By Dave Robinson Image credits - Sean Kelly @ UKC
This fortnight the ICMC headed of to Snowdonia for its shits and giggles. We stayed in the palatial hut owned by the University. A wood fire, kitchen and comfy mattresses meant we felt spoilt after the long journey from London.
It was super icy cold on the first day and the weather forecast had suggested that it might rain later, so there was a nervous decision on how to spend the day. In the end, we agreed to split up into two groups: one small group went multi-pitching, and one larger group went off scrambling (a middle ground between trekking and easier climbing).
The multi-pitchers’ went off confidently but wandered too far and missed the climbing routes. With a quick change of mind, they opted to head for the summit instead. On the way up, Marcus and others made snowmen whilst Laurence got naked many times, just to keep spirits high. Eventually though, the weather got the better of them and they chose to turn back before Jack Frost hit too hard.
The scramblers bounded off to try a steep route up the East side of Tryfan. The misty fog that quickly developed blocked the view but gave the scrambling a creepy, eerie feel. We soon got to the top, more-or-less as planned (despite nobody spotting the “cannon-shaped” rock that was meant to guide our way) and started on our route down. Unfortunately, this was less uneventful as we couldn’t find the magical (simple) path that the map had been promising and ended up bodging our way down instead. It soon got dark and bodging became more difficult. After several hours of fumbling about in the dark we emerged from the marsh at the bottom of the mountain with a strong craving for a warm hut and some beer.
On the second day, those of us that still had the energy (and dry-ish clothes) went out trekking again, this time up Snowdon. Snowdon was gorgeous. We ended up crawling (quite literally in some cases) across a ridge that divided two huge drops and then trekking through foot high snow in sharp icy winds (all to the jolly soundtrack of Marcus’s whistling and singing). Well cool! The famous cafe at the top was very predictably shut but, after a slightly sheltered stop for food and water, we headed off back down along the easier “old granny” route. The easier route allowed us to appreciate the view a little more (whilst skidding about in the snow) and we were quickly down and into the minivan before dark set in.
The others went to a local indoor wall (The Beacon) for short while and then turned a quick pub lunch into a day trip of alcoholic endeavour.