CLEANSLATE
Rebecca Coles has walked long-distance trails all over the world. As lockdown lifts, can she find the same satisfaction locally on the Snowdonia Slate Trail?
AFTER SPENDING lockdown walking the footpaths around my home, I was left with a strong urge to wander further. I’ve trekked and climbed all over the world, as well as completing several longdistance trails. My meanderings have taken me from the Isle of Skye to Hadrian’s Wall, from the John Muir Trail in California to multi-day trails in New Zealand, and amongst the 8000m peaks of the Himalayas – but I had never walked a multi-day route beginning and ending at my front door.
In this age of climate crisis, it feels increasingly unjustifiable to fly around the world to enjoy the very environments so at risk from rising temperatures and extreme weather events. This was an opportunity to break a habit.
Living on the boundary of Snowdonia National Park, I had few excuses. Walking, for me, has always made exploring new places an immersive experience – but could I find the same satisfaction so close to home? With a spell of good weather forecast, I prepared to spend four days walking a variation of the Snowdonia Slate Trail from my front door.
QUARRY HUNTING
My partner was concerned. Not for me, of course, but for the dog, who I planned to take with me. She had never camped before or walked that far, so his concerns were somewhat justified – but we had been out training and I thought she would manage it. The trail was a low-level route, never straying too far from a road. And if there was a problem, he could drive a short distance to pick her up. The advantages of exploring from home were becoming evident.
I’d chosen to walk this circular route in reverse of the suggested direction, for no other reason than it seemed more logical to turn left rather than right and walk clockwise. The sun was shining as we struck off up the road that took us above the Dinorwic Slate Quarry. At its peak, this quarry employed 3000 workers. Now the eerie quietness was only disturbed by the echoes of clinking slate beneath our feet.
The slate quarried here was of the highest quality and it was once exported around the world for use as roofing tiles. The names of the largest quarries – California and Australia – allude to its final destination. Slate made the quarry owners rich and provided work for the surrounding communities, but it came with a price for the quarrymen. At the foot of the quarry was a hospital, built to repair the bodies of injured employees and get them back to work as quickly as possible.
Having joined the Slate Trail in the village of Dinorwic, I walked beneath Elidir Fawr towards Bethesda. I was heading towards an anomaly: one of the few remaining working quarries in Wales. The occasional boom of blasting from the Penrhyn Quarry – now the largest in the UK – is heard across this moorland as the excavation inches westward along the slate vein. Penrhyn Quarry has a history of workers’ struggles. Quarrymen
took part in an 1896 strike to demand better pay and working conditions. A second strike began in 1900 and lasted three years. Known as the Great Strike of Penrhyn, it was the longest industrial dispute in British history.
Not needing supplies so early on in my journey, I bypassed Bethesda High Street and joined the Lon Las route into the Nant Ffrancon Valley. As I continued on into the Ogwen Valley, the scenery abruptly changed. No longer dominated by human modification, this landscape was created by a natural excavation process: glaciation. The beauty brings with it crowds of visitors who come to enjoy the scenery. Many of them were taking advantage of the hot weather to tuck into ice creams.
It was an abrupt change from the loneliness of the quarries I’d just travelled through – although even they aren’t quite as lonely as they once were. The abandoned voids are fast being filled with recreation opportunities for visitors. Zip lines, underground adventures and mountain biking trails are being developed at a commercial level, and climbing and walking enjoyed in less formal ways.
SLATE OF THE ART
Reaching the end of the Ogwen Valley, my legs and shoulders felt alarmingly tired. Clearly they were unaccustomed to long periods of exercise. There are many campsites in the area – but, due to limited space and difficulties with booking, I opted to wild camp. The route doesn’t really lend itself to wild camping, however, so I wouldn’t advise following my example. Luckily, though, I knew a few spots where I could tuck myself away.
I had a surprisingly peaceful night with a somewhat confused dog curled up at my side. In the dewy stillness of early morning, I drifted along beside the Afon Llugwy to Betws-y-Coed. I bought food for lunch as the town began to wake up, then continued along riverside paths beside the Conwy and the Afon Machno. Around
the Conwy Falls, I was jolted out a daydream by fast-approaching cars on the route’s only significant road section (not too bad considering that this is a 134km valley walk).
Once into the Machno Valley, away from the hustle and bustle of Betws-y-Coed, things became quiet and sleepy again. This was a part of Snowdonia I knew little about: only a day and a half ’s walk from my home, and I had never been here before.
After the village of Penmachno I continued along forestry tracks in the increasing heat of the day, the dog panting at my side. Suddenly, I realised I’d picked up a deep and painful blister. How had my feet become so soft in lockdown? I hobbled on, cursing my amateur mistake. As the valley terminated in Cwm Penmachno, a steep climb along quarry tracks led towards the Manod Quarry. Work ceased here in 1939 at the outbreak of World War Two, when it had the unusual role of housing paintings from the National Galley to protect them from German bombs. I picked my way past derelict buildings and across slate waste before following small paths along a wild and remote ridge above Cwm Teigl.
On the morning of my third day, I reached the route’s most southerly point near Llan Ffestiniog – but not before walking through the dramatic Cwm Cynfal, where the Afon Cynfal tumbles over many waterfalls. The scenery becomes even more enchanting as the trail enters deep forest along the Ceunant Cynfal and Afon Teigl, where ivy drips off railway viaducts and cushions of moss carpet the forest floor. I didn’t see a soul.
I was limping along now, my recently acquired blister really bothering me. My partner rang. Having spent many months continuously together, I think he was missing me and the dog. He drove out to meet us and brought alternative footwear for me. We had coffee in the van as the rain drummed noisily on the roof. The weather had turned an hour or so beforehand from glorious sunshine to torrential downpour.
Reshod, I sloshed across fields to gain Blaenau Ffestiniog and then pushed on to Tan-y-Grisiau to pick up the quarry track into Cwm Orthin. I was back in familiar territory here, as I regularly spend time climbing and walking in the Moelwynion and I have always loved the dramatic landscape. The rain was now lashing sideways and whistling through the large, roofless ruins. The cloud swallowed me and the dog as we ascended the track at the back of the cwm. In these conditions, at this high and remote part of the
trail, I was glad to not be relying on following signs. Despite sparse preparations, I had marked a map with the route and I’d brought a compass. As a backup, I’d also downloaded the GPX file available on the Snowdonia Slate Trail website. The tricky navigation improved once I’d picked up the good track which descends into Cwm Croesor.
Before walking this trail, it had never occurred to me that the journey from Croesor to Beddgelert could be both enjoyable and possible. Travelling by car fragments the landscape, confusing our sense of place. Walking reconnects us – not only to the landscape but also to new geographical opportunities. Never have I felt this more acutely than on this journey. It was like joining isolated dots which had sat neglected for too long.
The highlight of the section to Beddgelert was walking the dramatic Fisherman’s Path along the River Glaslyn. One of the triumphs of this trail is that it connects many well-known and loved lowland routes in Snowdonia with lesser-known and completely obscure paths. The dog and I paused at Gelert’s Grave and I pretended she understood the story of this brave hound. Beyond the trinket stores and ice cream shops of Beddgelert, we entered forestry tracks where steady rain fell sullenly. It was nearing the end of a long day – I was soaked to the skin and not enthusiastic at the prospect of camping with a wet dog. I was only about 10 miles as the crow flies from home now, although the trail would take me in the opposite direction for a while before it looped back. The realisation that I didn’t need to suffer a cold, wet camp dawned on me. I could phone my partner for a pick-up, have a night of comfort in my own bed, then carry on walking the following morning. I pulled my phone from my pocket…
CONNECTING THE DOTS
The following morning, he dropped me back in Rhyd-Ddu on his way to work. It had rained all night and – although the downpour had eased into drizzle – the wind was gusting strongly. The dog and I turned west and, with our backs to Snowdon, headed up and over into the Nantlle Valley. The streams were bursting their banks and I only just made it through a 100m-long puddle without the water spilling over my boots. I was lucky to be able to continue on into the quarries by the village of Nantlle. My partner wasn’t so lucky – he was an hour late for work due to flooding diversions.
My legs were tired as I climbed through the quarries to Fron. I’d underestimated the trail. Categorising it as a valley walk ignores the 4550m of ascent it clocks up. Four days was too short a time for a leisurely pace, and my legs were complaining now. We fought the wind across the causeway to Fron, the dog whining in complaint at the weather, and continued through the slate waste on Moel Tryfan. This landscape must have once hummed with activity. Now it was desolate but for a solitary digger which, in the driving rain, was salvaging slate waste, picking at it like a raven at carrion.
The final hill of Cefn Du awaited. The Glynrhonwy quarries once exploited this hillside. They were pressed into service as a munition depot during World War Two, but corner cutting during hasty construction led to a collapse and the (temporary) loss of 14% of the RAF’s bombs.
“Walking reconnects us - to the landscape and to new geographical opportunities. Never have I felt this more than on this journey. It was like joining isolated dots. neglected for too long.”
Below me the rain showers moved across Llyn Padarn. Ahead I could now see my home, with Dinorwic Quarry scarring the hillside above. This quarry hides a great force. A faint humming is sometimes detectable from the ventilation shafts. Occasionally, tide lines are visible on the shores of the reservoirs above or below the quarries. The Dinorwig Power Station, the largest hydroelectric power station in the UK, is a pump storage electricity facility. Sixteen kilometres of tunnels lead to the six generating units hidden in Europe’s largest man-made cavern deep within the quarry. This type of power station creates electricity during periods of high demand. The reservoirs act like batteries, poised to release water to generate electricity.
The slate quarries of the past represent exploitation, both environmental and human, as well as workmanship, pride and community. Even when quarrying came to a halt, they continued to play a part in world events, concealing ammunition and art work during the war. Today, hydroelectric power and unique recreation opportunities give them new purpose.
In walking the Snowdonia Slate Trail, I discovered the advantages of undertaking a multi-day trek from home. It brought freedom – everything from minimal planning to a hugely reduced carbon footprint. I discovered that, when I walked between places I know, I linked those places together mentally and realised they were closer than I thought. It was like building synapses between brain cells. When walking in entirely new areas, countries even, I realise now that the route gives only a narrow view of place: an experience of a corridor, beyond which much is unknown. The alternative, where travel is between known places, changes the experience from one of discovery to one of connection.