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The Welsh 3000 or… What to do on a long Saturday.

21^st June 2003. (Midsummer’s day)

It had to be done a little low-key this time; most importantly it had to be done, if the weather was right for it, then we’d go

At two am we were on our way, walking towards Crib Goch, our starting point. The warmth of the evening was very much alike to the last time we walked this route, the time when we were held hostage by a thunderstorm on the flanks of the Crib. We took our time and achieved the starting line at three-fifty then tentatively took those steps over the ridge towards Carnedd Ugain in the burgeoning light. At four-thirty we stood on top of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) with a lot of other people, some were there because they were strange people, one person was sat by a lit candle facing east waiting for that summer-solstice sun to come creeping up above the horizon. We left as soon as we had touched the trig point, we left behind the solstice seekers and as we headed down towards Clogwyn station, we saw the sun come up at about four forty-five.

At Clogwyn we started down into Cwm Glas Bach, our steep way to Nant Peris, one that negotiates rock buttresses beneath Lechog. At Gwastadnant we had a one-kilometre walk back to the campsite, to change shoes and replenish isotonic drink and water. It was six-thirty and we were, on schedule!

At seven o’clock we motioned towards Carnedd Elidir. This hill is the one to dread, it rises unerringly from Nant Peris to its top, at nine o’clock we sat in the summit shelter for a few seconds knowing that today would be very hot!

I thought it would be quicker to the next summit, Y Garn, we both moved well yet the minutes passed quicker than the walk and the white rock radiated the sun’s rays perfectly into our sweat-filled eyes. Elidir and Y Garn were taking a lot out of our liquid rations; it was decided that at Llyn y Cwn we might be able to find a feeder stream and refill the bottles, not too far to go then. A small amount of water was procured before we headed up onto the scree ascent of Glyder Fawr, the rest we needed we got, high up in the gully above, after some deft traversing the loose, steep streambed.

We worked out which top was the highest and touched it, as we had the others before then we moved on to Glyder Fach and the rough, pile-of-boulders, cairn that marked its summit. Both of us were feeling quite fit still as we located the descent scree at the side of Bristly ridge; deemed the quickest way down. At the bottom of the too-steep slope, not even scree but an abomination of shattered rock and soil, rock that slid easily on the loosely bonded soil we rested for a while before heading off again.

Onto Tryfan, the lowest 3000 feet peak, we were already late for our arrival at Ogwen and we estimated that we might be as much as two hours off-schedule now. A slow deliberate climb up ended long before I expected it to, thankfully. At the top we mingled with tens of others, met up with two blokes who were quitting their attempt, north to south, of the 3000ers; they’d run out of steam and water after completing the Carneddau and decided that the only thing they could do was take their time over the Glyders and get to the Youth Hostel at Llanberis; still a way off and still a hard end to their day. We wished each other luck, they seemed to think that we were well on our way to completing, all we had to do was climb Pen yr Ole Wen, the rest would be in the bag, so to say.

Back at Ogwen cottage, three-thirty, Julie looked pleased to see us; we were certainly pleased to see her. She’d parked in an individual parking bay with a wall next to the car and now we sat upon it eating the sandwiches she’d bought, drinking a hot cup of coffee and extending the stories of the past few miles… we weren’t going to stop now. Tryfan had reinforced our resolve to finish, it was apparent that if we failed we would have to go through all of this again and we didn’t want to do that. We estimated our finish time to be well after midnight but Julie promised to be at Aber’ from ten.

Setting off up Pen yr Ole Wen after our half-hour break was hard. It had started raining big heavy droplets of rain but not hard, they just soaked you quickly but were soon to evaporate in the high heat of the late afternoon. Trying to shelter was a futile exercise, better to allow that cooling evaporation!

We continued, rounding a bronze-age cairn towards our next target, Carnedd Dafydd, where we stopped for more food. From Dafydd we journeyed above the Black Ladders and skirted Carnedd Llewelyn towards Yr Elen. As we reached the col that links the two hills we thought that Yr Elen was much bigger than we thought; a sort of optical illusion presented itself whereby the hill ahead looked massive and such a long way out. The top of Yr Elen was equally as hard to work out. Three possibilities exist, two edge-spires of rock and a third cairn somewhat inland, as a make-up-your-mind, we touched all three, just to be sure. The walk back to Carnedd Llewelyn was highlighted by a group of six going the other way to procure the outlier, they pointed us in the right direction to the top of Llewelyn, it saved us looking at the map and working it all out anyway. Immediately, it was away from the top to Foel Grach, the summit that appears too low to be 3000 footer, but that’s because it is about100 metres lower than the last. It also warrants an emergency shelter, buried in the rocky summit; it was number 13; only two to go! Garnedd Uchaf, a pile of stones with no apparent height gain and the peak that is still a bone of contention.’ Is it a 3000 footer or just a top?’

The last peak, Foel Fras, was a welcome grassy slope ahead of us in the faded light. Light enough to get to without the head-torches but tantalisingly a fair way off yet. It was ten thirty-five as we both reached the top together, simultaneously touched the trig point then shook hands. It had been a feat of punishment, in a way, an anti climax… I wondered what to do. I realised that this couldn’t be the end; we still had to get off the hill. We’d seen the Crib, our starting point, often during the walk as we looked back, getting ever more distant as we continued and it seemed so amazingly far away now, like in a dream.

 The path towards Drum, a last ruinous hill that deprives every ounce of strength you have left, is long and painful, just grass slopes but endlessly painful. You do that last hill just to get onto a track that gets you to the car at Aber’, six miles from Foel Fras. We collapse, moaning and groaning, legs aflame with hurt. Sleep comes quick after 23 hours 40 minutes walking:

Looking back now, I think I might do the route again… I can’t work out why I would want to do it again, but there you go. Life is funny sometimes: