Eryri - Snowdonia
In May of 2023, to celebrate my fortieth year and also my parents' anniversary, we travelled to England, Wales, and Ireland. This is the fifth segment of our trip.
In English, Snowdon is the mountain which gives Snowdonia National Park its name. In Welsh, the mountain is called Yr Wyddfa, and the Park is Eryri. However you phrase it, it's a beautiful place that offers a difficult, but doable hike ending on top of the world.
There are various routes to the top. My initial plan was to take the Ranger Path up, and the Llanberis Path down. I imagined that Mom and Dad would both take a heritage train to the top.
Ever the worried mother, Mom insisted that she come along for the walk. We decided to take the Llanberis Path both up and down. That offers the mildest gradient, but means a longer walk. It passes sheep pastures on its way up the slope.For travel from Caernarfon it simplified things, as it would mean a simple back-and-forth trip. Dad opted to remain in the town of Llanberis; he was still in recovery mode after his thankfully brief illness the previous day.
One other advantage of the Llanberis Path is that it mostly parallels the route of the heritage rail line. Every now and then, we would see a steam train heading up or down the hillside. I swear the pattern of its engine movements really does have the rhythm of, "I think I can, I think I can..."
The Little Engine That Could had a very good point: A positive attitude is one of the most important things to bring when attempting to scale a country's highest mountain. There were a few moments when Mom and I would ask, "are we there yet?" and yet the road would just keep stretching onward and upward. The higher we walked, though, the farther the view would extend. I was very glad that the day started cool and cloudy, but that it cleared as the morning progressed.
At long last, we came to a stone building at the side of the trail. It was a little shop and the woman at the service window told me something I was very excited to hear: We were over halfway there!
Mom was a bit less impressed. I admire her for her fortitude, and acknowledge that it is a pretty long and arduous hike for couch potatoes like us. She elected to turn back at the halfway chalet while I pressed on.
I was prepared for the rugged landscape. I was prepared for the sheep. I did not expect the mountain bikers careening down the path.
I also did not expect a post filled with coins. I fished around in my pocket and left a gift for the mountain. I only had UK currency on me; had I known the post would appear, I would have brought along a Canadian offering.
Meanwhile, down in Llanberis, my father had taken a refreshing stroll along the lakeside and looked up at the mountain, wondering how we were getting along. He went to the railway station and bought a ticket for the steam train. He took a photo at the Clogwyn railway stop (which is about 3/4 of the way up the mountain) and ones of me as I approached it, still far below on the path. Apparently he shouted and waved, but I was so distant, I did not notice! Even with his camera at maximum zoom, I am little more than a speck in his picture.
It is to my great and keenly-felt shame that I do not have any photos very far beyond when I finally reached Clogwyn myself. A little past the station is a spot where the path has a terrifyingly steep embankment on its downhill side. My sense of vertigo overtook me, and I could not make myself go past it. In my defense, it is noted on the map as an "accident blackspot". If only there'd been a railing for that short stretch! Even one on the upside of the path to hold would have given me a sense of security. I was so close I could see the summit in front of me. I am terribly anguished that I failed to overcome my fear.
While it would have been easy to focus on my shame, I am pleased that the mountain wouldn't let me. Walking back down the path was just so beautiful in its stark grandeur that I could not help but feel uplifted. Perhaps someday I will return and conquer the vertigo. Even if I never do, though, my brush with a high hill filled me with joy.
The mountains which now make up the National Park were heavily quarried for their slate. Near Llanberis, and viewable from the summit path, is a quarry which is now a museum. There is more beneath its surface, though. Deep inside the mountain water is pumped from a low reservoir to a high one, then run through a turbine as it rushes back via gravity. It's a giant energy storage battery! This is one of the rare times whenI was excited to have power lines interrupting a photo!
Back in the town, I looked back and spied the path rising. It is important to listen to the mountains sometimes. You never know what they'll reveal to you.
Mom and Dad, of course, were happy when I finally met them at our prearranged rendezvous outside the heritage railway station. I suppose it's only natural for a parent to wait anxiously and doubt a child's capacity to survive a well-maintained path trodden by hundreds of thousands of people a year.
I managed to ding my knee at the very end of my way down the path, so perhaps Mom's concern wasn't entirely misplaced...
Back at the hostel, we treated ourselves to a relaxing foot soak and a relaxed evening of watching a movie (a fun retro perk of the room, which had a TV and DVD player, but no broadcast or streaming access!).
In the next segment of our trip, we found ourselves in the seaside university town of Aberystwyth.