The Welsh 15, Leg 1: Baptism by Clag (Snowdon Range)

bootsandbanter
Jul 13
4 min read

3 peaks. Zero visibility. Me versus a mountain in a wind tunnel.

🌄 4:30 AM — Pen-y-Pass

We met in Bethesda at 3:50 AM, still blinking the last scraps of sleep from our eyes.

From there, a taxi took us to Pen-y-Pass in the quiet dawn.

The wind hadn’t arrived yet.

No rain, no drama — just eerie stillness and clear skies in the valley.

I had already put my overtrousers on (overachiever move 😅), then got out of the taxi and immediately took them off because I was overheating before we even started.

At 4:30 AM, we began — a group of nine: five women, four men, led by three mountain guides. No one was talking much. It wasn’t nerves exactly. More like collective resignation. We were here. This was happening.

The pace from the start was relentless. Up the Pyg Track like someone had lit a fire under us. I got a stitch almost immediately — the kind that makes you question if you are fit enough to do this.

But there was no stopping, no letting.

3 peaks.

Zero visibility.

Me versus a mountain in a wind tunnel.

🌫️ Crib Goch – The Wind Tunnel

Crib Goch before 6 AM...so beautifully eerie

The walk up to the ridge was wet.

Not “a bit damp” — but wet, slick, cloud-wrapped. The rocks were soaked, the air was thick, and by the time we got onto Crib Goch proper, we were inside a wind tunnel made of mist.

We didn’t get a single view. The ridge was completely cloaked in clag the entire time — gusts hammering from the right side. And I… loved it.

I hadn’t been on Crib Goch in four years. I’d expected to be nervous, maybe even terrified in the conditions.

But I felt so good. Strong. Present. Like I belonged up there, mist and all. It was surreal — and a bit annoying that I couldn’t see any of it.

I do wonder if I’ll ever catch it sunny in this lifetime.

I been thinking a bit why I felt like that and here is what I concluded:

Mystery = Magic: The clouds hid the exposure, which tricks your brain into focusing on “one foot in front of the other” rather than “wow, that’s a sheer drop into the abyss.”

Adrenaline junkie tendencies: I thrive on chaos. Fog? Wind? Wet rock? Sheer drops?

Flow state: Ridgelines in wild conditions demand full focus. No room for overthinking or anxiety — just pure presence. It’s meditative… in a “don’t die” kind of way.
It felt real. No Insta-glam, no crowds taking selfies — just us, the wind, and the void. That’s the kind of raw, unfiltered experience I live for.
There's something incredibly powerful about conquering a challenge when conditions are against you. It’s not just a tick on a list — it’s a battle you won.

I loved Crib Goch in the wet and mist because I am an emotionally reckless mountain romantic with a dash of masochism and a thirst for drama. Also because, deep down, I know the mountain doesn’t need to look pretty to make me feel alive.

🧗 Carnedd Ugain – Same Soup, Different Peak

The same conditions followed us to Carnedd Ugain: cloud-wrapped, wet rock, gusty. Visibility? None.

Hope? Minimal.

Character-building? Apparently.

🌧️ Snowdon – Cloud Soup Deluxe

Snowdon offered no relief.

The clouds thickened, practically dripping onto us.

Moisture hung in the air like disappointment.

A light drizzle joined us, then proper rain.

Descending from Snowdon toward Nant Peris, we followed the railway briefly, then peeled off into a grassy, very steep, very slippery slope.

My poles came out for the first time on Snowdon— and oh. Ohhh. Life changed.

I had never used poles before.

I used them as a decoration for a year (!). They have "witnessed silently" more peaks than most people I know.

But the moment I planted them into that slope, it was like meeting two long-lost friends.

I never let go of them again until everything was over.

I’m not exaggerating when I say: I wouldn’t have survived this challenge without those sticks.

🍌 Nant Peris – Mini Break, Big Energy Dip

We reached Nant Peris for a short 20-minute stop — snacks only.

I had planned to eat a tuna pasta pot, but the universe had other plans:

I couldn’t find my fork. Yes, I hauled emergency blankets, cable ties, and enough painkillers to supply a scout troop, but no fork.

Instead, I munched whatever I could find — a banana, some nuts, possibly dried apricots. I don’t even fully remember. Hunger hadn’t properly kicked in yet. It was still early, and I was eating more out of obligation than appetite. It felt like peer pressure - everyone was munching on something.

This was also the first point where I realised how tired we all looked. We’d been moving fast, in tough weather, and silence was growing. One of the men in the group would drop out at the next stop — but you could already feel the fatigue settling into everyone’s bones.

🧠 Reflection

By the time we reached Nant Peris, we were 5 hours in and had covered 11 km.

It felt longer.

The terrain, the clag, the drizzle, the pace — it had all stacked up.

I took a moment to change my wet socks for a dry pair, and I wasn’t the only one. A few others were doing the same — that quiet ritual of preparing for the next chapter, whatever it might bring.

We were told the next section — the Glyderau — would take around 7.5 hours. That number landed heavily. You could feel it sink into people’s shoulders. One of the guides swapped out with another, and the third guide who had accompanied us so far stepped away.

His job was done.

Ours was just beginning.

Leg 1 may have been the shortest, but it didn’t pull any punches. Between Crib Goch’s exposed ridge, the saturated rock, the zero visibility, and the slippery descent into Nant Peris, it was a full-on baptism. No views. No breaks. No mercy.

And yet — I felt good. Not fresh. Not springy. But steady. I had my poles. I had fog in my hair. I had a banana in my belly.

Let’s go.