Eryri - Snowdonia

 Wednesday, June 23

Back in the sixties, the Ogwen Valley in Snowdonia was a favourite weekend destination for the North London Climbing Club. The base was known as Williams' Farm, rough pasture at the foot of Mount Tryfan. This is what the mountain looked like to-day - it's distinctive summit obliterated by low cloud.

 

A single lavatory, one cold water tap, and a barn in which the tent-less could  sleep, were the only amenities. Where to pitch a tent was a free choice  -   just find a patch of flattish ground where running water didn't use the tent as a drain. The sign is relatively modern.

 

 Sheep were the extras. Quite an eye opener for the minibus load of 14 year old outer London students which we took there for their Duke of Edinburgh Award expedition training. Leaving London at tea time on a Friday, buying milk from a machine at Shrewsbury station, pitching tents in the dark. If we were lucky, overlooked by more stars than any of them had seen before. In the morning, it was all worth it for the look of awe as they crawled out to view their surroundings for the first time. 

Training was done on  Idwal Slabs, flat fronted slabs of rock which jut out from the mountainside above the Ogwen Valley. I spent much of the time standing around, waiting for my turn - yes, I had to join in to provide a good example. Never wear new jeans to stand for hours in the rain. I had blue legs for weeks. My climb was usually punctuated by cries of 'get your knees off the rock' from Geoff Choat, the instructor. Abseiling was exhilarating - after the initial panic-inducing lowering of one's body, clutching tightly to the rope, until it was parallel to the ground, before using one's feet to bounce down the rockface.

We visited the farm to-day for nostalgic reasons. I introduced Pam to its joys at Easter holiday time 1966, when I needed a driver for the minibus. I was 5 months pregnant at the time. We had a gale force storm, several of our tents blew down. Ivor cut his thumb opening a tin of peaches for breakfast. Pam drove him to hospital for stitches. I cobbled together some ripped tents for the girls. The boys slept in the barn. Pam and I slept on hay in a pig sty - clean and devoid of pigs. A baptism of fire.

The drive to Capel Curig from Beddgelert is lovely, despite to-day's rain and low cloud. A winding, climbing, well  wooded, road beside a river, gradually climbing to  moorland. 

These are Pam's photos.

 

 

Not exactly teeming with birds. Carrion Crows, Magpies, Pied Wagtails, Chaffinch, Robin, and Willow Warbler. The highlight was a singing Redstart. We did see a female Whinchat yesterday, which I forgot to include in last night's Blog. The rain continued, we drove home.

We called in at Glaslyn Osprey Centre, where Pam was granted permission to put our moth trap out to-morrow night. Could be interesting. Trapping has really tailed off here. A combination of north wind, cold nights (5C), clear skies and maybe, a general lack of moths. We've only seen three butterflies since we got here. That includes the flower meadow at Glaslyn.