James Forrest has a high old time in Wales
IT IS EASY to get lazy with your hiking adventures and slip into a routine of climbing the same old mountains over and over again. Such is the temptation as I drive down the A5 from Capel Curig towards Llyn Ogwen. Thoughts race through my head. Perhaps I should ditch the Carneddau altogether and climb Tryfan again (for what might be the 10th time!) – after all, it’s probably impossible to spend too much time on that pyramidal peak of Snowdonian perfection. Or perhaps a day high in the Glyderau – that jagged world of jumbled boulders and craggy outcrops, soaring sumptuously above Llyn Idwal – would be a more exhilarating use of my
time. Or what about Crib Goch or the Snowdon Horseshoe?
But I resist the urge. I know that Snowdonia has so much more to offer – and the Carneddau range is certainly worthy of diverting my attention away from the honeypot peaks. The Carneddau are, in fact, the largest area of land above 3000ft anywhere in Britain south of the Scottish Highlands and, whilst still popular, aren’t beset by the hordes often seen on Tryfan, Snowdon and the Glyders. The range delivers ample drama and scenery, with a slightly quieter ambiance, and in Carnedd Llewelyn is home to Wales’ third highest mountain. Bulky and knurled, it’s a fitting rival to Snowdon, towering to almost 3500ft and standing guard to the north of Llyn Ogwen. To its south-west and south-east lie the twin ridges of Pen yr Ole Wen and Pen yr Helgi Du, forming a natural and logical horseshoe loop – one of the best routes in all of Snowdonia.
It is the former I find myself battling up midway through the morning, breathing heavily and wincing at the burning sensation in my calves. The ascent is unforgiving and hard-won, but I’m rewarded with grandstand views across the valley to Tryfan’s famed northern ridge. Wispy clouds swirl over spines of rock, imbuing the landscape with an otherworldly feel – brooding, untamed and full of intrigue. You definitely don’t have to be on Tryfan to appreciate its glory. In fact, this might be even better.
From the summit of Pen yr Ole Wen, I skirt the corrie above Cwm Lloer, ascend undulating terrain and clamber over boulder-strewn slopes to Carnedd Fach and beyond to Carnedd Dafydd. Bearing east, as the wind picks up, I descend gently to the right of the Ysgolion Duon cliffs and veer towards the narrow ridge to Bwlch Cyfryw-drum. I’m suddenly struck by a memory.
Many years ago, I’d climbed these peaks and – at this very location – stumbled across a trio of sodden figures emerging out of the mist, shouting and waving for attention. They were three young Dutch backpackers, perhaps in their early 20s, carrying huge backpacks, wearing jeans, and looking shaken and scared. They were lost and disorientated, and struggling to find a safe way down to the road. I helped them out – an act of kindness for which they gave me a pack of a coin-shaped liquorice sweets (a Dutch delicacy, apparently).
The memory reminds me of two things. Firstly, to always treat the mountains with respect – they can quickly become inhospitable places, particularly if you’re not fully prepared. And secondly, when the weather is good, it’s vital to saviour every precious moment of these special places. It is the latter thought that stays with me as I continue my hike towards Carnedd Llewelyn and the delightful Pen yr Helgi Du ridge. My spirit is enlivened and my determination emboldened.
The cloud base is high, the sun is breaking through intermittently, and I want to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of my day in the mighty Carneddau.