Snowdonia, Wales. July 1999
· Official report by Bruce
"Legs" Martin
I thoroughly enjoyed
this meet for which we had a sell-out crowd. El Puerco had to overflow into an
outdoor sty — probably the best place for a pig anyway.
Memories of the
evenings are fogged by the gallon of whisky which Polevault brought along
— a fishing trophy — guys, we're in the wrong game! This certainly
oiled the verger's bell and set the tone for a convivial meet.
We got our official
three peaks in on the first day with Pen yr Ole Wen (3,209ft), Carnedd Dafydd
(3,412ft) and Carnedd Llewlyn (3,485ft). Some also took in Pen yr Helgi Du.
Great scenery; shame the mist stopped us seeing any of it — not even a
momentary glimpse. There were a few comments about the steepness of the ascent
from Ogwen Cottage to Pen yr Ole Wen, but this was nothing to the grumbles when
we took a deviation in the mist to admire a small lakelet — ungrateful
sods! Actually, people didn't complain too much — I was quite surprised.
The rest of the walk went smoothly with the massive party achieving the three
peaks.
On the second day, we
took Snowdon (3,559ft) by the Watkin Path. This strategy successfully
quarantined Meths from the hordes on the tourist paths. A sub-group led by
Axeman advanced on Snowdon by an alternative route, summitting at pretty much
the same time as the main party — a successful pincer movement executed
in near zero visibility. Despite our love of unspoiled mountains, a sorry few
succumbed and bought beers from the cafe at the summit. We descended by the
Miners Track to Pen y Pass in better weather and enjoyed some superb views.
Harpic took the direct drainage route, which looked a little loose but he came
out full of frizz. One brave soul swam in the copper sulphate blue lake,
nestling at the foot of the cliffs, but the rest of the party declined this
pleasure.
The third day saw most
of the group on scrambly Tryfan. Mad Mike valiantly took on the role of 'rear
sweeper', making the summit a little later than the rest. He had an interesting
ascent with a fellow accountant whom he had met en route. Rumour has it that
they had fascinating conversations about taxation, which no doubt livened up
the precipitous path no end.
An intrepid group of
four nutters set off up into the clouds on the 'Bristly Ridge' and on to the
Glyders. This was a wonderful scramble with the cloud adding atmosphere. Socks
described it as 'f***ing brilliant'" — a statement retracted when he
got half way up the next chimney just after Puerco had left it full of toxic
gas. Socks proudly announced that he had done his first hand jam, but
unfortunately his hand was jammed under his left knee! A new technique? The
four finished off with Glyder Fach (3,248ft) and Glyder Fawr (3,279ft) and then
descended to join the others in the hotel bar.
The tone of the AGM
was set by a 'whoopee' cushion which eclipsed the chairman's closing remarks as
well as making a number of other important contributions. For some unfathomable
reason linked to route finding on day one and to Socks' inability to follow my
directions to the hotel, I was nominated for the prestigious Prick of the Meet
award. I am very proud of this and hope for a cold winter.
· A member's view: Meths
faithful find Capel Curig, by Richard Killick
Some 20 bold
explorers, most of whom had connections with Malawi, found themselves meeting
at the Tyn-y-Coed Hotel, Capel Curig, Snowdonia. "Midnight" Jack
Bannister was said to have been propping up the bar (to make sure it didn't
fall down? The hotel manager kept telling me there was nothing wrong with it.).
He claimed he had climbed a mountain while waiting for the multitude to arrive,
but subsequent verification was not forthcoming and we simply had to take his
word for it.
Legs and DM³ were
the last to arrive having waited for DM³'s plane from Majorca; they then
charged up to Snowdonia in the minibus which Legs had hired because he did not
know how many would require lifts to, or having arrived in, Snowdonia.
Without further ado
Legs hauled all of the group, minus Poet Laureate and AMLH, up the first
mountain on Thursday. This was to be a simple, gentle walk over the Carnedds to
break us in for what was to follow. Starting from the western end of Lake
Ogwen, we ascended a steep scree slope, up to Pen yr Ole Wen. The weather was
cloudy after the first 500ft and slightly damp, although reasonably pleasant
for walking.
Concentration from
all, including our leader, must have gone slightly haywire at that point,
because as we made our way to our next intended destination (Carnedd Dafydd),
the cloud broke for a few seconds to reveal, on our left, a cwm which we
had not expected! Short of begging for divine intervention or even the
assistance of His Excellency the Life President — H.E.L.P. — Legs
managed to rapidly turn the threat of a vote of no confidence into an assertion
that he really did know the way, having consulted both map and compass.
Undaunted, the
intrepid explorers turned tail back up the steep slope to the summit of Pen yr
Ole Wen again and this time, Legs, with the assistance of neither divine
intervention nor H.E.L.P., directed us along the path for Carnedd Dafydd and
then Carnedd Llewellyn. Our return back towards civilisation was made via the
remaining 'mounds' on the same horseshoe-shaped route, called Penywaun wen and
Pen yr Helg Du (have you still got your teeth in?). The second of these two
'mounds' was, in fact, quite hair-raising and off the beaten track. So why did
we do it? Because it was there — was that not the original reason for
climbing Everest? The remainder of the route back to the cars was a long grassy
slope, in contrast to the steep scree slope which we had ascended earlier.
All of us spent the
evening bathing, drinking and eating; guessing the nationality of the blonde,
long-legged waitress, and taking the mickey out of someone with a Geordie
accent, were optional extras.
Bruce, our wise and
dynamic leader, advised that the ascent of Snowdon on a Friday rather than a
Saturday would be a good idea. As he led us (the same group as Thursday) up the
initial gentle slopes of the southern side of the mountain, it dawned on some
that Snowdon's name in native Welsh is Yr Wyddfa (almost the club's motto!).
Inspiration indeed, especially for the faint-hearted; inspiration was needed
further up as our leader led us, in thick cloud, to the top of a subsidiary
ridge, which rose toward the summit. Suddenly, the cloud cleared for a few
seconds to leave us looking like lemmings on the edge of Beachy Head. I
remember mumbling something as I wished I had superglue on my bum, hands and
feet. Then I remembered Bruce saying there was an alternative route up which it
was possible to walk on two legs.
We all reached the
summit without any of the lemmings coming to any harm. As usual, the top of
Snowdon was populated by grockels of all shapes and sizes — the mountain
railway will stay on Snowdon forever but, thankfully, I can't see it being a
success on our beloved Mulanje. We all had an extended stay on the summit. Out
came the cameras, sandwiches, and even the Mad Axeman's can of McEwan's Export.
As we started our
descent the train passed with its usual load of tourists. Any one of us could
have been tempted to take a photograph of the locomotive as it seemed to sit on
top of the ridge and the result may have looked like a trick photograph. We
made our way down the Miners path, that is, a steep descent to the cwm
(to use a local word, as we were in Wales), past the derelict mine buildings
and on past the dark blue water of Llyn Llydaw with its mirror image of Y
Lliwedd. The latter is the last of the mountains in the Snowdon Horseshoe which
we were unable to attempt, owing to the weather; although our two days so far
had been generally dry and fairly overcast, the mornings had been damp to begin
with. Cloud cover spoiled the views from the top.
Back at the hotel, we
were all surprised to learn that the tall leggy blonde waitress, originated not
from Denmark, Norway or Holland, but the United States.
Friday night was
dominated by the post-dinner AGM.
Saturday started as
slowly as Thursday and Friday had done. Once again the damp air discouraged us
from venturing out onto the mountains until the late morning. Pauline and
Stephen had already left for home, Ian and Sadie chose a day on Snowdon, while
Jack Bannister, Anne, and others went for a gentle walk from the car park
nearest to the northern end of Tryfan, at Llyn Ogwen. The group which climbed
Tryfan consisted of Stuart and Chris Leslie, Mike Mossford, Bruce and Ian
McMullen — in what I shall call the Rock Rabbits (RR) team, and Daphne,
Mike Petzold, Eric and Valerie Scott and John and Richard Killick in the
Mountain Goats (MG) team.
Initially, the RRs and
the MGs started together up the steep northern ridge of Tryfan and comparisons
were made between this mountain and Matambale — or even Chigaru —
peaks on Mulanje. Gradually, the RRs and the MGs separated into their
respective groups; the RRs never seemed to be short of energy, clambering up
seemingly vertical boulders, ignoring whatever drop was below and apparently
taking the shortest line to the summit. By contrast, the MG team were much
slower, always looking for the path and nervous of even a 10ft drop.
At one point Mad Mike
missed the path and seemed to get lost. Eventually, he announced to the remainder
of the MGs that he was forming a team on his own and that he would give up on
this ascent of Tryfan.
The MGs eventually met
the RRs on the summit, plus approximately 100 tourists in various groups, some
of whom had no doubt come from Liverpool or Manchester for the day. Included in
that number were probably 10 children under the age of 10; their parents were
either foolhardy or had great faith in the ability of their young bairns. Apart
from looking in the distance (clouds rather than views!), an interesting
sideshow while we ate our lunch was provided by those who risked life and limb
by jumping from Adam to Eve and back again. For those who are in the dark, Adam
and Eve are two huge boulders which form the ultimate summit. Jumping from one
to the other is for those with steel nerves only as there is a 100 feet drop to
one side!
Mike appeared as we
left the summit. On his way down he had met a chartered accountant and his wife
from Liverpool; they started chatting, and then Mike discovered that this chap
had climbed this route on Tryfan some 38 times! He knew the route, and yes,
they were happy for Mike to tag along behind. There were nervous moments while
descending from the actual summit because a narrow rock bridge meant that we
had to look down the 100ft cliff again.
All of us proceeded to
the col between Tryfan and Glyder Fach, where we again split into two parties.
Some of the aforementioned RRs decided they had not had enough to do, so they
decided to walk over the Glyders too. The rest of us concluded that enough was
enough and walked back to the start.
On behalf of the rest
of us, I would like to thank Bruce Martin for his efforts in organising the
hotel and minibus which helped to ferry us to and from the peaks, and for
leading us while on the peaks. While the hotel was excellent and catered
unflinchingly for our diverse whims, we had to put up with traffic noise from
the A5 at all times of the night. Are you reading this, Mr Prescott, after your
250-yard limousine ride in Bournemouth?
Leader: Bruce "Legs" Martin
Participants: 22 (20 walkers)
Prick of the meet: Bruce
National Park website:
www.snowdonia-wales.net
©
WDYFO, 1999