Tales from Wales

Or tales from the land which appears to have walked right out of Middle-earth.  

There are certain moments in life when you set out to do something, all pumped with enthu and righteous resolve. Then at a certain point, you get soundly walloped 🙂 Your thought processes at that point broadly range beween #$#^&* and “what on earth could I have been possibly thinking of”. The trick in those circs is to basically hold on. Hold on like a bloody leech. 

Now, now, don’t worry, patient and long-suffering reader. I am not going all metaphorical on you. Nor, have I yet added bestowing leetle life homilies to the long list of sins I am guilty of 🙂 Just letting you know what you is to be generally expected if you go mountain-climbing in Wales. 

Cadair Idris might not be the most imposing mountain in the world. Or for that matter, even in Snowdonia. But its gotta be one of the most storied mountains around. And, Lyn Cau arguably has the most dramatic setting for a lake I have ever seen. What Cadair Idris also has in spades, is seriously fiendish weather. All those who moan about weather in London have presumably never seen Cadair Idris in form. Freezing 90 mph winds, almost torrential rain, thick mist, a steep ascent and not exactly the most well-laid out of ’em trails. Good, good stuff. So, essentially if you are giving Cadair Idris a shot, and the weather-gods decide to give you a bit more bang for the buck, you basically hold on, hold on like a leech. (Related points of advice would include using contacts and wearing a few more layers of clothing than you did back in Cal)

In retrospect though, as much as I might crib about the weather, that  actually made the hike so much more fun 🙂 Hanging on to a rock, literally hanging on to it during a particularly bad spell, ultra-low visibility levels which meant the Robot, Mr Lightening and the Soccer-Man all had to bring their shtud navigational skills into play, setting up camp on the banks of Lyn Cau where the wind promptly proceeded to decimate the Soccer-Man’s tent, those two ghostly lights on the other side of the lake which had no business being there, and the truly psychedelic sight of watching your pee land some hundred metres away from where it ordinarily should.

Now, all that would/might have been perfect tosh in good weather. 

And when the sun does come out, and everything is back in glorious technicolour, there are few prettier sights anywhere in the world than Wales.

P.S. We went mountain biking too. We got lost there as well.

P.P.S. Welsh rarebit rocks!

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