and mossy hummocks the channel was developing nicely. By the time it dived beneath the prickly canopy of another forestry plantation another kilometre or so down hill our trickle was already a confident and established stream. Keen to make better progress than our uphill battle to the source, and to get to deeper water, we flitted between the stream and paths or tracks which traced its route. Wind turbines turned lazily on the hillsides above us. A forestry harvester noisily stripped trees from a forestry block on the opposite bank. I know commercial conifer plantations aren't to everyone's taste, but I still think they look better with the trees on than a fresh and messy plot of recently clear felled forestry! Butterflies, dragonflies, hoverflies and every other type of -flies fluttered and darted along our route. Some after the flowers which were both plentiful and beautiful despite the recent dry spell, others after the flower seekers themselves.

We dropped out of the trees at the confluence of our stream and another - it was becoming a true river now. At this intersection all the paths headed up; so we got into the water and kept heading down. For the most part the down was undertaking at a steady, gentle gradient but as the valley got deeper and steeper, we came to places were it tumbled and leapt down instead - it was starting to get interesting. But...

... by this point a few things had become clear to us both: 1) the river was running pretty shallow; the weather may have been beautiful but it certainly wasn't conducive to peak flows! 2) we were a bit too heavy laden for following the river everywhere, we'd already had to take a few detours up and around the biggest drops, and 3) our bags were eating our shoulders alive.

At another confluence, just below the lonely road up into the Elan Valley we stopped for another break and assessed our options. It was a great place for option assessment, and one we vowed to return to! Having briefly scoped the river ahead (without our bags - blessed relief!) we could tell that we weren't going to be able to get the inner tubes out (and thereby lighten our packs) anytime soon. The river was a series of deep, dark pools (which looked amazing for a leisurely swim) and shallow, rocky slopes with regular drops and falls. It would have been great fun, but we needed to make more distance that day and it would have been too slow, and realistically required a few more safety measures than we had brought with us - but we will be back!

Reluctantly and tenderly we started down the road, determined to push on to a point where we could get into the water as soon as possible. Our shoulders, by now sporting either a fleece or a hoodie each as a futile attempt at better padding and reduced discomfort, were not best pleased with this plan, and protested strongly. A minor victory came in the shape of an old track way which we followed for a while. Not marked on the map, it followed the river more closely than the road, allowing us to keep closer to our original route - a small conciliation.

The valley was beautiful, breathtakingly so, and not just because of the physical exertion. As we progressed down the river the parallel ridges towered higher and higher above relics of previous industry; mines of some sort. The sinuous river in the valley bottom was by now catching the warm light of a low summer evening sun. A quiet single track road wound along the valley sides and floor leading us through scattered hamlets and a small village before we left it to cross the river above a series of water falls.

By now we were on the look out for a suitable camping spot, but high vegetation and steep slopes meant they were in short supply. For a mile or two we trudged along the valley, getting more and more eager to identify a spot to stop and sleep. It was gone 9 pm by now: we had left home before 6 am, and had been walking for over 9 hours. Our shoulders attested to it.

The options were limited enough that after casting about unsuccessfully for a flat spot in the undergrowth on the flood plain - the valley floor had started to flatten and widen out at this point - we simply bedded down on the footpath. It was flat, the grass was short, and the biting insects were far less voracious than we had feared they might be. We slept well that night.


Well enough that the sun was a fair way up when we woke, slanting down the curve of the valley and lighting the opposite hillside on fire (thankfully not literally) in contrast to yet another day of beautiful blue skies. The aches and pains of the day before had been dulled by a good night rest, but were present enough to prompt an evaluation of what was realistic that day. The bags were the weak point in our kit list, the bruises on our shoulders were more than just the result of a heavy-ish load, the 'rucksack style straps' were not up to this load over this distance. Adding to that we discussed the prospect that if the water levels we had seen so far were anything to go by, we might walk the entire way without any stretch of the river being consistently deep and rock free enough to float our kit, or ourselves, downriver.


The unanimous decision called for a change in the original plan. We set off having repacked the bags accordingly. Before long we reached a point on the route which enabled us to put the revised plan into action - we stashed the big bags and the bulk of our kit in the woods at a point where we could easily return with the car to pick them up. Then we carried on  with just the essential kit for the day in the smaller kit bags, aiming to get all the way back to Aberystwyth, the source of the river and the car before the end of the day. At about 20 miles this was eminently do-able, but a little less relaxed than the original itinerary.

And that is what we did. Many miles of beautiful scenery and clear water came and went in the process. Not to mention rope bridges, ancient woodland, re-purposed railway lines, quaint secluded farms and cottages, small villages steeped in Welsh culture, derelict remains of a more industrial past and more sheep than either of us could count (not that we tried) all came and went during a hot day which passed at a reasonably rapid pace! The discomfort levels were way more manageable but the damage had been done the day before and even with the lighter loads and a few rest stops to bathe hot feet in the cool river, we were ready to take a load off by the time we reached the car in the late afternoon.

I could describe that in greater detail, but that part of our route was never the plan, so it feels a bit like drawing out the description of our failure - it was a pleasant walk, but not what we intended. Having made the mouth of the river, we had completed our journey, but our adventure was left unfinished. But we shall return. Consider this as a hard earned reconnaissance mission, with plenty of useful information garnered along the way. Next time we will return with slightly different kit and a modified itinerary - and have more fun, and less bruised shoulders as a result!


And there will definitely be a next time. I've wanted to make that journey for years, based largely on a few hundred meter stretch which we visited most years as I grew up. On our journey we discovered that while that is a very pleasant section, that that river and valley hold way more yet to be explored and enjoyed. So until the next time I will leave any one wishing to do anything similar with two pieces of advice - 1) beware dry bags with 'ruck sack style' straps - they may try to kill you and 2) mid Wales + Summer = midges! Don't forget your repellent!

Richard

PS - I should probably mention that I did get a swim in the river before we finished for good. After we got back to Aberystwyth we drove back up to collect our kit before taking a scenic route home. But before we left the valley we stopped at a spot where we had taken a rest on the way down. We had clocked some deep, still looking pools as we passed and logged it as one of the many parts of the valley which we needed to return to. As we approached we could see fish rising in the centre of the pool, enjoying the insects which, being late evening by this time, were starting to come out in abundance. The swim was short but lovely; the water warm after the initial rush of cold on first jumping in. It was a snapshot into what we missed out on in a way. But we knew that we had made the right call - anything else would have ended in needing to resort to public transport at some point and that would have been an even greater failure!


After one of the fastest changes of clothing the world has ever seen to get away from the now swarming midges, we completed our adventure by watching the sun go down. First behind the hills over shadowing an earlier section of our route, the upper reaches of the Ystwyth valley, and then again (new, higher vantage point = double sunset!) behind the Elan Valley as we drove out on what has to be one of the most beautiful stretches of road in Wales. Highly recommended for those who prefer to adventure on four wheels (or two) rather than on foot.

Sunset over the Elan Valley on our drive out. What a stunning part of the country!

Wild Moments: The precious privilege of cultivating the spirit of adventure in a young heart.

** Another 'Wild Moment' considering something close to my heart - family, children and introducing them to the natural world and adventure **

Life is busy, isn't it? I'm sure it's not just mine. Commitments pile up, calendars fill and free time dwindles at an ever increasing pace. I often talk of needing to 'make' time and it sometimes does feel like a significant project to engineer opportunities for time out of doors, or for 'an adventure'. Adding children to that mix doesn't make it easier (or cheaper) - 'bed time' is suddenly 4 or 5 hours earlier; a 'good nights sleep' becomes an exception rather than an expectation; a 'walk' with a toddler can be considered long if you leave the car park rather than the county!

BUT - and it is a big one - as a parent you have an opportunity to plant the spirit of adventure in a fresh heart, and to see the excited twinkle of exploration in new eyes. I have always loved the outdoors, I still do, and I am fairly confident that I always will. I still enjoy spending that time in the natural world alone and at my own pace (which I like to think is reasonably quick... unless I'm taking photos). But there are very few things I enjoy more than witnessing the excitement in the eyes of our children when they are presented with the opportunity to do something new, something adventurous! Adventurous to them is at a different place on the spectrum than it is for me, of course it is. After all every one starts somewhere - Sir Edmund Hilary didn't start with Everest, nor was Amelia Earhart's first flight an around the world venture. *Add your favourite example of an intrepid adventurer here*. 

As parents we have tried (there is still a lot we could do better) to cultivate that adventurous spirit in our children because we hope that if we start them young that it will sink deep and they will seek 'adventure' for the rest of their lives. Yes, there are times when this meets with resistance: 'it's too cold', 'it's too wet', 'it's too windy', 'it's too sandy'. But that resistance will weaken over time. Our daughter once spent a whole warm, summer day on the beach sat in a folding chair with her feet on a towel because she refused point blank to get sand on her feet! The following year we visited a Scottish beach in April (it was much colder!) and she loved it! She played in it, rolled down sand dunes, dug holes and jumped in them - when we got back to where we were staying there was sand everywhere. Stick with it and the resistance will fade.

I was 24 when our daughter was born - that is pretty young these days to have a first child and I often have conversations where the reaction to learning this (sometimes spoken and sometimes inferred) is that my opportunities for fun therefore ended at 24. But I see it entirely differently. The way I see it is that when she becomes a teenager I'll still only be 37 (and 40 when our little boy becomes a teenager). Hopefully I will still be fit enough at that relatively young age that I will still be able to keep up with them when they take that spirit of adventure which we have instilled in them and want to do something really interesting!


So yes we may have sacrificed some of our perceived freedom as young adults to have a family early. But to me, rather than missing opportunities for fun and adventure, we have created the opportunity further down the road to share our fun and adventure with the people who matter most to us - our children.

 

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