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Day 28
I slept as well as in any bed. I went out once at 3am and saw the moon, now nearly full, just
setting behind the hill. When I woke again it was 6.30am and fully light. This was quite
unprecedented as I was usually awake watching the seams of the tent appear until there was
enough light to brew up coffee.
It is a long steep climb from here on to the Nantlle ridge but no sooner had I stopped to
remove a layer of clothing than a gust of that bitter north wind made me think better of it.
At a first glance the southern slopes of Craig Cwm Silyn appeared rough and forbidding, a
mixture of stones and heather stirring uncomfortable memories of the Rhinogs. In fact a
sheep track, undoubtedly augmented by walkers, winds its way pleasantly round to the col
from which it is an easy stroll to the shattered trig point at the far end of the flat top of
Garnedd Goch. This is not the last top of the ridge. Two kilometres further west and 100m
lower lies Mynydd Graig Goch. The diversion to this outlier was one which I did not have
to do since its altitude is only 1998 feet!
Another walker was coming up behind me along the ridge. I wondered where he had
come from with only a small rucksack so relatively early in the morning. Oddly he did not
come up to the trig point. I felt that he was trying to avoid me. Perhaps he was a foreigner
or deaf and could not communicate. Or was he going along the ridge writing the message
which I found on every stile, 'you English are welcome to visit Wales but please don't come
and live here'? I wished I had a thick felt-tip pen to add 'I wouldn't want to thanks - its full
of Welsh', but this would simply have been a gut reaction to the slogan and the irritation of
finding graffiti on the mountain. The truth is that I had nothing but friendliness from all the
people that I met on this trip.
Thirty years ago, when we started coming to North Wales, we looked on the Nantlle ridge
as an undiscovered gem, a place to walk in solitude. Solitude is found on these hills no
longer. I dropped down the steep side of Craig Cwm Silyn. Route finding used to be a
challenge here with each person devising an individual variant through the crags. Now a
clear path swings northwards to evade the problems. I followed it, not wanting any more
awkward descents over rock steps with the heavy pack. Soon I was meeting crowds of
people all proceeding in the more popular westerly direction. A big group was eating lunch
in the shelter of the jubilee tower on Mynydd Tal-y-mignedd. Beyond this grassy top the
ridge narrows, still on grass, a true 'striding edge' with empty space on either side and only
one small rocky hiatus in the col to interrupt steady progress towards the next top, Trum y
Ddysgl. From here a much more rocky prospect opens up. The steep western slopes of
Mynydd Drws-y-coed were dramatically illuminated by shafts of sunlight as black clouds
built up to the south. By the time I was scrambling down the north ridge of this hill their
threat had dispersed and the sun shone unopposed. The crowds could not disguise the
splendour of this ridge. Their comments confirmed that all were appreciating this day of
sparkling sunshine and enjoying the perfect scrambling on dry rock with even the wind
now subsiding to a gentle, though still rather cool, breeze.
The ridge terminates dramatically on Y Garn with its bird's eye view onto Bwlchgyffin.
Beyond this deep defile my next mountain, Mynydd Mawr, stood beyond the equally steep
crags of Craig y Bera. I had found the big pack a nuisance on the narrowest parts of the
ridge and was anxious to find accommodation so that I could do the Snowdon tops without
it tomorrow. Although the youth hostel seemed the obvious place to stay I had no booking
and it now occured to me that if I could find a room in Rhyd-Ddu then I could go up
Mynydd Mawr this afternoon without the rucksack. Hence I made the short diversion into
the village where I enjoyed a pint of lager but failed to find a bed. I rang the youth hostel
but, since it was only 3pm, was not surprised to get no reply.
I resigned myself to carrying my pack up the mountain but when I emerged from the
forest the sight of the enormous climb ahead gave me second thoughts. The map confirmed
the ascent to be about 1500 feet which confirmed my decision to risk abandoning it by the
forest fence. A young couple nearby were far more interested in each other than in my
rucksack. Nobody else saw it I am sure. Although it was only 4pm the hills were suddenly
empty. Looking across to the Nantlle ridge, spectacular from here, I could see none of the
little silhouette figures which had been around the previous evening. Everybody had gone
home with the end of the bank holiday.
Without the pack I shot up and down Mynydd Mawr in one and a half hours, pausing
briefly on the summit to enjoy the beauty of a now almost cloudless afternoon. The wind
had dropped too and the sea looked dead calm from this high vantage point. I could almost
see reflections in it. Although there was plenty of daylight left the scene already had that
special beauty of a view westwards into a seascape lit by the westering sun. Eastwards the
green slopes of the Carneddau stood clear behind the Glyders with Tryfan peeping
unmistakeably over the ridge and seen for the first time on this walk. Closer at hand was
Snowdon, its ridges etched sharp in the clear air, promising a wonderful day tomorrow.
As I arrived at the hostel and saw only two cars in the car park I knew that I was going to
be lucky and get a bed.
next day
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