Roger Butler enjoys life above the clouds
LLYN OGWEN was a perfect mirror and the reflections of the bright orange slopes below Pen yr Ole Wen were as sharp as scissors. Early sunshine swept down Nant y Benglog and the smell of sizzling bacon drifted from the lakeside lay-bys. The west face of Tryfan was dark and eerie but light was already creeping onto the snowcovered buttresses in Cwm Bochlwyd.
Damp willows, with roots like a witch’s fingers, lined the way to a bumpy path up Cwm Tryfan and a junction with the old Miners’ Track below Llyn Caseg-fraith. This was one place I’d always wanted to
visit, but previous outings had somehow missed the mountain lake where famous mountain photographer Walter Poucher once pictured Tryfan as a jet black dinosaur.
It didn’t look too hopeful when billowing banks of mist clung to the slanted plateau above Y Foel Goch; and the brightly clad walker who emerged from the mist on the high Glyderau must have had a very early start. I spent a good hour waiting for the light and eventually the ice-splintered water became a sparkling foreground to a wild mountain vista. I broke through bands of fresh snow to reach the crest of Glyder Fach, where icy rime covered the slabs and care was needed to reach the true summit. The view to the south was breathtaking.
A thick duvet of cloud covered the entire country south of Snowdon. Two local lads eating lunch by the sculptural Castell y
Gwynt (Castle of the Winds) were impressed: “You don’t often see it like this!” This was certainly one of the finest inversions I’d ever seen. Moel Siabod pushed its way into the dazzling blue sky and, straight in front, the full Snowdon horseshoe shimmered in Alpine glory. The rumpled cloud that flowed over Cadair Idris could have been a teenager’s unmade bed; but the Carneddau, to the north, remained completely cloudfree and the ridge of Craig yr Ysfa resembled a well-used bread knife.
I didn’t want to leave but I needed to wander west over Bwlch y Ddwy-Glyder. Down below, full sun had now reached Llyn Bochlwyd. The snow had melted on the gradual climb to stony Glyder Fawr – always a bit of an anti-climax after the rocky artworks on Glyder Fach – and I stood here for ten minutes to take in a final view of the breathtaking panorama.
The descent to Llyn y Cŵn was as awkward as ever: steep scree and a badly eroded path were compounded by slippery boot prints and icy zig-zags. Ahead, Y Garn glowed like burnt ginger as I found the shadowy path leading into the Devil’s Kitchen. It was almost pitch dark by the time I reached Llyn Idwal, and careful steps were needed on the way down to the A5 at Ogwen Cottage.