A good mate and myself recently went on a walking trip into Snowdonia, with extensive plans for some serious outdoor pursuit.  We carried all the equipment you could wish for and set out one Friday evening after work.

Daymo, my mate, a student in geology in Liverpool University was home for the weekend and I wasn’t due back to work till the Wednesday so we had planned the journey weeks in advance. 

The plan was to leave Prestatyn for eight-o-clock and get the last train to Betws-y-Coed at around ten past nine.  Then it was the bus to Beddgelert arriving at the campsite for around half past ten at night. 

Late perhaps but we’re both experienced campers so putting the tents up in the dark is not a problem.

We arrived in Llandudno Junction at nine-o-clock and in good spirits we dragged the bags and ourselves off the train. It was then round to the appropriate platform for the connection to Betws-y-Coed and a short wait, only to find there was no train.

Now take into account the fact that we had each checked the times and connections before setting off, separately and from different locations.

When we’d got on the train about an hour earlier there had been no mention of cancelled trains not even possible delays.  We were mildly pissed, but only mildly as we’ve both lived in Wales for years and know only too well that much of the country is a twilight zone for public transport.  These sorts of things are to be expected although foolishly, this time we hadn’t.

At least some thoughtful soul had put up a sign pointing out a bus that would take us to Betws left in five minutes from just outside the station, no damage done really just a little lost time.

The bus was only twelve minutes late, not that I was counting, and to be honest that’s as good as being on time for anything that leaves the coastline (the twilight zone I was talking about).

It is a good point to note when planning any journey in Wales that the further from the coast you travel the more unreliable public transport becomes and as a rule of thumb get to your stop ten minuets early and expect to be waiting at least half an hour after it’s due, it’ll be early once and on time twice out of every 100 journeys but sod’s law rules and DON’T get me started about taxis.

The village of Betws-y-Coed is set in a steep, heavily wooded river valley and is a close-knit group of 19^th century or earlier cottages made largely from the local slate.  There are many larger Victorian built hostelries along the main street facing the River Llugwy as it splits the village north to south.  The only crossing is a virtually single-track bridge near the centre of town where the sprightly flow goes through a series of waterfalls the last of which empties out under the bridge into a placid river.

On the southern side of the bridge the arches stand some 10m high, bellow this lies the plunge pool, at least five meters deep, which is famous locally for diving.

The main street and much of the town centre is given over to tourism with a preponderance of outward-bound stores and Welsh tearooms in evidence.  At the southern end of town opposite the church there is a large green surrounded by ancient oak trees.

Beside the green is the train station and main bus stop and the new ‘sympathetically’ built shopping arcade; they have a fine ice-cream shop.

All in all Betws is a picture postcard Welsh village that I think struggles between maintaining its character and meeting the needs of the hundreds of thousands of visitors it receives each year.  I love the place, as the start point for so many trips it holds many happy memories

We actually arrived in Betws in the pitch black at around half past ten at night and an hour late.  The bus from Llandudno Junction having visited a variety of locations we’d missed the connection to Pen-Y-Pass and the only bus leaving for the rest of the night was the one we’d just got off.  With little other choice we decided to stay at a place not far from town.

There is a 24hour garage not far from the train station, relatively at least, and we headed in that direction to get some munchies before going to the campsite.

With it being so late we didn’t think the shop in town would be open but the guy in the garage informed us that it shut at eleven.  Needs must and off we went.

Daymo somehow managed to thumb a lift off an extremely nice man in a very small Fiesta and in we piled, somehow getting to the shop just before it closed.  Thanking our good samaritan profusely we proceeded to load up with much needed supplies.  Alcohol’s not very Christian perhaps but we were soon to be in great need.

We traipsed out to the campsite only to be greeted by a sign saying ‘no tents allowed if the office was shut, park up in your caravan and see us in the morning’.  It was now about twenty past eleven at night so of course the office was closed, the luck we were having was starting to be pain.

Anyway we looked at each other shrugged almost simultaneously and waked around the barrier.  Have you ever been hiking with full kit, you know, the likes of tent, cook gear, sleeping bag and clothes to name just a few of the essentials and weighs probably around 40kg but feels more like 60kg?  If not imagine, if you have you’ll understand why we went in and bollocks to the sign.  Respecting the rules when camping is important but the closest site was 4km away all and uphill and they could kick us off in the morning not a problem.

In retrospect the wine that night was probably a mistake but with a two for one offer on in the spar and a bit of a mix up about who was getting what it left us with the old dilemma that what you don’t drink you’ve got to carry and, well, your rucksack is always more than heavy.

Of course after all the drinking it was around half eight the next morning before either of us woke and midday before we where packed and ready to go which meant by the time we’d caught the bus to Pen-y-Pass, found the new campsite and put the tents up it was around three in the afternoon and too late to think about a climb.

We worked it out later that had we left home at eight O clock that morning we’d have most likely set up camp for around eleven it being daytime the forces of darkness are held at bay, total journey time: three hours, instead even though we set off 12 hours earlier we managed to arrived four hours later, total journey time: 19 hours (eerie music).

The campsite we had chosen was new to me having never stayed this close to Snowdon before and it is very cool.  It has sorts of extras including portable fireplaces and firewood for sale, a lake (Llyn Gwynant), a river (the Afon Glaslyn) and canoes.

It’s only downside in fact, is that it’s regrettably low lying (according to the OS it’s 79m above sea level) which meant the climb the next day was going to be that much longer and that much higher.  At this point I suppose I should take time to explain our chosen route.

The planned walk was an ambitious one involving some of the most challenging terrain Snowdonia has to offer.  From the camp on the shores of Llyn Gwynant (79m) we were to follow the Afon Glaslyn up to the hydroelectric plant and then the path along the Afon Trawsnant up to Pen-y-Pass (359m) where we would stop for lunch.  We would then take the most westerly trail and head for Bwlch-y-Moch (597m) and the path up Crib Goch (921m).  From there you follow the knife edge (height varies from a low of 859m to above 1km) all the way round to the peak of Snowdon (1085m.)  Then it’s the Watkins path down to Bwlch Ciliau (744m) and again following the ridge over the top of Y Lliwedd (898m) and down to the shore of Llyn Llydaw (430m.)  Eventually we would meet up with the miners trail to Pen-y-Pass and back to the campsite.

The total distance from start to finish is approximately 18.5km although that doesn’t do justice to the amount of climbing up and down that is included, free of charge, unless of course you count the toll on your legs.

Anyway we spent the rest of the day relaxing and drinking the wine left over from Betws, thinking to get an early night and even earlier start.  As usually happens we ended up sitting up half the night chatting and playing with the fire, I think Day took about 50 photos with various filters of that fire.  He even got me to me blow on the embers to get sparks flying.

We set off for about half ten the next morning and followed the Afon Glaslyn up to the PowerStation, a walk of less than 2km and through some beautiful country.  The path winds along the valley floor with the river never far away, through deciduous woodland strewn with house sized boulders, glacial deposits that betray the valleys origins.  Across carpets of moss and past the obligatory sheep it is a more than pleasant start to any walk.

The trail signs told us to cross the river via the bridge at the PowerStation and we blithely followed their lead until the path disappeared and left us in the middle of a bog, about half a kilometre in the wrong direction. 

Pig headedness then took the lead and we carried on saying to each other, or possibly more accurately with me saying, “the path has to be here somewhere” and by the time we looked at the map we were closer to the road on the other side of the valley than to our original route.  It was with various huffings and puffings that we set off up a slope half covered in gorse.

We reached the road eventually and followed what is perhaps the worst trail I have ever had the misfortune of having to climb.  All the small loose gravel had been washed away at some point leaving behind tennis ball sized chunks of rock as a walking surface. 

There were in fact miniature scree slopes running from the road at regular intervals showing just where the good walking had gone.

After about ten minuets of this we had had enough and with the path leading up from the Trawsnant to Pen-y-Pass more or less directly across the valley the decision was made to cross back to our planned route.  So what if it meant climbing down about 100m and a lateral journey of about half a kilometre, through a boggy wilderness filled with the ever-present gorse and an awful little plant. 

It, the plant, was no more than a foot high with a red woody stem covered in spikes, yes spikes not thorns.  A thorn suggests a certain hookieness, but these where straight out from the stem and stick you in the leg as soon as look at you. 

Not forgetting that waiting at the bottom of the valley was a river crossing although, when we got there it turned out to be little more than a stream.

After that it was straightforward up to Pen-y-Pass for lunch and although we’d started with about 4km to travel we probably covered 6km.  The extra two had been without a path and through a variety of flora.  You get used to digressions in the hills but neither of us expected it to happen so early in the journey.

Lunch was hot and cooked by someone else which is always a bonus when you’re camping and we set out for Crib Goch with renewed vigour.

By now, around one in the afternoon, the weather was starting to change with the sun we had gloried in for the last two days starting to compete for space with cloud.  The mountain ranger station reported cloud at 600m for the afternoon with wind around 15-20km so we powered in to the fist part of the climb to try and keep ahead of the weather.

We reached Bwlch-y-Moch and the start of the trail up Crib Goch at about the same time as the cloud and took a moment to consider the route.

One thing you learn early when climbing is, no matter where you are in the mountains, you show the weather respect.  It can go from glorious sunshine to a complete white out in minuets, leaving you stuck on a mountainside with zero visibility and no clear path.

Over the years I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Snowdonia just never around Snowdon itself, my favourite is the Ogwen valley to the north as it tends to be quieter with less day-trippers and there are some great mountains the best of which is Tryfan. 

So this entire area and all the climbs were new to me, which is not a good thing when you’re heading into cloud.  Daymo reassured me all would be well as he had done the knife-edge when he was younger and it was well marked with Cairns.

‘Besides’ he joked ‘once you’re on it, it’s hard to get lost’.

Crib Goch is pretty deceptive, or so I found, it’s not that high when you look at the map (in fact only 324m more than Bwlch-y-Moch) and the lower slopes are rocky but simple, of course when everything above you is in cloud it’s easy to be deceived.  After about 720m things start to get interesting as the trail stops being a path and turns into a cliff.  There’s nothing too demanding or too high with no single climb being more than 25m to 30m and the slope being relatively gentle. 

I imagine the views are spectacular; we just had no chance to see them.

By the time we reached the top the cloud had thickened and visibility was probably about 20m and as we sat for a quick bite to eat I had my first opportunity to consider the exact physical meaning of a knife-edge.

It’s stupid really, the way I hadn’t thought of the descriptive term used before being faced with the reality of what was actually being described.  I’m sure the appearance was made worse because it seemed to be floating in cloud but what an amazingly accurate term. 

In fact the ridge seemed to stretch out into the roiling nothingness just like a rocky blade.  Pitted and jagged but still sharp and seeming to point at the sky, oh and we were going to climb along it.

There’s a tried and tested method for crossing features such as this and that is to rope yourselves together and then go along on alternate sides.  If one falls those on either side get pulled forward into the rock face rather than backward off the cliff and then can brace themselves to pull the guy who has fallen back to safety.

We had no rope so we used the other tried and tested method, that being to hold on with a vice like grip, double check every foot hold and hope.

Essentially that was how we moved forward, carefully and through thickening cloud; holding the top of the ridge and checking every foothold we inched meticulously onwards.  There was one section I look back on now with a certain amount of horror and disbelief.  We had come to a section of flat rock along the peak and it just seemed natural to take advantage of the flat ground to stand up straight and walk upright for a while which we both did. It wasn’t until I thought about it later that I realised we were at around 920m above sea level and wandering about on a weathered chunk of rock no more than 50cm wide.

After about 1km of this you drop to 858m at a place named Bwlch Coch, this is a cleft in the ridge and it’s lowest point.  The grass grows here like a green oasis in a sea of rock and the cloud was billowing through soaking everything.  By now visibility was down to around 5m and with the wind picking up it was difficult to see where to go.

We got the map out and checked where we were and found that the most likely place for the path to be would be in a straight up into the cloud, over slick rock for at least 40m to the ridge top.

That was it for me with no clear trail signs, the weather deteriorating and the afternoon moving on to evening it was time to head back to camp before it started getting dark.  We found a sheltered spot just down from the peak and made a brew, checking the map for the safest route.  There are no paths down from the knife-edge and for the most part it’s very steep scree interspersed with bare rock and precipitous drops.

We were lucky, I suppose, because we were at the lowest point on the ridge with the pyg track only 300meters or so below.  We decided to head straight down across the scree until we met up with the path and then an easy walk back to Pen-Y-Pass and hopefully a bus to camp.

Things are never that simple and it took nearly an hour to wend our way across the wasteland of broken rock, scree and sudden drops that was our chosen route.  By the time we arrived at the bus stop it was gone six O-clock and we had a choice between the long walk back to camp or a two hour wait for the next bus.

We walked and it was almost dark by the time we got back to camp but at least we had made it back. We’d have got back sooner had Daymo not stopped every five minuets to take photos. 

At least we weren’t stuck half way down Snowdon with one torch between the two of us.

Around the campfire that night there was much talk of coming back next year, perhaps being a bit more organised and doing the full ridge walk.  I must admit to a certain amount of determination to do just that, the memory of stepping out onto the knife-edge for the first time is not one I will forget in a hurry.

The thought of doing so in clear weather with the drop on either side in full view fills me with fear and excitement in equal measure.  Not only that there’s no way I am about to let something like the weather or a mountain beat me.

Monday morning started out blustery and grew steadily worse so that when we went to hire a couple canoes we were told they couldn’t allow boats out.  The wind had picked up to the point where if we went out on the lake the wind would push us to the other side.  With little else to do we struck camp and went to find a bus to take us home.

We arrived at the road with time to spare only to realise there was no bus stop to be seen, not even a lay-by we could stand in.  There was just a narrow road walled with traditional slate dry stone and with twenty minutes or so until the bus was due so we set off walking.  We went downhill towards Beddgelert, the easier option, in the hopes of finding a bus stop or at least a lay-by from where we could flag down the bus in safety.

Our luck was in at last because instead of a bus stop we found a park ranger who when asked for directions told us to throw our stuff in the back of the truck.  She drove us to the closest stop and just as well she did because it was over two and a half kilometres.

The bus was late, but only by twenty minuets, and in total it took about three and a half hours to get home.