Gareth in the Coed y Brenin-South Snowdonia
I was alone and halfway up a steep mountain gully in
Wales. Not one of the good kinds of
gully; covered in reassuring neve or inviting ice, or consisting of solid and
entertaining rock steps. No, it was late
April and the sun was shining (at least, it was shining outside of the
claustrophobic confines of the ravine), and the gully was filled with moss and
rushes and soil. Where rock appeared it
was wet and covered in slime. Above the
right hand wall towered an imposing and vegetated mountain face. I was halfway up Esgair Gully; a deep gash
that burrows below the north face of Foel Goch in the Glyderau. Ahead things seemed to be getting steeper and
looser. It finally seemed time to admit
it: I had a problem. I had become
obsessed with the obscure and esoteric world of Welsh gorges, gullies and
streams.
How did it all start?
I moved to Bangor in 2004 to start university. One of the major attractions was the
mountains. I’d always loved mountains
and the wild places. With the University
Mountain Walking Club (Bangor UMWC) I started scrambling the classic Snowdonian
grade 1 ridges, and after getting hooked on that started ticking off the grade
2 scrambles in the Glyderau and Carneddau.
I never had the head for heights or the bravery to tackle the top
scrambles, and so soon ran out of new routes to explore.
It was one August day
in 2007, heading with three friends out of the Llanberis Pass to upper Cwm
Glas, aiming to go via a grade 1 described in Scrambles and Easy Climbs in
Snowdonia. I can’t now recall who had
the idea, but we took to scrambling up the easy-angled watercourse of the
nearby Afon Gennog to avoid the tedium of the steep approach. It was pleasant: dry, grippy rock, water
burbling under out feet. Eventually the
gradient relented and we walked over to the dripping wall of Craig y Rhaeadr. The scramble we aimed to do threaded a way
between Craig y Rhaeadr and an adjacent gorge.
Once again, someone suggested that we ignore the description and follow
the water instead. We set off into the
gorge; steep sides, waterfalls, the occasional deep pool. I recalled something A. Harry Griffin had
written about gill scrambling in the Lake District. He followed a set of self-imposed rules to maximise the fun: stick to the watercourse, traverse pools (rather than wade),
take the hardest possible route. An hour
later we emerged near Llyn Glas, soaked to the skin and covered in bits of
slime, but smiling. With this, I was
hooked.
Clocaenog Forest's secret waterfall
Autumn 2007 slowly unfolded.
At this time I couldn’t drive, but fortunately a friend, Pete Early, had
both a car and a desire to get off the beaten track. We explored Nant Gwynant and its surrounding
valleys, always beautiful when the oak leaves turn and the rowan berries gleam. Above Llyn Dinas we discovered a gem of a
scramble, following an open and unthreatening stream through a hillside
scattered with conifers and rhododendrons.
Beyond this we ventured to Craig Llyn-Llagi, that sprawling heathery
crag on the northern flank of Cnicht. In
thick mist we squirmed and slid up an algae-ridden stream-way, before retreating
it and dismissing it as worthless. It
wouldn’t be until 2012 when I returned and discovered that the stream gathered
itself into a narrow and enjoyable scramble higher up (albeit still on the
slippery side).
The obsession grew over time, and in 2008 with various
friends I searched our routes around Gwydyr Forest, Nant Ffrancon, Mynydd Mawr,
Nant Gwynant, and the Llanberis Pass.
Possibilities seemed endless and everywhere, and each new look at the
map suggested that more routes were waiting to be found. I found the Geograph website a brilliantly
useful tool to bring up photos of likely looking streams and gorges, and to
decide if they were worthy of closer investigation. The discovery of some usefully placed bothies
then facilitated some trips into south Snowdonia, away from our usual stomping
grounds, where we unearthed scrambles on Cadair Idris and in the Coed y
Brenin.
So what is the appeal?
Certainly, the deep gorges are a relic landscape. There is no agricultural use for them and so
their vegetation has been left intact whilst surrounding woodland has been
felled. This is part of the appeal of
the big Snowdonian gorges; they are atmospheric and evocative places, untouched
by the hand of man. Apart from a handful
of routes that the outdoor centres use, it is likely that you will be alone
once you enter. However, the open, sunny
slabs of the gentle mountain streams also have their attraction. On a hot day in summer there can be few more
enjoyable pursuits then following a watercourse up onto the tops, perhaps with
an optional swim on the way.
Exploring Craig y Rhaedr Gorge
Of course, during my explorations it hasn’t all been fun. A handful of scares are fresh in my
memory. I recall a day in the Vale of
Ffestiniog with Gareth Harvey, when we went to scope out the Ceunant Llennyrch,
a huge ravine formed where the Afon Prysor leaves the dam at Llyn Trawsfynydd and
flows down to the Dwyryd estuary. It was
October 2010, probably a bit late in the year to be doing the big gorges that
involve getting wet, but it should have been relatively trivial. For a start, we knew the gorge got used by
outdoor groups. We entered the woodland
along a riverside path, and opted to stay on the path until the gorge became
interesting. Unfortunately, we made the
ridiculous error of walking too far, and the path climbed high above the
river. Being too lazy to retrace our
steps, we decided to descend direct down the slopes to the bed of the gorge,
Gareth leading the way. This was
possibly a mistake. The ground was wet,
covered in blankets of thick moss and dead trees, and deep holes waited to
ensnare angles.
After proceeding gingerly
down the slopes I came around a tree to see Gareth standing down in the
river. Between me and him was a cliff of
brown rubble, but no obvious route down (and to this day I’m still not sure how
he got down so fast). I slithered around
on my mossy ledge, trying to find a way down, but nothing was obvious. The drop was perhaps only four metres, but
with a rough landing, and it certainly looked nasty. I remember standing there, shouting
obscenities at poor Gareth for several minutes, for leading me into this
predicament. I had the bright idea to
throw my rucksack down to lighten my load when I eventually tried a descent. Shit. I realised I’d just thrown down my
helmet and several long slings that might have extricated me.
After several more minutes of gibbering
around I gracefully climbed/tumbled down into the river, emerging with a few
light scratches and an apology for my bad language. An important lesson learned: the entries and
exits to some of these gorges can be trickier than the navigation of the gorge
itself.
Other memories of days that slide more to the unpleasant end
of the enjoyment spectrum. An adventure
away from usual haunts into Clocaenog Forest, where the map promised a huge
v-shaped ravine, but suggested no waterfalls existed. Gareth was in attendance again, and we’d been
joined by another friend, Chris Earing.
Another day with a difficult start: our first attempt was to descend
from the road through forest slopes, but thick, spiky gorse barred our
way. Attempt two involved climbing down
an adjacent stream, but this lead to impossible waterfalls and collapsing
bracken. Our third, successful, attempt,
entailed bracken-bashing followed by a light jog as we trespassed across a few
farm fields to the river.
As we headed
up river we found a series of beautiful waterfalls, hidden to the outside world
by the trees, and presumably seen by very few people. The going was tricky as the rock was incredibly
treacherous; both friable and slimy.
Impossibly steep waterfalls forced us to the sides of the gorge where we
climbed up steeply through a combination of bracken and brambles. Agonising progress, using brambles to pull up
on, and with deadwood collapsing under our boots, but no chance of a retreat
now. Eventually the steep v-shape of the
gorge relented and we could breathe a sigh of relief: escape was possible if we
needed it.
For every one of these testing days, there must have been at
least ten days of perfection: scrambling in solitude, unencumbered by ropes and
harnesses. Summer evenings were particular
favourites, when a quick post-work hit could be had; the mountains even quieter
than normal, with cuckoos calling from the valleys below. Eventually 2013 arrived and I left Wales for
Oxfordshire. Over the years I drafted
the explorations into a guidebook that now contains 70 routes or so. More remain to be investigated, especially
into the great desert of Wales. Deep in
the Cambrian mountains all sorts of gorges and streams lie ignored and
unknown. Will the guidebook ever come to
light? I hope so, but no publisher so
far has decided to take the project on.
I do remain hopeful though, and long to see other people get as much
happiness out of these lost landscapes as I have.
The Author 'new routing' at a secret location in Snowdonia
Mike Peacock:2014
Photos: Author's Collection
Photos: Author's Collection
