Redemption lies atop

Location: Miner's track, Mountain Snowdon, Snowdonia, North Wales

From the legends Welsh folklore has afforded, two seem to be an enduring theme: sheep and rain. Both abound in Wales and both are somehow woven both into the country’s popular culture and outsiders’ perception. The former is often the subject of unsavoury jokes (invented by the English), while the latter slightly more profoundly explains the formation of her complex geological goldmines: impressive waterfalls, rivers and wooded valleys. Once you have driven past Shropshire and started encroaching into northern Welsh territory, these marvels become plain to sight and, bad weather notwithstanding, they overwhelm you with a magic-in-the-air sense. Llangollen and river Dee were amongst the first sights. They were great, they really were, but the objective was Snowdonia and the conquest of Snowdon, the highest peak in England and Wales.

Upon arriving at Pen-y-Pass, I took a look around. As irony would have it, the rain started falling thick and fast, but that was the least of my concerns. It was the sight of the merciless mountains looming over us that haunted me. I have spent countless hours photographing our English countryside and now, in my mind, the ruggedness of the landscapes in front of me made the English rolling hills look wimpish in comparison. This is when I realised that rain doesn’t always augur well. The Gods were not on our side and unfortunately neither was Judgment: we chose to go up the Pyg track and not the Miner’s track, because it looked the shortest. Dear oh dear! The best was yet to come…

We had met Corin at the Pont-y-Pair the night before. He warned me to put my camera in a rucksack and not wear jeans, but I dispensed with both pieces of advice. My camera bag is well padded-up and waterproof but needs to be either hand-held or hanged upon the neck from its long strap. But right now, at 09:30 AM, twenty minutes into our ascending, I have come to understand that Corin wasn’t bullshitting: in the rain and amidst thick veil of clouds the rocky path is treacherous. It was too late to turn back and I had but one choice: hang the albatross upon my neck and carry it for a whole 5.5 Km and 800m of ascent. Much scrambling was in the offing, but fear and shock can often be a blessing in disguise. We grinned and bore it and carried on…

12:15 PM GMT: After three hours of laborious trekking, scrambling and balancing on slippery rocks, sodden like rats in a sinking ship and with every other muscle strained, Matty and I crested Snowdon. It was a profound sense of achievement for two blokes who, unlike the hundreds of fitness freaks who had thronged the summit, spend much of their free time down the pub. We have now lived to tell that we have also been there and done it, subject to no surprises present down the Miner’s track, on our way to the base of the mountain. We had stayed atop for a while, hoping the clouds would clear, but the summit was shrouded in a white cloud covering, prohibitively thick for photos. We waited for a while until we decided we could no longer wait…

15:05 PM GMT: The steep part of the Miner’s track descend has been cleared and we are now on flat trail. For about 4 hours our heart rate had been exerted to athlete’s levels, but with a lorryload of determination we have now reached the last and boring part of the route to the carpark. Boring is good. Boring is safe. We showed the mountain respect and we were spared…

Matty looks mystified as the misty sprawl retreats like a tidal wave and a magical world unfolds beneath. As for myself, I felt like Samuel Coleridge’s ancient mariner. It was as if six hours of rain had washed away my sins and rid me of the albatross hanging about my neck. Walk and click, ad hoc, was to ensue. Lake after lake would all get in the frame.

Auspiciously, for the last few hundred yards of our journey we were distracted by the pleasant company of sheep. It looked as if they were waiting for the weary travellers along the roadside to give them their bleating valediction. The oracle is always right.

Many thanks to the honourable Mr David, dweller of the depicted wonderful lands and member here, for providing invaluable recommendations on accommodation and transport. It is duly acknowledged and appreciated, as is his suggestion: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
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