Llech Ddu Spur
To Snowdonia, where Trail discovers that a silent valley, raking ridgeline, classic scramble and fresh dump of snow make for a truly magical route.
A snowy scramble in a quieter corner of Wales
Ilook up from my snow-crusted boots, taking a break from the monotony of focusing hard on every delicate foot placement, and allow myself a few seconds to absorb the surroundings. My concentration has been broken by the hum of helicopter blades thumping somewhere beneath me, shattering the silence of the empty valley below. Ahead of me is a beautifully sculpted ridgeline, crowned by a pristine dollop of snow, knobbled like the backbone of an enormous alligator, leading straight to the summit of the third highest mountain in Wales.
I don’t mind admitting this place has taken me by surprise. I know I’m in Snowdonia because I drove through Bethesda a couple of hours ago, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it. It feels vast, empty, brutal, forgotten. Cwm Llafar, the gaping valley above which our ridge sits, is certainly more Scotland than Wales. It’s almost three miles from the nearest road, with the only indication of prior human habitation found in the decaying relics of industry we passed on the long, lonely walk-in.
We chatted briefly with a cheery Dutch walker shortly after setting off from the village of Gerlan, but we’re all alone now, perched high on the monstrous northern crags of Carnedd Dafydd, about to tackle the kind of ridge your parents would warn you never to go anywhere near. The ridge is the Llech Ddu Spur (otherwise known as the black ridge), a masterful scramble in a setting so spectacular you could be forgiven for thinking you’d jumped on a plane and jetted 1,000 miles into the heart of the Alps. The vicious, beautiful arc of the Ysgolion Duon cliffs – 1000 metres wide and 250 metres high – sweeps away to my left, encircling the head of Cwm Llafar. I can’t quite believe I’ve never been here before, or heard so little about it. Surely those cliffs, this ridge, these views, should be plastered across every Snowdonia National Park postcard or fridge magnet? But thankfully they aren’t, because then we wouldn’t have it all to ourselves.
I size up the challenge ahead, and it’s considerable. We’re in the thick of the Carneddau, the largest mountain range in north Wales at almost 200 square kilometres, and we’re about to attempt a ridge that I’m fairly sure is just about within the capabilities of a slightly nervy winter walker such as myself – but I won’t know for certain until I’m at the top. My current location is somewhere near the tip of the pyramidal crag known as Llech Ddu, which soars 100m from the valley floor to the start of this ridge. We approached our current position by climbing an incredibly steep grass slope to the left of Llech Ddu, which if I’d slipped on would have sent me hurtling towards the valley floor at breakneck speed; but there’s also an alternative approach via a grassy ramp to the right of the cliffs that – with the wonderful benefit of hindsight – I now wish we’d taken. I’m already tense, and about to become more so.
The route ahead looks challenging and varied, and I’m glad I’m not here by myself. My guidebook (the excellent
North Wales Scrambles by Garry Smith) informs me that the start of the ridge is marked by a distinctive band of white quartz; but since everything looks white today that information has limited value. Still, the ridge isn’t hard to spot, narrowing sharply in front of us with steep drops to both sides. It certainly doesn’t look impossible, and I approach the first scrambling sections with confidence high and adrenaline pumping; but I’m well aware that a careless foot placement in this kind of terrain, in these kinds of conditions, could have severe consequences.
The earliest, thinnest section of ridge turns out to be the most nerve-racking. The drops to the sides have me worried, and I’m determined not to let my concentration levels dip. The snow is in good condition, providing firm holds for feet, hands and axe tips, and the whole experience quickly becomes enormous fun. The key is decision making. Don’t fancy climbing straight up that frozen ice block? No problem; sneak round the side. Think that spiky, icy crest looks more exciting than the ugly gully to its right? Great; go for it! Once the early, narrow section is safely crossed, the exposure levels quickly drop, leaving me safe in the knowledge that a slip or fall will definitely be painful, but probably not fatal. Not great odds, but just about acceptable.
I back down from a few things but Tom – Trail’s evergreen photographer and a veteran of more winters than he’d care to disclose – is braver. He takes the crest almost all the way to the summit, scaling boulders, towers, slabs, gullies and rakes that in summer wouldn’t even demand a second glance but in winter remain imprinted on your brain for weeks, months, maybe even years to come.
The thing I find about walking, scrambling and climbing in snow is that it constantly makes me question myself. And that’s what makes experience vital. I realise about halfway up the Llech Ddu Spur that I’m right at the limit of my experience, and that’s a place I’m more than happy to be. A little more exposure and I may well freeze on the spot, a little more technicality and I may well turn back; but if anything I gain confidence as I climb, enjoying myself more and more as we approach Carnedd Dafydd’s 1044m summit.
Shortly before the scrambling finishes
I get a little cocky, trusting my whole body weight to my ice axe, which I’ve jammed into a crack between two icy blocks. I push myself upwards, offbalance, and the axe shifts. Not far – probably just a couple of centimetres – but the shock knocks me off balance and almost brings up the contents of my breakfast. “Keep concentrating, you *!@*%,” I mutter to myself. I re-focus, commit myself fully to the next few moves, and all of a sudden I’m off the ridge, off the rock, safely on the snow, strolling up the last few feet to the summit. There’s a smug grin on my face, proud of the achievement, and also a sense of relief that I’ve taken a few risks and got away with it (again) on a famous winter route.
In low cloud Carnedd Dafydd’s summit is a nasty place to be – broad, featureless and requiring competent navigation skills to depart safely. We have no such problems today, though, with the cloud lifting to reveal glorious views across the Ogwen Valley, with the craggy eastern approaches to Foel-goch, Mynydd Perfedd and Carnedd y Filiast catching the eye.
It’s been a fabulous day in the mountains, far mote exciting, enjoyable and challenging than I’d imagined while shovelling down cereal in YHA Pen-y-Pass that morning. I’ve done longer, steeper and more technical routes than the Llech Ddu Spur, but I can honestly remember few better.
A little more exposure and I may well freeze on the spot, a little more technicality and I may well turn back...