Climbing Snowdon, Wales

Climbing a huge rock.

Climbing a huge rock.

It has been a while since I left Japan and although I’m more than happy to be back, I will admit I felt lost for a time.  There was of course the initial culture shock of being back, but like so many things in life, you just get used to it.  For a few months in the UK, I feared that that bold girl Japan had been crafting for the last four years was disappearing. I no longer went on hikes, spoke to strangers, spoke another language, and I constantly feared the co-dependence which English life offered me.

I knew I had to grab that spontaneous girl back; look for adventure. So I decided to ask my friend to go hiking with me to Snowdon, I had at numerous times during my period in Asia, climbed up mountains -despite my averse fear of heights.

Half-way up the mountain.

Half-way up the mountain.

So I packed my belongings on 8th November and set out for adventure. Wales, has rustic feel to it I assume that’s how Northern England would be had I took the opportunity to venture up there.  For the first night my friend and I decided to stay at hotel so we had enough strength for the climb, the town was called Blaenau Ffestiniog, situated close to Snowdon itself. If only I hadn’t booked my train tickets so late then maybe I could have explored the town in its entirety,  but it didn’t only feel like time was against us, but our own dreaded luck. We lost Satelite Navigation, we couldn’t read the Welsh signs, we got lost at every turn, but we eventually made it to the hotel, the hotel worker waiting patiently as I ran to the doors, shoelaces untied.

The next morning, we treated ourselves to a full-welsh breakfast and made our way to Rhyy Ddu path, which is apparently the most scenic for mountain views -they weren’t lying. As we started our descent I couldn’t help, but stop every 10 minutes to take a picture of the view, on my digital camera, my iPhone, every angle had to be captured.  As we climbed higher the lakes to our left, which had been giant borderless waters became tiny ponds .

Near the top.

Near the top.

Snowdon isn’t tough to get up, but it took a lot longer as I didn’t have the right boots, mine were tearing into the sides of my heels with every step I took, I had to rely on huge boulders and shards of rock to grab onto to stop myself from falling. The ridge on the way to the summit is where my fear kicked in, unlike a lot of Asian mountains which provide fencing or a barrier across the edge, British mountains don’t. Most likely to keep the mountain from looking artificial or perhaps, because the walk along with strong gales are still not enough to stifle a climber, whatever the reason I still feared falling off.

The climb improved once we got shelter from the winds, but unfortunately, the cold started to tear through our coats, my gloves made of insulated wool, became wetter with every shard I grabbed and water began seeping into my skin, causing slight frost bite on the tips of my fingers, we took a few more pictures before arriving at the summit, shivering and barely joyous with our accomplishment.

The winter made Snowdon tougher to climb than usual,  as we descended the mountain, we started to slip and buckle over stray rocks, but we still found time (and balance) to take in the views. We roamed from the path and found ourselves quite seriously lost on the mountain, we made our way down despite having a loose idea of where we were going. Jumping over barb-wired fences and falling through potholes and sliding down loose rocks; we made our way to the railway and walked along the line until we came to the comforting view of the car park.

As a girl, who grew up in London and then moved to Tokyo, you can expect how in awe I was of the starry night sky as we pitched our tents under the canopy of pine trees. Of course I had seen night skies like that before, but every time I do get the opportunity, I appreciate them -so very much. That night I must have stood staring at them straight for ten minutes without realising where I was, thinking of an emptiness. I fear losing that feeling of complete immersion with nature as I see so little of it in my everyday life.

The Skirrid Inn scrolls.

The Skirrid Inn scrolls.

The next morning, after putting the tent away, we drove through the rocky mountains of Snowdonia and treated ourselves to another fry-up.  The Skirrid Inn, in the South Wales was our next destination. I had heard about it on the internet and knew that if I were going to be in Wales, I had to visit it.

The Skirrid Inn is located near the ominously named, “Black Mountains,” one of those volcanic peaks was said to have erupted when Jesus died on the cross.  As we entered one of the most haunted pubs in the UK, we were welcomed with a rather medieval tavern, with wall scrolls and a roaring fire keeping the patrons warm. I walked along the back to where the famous noose hung, and looked up through the gap in the staircase. The hearsay was true, a feeling of foreboding lay in that place.

And that’s where the adventure ends.

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