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Pen y Gwryd Walks February 2010 |
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legends of the PYG Hotel drew seven of us for this impromptu weekend in
Snowdonia. The district’s name was fitting on this last weekend in
February, as the snow lay thick and frozen over all of the high summits
that surround the hotel. As a consequence we decided to walk at relatively
low levels, and set about following our guidebook for a circuit of lake
Gwynant and its forests to the south. First things first, however; we met
up for a good feed at the Alpine Cafe in Betws, which is reliably impressive
for late breakfasts. The valley walk protected us from the worst of the
cold winds, and at times it was positively spring-like, especially when
we lunched under an ancient Holly overlooking the Gwynant valley. The green
glow of the moss and lichen-filled woods make a stark contrast to the bright
craggy shore of the lake with its boulder fields strewn with Oak, Pine and
Sycamore carcasses. The final stretches over the elevated northwest shore
of the lake provided views reminiscent of the Lake District’s Derwent
Water, with a touch of Japan added by the stands of pines atop rocky knolls.
We repaired to the hotel for early drinks in the fine wood panelled residents bar around a roaring fire, where we felt like true mountaineers (aided by ale and wine) surrounded by Hilary and co’s Everest kit in their glass display cases. The gong sounded for dinner at 7.30pm, which proved to be a delightful event with plenty of homemade food. We had the pleasure of toasting Stan and Elaine’s 35 years together, before we retired to the lounge to discuss the environment with German guests before virtually all of us nodded off, replete beside the flickering flames of the fire. The following morning we set off for a jaunt up the Miner’s path from Pen y Pass, walking alongside the part frozen Lyn Llydaw; the watery sun kept the icy winds at bay, and we had a good natter about politics and the state of the world. Later that day Doris and I set out for a quiet walk up the miner’s track from the hotel up the side of Cymffynnon, until we could see the Llyn and the sun setting over the snowy ridges of Crib Gogh from the lofty shelter of the corner of the intake wall. The next day we left the hotel after a splendid Isle of Man kipper breakfast, and walked through the lambing fields of Capel Curig towards Dyffryn Mymbyr in glorious sunshine. The ice cap of Siabod high above reflected the glare like a mirror, and the springtime warmth filled us aging romantics with a hopeful euphoria. Return to Home Page. |
