After
a few days with eyes trained on the bbc web site, showing a little sun icon on
the local forecast for Saturday Dave and Phil made a considered decision to head
for Mid-Wales and attempt to get up the famous mountain of Cader Idris located
inland from the Barmouth estuary-a check was made to see if Rog was in the
area-which of course he wasn’t as usual-a chance to revoke some of his lost
cigars, squandered again.
Dave
surfaced @ 5 am, in the hope of seeing a thrilling one-day cricket performance
by England against the mighty Kiwis, but what he got was a bowling effort with
all the discipline and co-ordination of a Simbers jumper ensemble. Anyway the
rain (an unfortunate omen) and Duckegg-Spewis managed to cut the mauling short
so the explorers set off @ 8 am.
The
journey proved to be uneventful-but the curtain of drizzle, hanging over Brum at
the time of departure steadily increased in intensity as the dynamic duo headed
further west. This led to Dave uttering the phrases “it’s brightening up-gonna
brighten up-oo look there’s the sun...sort of” at regular 10 minute
intervals-obviously been watching too many Carling adverts.
At
10.30 Pinky and Porky reached Dolgellau and after a mini tour of the slightly
confusing one way system and a detour to the local cafe, where sarnies and
provisions along with directions were obtained, they set off on the road to
Cader.
After
a couple of wrong turns and dead ends the starting point for the pony or fox
trail was found. Phil got the waterproofs on, which made him look like
a hobbit, Dave got his brand new climbing stick out of the boot
and the ascent started. By now the weather was well and truly heading south and
as well as the steady rain-a fierce wind decided to spring up and accompany the
soggy wretches on their ascent-safe to say that as the altitude increased it was
not a day for taking pictures. A snap of a waterfall
and then the camera was put to bed.
Then
the climb continued steadily for the next couple of hours or so-one or two
fellow hardy souls were passed although it was rather disconcerting to see them
all heading downhill. Phil found a large rock, behind, which he could empty the
coffee drunk at the cafe from his swollen bladder-Unfortunately the strong wind
and the “blow-back”principle ensured that he ended up even soggier than from
just the rain. A strange conversation then ensued with a local half-way up-who
looked at Dave with something approaching disdain, when asked if there was an
ice-cream van at the top. The chaps ploughed on and the mist came down reducing
visibility to a few feet so the stone cairns marking the later stages of the
trail to the top were particularly handy. “Remind me why we did this again”
said Phil on several occasions but eventually the feeling of absolute isolation
and the spectacular desolation of the place left him feeling invigorated and the
chaps hit the plateau just below the very top at around 1.45. Unfortunately the
true summit was only accessible via a ledge on the corner of a boulder field,
which although it was only a climb of a few feet may have proved to be a suicide
mission due to the howling gales and the sheer drop into a misty abyss on the
one side.
So it
was with a firm handshake and some deep breaths that the descent began. This was
unremarkable save for Dave going arse over tit after slipping on a wet boulder
and also attempting to recreate the Tom Hanks/Wilson the Football scene from the
film Castaway, as the foul weather conditions and feeling of total isolation
except for watching Phil’s backside disappearing into the distance, began to
take a toll on his sanity.
At
3.00 pm base camp was reached-it was at this point that realisation dawned as to
just how wet the travellers were-a feeling of water being everywhere-and I mean
EVERYWHERE !!!!!
The
car heater was turned on and feet and hands were placed on the dashboard in a
vain attempt to dry out. The sarnies made at the cafe had unfortunately been
left in rucksacks throughout-Dave’s were still edible as the lady had wrapped
his in an abundance of foil-but Phil’s had the appearance of something found
at the bottom of Sponge’s bog after a night on the Guinness.
Phil
mooted the idea of having a pint in the pretty lakeside pub about a mile down
the road but as this would have involved putting sodden footwear back on feet-it
was given short shrift and the chaps squelched off back to Brum
23/02/2008