In which we climb a mountain and catch a break (Wales part III).

When Simon asked if I'd like to go on a hiking adventure in the summer, I was game to go pretty much anywhere. He proposed either the Scottish Highlands or Wales, and when another friend happened to return from the Highlands complaining about the Miserable Mosquito Situation there, we were easily deterred and started looking for affordable flights and accommodation around Snowdonia National Park. I'd never been there before, let alone to Wales, and was thrilled when everything fell into place. While doing our research (him more than me, as I was too busy lazing about in Italy the week before), Mount Snowdon made it on to both of our to-hike lists. Being the tallest mountain in Wales (3,560 ft), it is not only about a third the elevation of the Sandias outside of Albuquerque (perspective), but it is also a very popular hiking destination with six or so different trails to choose from. Fantastic on a clear day, and clear as pea soup when not. 

So far the weather had not played along, but upon checking the forecast the next morning, it looked like that day would be our best bet for the rest of the week, so we figured we'd give it a shot and could always turn back if we needed to. We packed our rain gear, laced up our adventure boots, and were on our way.

As we'd already done part of the Watkins Path when previously getting soaked on Yr Aran and wanted the most gentle option possible in case of inclement weather, we opted for the path that follows the Snowdon Railway from Llanberis -- an option deemed so touristy that the authors of our hiking guide neglected to include it in the book. I had to take a moment to remind myself that I'm a city kid now and didn't need to torment myself on trails that were too strenuous just to satisfy my pride.

That being said, we paid the £8-something for parking and started our journey up into the clouds, first down a residential street on the edge of town that must be great for people-watching, then up a steep, winding, paved road to the trailhead, through the gate, and beyond. The weather was not great. Not actively raining, but the cloud blanket was low and hid the mountain completely. Still, we climbed. First a gentle stone slope, leading to steeper, rocky paths that were slippery when wet and potentially deathly in high winds. Every half hour or so we watched the huff huff pass by, going up and going down, and we judged all the people on board as lazy bums just as they were feeling smug, chug-chugging along, looking out upon all the fools who willingly chose to climb a mountain on legs instead of utilizing the wonders of modern-ish transportation.

I took a few pictures on the way up, mostly of rare patches of blue sky that quickly disappeared, but deleted them all afterward for reasons that will soon become evident. When we finally got to the top, we were presented with a surreal and somehow satirical scene of a long line of tourists waiting to climb the last few meters to the official summit of the mountain, which, might I remind you, was still stuck it a cloud. It was windy, the air had condensed into cold droplets dripping from my hair, and we couldn't see a thing. But since we'd come all the way up there, we weren't ready to turn back quite yet, so found a clear spot to plop down nearby and munch some lunch.

Behind every good hike, there is an even better peanut butter and banana sandwich.

Just as I was licking the last of the peanut butter from my sticky fingers, an optimistic atmospheric shift came upon us, and the clouds became more like separate entities visibly cruising over us rather than one solid wall of droplet fluff -- small patches of view started drifting in and out of focus, especially in the west, and above all, above us all. The summit was still catching the clouds, but the rest of the blanket sank and suddenly we were looking out over a sea of cotton candy.

From there, we started back down and then cut over and up again onto the neighboring ridge, which was suddenly cloudless, and from which we could see the silhouetted line of tourists on the summit, and soon thereafter, everything else.

By this point I was practically leaping towards the long-tailed sheep at the edge of the ridge, and arrived just in time for the sky to clear and reveal everything from where I stood bouncing to Caernarfon Bay and the Irish Sea and the wild, wonderful West.

One of the sheep was kind enough to take a picture of us (all dried off again), after which we hung out and enjoyed the view for a while longer, every now and again glancing over to see Snowdon's summit still hidden, and marveled that there were so many people still on it, and so few on this glorious, sunny ridge right next to it. Not that I would have preferred it otherwise.

We still had a long way down, so eventually thanked the Nature for the good time and started downwards, the clouds playing in the sun all the way, and marveling at the landscape that had been hidden all the way up.

 

At one point I fell into stride just in front of a father hiking down with his young daughter, who was confidently singing songs from Frozen and other Disney musicals in a proud, clear voice. He encouraged her to keep singing, and when they passed me a while later I was finally able to see what they looked like after only having heard their voices for so long, and hoped they could feel the smile that I sent along behind them, thanking her for the delight of her song in the wilderness, and thanking him for being a great Dad.

Pretty sure I slept early and well that night, but then woke up early too, full of energy, so quietly slipped out of the house and down to the beach to watch the sunrise. It was a cloudy morning -- par for the course -- the colors subtle, but the stillness was lovely, and I spent a good hour being quiet and then being less quiet, doing vocal exercises as I walked up and down the deserted beach, searching for smooth, purple stones.

 

The weather was again dreary, so once back and breakfasted later on, we decided to drive to nearby Conwy and have a look at the castle there. A fine specimen which, like many castles in the area, was built in around the 1280s by the castle-happy Edward I.

 

From there we walked around the old city wall, looking across the town as the castle got smaller and then larger again.

Conwy also boasts the Smallest House in Great Britain, which we admired from afar but didn't feel the need to squeeze ourselves into. 

It was also in Conwy that the most surprising, and aye, in retrospect most hilarious event occurred. After walking around the city wall, we still had some time on our parking meter, and considering it wasn't raining and it was August and we were on vacation and hadn't had any ice cream all week, damnit, we decided this was the moment to indulge. Back in town, we thus purchased some highly overpriced ice cream from the local parlour and, on our way out the door, Simon pointed to a sign warning that ice cream stolen by seagulls would not be replaced. We scoffed at this, and not ten paces later, a huge seagull swooped down and plowed beak-first into Simon's ice cream cone, knocking the top scoop onto the ground where it was immediately swallowed by another seagull. 

Suddenly, avian ice cream thievery had become very, very real. We then proceeded to go through a wide range of emotions, from shock and terror caused by two giant, powerful birds that had just appeared like archangels out of nowhere and emphatically invaded our personal bubble, to the sadness caused by seeing a large amount of brand new ice cream fall to the ground and be devoured by a creature for which it was not intended, to the hilarity of the timing, absurdity of the situation, and respect for the power duo that had so expertly played us, and left us for fools. I started guarding my cone with my life, and must admit that my years in Germany had made me a little schadenfroh that it was his ice cream that has fallen victim to the birds of prey, and not mine. 

I think he's gotten over it now, though I wouldn't be surprised if the seagulls still made an appearance in his nightmares from time to time.