A Hut to Hut Welsh 3,000ers - Dave Bish
Geoff arrived at 9:30 announcing that we'd leave at midnight once
he'd got a few beers in! My hopes of a few hours sleep quashed and
managing just one and a half beers to Geoff's four I packed my bum
bag and set to producing bacon butties, resigned to the fact that I
was cast in the role of apprentice.
Jogging down the path into the quarries at 12:35, the cloudless sky
and full moon gave an astounding view of Llanberis Pass:
"Mountaineering porn!" said Geoff. The way up Cwm Glas Bach to
Snowdon (1) was in the shadow of the ridge but I had learnt this path
well on my previous attempt and we powered upwards making Snowdon's
summit just over two hours out from the hut. Although still night,
the run down to Crib Y Ddsysgl (2) needed no headlight, we could see
our way to the Glyders clear ahead - a view I've rarely enjoyed in
the day from Snowdon. Headtorches on, we continued to make good time
over Crib Goch with excellent grip as the rock had not yet been
rendered slippery by dew. Geoff had run this section recently and
found a fast line down the ridge, we only slowed after the "knife
edge" section as we gained the summit of Crib Goch itself (3) and
began zig-zagging down bands of scree and rock to the Pyg Track.
For me at least, tiredness and hunger was starting to creep in and I
was keen to stop and try out the "experimental running breakfast".
If anyone out there is contemplating salmon with lime black pepper as
high energy running food - don't do it! - it goes down well enough
and is even tasty but sits like a rock in your gut if you happen to
have a few thousand feet to climb. The path, such as it was, was hard
to locate and follow and the soggy uphill plod took a long, tough
time until we arrived at the rocky plateau of Glyder Fawr (4). The
summit rocks were a blessing for their firmness but slippery and
irregular, just the place to break an ankle in the pre-dawn shadows.
After leaping, hopping and scrabbling across damp rock for about 15
minutes we found ourselves, haloed by a blinding red dawn, on the
summit of Glyder Fach (5). We paused a moment by the Cantilever to
take it in but it was too spectacular and immense for my mobile phone
to capture. This morning sun was a precursor to what was going to be
an uncomfortably hot day to spend in the open and something that
could easily lead to over-dehydration but at least for now the
visibility was perfect and the rocks underfoot drying quickly - time
to get going again.
Geoff dove down the scree at the side of Bristly ridge and I
scrabbled down behind, soon finding myself heading up Tryfan (6) for
the second time in 24 hours (something that served to remind me of my
lack of sleep). Backtracking from the summit we joined the scree
path that descends at the upper end of heather terrace giving way to
good running down to Tryfan Bach. I was beginning to feel awake now
and as we joined the track up towards the Cwm Llugwy reservoir the
first climbers and hillwalkers of the day had begun to emerge.
Walking apace rather than running up this straight endless track I
managed to keep ahead of a pair of "fresh" climbers headed upwards
but once again Geoff was further ahead. We pretty much climbed to
the slightly fogged Carnedd Llewlyn (7) in individual thought but
then after checking bearings settled into a comfortable side by side
jog Northwards to tick off the furthest Carneddau knowing that soon
at least we would be able to turn around for the homeward leg.
The lightest wisp of cloud occasionally adorned the tops but we could
still see clear over Drum (the way down from the traditional 3,000ers
traverse) and glistening sandbanks, across Puffin Island and out to
the Irish sea. We made good time on this section as I'd hoped and
just about caught up to a one hour per peak overall time. We met a
few more walkers before the turnaround at the unspectacular peak of
Foel Fras (9).
I had told Geoff about the wild horses and ponies I had seen on this
section before and today again they were out in force running
carefree in the sun. This kind of thing is just what you need to
make you feel invincible and at one with the elements - if it weren't
for the fact that some old Welsh fella with ski poles kept catching
us up for the next two peaks I'd have thought we were flying along.
After Carnedd Uchaf (10) we passed by the emergency Shelter on Foel
Grach (8). Goeff wanted a peek but having spent a sleepless wet
night there before abandoning my pervious attempt I didn't need to
see the place, although passing its door I was able to point to a
flatter returning line crossing our outward route towards Carnedd
Llewelyn but sneakily traversing West to the col before Yr Elen (11).
The traverse was rough but got us ahead of the Welsh bloke - I
stopped to phone-in the fact that we were well and truly on the home
straight.
The ridge above the black ladders was covered in walkers, most of
whom seemed to have brought gregarious toddlers who wanted to chat.
We tramped over Carnedd Dafydd (12) as someone launched a paraglider
off into the perfect afternoon sky of the upper Ogwen Valley. The
way home was clear now - we could see the final direct ascent to
Y-Garn looming above Ogwen cottage. As we crunched and slid down the
horrid scar that is the ridge of Pen Yr Ole Wen (13) I ventured to
suggest that we treat ourselves to an ice-cream at Ogwen cottage -
Geoff's ethical objections were decidedly short-lived and we enjoyed
a blissful "tea" stop.
The stop was a bit too long our legs told us as we stamped upwards
again. Although he too grumbled, Geoff's legs must have screamed
quieter than mine as he set a serious pace up the steadily improving
path. At the slight switchback to the summit (14) I called base
again to make sure the kettle would be on as we both raced down along
the ridge towards Elidir Fawr (15). Tiredness almost forgotten, the
final peak was quickly reached. "How fast can you get down from
here?" asked Geoff, "Last time was about an hour" I replied
honestly. "If we can do it in 30 minutes that's 17 hours" ... and so
we did - Geoff haring ahead with me shouting directions through the
zig zags down the quarries to the huts. We cut a few corners diving
headlong at the razor sharp slate inclines and my running shoes were
full of slate chips as we made the steps of Ty Powdr.
I'd like to think our time of 17 hours (that's one per peak with an
extra one at each end to get to and from the ridges) is a good time
for the 35 and 15 peaks miles we covered. Nonetheless I have been
warned that any pride in this is likely to come unstuck if we search
the annals of KMC endeavour - still I'm sure I'll do it faster in the
Spring!
Final note:
Some onlookers (well Duncan) had suggested I call this article "How
not to prepare for the Bob Graham Round." but on reflection the
sleepless start (if not the beer!) and Geoff's relentless pace were
just what I needed. The BGR is a traverse of 42 Lake District peaks
starting and finishing at Keswick. Geoff Hibberd did his Bob Graham
round last year and is hoping to do a Paddy Buckley (you don't want
to know how hard that is!) this year. I am attempting a BGR on the
9th of May 2009. If any club members are interested in helping out
by joining me on any short mountain runs or would be able to join in
with support on the day please get in touch.
Embarrassing moments at Tremadoc - Roger Dyke
Since I seem to be able to have embarrassing moments most places,
this could be the first of a long-running series. But I was probably
at my most entertaining at Tremadoc. I didn't even need to leave the
carpark there.
At the time I had a vast Ford Zodiac, known to my work crew as The
Admiral's Barge. It was unusual in having a well-dented back end -
with all the dents from the inside, making bulges outward. Finished
gearing up at the garage [Eric's Café now] one morning, I shouted
"Everyone got what they want out of the car?", pushed down the
locking lever on the driver's door, and slammed it. With the keys
still in the ignition. A lad from another club heard my swearing, and
said "What's up mate?" I told him. "You're lucky - we've got xxxxx
with us. I'll send him over." A large man arrives. "You the stupid
f***r who's locked his keys in?" "Yes" " Let's look." He
leans against the side of the car, and 7 seconds later opens the
drivers door and walks off quickly before I can thank him - I'm so
astonished. I couldn't find him, but later I saw the man who'd sent
him over and expressed my thanks and amazement. "Well, I'd have been
surprised if he hadn't opened it - he's a professional car thief -
steals cars to order like."
Willans Harnesses came out. Excellent. But were only securely
attached when the rope was threaded thro the three front loops.
Roping up at the bottom of Oberon, a guy dislocated his shoulder and
fell off [in that order] , landing at our feet without serious
further damage. We left his mates to sort him out and I set off up Y
Broga. It was my party piece, and I did it with one piece of gear, a
MOAC at the crux just where there is no longer an edge to layback on.
You really don't need anything before that, and if you can do the
crux you certainly don't need anything after it. So today I slot my
MOAC in, reach down for the rope? and it is threaded a few inches
thro the loops of the harness but not tied. "Keith - don't do
anything with the rope - just keep it still." Rope in MOAC won't
reach harness, and only gear loops to clip it to anyway. My wife can
tie bowlines single-handed, but not me. It's not a relaxing position
here, and reversing 15ft of layback doesn't appeal.
(Y Broga has since got much harder, polished to glass by folk
slipping on the crux. I'm not responsible for that, honest.)
We were on a VS that crossed Vector, and I'd taken a fairly minimal
belay because there was a nice ledge to stand on and I seemed to have
even less gear than normal. Just as my partner joined me, a dark
lanky character appeared from nowhere, made very rude remarks about
the inadequacy of our belay, and soloed off up Vector (E2, 5c for the
newcomers) shouting back over his shoulder "It's people like you have
accidents."
It had rained for days, but it was Sunday and we were on our way to
Tremadoc in April sunshine. En route we gave a lift to an old man
(at least 60!) who had done a little climbing long ago. Nice guy,
but as we dropped him off he gave us, very seriously, some advice: "
When you youths get to Tremadoc, look out for loose rock. All the
rain we've had these last few days, there'll be rock falling down or
coming away in your hands." We listened politely and thanked him,
but when we were on our way again we laughed at his caution. "It's
not rain that loosens rock: it's freeze and thaw - everyone knows
that."
30 minutes later we were ten feet apart changing boots at the bottom
of Poor Man's Peuterey, with the sun filtering through the trees. In
the space of no more than a couple of seconds, there was a quick
series of bangs, and a hefty slab of rock landed between us.
Keith looked at me: "Like the old man said?."
Fortunately, none of our gear was under the rock, because we couldn't
have moved it.
Another Y Broga story - second pitch this time. I'd led the first,
and my partner led the second. As he belayed at the top, the rain
came down in torrents. I just couldn't get up one bit, even after
shouting for and getting a tight rope. Just too polished and slimy.
Then all of a sudden the rope went really tight, and I shot up with
little effort on my part. At the top I thanked my partner. "That
was hell of a tight rope you gave me." "Wasn't me", he said "This
man came along and heard you, and said 'What your mate needs is a bit
of a pull' and he reached in front of me, gave you a great yank,
handed me the slack and went off." We never knew who it was, even
whether it was a climber or just someone out for a walk, but he was
certainly strong.
Behind you when you are starting Y Broga is Merlin, my favourite
route at Tremadoc. I could climb Merlin in any weather, and one day
it was any weather, but somehow I persuaded my partner that we'd
driven that far so we should do something and Merlin was a bit
sheltered. I set off up to the overhang - still dry under there - and
put a tape round the little tree. As I clipped the rope in I fell
off backwards. Well, downwards actually but that was backwards if
you follow because I was about horizontal under the overhang.
Partner had just given me a load of slack so I could clip, and waist
belays don't stop you instantly especially if the second is perhaps
not terribly committed to proceedings and knows you won't fall off
anyway. So I reached the platform 8ft below just as the rope went
tight. Happily, I had gone between two rocks, either of which could
have broken my back. I was totally unhurt, but firmly wedged by my
bottom in the slot between them, lying out almost flat on my back.
I couldn't help myself much - I was like a sheep on its back - and
partner swinging on the rope didn't unplug me. Me pulling on the rope
while he held it tight didn't help either. Once we had recovered
from fits of laughter he climbed up and managed to sort of peel me
out. I can take a hint: I retrieved the sling and we called it a
day.
It's probably as well the rope didn't put much stress on the little
tree, because soon after the entire overhang - several tons of it -
fell down. I'm not responsible for that, honest.
November Newsletter Index.
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