Snowdon

Published 22 October 2014

Steam train and a diesel about to pass

Llanberis had the feeling of a place of faded fortunes. Several of the shops on the high street were empty, and the colours on many of the “gaily” painted buildings were looking distinctly faded. The dusty windows on the Prince of Wales pub gave the impression that it had been closed for several years, despite it being firmly open for business. All this from a place which sees hundreds of thousands of people descend on it ever year.

Of course those people don’t come for Llanberis itself, but for the sizeable object which sits nearby. Snowdon: the highest mountain in Wales, and the joint third highest mountain in the whole of the UK. It’s also one of the most accessible. Scores of people head up on foot, and even more take the easier route to the summit via the mountain railway. It seems that what they don’t do, is head down Llanberis’s high street and spend huge amounts of cash in the local shops.

One place on the high street was bustling though. Pete’s Eats is an institution with walkers and climbers as purveyors of large mugs of tea and enormous chewy flapjacks, amongst other things. Painted in a rather intense shade of blue, it was the perfect place to meet the minicab that would take us up to Pen-y-Pass so we could join the merry throng in a quest to reach the very top of Wales.


Mike storms on

“Anyone fancy climbing Snowdon?” Mike asked, to much nodding and general mummers of agreement.

The idea was that a group us would head wales for weekend, either renting cottage or holing up in B&B. All we needed do find time everyone could do it. With many people interested, it proved almost impossible. Then two of the contingent announced they were expecting their first child. One thing led to another, and suddenly it wad three years since initial conversation.

Undeterred, Mike tried again. Slowly, over protracted emails, a weekend trip in late April grew into a week’s holiday in July. A converted chapel was booked as accommodation. Some dropped out due work commitments. A visit from grandparents was arranged to provide child minding services. All that just left which day week we’d take on the mountain, and which route to take..

“Well your is closest is the Watkins path,” said Catherine’s dad, who had run up the fell several times, thus becoming our go-to Snowdon expert. “But you have go down same path you went up.”

Obviously our cottage, sorry, chapel, was in the wrong part of Snowdonia. An alternative was to drive to Llanberis, and get the park ride buses Catherine’s dad proclaimed ran frequently from the village to the car park at Pen-y-pass (“you need to be there at 6am to get a parking spot there!”).

“There’s a bus at nine, another half eleven,” I noted, checking the timetable using chapel’s spluttering wi-fi connection.

“They’re more often than that,” replied Catherine’s dad with a confused look on his face.

Scurrying around the internet found the answer. The company that had run the frequent buses had gone bankrupt, and whilst the council had scurried around putting replacement services in place, the number of services to Pen-y-Pass had been drastically cut. There was no way we’d get to Llanberis for the earlier bus, and the later one would, well, be far too late.

A cab was the only option, and as it happened, our driver had been one of the many bus drivers who had lost their jobs.

As he weaved his way up to Pen-y-pass, I silently wondered how on an earth a bus even managed to get up these narrow, winding roads. And when we passed a coach, the answer was simply that they don’t really, and I gave thanks I wasn’t the one doing the driving.

Pen-y-Pass Car Park

Even if I had been driving, finding a parking spot would have been easier said than done. The demand is such that there is a permanent sign which proclaims that the car park at Pen-y-Pass is completely full.

The place was heaving. Several coaches were parked up and there were people everywhere. A large part of school children, some Japanese tourists with big cameras, large families with small children. Snowdon had brought them all out.

We set off up the Pyg Track, Tal’s long legs regularly seeing him storm off ahead, whilst myself and Catherine hung back, perhaps more aware of the dangers of peaking too early. Up and up we went, taking our places in line with the many others attempting to complete the same objective. As we gained height, we came alongside (but much higher up) one of the most visited lakes in Britain; Llyn Llydaw, with the alternative Miner’s Track passing next to it.

Llyn Llydaw

After reviving pork pies and flapjacks, we headed past Lake Glaslyn, and then into the cloud, which had been hugging most of the mountains and fells in the area all morning. This also gave a fine opportunity to see those climbing the mountain who were either more foolhardy or less prepared for the changeable weather. The cloud may have brought a definite chill, however there were still plenty of people on the path wearing shorts and t-shirts, and little else.

The higher we got, the worse the visibility was. Then, out of the gloom we heard the hum of a diesel engine and the cloud parted just enough to show us a pair of rail tracks for, when all else fails, there’s always another way up this particular mountain.

A train passed us at a sedate pace as we pulled off to the left to join the queue to have our chance to be the highest people in Wales. Our moment of glory was swift and soon it was time to head down, fighting our way through a group of pensioners with walking sticks who had, judging from their attire, just leapt off the train and to who the concept of sharing the path and letting other people past, seemed strangely alien.


Queueing for the top of Wales

The cold winds and attempts at rain meant that those who weren’t standing at the summit cairn having their picture taken, or queuing up politely to get up there, had descended on the summit cafe building, scoffing huge oggies (think of a giant pasty) and gulping down hot drinks in an attempt to warm up. Refreshments have been sold from the top of Snowdon since 1838, and in later years there was even a series of hotel rooms for those wishing to stay at such an altitude for a night. The buildings there now are more recent, opened to critical acclaim in 2009, although they were struggling to cope with the flow of sheltering walkers and railway tourists who were regularly disgorging onto the summit.

We stood in a corner, squashed in a corner by a large group of Italian teenagers. We refreshed and revived in a situation that seemed on one hand rather pleasant, and on the other, completely wrong. Good for we were in a warm building with massive paper cups of tea, but odd that we’d reached a mountain top and found something other than a stone shelter with fifteen people huddled in it, quickly sipping lukewarm tea from a flask.

And then it was time to set off once more and head back down.

For our descent we’d opted to take the Llanberis path – the longest of all the Snowdon paths, and the most heavily used. It is also the easiest with slow gentle gradients, which is probably why the mountain railway goes up a very similar route. More importantly, it would take us directly to the village and our car.

We were soon out of the cloud and rewarded with the other, and perhaps best, benefit of the Llanberis path. For its descent is incredibly scenic, with the beautiful Lake Padarn at its core, surrounded by hills and fields. It was just outstandingly beautiful, but up ahead I could just make out some smoke.

Steam train coming through

I stood for a moment, confused and half thinking that part of the mountain was on fire. And then a whistle echoed through the area, revealing the answer.

Most of the trains up the mountain are hauled up by 30 year old diesel engines with modern carriages. However three times a day there’s a journey with a lot more history. For three times a day the mountain railway sends up one of its steam engines. Dating back from 1895, the sight of the engine coming up the mountain was a mighty sight, and suddenly the path alongside the track was full of walkers holding cameras waiting to capture the moment. With a toot and a whistle, the train passed us all by, heading on its way up the mountain; its smoke billowing in the air.

We paused outside the Half Way House – yet another place for Snowdon walkers to get their refreshments – and then set off for the final stretch to the village, before we passed the “Oddly Dressed Person Climbing a Mountain of The Day”. There’s always one on every popular mountain. On Ben Nevis it was rather tame, passing someone wearing very short shorts, very small sandals and who was carrying their stuff in a Tesco carrier bag. I’d also recently heard someone tell of the time they passed someone doing the Yorkshire Three Peaks seemingly in high heels. On Snowdon the winner was a person who’d clearly put a lot of thought into what they needed to be wearing in order to go up 1,085m above sea level, and had opted for a large and heavy looking long black velvet dress and outrageously large and floppy hat. The whole ensemble was accompanied by a black parasol. Rumours that Berghaus were considering the look as inspiration for their 2015 range are entirely unfounded.

A rewarding cup of hot chocolate in Pete's Eats

With Lake Padarn coming ever closer, we weaved our way slowly but surely back to the edges of Llanberis. After all those years, Snowdon had finally been conquered. And that meant it was time for a celebration. Back in Pete’s Eats we toasted our success with giant mugs of hot chocolate, laden with whipped cream, marshmallows and Flake.

All that was left was to work out what we were going to do next. And when we’d actually get round to doing it.

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