The Cambrian Way - North Section

Day 12

At 3.15am I was aroused. Aroused by the pungent scent of damp sweaty socks I had face planted into during the night as I slid down the inner of my tent on my mattress.

Almost centuries ago, fainting ladies were brought around by the strong fragrance of smelling salts….well this was one sure way to become alert!

I fell back to sleep and awoke around 6.15am. I made a half cup of coffee, the stove had toppled twice making pasta last night on the spongy ground I was camped upon, so I was short of water, but it was enough to spring me into action. I ate a flapjack, stowed my things and de camped.

The climb to Cadair from the road was steep and involved some scrambling over slippy wet rocks. The rain had hammered down again throughout the night and where there were once paths, were now streams. The morning was still cloudy but clearing. I persevered, dealt with the odd shower and kept my head down, stopping only briefly for a slug of water or to take a pic. I knew that once I reached Cadair summit it was all downhill to Barmouth.

I was familiar with this area and I felt strong, almost marching up the grassy slopes, firstly Gai Graig then Mynydd Moel. The summit was within grasp and it was hugely motivating to be able to tick off the first of the big hills.

I reached the summit before long and retreated to the shelter, made a hot chocolate with coconut milk powder and rested limbs.

If the ascent felt easy, the descent was thwart with hazards. Wet grass, wet rock, slippy mud and I ended up on my backside and frontside more than once.

The sun had appeared on my descent from the summit and the views over to the estuary and Barmouth were beautiful. I never tire of that view. The golden sands, blue sky and the grassy slopes of the mountains combined with the sparkly waters of lake and ocean.

I contacted Jamie, who had the maps for the remaining section and he met me on the footbridge. We exchanged battery packs, ones he had charged for me and my own which needed to be recharged. It was a brief encounter but crucial We agreed a time to meet in the morning and I headed to the beach to bathe my feet in the salt water and to dry clothes, my line strung up between my walking poles. The breeze enough to accelerate the drying process. My feet were sodden but I managed to my dry boots to some extent in the warmth of the sun as I watched the comings and goings of people on the beach

As evening came and the expanse of sand quietened, I erected my tent, securing the lines wrapped around buried rocks, cooked pasta and watched the sun set across the water.

It felt good to be dry again and with the prospect of fair weather ahead…....I had a renewed confidence in my mission.

45 guide book hours left to walk which equated to 74 miles.

Day 13

It was never my intention to overnight in Barmouth. I had arrived at lunchtime yesterday and ideally wanted to get back up into the hills to make inroads into the miles. Too much time wasted would just increase the pressure to finish on schedule. My train would leave Conwy at 1815 on Sunday and I needed to be on it regardless.

I had spent the last 6 days in soggy boots, with damp socks that I was having difficulty drying, despite my clothes line wrapped around my rucksack and three pairs of Bridgedale’s swinging from it behind me. Every time it rained I would have to tuck them under the rain cover of my rucksack and they had difficulty drying that way. I was also low on food supplies and both power packs were now depleted.

My decision to put comfort first was paramount if I was to stand a chance of finishing on time.

I met Jamie at 7am. He had recharged my battery packs overnight and I now had enough ‘juice’ to last. I returned the ones he had lent me overnight and he dutifully looked after my rucksack whilst I dashed into the Co-Op for dinner ideas and snacks to last the remaining days. I grabbed a couple of ‘narnas’ for breakfast and exited the store where Jamie was waiting, chatting to a lady who had enquired about my rucksack.

The people of Barmouth are always interested when walkers pass through, particularly those fundraising. Jamie had already shared my post on the local forums and it had sparked some interest. After I said my farewells to Jamie I headed off to tackle The Rhinogs. It was to be a big day with lots of ascent and descent so I was keen to get a wriggle on. As I passed through town I was stopped by a lady walking her dog. She asked if I was the gentleman doing the coast walk. She was a little confused. Right guy, wrong hike. I corrected her and she remembered as she had been reading about it that night. She said she would donate. Sweet.

It felt weird that I knew none of these folk yet they seemed to know an awful lot about me and it was endearing to know they wanted help a random in some way.

The climb out of Barmouth gained height quickly and soon I was overlooking the estuary from the opposite side. The cloud still wasn’t clearing and there would be breaks in it for photos but nothing wowsers, it would be another hour and a half till I was afforded the vista I had climbed to see.

The last time I was in the Rhinogs I had completed the south/north traverse over two days and camped at Glolyn, a picturesque lake. I hadn’t see much till the morning on that occasion so today when the cloud broke, I saw everything I had missed last time. The views were stunning. A 360 degree panorama.

The two big climbs of Rhinog Fawr and Fach ate into time as I ascended and descended each, scrambling rocks. I met two lads from the Midlands near me, Dave & Ian and we chatted about my walk. It was good to have some light hearted conversation particularly when you’d gone days without any and the only one way interaction was with sheep where the exchange would be something like,

“Why are you staring at me..…do I have chocolate on my face?” or

“Oh please…..don’t get up on my account ”…..…or

“What the hell are you doing out of your field?!”

Dave and Ian were great fun, two amusing characters and a far departure from the couple of ‘Christians’ who I met on the way up to Diffwys who thrust a pamphlet towards me and suggested I read it in my tent later. I don’t take favourably to such things. I was raised with sound morals, values and taught respect by my parents but I have no time for religion, even more so when it’s forced.

The day had turned out gloriously. From the summit of Rhinog Fawr I could see the Snowdon range. It felt strange to think I had been in Cardiff almost two weeks ago and now here I was, staring at a mountain that signified almost the end of my journey.

The path down into Cwm Bychan looked amazing in the evening light. The low sun shone through the woodland, the swollen steam rushed down the hillside next to the path sometimes spilling over. I reached the campsite and it looked so inviting. Flat ground, a water source, pretty woodland. I had stayed here once before but it was October time and wasn’t half as appealing then…….I checked the map and the guide, ideally I should carry on…..in the end I decided that I would refuel and then leave at first light…..

…….this journey is far from over.

Day 14

When most of the stages on the Cambrian Way are 15-18 miles and the guide book states the next is 9 miles with an hour added on the timings for slow progress, you know there’s a caveat.

The northern section of the Rhinogs involved some scrambling, rocky ledges and cliff faces to ascend. Navigation could be tricky if cloud was low.

It was 5.23am at Cwm Bychan when I slipped away leaving behind a handful of campers. I climbed up from the farm through the tall ferns, the rain still clinging to their leaves. Waterproof trousers were an essential on any morning as dew or rain quickly soaked your lower half.

I made good progress and reached the tops swiftly, pausing briefly to relieve the weight of my rucksack at the cairns and binge on Tangfastics. The cloud hung low, there were no views and the mist across the tarns made things eerie and mysterious.

Heading down from the hills, the former nuclear plant on the Trawsfynydd reservoir gradually grew closer. I remembered seeing it before when I’d camped on the south side. At night, tiny squares of light shone from it, the facility clearly still monitored.

The day was one of interest, with plenty to occupy the sight and senses. I neared the forest on the northern end of the reservoir after crossing the dam. There’s something quite mystical about entering woodland. The soft spongy ground carpeted with pine needles made a pleasant change under foot to the rough or boggy terrain I had been use to. The fresh scent of pine masking my vagrant stench on weeks old clothing and sweat. I’d had tried to rinse items periodically when the weather had been fine but they were far from the 40 degree cycle with a ‘pod’ I was use to. I felt unclean and it felt awkward,  but I needed to put aside any pride temporarily and focus on the reasons for embarking on this journey.

The magical forest with its pine tree bases skirted in moss. It’s easy to see why they capture the imagination in fairy tales. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, just the gentle trickle of water through a channel in the peat, or the feint splatter of water dripping from branches above to logs at my feet and the birds chirping high in the canopy.

Emerging from the woodland I was presented with a track. The forestry logs in organised stacks made for an interesting photo op. I headed towards Maentwrog which was to be my stage for the day. I had encountered a few ponies and horses en route but this Dobbin was to be my favourite. I had popped out into a field and I had to double check my map, as the road ran adjacent, I thought I should be on it. There, in front of me was such an amazing creature. Tan and white, her coat shining. Judging by the property aligning the field, this beast would want for nothing. She was playful. I expect she almost waited, relished a passing Cambrian Way walker. We shared a selfie, I bid farewell and continued.

I arrived in time for lunch and The Grapes hotel looked inviting. I entered in the hope of fuelling up as I still needed to press on further and make headway into the next stage.

I devoured the burger from the hotel menu, quenched with a lager and headed away. Ideally, I wanted to reach Beddgelert but it would be a mammoth day. With food in my belly though I felt a surge of energy and cracked on, first reaching the Tanygrisiau reservoir and then a climb up to yet another dam at Llyn Stwlan. I was beginning to feel the demands of the day……I replenished water in the spring exiting the dam by crossing the a barbed wire fence. The CCTV on a pole must have caught me but I was swift, packed four Jelly Babies into my cheeks to suck on slowly and began the slog to Moelwyn Mawr. The ascent seemed to drag on and I was tiring after such an early start. I’d consumed far too many sweet things and now my body craved a savoury meal. I just wanted to get my tent up, put on some food and collapse. I’d changed my socks at the Llyn before the climb to Moelwyn Mawr but they were now squelching again. I reached the summit. It was a brief stop….and I headed down through the quarry. I had filled my collapsible bottle with extra water to see me through dinner and breakfast, but messing about with photos amongst the discarded 'slag', it slipped from my rucksack and fell onto the sharp slate puncturing it. I scooped it up quickly, trying to preserve its contents. I walked the next two miles with it held upside down until I found a suitable camping pitch. It was 9pm but still light. On a grassy outcrop, with Cnicht to my right and Porthmadog in the distance, I made camp. The sunset would have been much more special higher up but I was relieved to have completed one and a half stages for the day. I checked the map and it was at this point I realised that I actually could complete this by Sunday.

I felt a wave of emotion as I sat peaceful contemplating what I had done so far and how I might feel on completion .

Day 15

Green feet!

Over the last week my feet had started to turn green. It was quite worrying initially. With my tootsies constantly in wet socks and boots I thought I’d developed ‘trench foot’ A small green patch had appeared on the ball of my right foot in the crease of some hard skin.

Like any typical bloke, I ignored it and one morning over breakfast, eating chocolate porridge, I came to terms with the potential amputation for the cause and just carried on. Over the next few days it began to get progressively worse. My toes and toe nails and now the complete underside of both my feet were green. I smiled at my initial thoughts of losing a foot, as from closer inspection, it appeared that the dye had leeched from my black socks and was staining my feet, much to my relief.

I woke to a clear morning on the Saturday. My determination to complete this by Sunday evening was stronger than ever. I was on familiar territory which meant I could ease off on the navigation and concentrate on pressing forward. I still had some of the 2nd stage from yesterday to make up, from behind Cnicht and into Beddgelert. I left camp at 5.35am and made the summit of Cnicht soon after. The views were once again just stunning. The mountain void of foot traffic and chatter. The cloud stacked back in differing layers of grey on the horizon, like a wash of watercolours. Snowdon looked so close now but my goal for the day was beyond there and up over the Glyders and down into Ogwen, relieving a little more pressure for a big day on the Sunday.

The early morning walk to Beddgelert was lovely. Not a soul around and was so peaceful. The fresh smell of dew on grass as it began to evaporate with the rising temperature conjured summer feelings, that freshly cut grass scent. Soon I was upon the Aberglaslyn gorge. The roar of the water as it passed down hill replaced the calm tranquility. It’s a beautiful area and quite a spectacle. Recent rain fall had seen the levels rise and it crashed and tumbled over the boulders in its path some of which were smoothly sculptured by its flow

I reached Beddgelert for breakfast and conscious of my long day ahead I indulged in a Welsh breakfast at the cafe near the bridge. A Welsh breakfast is exactly the same as an English except the chuckie is probably popping eggs somewhere in Carmarthenshire and the pig wallowing around in Powys. The sausages though were definitely from Iceland.

Fuelled up I left after about an hour only to be stopped by a gentleman on the way out who commented about the pack I was carrying. He asked where I was headed and I replied Conwy. ‘….but you’re not walking though, right?” came the reply, to which I said, “Sure” He marvelled at my story of the last two weeks and wished me well.

Onwards to Snowdon.

The Watkin Path has always been my favourite route to the highest mountain in Wales, this time however, I would only be entertaining the pools before branching off onto the south ridge. I had joined the main road after following it on the path adjacent. For almost two weeks I had enjoyed relative solitude and peace but the line of cars parked up on the road side indicated that was about to come to an abrupt stop. It was heaving. Snowdon Saturday in full swing. I stopped briefly at the slate monolith marking the start of the Watkin path and the headed up through the woods filling my water bottle at the first stream. It was a warm day. There were plenty of people at the pools and most of the spots were occupied but as I headed further up, I stopped at the top by the waterfall and decided it would be a good opportunity to freshen up. I stripped to my boxers and plunged into the cool waters, paddling up to the waterfall. I needed that. I was conscious of my return train journey and not wanting to be too minging for the duration. A fresh set of clothes and I felt human again.

The summit of Snowdon was crowded. It had started to drizzle with rain as I neared the top but it was still sunny and people queued on the steps waiting to have their turn for the prize selfie next to the cairn. I passed it by, heading to the marker for the Pyg track. Many charity walkers were still heading up and there was a slight bottleneck to descend. I hurried past, using the edge stones to skip down the mountain passing slower walkers in front of me. Halfway down, in haste, I landed badly on my right foot and I heard a crack. The pain shot through and I thought I’d done serious damage. People around me asked if I was OK, but such was my bloody determination to get up over the Glyders tonight, I just brushed off their concern and continued, with a slight limp. I thought that if it was broken, I wouldn’t be walking on it……the irony of having already walked 270 miles unharmed only to fall at the final hurdle. Not completing this wasn’t an option and so I struggled down the track to Pen-y-Pass where I took refuge in the YHA bar with a pint and recharged my phone.

I set out up the track behind the hostel to head over the Glyders. It was around 6pm and still warm. The evening was looking good and I thought a decent sunset could be on the cards tonight. It would make a change to be up high. It took me a couple of hours to traverse the two mountains and the sun was beginning to set. The clouds had moved in a little and the light reflecting and refracting produced some amazing photos. Reds and purples along with the grey and white of the cloud, Tryfan looked incredible in this light and my modest iPhone not really doing justice to the scene. This was to be such a perfect finale to my fortnight.

It was clear that I wasnt going to make Ogwen that night, or even Llyn Bochllwyd. I settle on a pitch in the shadow of Tryfan on the far side of Heather Terrace. The ground wasn’t super dry but I had a stream close and the pitch was interesting and sheltered.

I pretty much ate the entire contents of my rucksack that night, saving only items I needed for the Sunday……my final day. The running waters of the stream didnt keep me awake at all and I drifted off to sleep having completed almost a double stage yet again. 

Day 16

The Finale

When I first had plans to complete the Cambrian Way in two weeks, I questioned myself if it was possible. Stephen Poulton’s 11-day itinerary was ambitious but I used it as a benchmark and marked clear daily goals on my maps based on Stephen’s grid references from his blog. I would be much heavier and self-supported so I never truly expected to achieve each of his ‘overnighters’ but mentally they were important. I had spare days in the bag and tried to keep as close as possible to the agenda I had set.

The morning under Tryfan felt surreal. I was nervous. My goal was within grasp but again I would be heading into unfamiliar territory once I had passed over the Carneddau. It was straightforward enough as most, if not all was a path but even incorrect paths can be taken and the error can cost valuable time.

I was later arising than I had planned. My ankle was swollen slightly and I was a little concerned as to whether it would carry me the remaining 19 miles of the stage, plus the extra I had to make up by not reaching Ogwen last night, a further 2 miles. There was also nearly 1600m of ascent still to make and even more descent…..more toe testing time in boots as feet are thrust into the forward part of your footwear. Psychologically I told myself that it was just a few climbs, Pen yr Olde Wen being the worst and then some milder ones on the Carneddau and that it would all be downhill into Conwy, but the route had a sting in the tail.

I fuelled up on the remaining porridge, drank hot chocolate and dismantled my tent for the final time, my home for the last two weeks. It had served me well but my lovely new shelter was now covered in slug slime, sand from my pitch in Barmouth and full of grass and moss. It had dried out a little however which meant I wouldn’t be carrying unwanted weight. My rucksack was the lightest it had been of the whole trip. Food supplies were now used, gas for my stove had almost run out but my sodden socks would still provide unnecessary weight that I could have done without.

I set out around 6.25 am and headed back up the mountain to meet the path which descended to Llyn Bochlwyd. I passed a guy on the way down who was heading up, looked like he was out to take dawn photos and not dressed for the mountain. As I neared the lake, two camping pitches stood out. I was glad that I had chosen the spot I did, there’s nothing worse than wanting to wild camp and your site is populated with folk. For me, it takes away the very ethos. Wild camping should be discreet and covert and not turned into a municipal gathering.

I hoped that when I reached Ogwen the cafe would be open, but it was closed. I might have been too early so I took advantage to ditch the rubbish I had carried from the hillside along with maps I no longer needed, placing them in the macerating bins by the cafe. I looked up at Pen yr Ole Wen. It’s an imposing sight of rock and heather, towering over you like a headmaster about to chastise. It’s not the biggest mountain on the route but it always seems to take forever summiting. I took the path behind Llyn Ogwen, a route I've never taken before, it was nice seeing the lake from this side looking over to the north ridge of Tryfan and the early birds parked up in the lay-by.

The final day was to be one of a casualty. Not a human casualty but one of equipment. I had made a concerted effort to safeguard and look after everything I carried with me this trip, for reasons of weight I only carried one of everything except head torch and compass. In ditching maps at Ogwen, my map case had become thinner and I had stuffed it into a strap on my hip belt. Somewhere along the lake, as I scrambled boulders and rocks it must have dislodged and fallen. My expensive Suunto compass, my very first was lost along with the maps and waterproof case they were in. It felt like an omen. First my ankle and now my maps and compass. I checked the time. I really could not afford to double back and retrace my steps, missing that last train at 1815 would mean certain work issues and I had a very unforgiving boss who would not understand or be compassionate. I thought about the rationale, was it more important to complete the route, on time and get back or to retrieve an item that essentially could be replaced, albeit at a cost.

I pressed on, annoyed with myself.

The slog up Pen yr Ole Wen was nearing completion and soon after I ticked off the summits of Dafydd and Llewelyn which are of close proximity. My phone signal had returned and I was able to collect some messages, one in particular from a friend who had followed my progress. He had arranged for someone to meet me in Conwy and had sent across the details. I was pleased as the thought of an anti-climax on finishing, just jumping on a train as nothing had happened, no celebration felt a little weird.

I’d finished the Carneddau……and six of the Welsh 3000s on this section which meant I had now completed all 16 in my mountaineering life, but yet to complete them in all in 24hrs, as is required on the Welsh 3000 challenge.

There was still 400m of climbing to undertake though and a few short steep sections. It was punishing……no sooner had you ticked off one climb, another popped up to ridicule. I had contacted Heather, my rendezvous in Conwy. She was the fundraising support officer for Ogwen Valley Mountain Rescue. It felt appropriate that she should be there to meet me. We liaised throughout my final hours heading into Conwy, the flow of encouraging messages kept me positive but it was going to be damn tight to finish in time. The guidebook time for the stage was 9 - 11 hrs and I already had the deficit on top of that. Any flat bit I encountered I jogged or Nordic walked, my poles stabbing the soft earth positively and with purpose as I marched or ran. The shoulder straps of my rucksack dug in as the weight oscillated with the up and down motion. Heather was superb, she knew exactly what I was up against and despite offering to take me anywhere I needed upon completion if I missed my transportation link, I felt compelled to complete this for me. It was my agenda. It was my planning and my goal to achieve. I didn’t want that taken from me.

Conwy castle teased me for a couple of miles. It was so close I could almost touch it.  I looked at it frequently, I just needed to be there, then there and there and I was home. The route veered away from the line of sight of the castle and up over Conwy mountain. This final approach was magnificent, if only I’d have had more time to enjoy it. My water had run out two hours prior and I was now parched. Heather had promised a flask of tea and had prepared me a packed lunch for my journey home, I was looking forward to that. I’d never met her before, but here we were, two people with a common interest and cause which we believed and were passionate about, it wasn’t just the route, the sights, the accomplishment even, it was as much about the fundraising and I had pledges to fulfil.

At 6 pm on July 11th, I emerged from the narrow overgrown track which led off the mountain and into the suburbs of Conwy. I negotiated the streets and finally met up with Heather. It was a huge relief and the overwhelming sense of emotion I had anticipated in the evenings before came to fruition. I’d done it. All 300 miles, 488km of the Cambrian Way in 2 weeks.

I’d climbed Snowdon nearly twice a day, every day for two weeks to get to where I was now and I felt great.

It’s a strange feeling. To set your mind on something, to be so determined, to be so bloody-minded in your approach and to achieve what you set out, but you need that yearning, that hunger.......that desire.

Napoleon Hill, the American self-help author who wrote one of the best selling books of all time, "Think and Grow Rich" once commented;

"Desire is the starting point of all achievement, not a hope, not a wish, but a keen pulsating desire which transcends everything”