BOLD SHOULDER
The Y Gribin ridge is found on the UK’s most popular mountain, and yet is largely ignored by the tourist crowds. All of which suits us just fine…
Snowdon is something of a Marmite peak. For every walker, scrambler or climber who loves the intricacies of its ridges, the mystique of its cwms and the boldness of its crags there will be someone who trots out the “but it’s always so busy” or “but there’s a train up it and a café at the top” or “but my Granny did it in flip-flops” line. Well, I’m going to nail my colours to the mast. I love Snowdon. It’s a grandiose massif that is among the most mountainous mountains in the whole of the British Isles. If you think otherwise, you’re wrong.
But even I have to admit that I prefer my summits on the quieter side. On a sunny summer’s Saturday you can expect queues up the steps to the summit plinth, and it’s even been known for scuffles to break out – something you’d more likely associated with Black Friday sales than a mountain top. That said, because Snowdon is such a sprawling beast it should come as no surprise that there are plenty of quiet corners to be discovered and seeking solitude on the UK’s busiest peak is really quite easy. What might be more surprising is that one of the most enjoyable but least used routes to the summit sits in plain sight right under the nose of thousands of Snowdon baggers – quite possibly you included.
If you’ve ever gazed east from Snowdon’s summit on a clear day, you’ll have seen it. If you’ve ever tottered nervously across the Crib Goch arête, you’ve probably stared straight at it. And if you’ve ever walked up or down Snowdon’s Miners’ Track, you’ll have practically trod on its toes.
The Y Gribin arête (named on the Ordnance Survey OL17 map as Cribau, and not to be confused with the Y Gribin on the Glyderau) rises south in a sweeping ‘S’ from the outflow of Glaslyn. From here it climbs nearly 200m to meet the sagging skyline between Snowdon and Y Lliwedd, splitting it into the saddles of Bwlch y Saethau and Bwlch Ciliau. It’s the solid wall of the Y Gribin ridge that keeps the glacial lake of Glaslyn separate from the Llyn Llydaw reservoir below.
It’s a playful scramble that goes at a relatively straightforward – albeit sometimes exposed – Grade 1 for the majority of ascent, occasionally straying into easier territory for brief respites with magnificent views. I’ve climbed Y Gribin several times, but one particular ascent sticks in my memory most clearly. I could tell you all about it… but why don’t you come with me?
It’s a blissful day with warm sun, blue skies and just a hint of breeze. We leave the traffic of the Miners’ Track and make for the outflow of Glaslyn just a short distance from the path. Here, at the very birth of the Afon Glaslyn, the clear water is shallow but the submerged rocks – not quite permanent enough to be called stepping-stones – are mischievously slippery. We skip across, managing to keep our boots dry. Ahead a track swings up away to the right over the grass slope. We ignore it, heading instead diagonally left towards the slabby rock low on Y Gribin’s ridge to start the scrambling early.
The rough texture is bone dry and pleasingly grippy. With no jeopardy on these low slopes the clambering is fun and care-free. At this point on the fledgling ridge the rock isn’t yet in complete control, and soon the slabs give way to the return of earth and grass. Just beyond a perched boulder the ignored track joins us on the ridge from the right, having made its far more pedestrian journey up the grass slopes below. We pay the late arrival little attention. Over on the other side of Glaslyn’s copper water towers the triangle of Snowdon’s monumental Trinity Face. A vast wall of climbing routes and the holy grail for winter climbers when conditions allow and Trinity ‘is in’, even in the lazy warm sunlight of the day it looks brutal and unforgiving. We turn back to our route. Ahead and
above, beyond a shallow dome of rock and another short stretch of grass, the ridge beckons us onwards and upwards. The good stuff is about to begin.
There’s no obvious single way forward. The ridge is wide enough and welcoming enough that there are several lines of ascent. Everywhere the rock is grippy and the scrambling is fun. I go one way, you go another, following the obvious signs of traffic where the ridge has been worn orange. Over to the left, the edge of the ridge drops abruptly towards the western end of Llyn Llydaw.
The exposure is sudden and dramatic. From the relative security of the arête’s solid rock, it’s also strangely enjoyable.
Around the 700m contour the scrambling dials up a notch and the ridge grows spikes. The exposure to the left is now breathtaking, but we pause above it to admire the epic views of Y Lliwedd’s northern cliffs. Somewhere among those crags is said to be a cave where King Arthur’s mythical army rest, awaiting a need strong enough to call them back into service.
Our first obstacle of any real note comes next; a short but steep wall whose holds have been polished and rounded by the wear of boots and hands. But following these obvious signs of travel makes the easiest ascent and soon we’re back onto the crest of the ridge. It’s warm up here, the sun baking the rocks and our backs in equal measure. The arête is patterned by parallel gullies and ridges leading upwards. The turfbottomed gullies offer some shade and coolness, but the rock ridges make for the better and more reliable scrambling. The trail of crampon scratches suggests
that this is true in the winter too.
The ridge is narrowing. The drop to the right, although not as sheer nor steep as that to the left, is nonetheless long and far; a tumble towards Glaslyn would be every bit a catastrophic as a plummet to Llyn Llydaw. The central ground of the ridge seems the safest best, and we stick to it as far as we can until a short, loose path leads us once more around to the left above the high crags. From here, Y Lliwedd looks ferocious. We clamber up another steep section, although good and obvious holds make it straightforward enough, and we’re back on the centreline of the arête. A small slabby patch of rock provides some awkwardness, if not difficulty, and after a few more metres of rocky scrambling the ridge spreads into the green grass-covered flanks of Bwlch y Saethau, its termination marked by a cairn. This ‘Pass of the Arrows’ is where King Arthur is said to have fought his final battle (against his own son, no less), an arrow bringing his reign to an end and sending his army off to loiter indefinitely in a cave.
We slump down on the soft grass, retrieve water bottles form our packs and drink greedily. To the west the Watkin Path leads up to the summit of Snowdon. Is it our imagination, or can we hear the crowd clamouring at the top? We don’t need to say anything; there’s no debate.
Indeed, as we sling on our packs, turn our backs on Snowdon’s summit and head east for the silent, scrambling summits of Y Lliwedd, you turn to look back down Y Gribin’s ridge with just one question on your mind: why haven’t you done this sooner?