THE first milestone on my way to the hills was passed when I crossed the Helyg threshold, out of a typical December night and into that atmosphere of warmth and welcome which, perhaps through being derived from contrast, is only to be found in a climbing hut. It was my first meet with the C.U.M.C., and I was a complete novice so far as rock- climbing was concerned. It did not take long for the basic principles of the sport to be driven home, and First Pinnacle Rib made a good introductory climb, where belays and stances could be explained and demonstrated at leisure. Then I was taken up the Terrace Wall Variant. Time erases much, but the recollection of being hauled ignominiously up the last twenty feet still lingers, as also does that of looking down from the top of the third pitch, and learning the meaning of exposure. However, it is a commonplace that the weather conditions can almost change the very configuration of the rocks; and six months later, on a hot June day when rubbers were the only wear, the holds seemed to have grown like mushrooms, and the exposure to have become almost negligible.
The December meet in 1941 did not produce any weather like this, and every day we looked in vain for a glimpse of Adam and Eve through the heavy clouds which veiled the summit of Tryfan. The Tryfan buttresses were popular, being sheltered from the prevailing gales, but my most vivid memories are of climbing on the Glyders. On one such occasion, Gordon Donaldson led two of us up the Chasm on a day when every rock had its own particular waterfall, and even the chasm itself gave us no shelter. Ever since, Glyder Fach has been associated in my mind with a swirling grey mist obliterating everything but fleeting glimpses of Llyn Bochlwyd, windswept and greyer than the mist, and enclosed on all sides by forlorn screes and boulder-strewn desolation. Another occasion, more pleasant to look back on than to experience, was an expedition over thc Glyders in mist and sleet, when an error in map and compass work brought the party down into the Llanberis valley instead of Cwm Idwal, and the eight-mile walk back along the road through Pen-y-pass and Capel Curig was only made possible by the thought of warmth and supper awaiting us at Helyg.
On my second visit, in company with Edward Wormell and Rick Goody, the whole face of the landscape was changed. What had been grey forbidding crags had become warm and friendly rocks, inviting a closer acquaintance, if only for the purpose of basking awhile in the sun they so efficiently trapped. The standards of difficulty seemed to have dropped to a remark- able degree, while the long summer days seemed to fix no limit to the number of climbs that could be accomplished in one day. The Original Route on Holly Tree Wall gave us something to think about on the first day, the first move on the first pitch being only overcome by combined tactics involving the whole party. Zig-zag also we found none too easy, and the efforts of Edward and Rick in the crack on the second pitch attracted more than one onlooker from passers by on the path to Cwm Idwal; it was 6nally done in stockings, when we found that the main difficulty is a psychological one, due to the fact that the leader is out of sight of his second at the crucial point. We visited Craig yr Ysfa, when Amphitheatre Buttress, a descent of Great Gully, and a somewhat vegetaceous route on Great Gully Buttress gave us an excellent day, though the last-mentioned can hardly be recommended except as a test of faith; this, however, its steep heather-and-grass pitches provide in full measure. There can be few other crags in the Idwal district which can offer such’ fine unbroken walls as those of Great Gully and the Amphitheatre, or such entertaining situations as the knife-edge ridge on Amphitheatre Buttress, and it is a little surprising that these cliffs have been relatively so neglected in the past. Perhaps the long ascent of Pen Helyg or the col above Fynnon Llugwy provides an explanation.
One of the most attractive features of climbing in the Ogwen district in summer is the possibility of expeditions late in the evening to the Gribin or Bochlwyd Buttress, where one climbs at glorious leisure, continually pausing to look back, to see Y Garn and Pen yr Oleu Wen with their tops caught by the setting sun, and the Nant Ffrancon valley stretching away in the haze to the sea, over which; perhaps, the outline of Anglesea is just discernible. And one’s appreciation of such visions is only heightened by the knowledge that these same hills and valleys can present such a different picture under other conditions. Bristly Ridge with the wind whistling through its pinnacles, the Devil’s Kitchen cliffs dripping water from every crack and crevice, or the Carnedds, dimly seen across the valley through sheets of driving rain, all remind the climber of the emptiness of a mere fair-weather friendship with the mountains, and of the wrong he does them when he talks of" the changeless hills."
In December 1942 club was again unlucky with the weather, and the days of continuous wind and rain were reflected in the hut log book by monotonous accounts of climbs on Milestone Buttress, Tryfan East Face, and Milestone Buttress again. We consoled ourselves with the thought that the actual achievements of the meet were of small importance compared with the growth of friendship and mutual confidence which hut life fosters. It cannot be denied that a week of it will go far towards perfecting one’s skill in drying the maximum number of clothes before a minimum of fire – and this is by no means the least part of the art of mountaineering. An attempt at camping with Ronnie Lloyd near Idwal Cottage the following June was defeated by the swamp which our site soon became, and we had to retreat into the hostel itself. However, between storms we got two good days’ climbing; on one, by doing Hope on the Slabs, followed by the Ar4te on Continuation Wall, and finally the Central Arête on the Upper Cliff, we got more or less continuous climbing the whole way to the top of Glyder Fawr. The Central Ar0te becomes rather unpleasantly loose near the top, and it was perhaps with some relief that we arrived at the summit, to be rewarded with an excellent view of the who1e Snowdon group, and beyond it, of Moel Hebog and Yr Eifl. The other notable day was spent on an ascent of Tryfan by Ivy Chimney on the Milestone and Gashed Crag. We decided that the window on Ivy Chimney merits more respect than the guide-book would seem to indicate in classifying the climb as "moderately difficult," We spent most of the remainder of our time vainly tapping the hostel’s barometer.
The last C.U.M.C. meet at Helyg came as a fitting conclusion to two years of climbing and walking in Wales. An East wind brought frost and sun, enough of the former to freeze the hut’s water supply, but not enough to put more than a trace of ice on the rocks. The dry conditions made rubbers practicable, and in consequence a number of climbs of a good standard were done, while the sun and clarity of the air gave newcomers to Wales the best possible conditions in which to see the district for the first time. Some adventurous spirits even found that one could skate on Llyn Idwal in clinkers. Such conditions were an obvious invitation to visit Snowdon, and accordingly, after a pleasant cycle ride to Pen-y-Pass, two of us set off up the long pyramid of Crib Goch, as the first stage of the Snowdon Horseshoe. Once on the ridge, we were greeted by a view of the entrancing summit triangle Y Wyddfa, which has been more than once likened by the fanciful to the summit cone of Everest with the ridge leading down to the North Col; while across Llyn Llydaw the dark face of Lliwedd, in shadow, looted infinitely vast. Time did not permit us to remain long admiring this prospect, and the ridge of Crib-y-Ddisgyl stretched invitingly ahead, The first part of this ridge well deserves its fame, and the sensational drop into Cwm Glas is only offset by the gentler slopes facing Lliwedd. From the crest of Carnedd Ugain to the summit, a thin mantle of snow gave a pleasant Alpine touch to the scene. From the summit, one could see the whole district as far south as the familiar outline of Cader Idris, while beyond Cnicht only the mountain tops showed above a sea of cloud, tinged with pink by the setting sun. Away in the direction of Anglesea, only the rolling mist was to be seen, with spurs and shoulders of our own mountain plunging down into obscurity: yet so thin was it that, although of the sea itself we could see nothing, the sun’s reflection in the sea was plainly visible through it. The setting sun reminded us of the more material necessities of life, as we could not stop long on the top if we were to be over Lliwedd before dark. We reached its summit just as the pinnacles of Crib Goch were catching the last rays of sunlight, and struck the miners’ track as the gathering darkness was beginning to make the rough going difficult.
Another glorious day drew us irresistibly to the Carnedds, and after the long plod up the slopes of Pen Helyg, we were rewarded with a magnificent view of Craig yr Ysfa, with every detail of the rock picked out in brilliant sunshine. A short halt was made here for photography, when the demand for a foreground led to an interesting comparison of our various and picturesque attires, and then we crossed the exhilarating narrow ridge which connects Pen Helyg with Craig yr Ysfa and the Carnedds. After respectfully admiring the Great Gully from its top, we set off up the final slopes of Carnedd Llewellyn, to reach its summit in time to get the view before a dense bank of cloud rolled up from inland, and reduced visibility to a matter of a few yards. We went on over the top of Ysgolion Duon, or Black Ladders, whose walls of dripping, vegetaceous black rock looked as though they could only attract misanthropes wishing to depart this world, and their rescue parties. From the top of Carnedd Dafydd, a line of cairns led us over Pen-yr-Oleu-Wen, and eventually to the cheerful atmosphere of the Ogwen Cottage tea room.
Two other views of Wales will live for a long time to come. One is of the upper thousand feet of the North ridge of Tryfan with its gaunt rock towers and pinnacles plastered with icicles, when the ice and snow on the path required a degree of care contrasting markedly with the casual way in which one usually comes down off the mountain by this route. The other is that from the top of Y Garn at sunset, when all but the upper few hundred feet of the higher mountains was submerged in a solid but friendly mass of white cloud; each peak, brilliantly lit up by the setting sun, threw its shadow on the cloud: while all that penetrated from below was the unobtrusive sound of the Ogwen Falls.
Once again the time came to take leave of Wales, and again as the train left behind it the friendly outline of the Carnedds, there came a feeling of emptiness, as when one says good-bye to a friend. But, whether the friend is in the peaceful bracken and heather covered slopes of the foothills of Cnicht, undulating their way upwards from the still, wooded shores of Llyn Dinas and Llyn Gwynant, or in the grim rugged circle of Cwm Idwal, with a foreground of windswept lake and lashing rain, he is always present, to be recalled in the silent moments of everyday life; and, as he comes to life, one cannot but vow to visit again this land of so many contrasts.