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Day 27
The apparent flatness of the campsite turned out to be an illusion, caused perhaps by the contrast with the excessively steep slopes which I had just descended above. In fact I continually rolled against the very cold door and wrote later in my log that this had been my most uncomfortable site. By the time I had the tent down in the morning I was colder than I had been on the whole trip. In fact cold had not been a problem. Some evenings when I had arrived very wet at the campsite I shivered a bit until I had changed into dry clothes but until this morning there had been none of those miserable times when the hands go dead as one packs up the camping gear. Even today the discomfort was shortlived as I walked away from the shadow of Cnicht into the sunshine.
I enjoyed the stroll on the road through Nantmor which was a place which had once seemed almost like a second home to me. I camped there many times with Margaret and later brought Rowland here and introduced him to the pleasures of camping for the very first time. The little flat spot at the roadside where I have slept more times than I could count has now disappeared in long tussocky grass and bog.
At Nant Gwynant I posted home a rather battered map 124. I had been on that map for a long time. I set off up the Watkin path, not to climb Snowdon but to knock off the rather awkward outlier Yr Aran. I left the track and climbed up through the mine workings and was just remembering seeing choughs here on my previous visit, more than a dozen years before, when I saw a pair perched on the edge of a deep chasm. I was delighted to see them here again for they are not birds that one sees very often.
On reaching the ridge I was struck by a strong and bitterly cold north wind and thought how unpleasant it would have been on Crib Goch this morning. As well as enduring the wind I might well have had to queue to cross the knife edge on this bank holiday Sunday. Already I could count at least ten people looking from here like tiny ants crawling over Lliwedd. It was so cold that I was not at all surprised that it began to snow as I approached the summit but it brightened up again after a few small flakes. It was a day of big billowing clouds and crystal clarity. The Nantlle ridge and Mynydd Mawr looked particularly attractive with a foreground of lakes which sparkled blue for one moment in brilliant sunshine only to fade into sombre grey as shadows raced across the valley.
I descended very pleasantly by the south-west ridge over a grassy top only just below two-thousand feet, Craig Wen, which I had probably never climbed before. However as I feared, seeing no rights of way on the map and never having seen a description of any route on this ridge, there were a few climbs of walls and fences before I reached the path which runs across the foot of the hill just north of Beddgelert.
This was only the third opportunity on the trip for a pub lunch so I felt it was bad luck that it happened to be a Sunday when alcohol is banned in Beddgelert. However I tried to convince myself that non-alchoholic lager would be more appropriate fuel for the ascent of Moel Hebog. It was far more important to acquire a camping gaz canister so I was relieved, but not surprised on this bank holiday Sunday, to find that Warws was open to sell me one. I also replenished supplies although I had some difficulty getting through the door of the supermarket with the big rucksack and as I walked out of town I realized that I had forgotten to buy any cup-a-soups. I did not go back. I was relieved to leave the place which was packed with people including a group of youths who shouted comments about my rucksack.
How nice it was to get back to the mountains, even to the well trampled, eroded track up Moel Hebog. This is obviously a very popular climb although not a very inspiring one. A group of young people was making very heavy weather of it, stopping for a rest every few hundred yards. I thought, had this been my first mountain instead of Snowdon, I might never have wanted to climb another. Approaching the summit I heard a baby yelling and it soon appeared on father's back, squawking because of the cold wind. I told its parents that my son claims that his first memory is of being in the papoose in a hailstorm. It could have been on Ingleborough or Carlside, it happened on both hills. These parents seemed a bit defensive, perhaps they thought that I might inform the NSPCC.
The summit this afternoon was ample compensation for the uninteresting ascent. It was brilliantly sharp and sunny with bubbly white clouds which always make a view more attractive than a clear blue sky, especially for the photographer. Particularly striking from this viewpoint was the seascape westwards along the Lleyn peninsula. Snowdon stood boldly to the east with its promise of pleasure to come and to the south I could clearly see the Rhinogs with even more distant hills, Cadair Idris perhaps, beyond. There were still lots of people on the hill with another holiday to come tomorrow.
The descent was one of the steepest of the whole trip, not on rock but smooth grass which must be extremely treacherous in the wet. Moel yr Ogof is an exceptionally craggy hill with the ascent from the col commencing through an unusual cleft in the rocks which looks like a cave from afar but does in fact emerge back into the sunlight where one is faced with an almost unassailable looking peak ahead. A little path weaves its way round the obstacles however and the summit was duly attained.
Moel Lefn also has a rocky top although the slopes are mainly grass. On the summit I listened to the weather forecast. The outlook was good for several days with night frosts. I would like to have camped quite high on this beautiful evening but found no water until I reached Cwm Trwsgl where I pitched amongst the old mine workings beside a mossy waterfall. I plunged my tired feet into the cool pool at its foot and soaked them there until they turned numb with cold. Feeling returned slowly, the ache replaced by an invigorating fresh tingle.
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