Snowdonia
Get to know Wales’ oldest, biggest and wildest national park on a pick ‘n’ mix trail of high mountains and deep valleys.
ACAREFUL READER WOULD have seen it on page two of The Times on 23rd October 1951, tucked between ‘John Biscoe sails for Antarctic’ and ‘Ecuadorean plants for museum’. ‘National park in Snowdonia,’ the small headline ran, ‘Order confirmed by minister’. It was a muted announcement for an event that 70 years later still has us whooping for joy: the birth of Wales’ first national park, and Britain’s third.
Snowdonia covers a huge swathe of Wales’ ruggedest country, from Powys in Mid Wales up to the north coast. Half a million people a year stand on the park’s high-point and namesake – Snowdon – making it the busiest summit in Britain. From its top, 3560 feet up, peaks crinkle in every direction. In between you’ll find fastflowing rivers, Celtic rainforests, deep glacial cwms, and out on the edge even broad sandy estuaries. It’s daunting to know where to start in this vast, wild place, but I think I’ve found the perfect trail. ▶
The 97-mile Snowdonia Way is Wales’ answer to the West Highland Way. It takes you from Machynlleth just south of the park to Conwy in the north, threading between the mountains rather than over them. It lets you look up at superstars like Cadair Idris, Snowdon and Tryfan, and discover all the hidden places in between too. But that’s not all: intertwined with the main route is a 122-mile mountain alternative so you can climb high if you want to. As a rule, both routes begin and end each day in the same places, meaning it’s flexible enough for you to pick and choose from one morning to the next, depending on weather, time, fitness, how many drinks you had the night before, and so on.
The clock tower in Machynlleth marks the start of the trail and I’m soon enjoying a gentle path beside a very swollen Afon Dyfi (River Dovey). Quiet tree-lined lanes lead to Corris, set on a steep hill with rows of slate-grey and whitewashed houses, and it’s here I cheat a little and make a beeline for Cadair Idris. The main route skirts around it and the mountain route takes two days to get there which is time I don’t have (and I tell myself it’s okay to detour because the Snowdonia Way is all about flexibility).
I soon catch my first glimpse of the massif, and it looks magnificent. Wooded hillsides give way to a bare monster of exposed crags and waterfalls. The very top is obscured by cloud blowing across it at speed – it feels exciting and a little intimidating. Walking a brief section on the A487 a motorist stops and winds his window down: “Excuse me, could you tell me the way to England?” Given I’m less than 10 miles from Wales’ west coast, this is an extraordinary loss of bearings. I tell him to turn right at the next T-junction, and hope I don’t get so lost.
I begin the steep ascent through ancient oak woodland to reach beautiful Llyn Cau, its water framed perfectly by the pyramid of Craig Cwm Amarch. Clambering onto the ridge, there’s a stark contrast of landscapes – east is smooth grassy hills, west is bulbous rock and scree-covered slope – and as I make the final ascent to the highest point at Penygadair, the view stretches along the Mawddach Estuary to the sea, which reflects the silvery sky so precisely that the horizon is hard to pinpoint.
Legend has it that those who sleep on this mountain wake either mad or a poet, and there’s a small shelter hunkered near the summit trig point. I’m planning to spend the
night, and as I step inside the reality hits me. It appears to be a place of permanent darkness, where tiny beads of moisture fill the air and thick moss grows on the window sills. The floor is the only reasonable place to lay a sleeping mat, yet finding a spot without a sharp poke of rock is tricky. After a few hours’ shut-eye I leave at dawn (Poet? Madman? I’m not sure) to trace the mountain route along the high ridge to Mynydd Moel, and down Gau Graig to Dolgellau and a much-needed all-day breakfast.
Back on the main Snowdonia Way, I skirt the edge of Bryniau Glo before beginning a long stretch through Coed-y-Brenin. This evergreen forest is popular with mountain bikers, but I discover there are great walking trails too as I cross a footbridge high above the Afon Mawddach shooting through a narrow channel between the rocks. A mist adds to the atmosphere, as it clings, eerily, to the valley’s trees.
Where the forest ends, craggy moorland begins. This is the Snowdonia few explore – a rugged, rocky wilderness between Cadair and the northern summits. There are no significant peaks, but plenty of appeal for those who relish wild, windswept wanders. I gradually descend to the shores of Llyn Trawsfynydd, where a cycle trail carries me high above the water before swerving between rocky mounds and dropping into one of the most stunning forests I’ve ever seen.
Coed Llennyrch is the southern part of a large ancient woodland that overlooks the deep gorge of Ceunant Llennyrch. Together with Coed Felenrhyd to the north it’s a designated ▶
“The trail lets you look up at superstars like Cadair Idris, Snowdon and Tryfan, and discover all the hidden places in between too.
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Welsh Celtic rainforest. Moss covers the rocks and ancient oaks, whose gnarled branches interlock chaotically. The paths are basic, in keeping with the raw, undisturbed beauty of the woodland. I reach a farm intending to explore more of this incredible forest, but my knees suggest this might not be a good idea. The long day from the summit of Cadair has taken its toll, and I opt for a country lane that floats me gently down to the village of Penrhyndeudraeth. The final descent offers incredible views over the Dwyryd Estuary, with the long arm of the Llŷn Peninsula to the right, a distant Harlech Castle to the left, and the sun setting behind.
Next morning, there’s something almost feral about the scenery – old barns with their roofs caved in, partially collapsed drystone walls, sodden sheep staring into the middle distance – before I reach a lane that heads towards the village of Croesor. It rises to a point where I spot the distinctive pyramid of Cnicht to the north, and out west, distant waves crashing where ocean becomes estuary.
Beyond Croesor, a path leads down to a lane and a whitewashed cottage with a rickety roof. Snowdonia is obviously famed for its mountains, but it’s sections like this that take me most by surprise. Wherever I look it’s beautiful. The paths and lanes wiggle their way up, down and round, as if they too are keen to explore this constantly evolving and exhilarating landscape, with its gushing streams, oak woods, lone knobbly trees in lush fields, and large jagged rocks.
Then, beyond the village of Nantmor, I reach one of the highlights of the entire walk – the Pass of Aberglaslyn. It’s rare for a path to follow a waterway so closely; at times this one even overhangs it as you carefully tread across giant slabs, sometimes gripping onto handles that have been mercifully placed in the rock. With all the recent rain, the river is roaring, and its power is thrilling.
Through Beddgelert I go – disappointed to find its famous ice-cream shop shut
– and on to Llyn Dinas, where a sharp downpour turns into 15 minutes following a rainbow as it perfectly frames the distant crags of Snowdon’s next-door neighbour, Y Lliwedd. I pass the start of the Watkin Path up Snowdon (which the mountain route follows, before branching out to scramble up the South Ridge to the summit) and stick with the main Way along the western shore of Llyn Gwynant and into a wood. The path rises to a huge rock that juts out to make a great picnic spot with uninterrupted views over the lake.
Further up-valley I cross the Afon Glaslyn and turn up towards Pen-y-Pass. The landscape gets very dramatic very quickly, as the Afon Glaslyn drops like a white strip of ribbon from the hillside
“I opt for the
Pyg Track up Snowdon: a craggy, fun trail, with the odd easy scramble.
▲ opposite, Crib Goch peeps over its shoulder, and soon there are spectacular views down-valley to a now-distant Llyn Gwynant.
I’m buzzing after an incredible day’s walk, and the hostel at Pen-y-Pass is a welcome sight. But this is as far as I can go along the Snowdonia Way. Both versions of the trail now head into the county of Conwy which has just closed its borders due to Covid. I decide to stay an extra night at Pen-y-Pass: it gives me a chance to climb Snowdon tomorrow (without a heavy pack!), then head to Bangor on my final day, finishing at the pier that stretches over the Menai Strait.
I opt for the Pyg Track up Snowdon: a craggy, fun trail, with the odd easy scramble. As I look down on Llyn Llydaw, patches of sun dot the valley like spotlights, while a peregrine whizzes past at the same speed as the
cloud flowing like a river behind Y Lliwedd. Nearing the ridge at the top, I find myself in that raft of cloud, socked in by mist all the way to the summit.
One of the great pleasures of hillwalking is descending in thick fog and suddenly hitting the point where the cloud clears and the whole landscape opens in front of you. That’s what happens as I head down the Llanberis Path. After staring at water vapour for 15 minutes, I can now see the railway snaking its way down the hill, and the glistening waters of Llyn Padarn in the distance. This path is a relaxing descent – its gradients are the friendliest of all the routes on Snowdon – after which I head back to Pen-y-Pass on the road. It’s wonderful to see this spectacular valley on foot instead of from a car window, as giant boulders close in towards the top, and huge summits with hostile slopes tower above.
On the final morning I climb Glyder Fawr, following my nose up the steep mountainside in cloud so dense I can barely make out any of its famously sharp rocks. With no ceremony – or even a pause – at the top, I head down again, willing the murk to clear. It does, and the ‘chimney’ of the steep descent of Devil’s Kitchen appears out of the mist, like a scene from Apocalypse Now. ▶