Up the Pyg Track, down the Miners’
5am.
Shell shock.
Cold, still dark.
The cooking stove glows in the grey dawn, a yellow light dares to peek over the mountains across the lake. A single star still wanders lonely across the fading night sky. Behind us, our foe is wrapped beneath a white shawl. She does not yet know us.
But she will.
Three days had passed since our exploration of the valley around Capel Curig. We were now heading toward the end of our time in Snowdonia. Tomorrow, we would beat a retreat through the mountains, to the rolling pastures of the South East. But first, we must dare to tame Wales’s greatest and most famous of dragons: Snowdon.
Being the highest mountain in Wales, this would be no mean feat. A lot of preparation had gone into this over the previous days. Firstly, Beth had purchased herself a new walking bag, so that we could take one each. We traipsed in and out of the many walking shops of Betws-y- Coed, until concluding that the best one was the very first one that she had picked up. It is a violet colour and is a very fancy bag; she is most pleased. We had also been monitoring the weather throughout the week, hoping to identify the day which would provide us with the best conditions. The wild weather put pay to the earlier days, and whilst things calmed, the skies did not truly clear, nor the wind stop whistling, until later in the week. In the end, we came to one conclusion: Saturday.
Initially, I had been keen to avoid the weekend, and for one very good reason: people. Over recent years, the ascent of Snowdon has become very popular, particularly thanks to social media channels. As a result, the tracks, and especially the summit itself, can become overcrowded. Indeed, there had recently been videos and articles circulating about arguments breaking out at the trig point, with some opting to queue, and others not. However, as the forecast became clearer and clearer, the results became increasingly undeniable. Saturday was by far the finest day. We would just have to suck it up.
It was due largely to this surge in footfall that we found ourselves leaving the campsite to begin our ascent so early that morning. Partly, to try and avoid the worst of the crowds (keep reading to see how that went!), but mainly, so that we could actually do the thing at all! We had already been informed when we arrived that, if we intended to climb Snowdon, then we would simply not get parked at the main Pen-y-pass car park, where our chosen route would begin. However, Beth did a little research and identified a Park and Ride bus a little further down the mountain pass, which would drop us off exactly where we needed to be. Despite this, it was still advised that we arrived before 8am to ensure that we could get parked in the first place, and so, not wanting to miss out, we arrived at around half past six in the morning to bag ourselves a space. There were still plenty available, but we had certainly not been the first to arrive. We knew this would be the case though – before we had even risen ourselves that morning, we had heard several cars making their way past, with only one possible destination. On our own way over, we had driven through a lot of cloud, which we could still see hanging around above, as we waited for the bus. By the time it arrived, a large crowd had gathered, hoping to catch the first bus of the day. Not everyone did, but thankfully we were one of the lucky ones. There was standing room only by the time we were aboard, and so we held tightly to the rails as the bus wound its way back up the mountain to drop us off at Pen-y-pass.
We disembarked with all of our fellow hikers, all of whom quickly disappeared. We, however, took our time. We adjusted the bags and made sure everything was just so. This was not a race, and we would do it at our own pace. Around us, the morning’s cloud cover still hung loosely over the fells. Yet the sun could be seen rising behind it, glowing brightly and sporadically burning through and clearing the cloud away, to give the morning a most mystical feel. Once we were fully satisfied that we were ready to begin, we looked at the signpost and identified the path marked as “Pyg Track”. There are several ways up and down this mountain, and for the ascent, we had decided to take this particular route. Its gradual and fairly consistent ascent would carry us all the way to the top, without too many long, overly steep stretches, and seemed the obvious choice to start the day with. And so, finally, at about a quarter to eight, we did just that.
For the first little stretch, we had the path almost entirely to ourselves. The misty world glowed as we followed the path, which whilst easy to follow, was still a mountain path. Almost immediately, we met our first rocks and boulders, which required careful navigation, a feature which would repeat frequently (if not quite consistently) all the way to the top. Fortunately, Beth had come prepared, and gripped a walking pole in each hand to help her find her footing over this tricky terrain. Our slow and steady pace saw us making good, comfortable progress; however, soon enough, we felt the presence of the second busload of people breathing down our necks. From this point on, we shared the route with others, most of whom overtook us as they rushed onward (some people were running up and down, and were obviously incredibly fit!). We did not let this bother us, and carried on enjoying the climb at our own pace.
The sun continued to climb alongside us, and before long, all of the lower-lying cloud had been burnt away, leaving us with the warm, blue-skyed day we had been hoping for. Then, something even more satisfying happened. A little shy of an hour after we had started, we began to overtake some of those who had steamed off ahead, looking a little worse for wear. We made our way past at our slow and steady rate, with no aches or pains to speak of, and left them behind – we did not see them again. We then climbed over a ladder-like stile, which gave us our first view of the larger of the two glacial lakes nestled on this flank of the mountain – Llyn Llydaw. Its deep blue glinted in the sunlight, and its sudden appearance below us was quite breathtaking.
The Pyg track continued to climb gently beside the water down in the valley, as the looming ridge of Crib Goch towered above to our right. This ridge is something of a knife-edge, and a well-known route for rock climbers and daring hikers – no thank you. It was, however, a very impressive sight. Suddenly, as we rounded a corner, we finally got our first view of Snowdon’s summit. From this angle, it appeared to be a very classically mountainy shaped mountain – aka pointy at the top! We also got an idea of where the route would wander and ultimately lead us all the way up. It still looked like a long way to climb, however we still felt quite fit and healthy and energised, so the sight filled us with optimism, rather than dread.
Shortly afterwards, the second, smaller lake came into sight. This one sits at the very base of the mountain’s peak, and is called Lake Glaslyn. It shone just as blue as the first below, as we made our way along a very pretty stretch of the climb. Sheep continued to decorate the steep mountainsides, as dozens of tiny streams trickled their way down, splashing into miniature pools of water before continuing along their way. We passed one such little waterfall tinkling in front of a secretive, mossy alcove. I had a sudden, overwhelming want to be a tiny person sitting inside on a pebble, watching the world go by. This was, therefore, perhaps the entrance to some kind of Fae Kingdom – who knows?
Around this point, the surface beneath our feet became a little more rocky and uneven, as we climbed higher and higher. By the time we reached the point where the Pyg track met the Miner’s, all thoughts of easy footing and smooth sailing were behind us. This is when things got serious, and careful placement of one’s boots became of the utmost importance. At times, this became more like scrambling and rock climbing than actual walking. Again, we stuck to the day’s motto of “at our own pace”, as we picked our way carefully through the rocks. This was often accompanied by the hit song “Spider-Beth”, which became Beth’s song of the day, and seemed to help her find a little extra bravery when she encountered particularly tricky spots – of which there were more than a few.
As we wound our way ever closer to the crest, we watched as cloud came and went over the summit, which one minute was clear, the next shrouded from view. By the time we reached the top of the main climb, the world was once again fully covered by cloud on both sides. We turned and began to make the final ascent. The path took us up along the very highest ridge of Snowdon, now gently upward, as vast, sweeping views came and went on either side. The number of people suddenly increased too, as everyone began to congregate together toward their shared goal. And then, silhouetted through the mist, we caught sight of the trig point. We were tantalisingly close now.
Yet, before we could claim our victory, we had one more test to pass. As we reached the steps which would take us the rest of the way, we saw what we had both feared and expected all along. The dreaded, infamous queue for Snowdon’s summit. Having come this far, we knew we wanted to touch the trig point, so there was no question of that. We also knew that we would like to take a photo at the top, and so we took our place in line to do just that. The system, on the face of it, was simple, and not a bad one either. If you wanted a photo, and to therefore take a little extra time at the top, you waited your turn. If, however, you wanted only to touch the trig, without taking a photo, you did not have to queue, and could run up, tap it, and climb back down. This, to me, seems fair, and I do truly believe it would work, if it weren’t for one thing: people. Much to Beth’s immediate annoyance, and fairly soon mine too, there were plenty of people abusing this system, cutting the line and taking ages on the summit to boot. Some of these had even come up on the train, and of course, as they took their sweet time at the top, things began to get clogged up, and those waiting in line had to wait all that much longer. At times, the summit looked so crowded that I was glad not to be up there, half expecting someone to topple off. We continued to stand, waiting as patiently as we could, in growing frustration, as the clouds came and went about us, and when someone appeared beside us, evidently trying to cut in, Beth was very assertive with her positioning, and made it clear that, no, you are not cutting in. Finally, we reached the trig point itself, and we were fortunate enough to be blessed with a cloudless, clear view of the world around us. We were determined not to take up too much time, and so stayed just long enough to take a photo and have a quick glance at Snowdonia from its highest vantage point. As we looked out, I spotted a very familiar lake. I then realised what I was looking at – Garth Farm! I pointed this out to Beth, and we both beamed down at where we had started the day, and the beautiful farm we had been calling home for the past week. Then, wishing only to take up our fair share of time, we descended from the trig point. All in all, it was one of the more disastrous trig point experiences of my life, having never had to queue before. It would have been much better had people stuck to the system; however, in the end, we had queued for almost half an hour!
Seeking my reward, we ducked into the visitors centre. I found myself a well-earned sew-on patch to add to my collection – this one was particularly decorative, and I also purchased Beth a special Snowdon medal. She was of course delighted with this, which she showed by tucking it out of sight beneath her fleece so that no one would see it, where it then remained hidden.
We then returned our attention to the return journey. Whilst we were both still feeling pretty good, the climb down presented an additional challenge: knees. The long, jolting, jarring descent down a mountain can often be as difficult, if not more so, than the ascent itself, particularly given that you would naturally be a little wearier by then. This was when Beth’s poles and knee braces would come into play, and so, reminding ourselves that we would be going at our own pace once more, we set off.
Carefully, step by gentle step, we made our way back over the rocks. With adequate patience, and appropriate choruses of Spider-Beth, we wound our way back over the labyrinth of boulders, discarded by the thousands of years which had preceded our arrival. The only irritation came a little after leaving the ridge, when coming quickly down the trail behind us, we heard a loud speaker. We hate this. Everyone hates this. Why do people think that bringing a Bluetooth speaker with them and blasting their sh*t music is a good idea? The noise drew closer and closer, and looking back, I spotted them. They looked exactly as I thought they would; like knobheads. Fortunately, they were coming down at quite the pace, so we knew that it would only be a matter of time before they disappeared ahead. However, one of the group decided that the trail was not the way he wanted to come down. He began to cut a corner, and made his way down the steep scree slope between the two sections of the track. At this point, we came to a halt. Partly, just to let these idiots get well ahead. Partly, hoping to see him stack it. But mostly, because if he disturbed the scree in the wrong way, then he may cause a cascade of it to come crashing down on us. We therefore sat down a little up trail for him and waited out of harm’s way. Thankfully, nothing of the sort happened, and they disappeared, leaving everyone in peace once more. At this point, I began keeping a close eye on the map. Whilst we had taken the Pyg Track up, I had hoped to take the Miner’s Track down. In contrast to our ascent, the Miner’s Track would offer a sudden, sharper descent, followed by a very shallow walk back down the rest of the way, along the shore of the two lakes. There were a few ways to take, which all looked as though they would ultimately lead in the right general direction (down), however we wanted to be sure to take the best route possible. Reaching the correct point, which in the end was marked by a standing stone, we turned away from the Pyg Track, which had been very kind to us, and began to make our way down Miner’s.
We could see from the route’s profile what kind of a challenge this would be. A rather different beast to the Pyg, this steep drop back down the mountainside would be a great test of our technical abilities. Indeed, the challenge began immediately, as we threaded the best and safest route we could down over more rocks and boulders. Once again, Spider-Beth rose to the challenge, and slow and steady won the race, seeing us carefully down toward the awaiting water. This stretch, whilst short on the map, took a very long time thanks to such tough terrain. Yet we made it down, and looked up at the steep river of rocks which we had just traversed. Turning back, we looked down at the waiting reward: Lake Glaslyn. At the start of the holiday, we had heard a tale that this lake contained a great monster, and any who dared to enter its waters was surely doomed. I had therefore been looking to make its acquaintance all week.
We were also ready for lunch by now, so we plonked ourselves down on the grass at its sunny shores. Naturally, I made my way to the water, removed my socks and boots, and went for a paddle first. I waded out a little way, just shy of where the lake began to plummet to its depths, and found an appropriate boulder protruding above the surface. There, I sat down, and breathed it all in. The sunlight glinted off the gently rippling surface, as above, the heights of Snowdon climbed up to touch the sky. It was a lovely place to find ourselves. The monster must have already had its fill of walkers that day, too, for a few minutes later I left the water, very much alive and uneaten. As my feet dried, we settled down for some well-earned lunch, during which time I again regretted choosing a roll encased in nothing but cellophane; it was, once more, a sensory nightmare. Beth, however, seemed to be buzzing. She wore a big smile and was evidently feeling very proud of herself for how well she had coped; and rightfully so! She declared that she was “having fun”, which was displayed clearly for the rest of our return.
Aside from this delightful lunch spot, our daring climb down Miners’ also came with another reward. From here, the path would become significantly gentler and less challenging, and would provide a relaxing stroll back to Pen-y-pass. We therefore got back to our boots, walked a little slowly to allow yet another Bluetooth speaker to get far enough ahead (*eyeroll*), and then set off in earnest. We left this lake behind and strolled along a still somewhat rocky path beside the water as it tumbled and crashed toward the larger one below. As the name suggested we might, we passed several crumbled old buildings from the area’s mining history on our way along the shores of Lake Llyn Llydaw, about halfway around which the path suddenly turned from rocks to a level, gravel surface. From here on, the Miner’s Track became super easy. We made great strides along this final stretch, and even overtook several walkers, fuelled by the promise of cheese and beer later that day. The sun continued to shine, and Beth continued to beam all the way back down. Then, about seven hours after we had left, Pen-y-pass came back into view. We strolled triumphantly into the car park, just as a well-timed bus pulled in. We hopped on, and were whisked away, having successfully tamed the dragon.
As the bus trundled us back down the mountain toward the awaiting car, I was struck with a sudden realisation – I had now officially completed “The Three Peaks”. Combining the highest peaks of England, Scotland, and Wales, The Three Peaks is something of an achievement for UK walkers. Scafell Pike, I had completed with my friends James and Rowan back in 2019. Ben Nevis, we had completed two years previously. And now, Beth and I had summited Snowdon. I suddenly felt a sense of pride, and thought of my Dad, who had first introduced me to the love of walking when I was a child. Of course, I shall have to go and complete Scafell for a second time, so that Beth too can claim the title; she more than deserves it.
And so we returned, and embraced what would be our final evening of the holiday, quite satisfied with the day’s success. After a refreshing shower, we headed down into Betws-y-Coed, where our first stop was at the Iechyd Da. Here, we picked up the makings of the evening’s feast: three scrumptious cheeses, some crackers, a couple of jars of tasty-sounding condiments and two pots of pepper and tomatoes from the deli counter. After returning these to the boot, we made our way between the green and the river, to Y-Stablau, aka Stables Bar, on the side of the Royal Oak Hotel. We had first found our way here after the Capel Curig walk, and had since been sure to frequent this particular watering hole daily. We took our normal seats in the outside area, where we enjoyed a couple of slow drinks together, laughing and talking about the holiday – by some miracle, despite us both questioning whether we should stay the whole week come Monday morning, here we were at the end of it, having had a thoroughly wonderful and unforgettable time. I took my final sip of beer, returned the pint glass to the table, and we made our way back to the car. On our way, we stopped at the fish and chip shop, where Beth bought me a portion of onion rings, which I had greatly enjoyed earlier in the week. We finished these off as we walked back to the car park, before returning to the campsite for the last time.
The breeze had picked up a little on our return, so we decided to play a drinking game we had invented earlier in the holiday – Resistance to Ring. It is a very simple game and uses the old Lord of the Rings Top Trumps cards. Using the aforementioned category, we would compare our two cards, and the loser had to drink the difference; full credit to Beth for this excellent and elegant game. After we had extended the game by trying to guess which character each of us was holding for several rounds, the wind had died down to a soft breeze, the light long since turning golden. We got out our cheeses and accompanying extras, and tucked in to our tasty feast, which we had been looking forward to all day. As we nibbled at the differently flavoured cheeses, we watched as the world grew darker outside the tent. We knew that not only the day, but our holiday was coming to an end. Beth eventually nodded off in her chair, but I stayed awake until night had truly fallen, not wanting it to be over.
Matthew G. Huggins 