Although my tent survived a windy night, high winds caused me to deviate from the Cambrian Way route up Snowdon, the highest peak in England and Wales. I left the Watkin path as per the guidebook and followed a well preserved section of tramway, a remnant of old mine workings, then climbed up to a pass. Suddenly the easterly wind hit me with great power, progress was a struggle. As the Cambrian Way continues along a ridge for two kilometres, part of which is narrow, I would have been extremely exposed to high winds trying to push me off. Deciding it was safer to follow the more sheltered Watkin path and telling myself the Cambrian Way route would still be there another day, I reluctantly descended the few hundred metres I had just put so much effort in climbing.
Plenty of people and their dogs were following the Watkin path uphill to the top of Snowdon. As the summit approached I entered the clouds, so there was little to see except rocks, the path and fellow hikers, their jackets and backpacks. At the very top, high winds ripped past me and I joined many others sheltering behind the café, closed of course due to Covid 19, watching people being blasted by the high windspeed, their clothes flapping violently as they came around the corner. At the very summit there seemed a huge crowd of people in the grey mist, many gripping each other for support.
People at summit of Snowdon
I continued to be amazed by the number and variety of people coming up as I walked down the mountain on the Pyg path. Different languages and accents could be heard; there were lean fit people and wider bodied individuals; families were climbing together, as were groups of young lads and lasses. Some seemed to be on sponsored walks for various good causes (cystic fibrosis and Woodlands hospice to name two). Quite a variety of dogs were enjoying the climb too, from little bichon frise to large mountain dogs and everything between. One small pug was being carried up in a special rucksack, as were a few small children.
Reaching Pen y Pass at the base of the Pyg track I ate a burger and chips at the youth hostel and as it was only around 1:00 pm when I finished, I began the next, long, tiring climb up Glyder Fawr. In places there were traces on the rocks of red painted circles, where once the trail was marked in the continental fashion for the Queen's Jubilee, a practice which was not repeated or maintained. Glyder Fawr, the next peak of Glyder Fach and much in between was a bleak, grey collection of shattered rocks, some still in position but most scattered across the ridge. I was asked about the way down twice which made me worried about how prepared many of the people on the mountain were today. Maybe the Mountain Rescue would have a busy night.
At 5:30 pm I reached the Ogwen visitor centre, in the deep valley between the ridges of the Glyderau and the Carneddau. Unfortunately arriving after the takeaway had closed, I left the crowds behind and continued on a path that runs north of the waters of Llyn Ogwen. As the nearby youth hostel was not open to individuals, my plan had been to stay at the nearby campsite, where a few scattered tents were pitched, but on reaching its entrance, signs told me clearly "Bookings only" and "No Vacancies". Covid 19 was blamed for the limited number of campers allowed. Annoyed as the diversion to the site added an extra kilometre or so to a long day, I retraced my steps and reluctantly started the climb up the next range, the Carneddau. A "no camping" sign lower down ruled out any legal accommodation options, so I am now camped high up in a coombe, beside a lake, out of sight of anyone and well away from any farm buildings. No-one can see me or my tent now it is dark, and after I leave, first thing in the morning, no traces of my presence will remain.
Looking towards Carneddau from Gylder Fach.
Cantilever stone on Glyder Fach
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