The closest I’d come to this locality before was some eight years earlier, though under rather different circumstances. Back then, above Abergwyngregyn, perhaps five miles from the hostel as the crow flies, I’d sat shivering in a parked car with my walking companion, Chris, listening to the rain bouncing off the roof. For over an hour. At 04:30 in the morning. The only vaguely sane explanation for such behaviour is that we were on a mission to do the Welsh 3000s — a mission which never got off the ground due to the appalling weather from the get go.

As it happens, last October, the weekend at Rowen YHA didn’t get off to a brilliant start either. Having driven 214¾ of the 215 miles from Cambridge to Rowen without incident, the final ¼-mile to the hostel proved too much for the Pug. I’d have found it hard to believe that there was a surfaced road in the UK which was physically too steep to drive up for an average road car, but this proved to be the case. It’s more than a little disconcerting to find oneself gradually moving backwards downhill, whilst simultaneously stamping on the footbrake, and ratcheting up the handbrake to the max. I blame a combination of rain, wet leaves, and a gradient in excess of 1:3 on the inside of the hairpins.

Having inadvertently backed the car into a ditch while trying to reverse back down the hill in the dark, I abandoned it there for the night (this was going to need a tow, or at least the combined efforts of most of the other folk expected that weekend, to push it out), and walked the final 400 yards to the hostel. Everyone else had arrived within an hour, with at least one other car becoming stuck on the hill and having to execute a careful retreat. Still, nothing a couple of beers couldn’t help me forget about.

The following day, we all enjoyed a walk from the hostel, up over Drum and onto Foel-Fras. Though a little windy and dreich on the way up, the clouds cleared to give us some great views as we descended back to Rowen by the same route.

Back at the hostel, relaxing before we headed down the hill to the pub for the evening, I was fetching a bag of coal for the fire when the second sting-in-the-tail for the weekend caught me out. None too pleased at being disturbed from her hibernation among the coal sacks, a queen wasp stung me on the cuticle as I hefted a bag from the pile.

Queen wasp (from Flickr, user bramblejungle, CC-BY-NC-2 license)

I was too surprised to have the wherewithall to dispatch the creature and merely flicked it away. So, if you’re up at Rowen YHA during summer 2010, and are being bothered by a wasp nest, then I apologise in advance. It’s astonishing how such a little thing can inflict so much pain. After an initially eye-watering five-minute period where my finger felt as though it was being held in the fire that I’d been retrieving the coal for, it settled down somewhat. Imagine having your hand slammed in a door every few minutes for a couple of hours and you’ve got the idea. Beer didn’t help this time around.

There was one more unforeseen and unwelcome incident that weekend, when the hostel fire alarm malfunctioned at some ungodly hour on Sunday morning, and, having been silenced, proceeded to bleat about a fault until we eventually left on Sunday morning. At this point, the water had run out too. We’d been warned about this earlier in the week by the warden, and so had brought a fair amount of bottled water along. Talk about coals to Newcastle…

Overall though, this was a very enjoyable weekend, despite a few mishaps. The next time the travel instructions warn of an extremely steep hill that one may well be better parking at the bottom of, I might just do as they say…

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Preparing for the Llanberis Track, near Llyn Padarn.

As it happens I managed all of the above (well, minus the open fire — the two-bar variety just doesn’t cut it), and, quite unexpectedly, managed to fit two memorable days’ mountain walking in too. For the first time in months, I completely ignored the weather forecasts. My usual forays to the Mountain Weather Information Service and their excellent forecasts tailored to us hill folk, were absent. The drive up from Cambridge on the Friday evening — via Nottingham to pick up two friends — was trouble free. As always happens (no, really, this always happens), the skies stayed dry until just after we crossed the border into Wales, whereupon the rain started. Unbeknownst to my passengers and I, this same rain was falling as heavy snow on the mountains.

Waking the next morning (with a slight hangover — the Theakstons Old Peculiar hadn’t settled terribly well), the skies were leaden, and there was a biting wind blowing the plastic recycling boxes around in the courtyard. A hint of rain in the air too. Of late, I’ve been succumbing to the temptation of low-level bimbles and tea-shop bagging when faced with, if not exactly inclement, then decidedly unfriendly weather.

Not this time though. I had a plan. Snowdon via the Llanberis track.

I think the Llanberis track has an undeserved reputation as a monotonous, second-rate route up the mountain. It’s really not all that bad. Agreed, in direct comparison to the Snowdon Horseshoe, or a more accessible route like the Pyg or Rhyd Ddu tracks, the Llanberis Track doesn’t shine. With the first dump of heavy snow of the winter mantling the hill from 400m though, the Llanberis Track gains some teeth.

A good dump of snow makes things a lot quieter for a start. No trains, and a much reduced stream of potential summiteers gives one more room to breathe. Of course, the final section along the summit ridge (above the Pyg track) is the usual circus — I wonder how many days a year, on average, the summit of Snowdon sees no visitors at all? I’d bet it’s in single figures.

Chilly views from the summit building.

We got quite chilly on top, taking lunch on the summit station platform, in the lee of the new summit building (Hafod Eryri), but were lucky to have the clouds break up as we were there.

Heading back down one can appreciate this route much more. Sweeping views over Mynydd Mawr, the Nantlle Ridge, and out across Anglesey are complemented by more intimate views of the climbers’ mecca — Clogwyn Du’r Arddu — reflected perfectly in its attendant lake. Crib Goch and the Glyders put in an appearance as well.

Crib Goch and the Glyders, from near Snowdon summit.

Here, too, near Clogwyn station, is a notorious convex slope that, sadly, seems to dispatch ill-equipped and unobservant hillgoers over the cliffs of Clogwyn Coch all too frequently.

But the snow was far too soft for that to be a serious danger this time round. Good thing too given some of the attire in evidence among the multitudes…

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