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Expedition members: Anonymouse, Beast, Dishy, Limpalong, Mole, Mudflaps, Neville, No Handle, Plodder. Expedition members started arriving at the Alpine Lodge, Llanberis around 7.30pm on Friday evening after overcoming the traffic jams of the west Midlands and the inevitable problems with the north Welsh motorways i.e. there aren’t any. You can tell what the English think of the Welsh from the fact the dual carriageways run out near Shrewsbury. However, somebody suggested this might be a Welsh plot to keep the English out! Upon arriving at the Alpine Lodge Hotel Dishy and Neville shocked the proprietor by informing him of their intention to use his bunkhouse to sleep with five men over the next couple of days. Luckily, they omitted to tell him about the two dogs as well, in order to avoid police involvement. As a result, Anonymouse & Mudflaps were consigned to the luxury of the hotel itself, and so missed out on a ‘Once In A Lifetime’ opportunity to share the bunkhouse with No Handle's feet. That evening after a brief visit to a local ‘hostelry’ we headed to an offshoot of the local bistro for a meal (and very good it was too). Neville asked the waitress what shopping was like in Llanberis and was told that if she wanted to do some she’d be finished by 10.00am. The waitress kindly added that the shops open at 9.30am. The meal was interspersed with mobile phone calls in an attempt to contact The Beast and party who had not yet arrived. However, when Limpalong did get through to him it turned out that his group had already eaten and were already headed for a pub. The Beast promised to ring back to let the bistro group know which pub it was, when he got there. Unfortunately, Limpalong had given him the wrong number, so when he did phone back he got a building site in Cardiff. After the meal a small contingent headed for The Heights Hotel, Llanberis’s equivalent of Stringfellows. The place was certainly busy. So busy in fact, that the barman deserted the bar when serving Limpalong, and so Mole ended up leaning across the bar to finish pouring the pint. Welcome to Britain’s first self service pub. The weather forecast for Saturday had been superb, but sadly no one had bothered to let the weather know what was expected of it. Consequently, Saturday morning dawned overcast and stormy with strong winds. It looked like the sort of day to stay off the hills, so all the Drake contingent set off to climb Tryfan (915 metres, 3010 feet). There followed an invigorating climb with easy scrambling - easy for humans, that is. Because the dogs were finding it hard to get up the rocky outcrops, Neville, Plodder, Dishy & Mole split from the group and took another route to the top. The remaining group of The Beast, Limpalong, No Handle, Anonymouse and Mudflaps got to the summit first and proceeded to eat their lunch, whilst waiting for the others to appear. The weather took a turn for the worse with fog, and wind driven hail and still the other group did not arrive. A search party failed to find them. After the best part of an hour the summit party decided to go on. And who did they meet just after they left the top? You guessed it, Plodder & Co sitting comfortably out of the wind as if they were on a picnic. It seems they had got to the summit decided there wasn’t a lot to see and come off again! Bastards. The route off Tryfan was not very clear, but The Beast knew the area well so finding the path was not a problem. However, quite a few other walkers were not finding it so easy and at one point we had at least twenty people following us. They wouldn’t have been so confident had they known it was No Handle who was in the lead! Poles came in very useful on the descent as The Beast found out. They take the weight off your knees and are cheaper to employ than Lithuanians. At a convenient point the Tryfan summit group decided to go on to test themselves to the limit on Glyder Fach & Glyder Fawr, while Dishy, Mole, Neville & Plodder decided to head back and test their credit cards to the limit in the local outdoor shops. On the way to Glyder Fach we met a group of marines from 42 Commando with full kit who had been walking over peaks all day, followed by a young couple with light packs who advised us to go back as the weather was too bad. We listened to their advice, then ignored it. The remainder of the walk was very enjoyable, despite the weather. The summits of the Glyders were strewn with projecting rock formations and were well worth seeing. As we got back to the car we noticed a mountain rescue helicopter repeatedly returning to the summit of Tryfan. There was speculation that it had been called out by No Handle to rescue the two bread rolls he had lost on the mountain, but it turned out it was there to rescue one of the marines who had broken his leg on the summit. The evening’s entertainment commenced with a visit to ‘The Heights’ just to check that our original impression of the place was correct. Limpalong’s birthday was celebrated with due style, after all its not everyday that he’s twenty nine. As the Bistro we had used the previous night was closed, we had opted to visit the local Indian Restaurant for the evening meal. There followed an extremely enjoyable meal, despite the food. Neville managed to prevent a fight between two locals, but couldn’t protect the waiter from Dishy and No Handle who were not satisfied with their food . Finally when the bill arrived we found that we had been charged for a meal we had not received, but following representations this was put right. It was good job that the waiter didn’t notice that we hadn’t been charged for the wine. The more committed members of the party returned to ‘The Heights’ just to make sure that our confirmation of our original impression was correct. Fuelled by the local brew No Handle was the life and soul of the party. His nude version of the ‘Funky Chicken’ across the bar room tables had to be seen to be believed. He had such a good time (before he passed out and had to be carried back to the hotel) that he can’t remember any of it, and swears that he wasn’t even there! Try telling that to Megan and Sian - they’re expecting..................him to write. Back in the bunkhouse the evening was rounded off to the delicate strains of Sylvester Stallone machine gunning terrorists in a subway. The end of a perfect day. Sunday morning dawned bright and clear (unlike some members of the party), and it was obvious the weather was set fair. The objective was Snowdon (1085 metres, 3560 feet) which has good paths to the summit, and everyone was going on the walk. The trek to the summit was enlivened by Mudflaps taking off and putting on clothing every couple of hundred metres. I know she likes to be well prepared, but how often do you see people taking a suitcase up a mountain? On the shoulder
of the mountain Plodder and Anonymouse decided that the walk
needed a little more excitement so they headed off to walk the
Crib-goch ridge, an airy scramble over a narrow arrete. The remainder
of the party continued on the track . We stopped near the summit
and had lunch whilst admiring the superb views. Plodder and Anonymouse
soon joined us after running the final part of the ridge. They
enjoy a challenge, so next year they’re coming back to do
it again, only blindfolded on pogo The summit of Snowden was more crowded than Llanberis, which is not surprising as it has more facilities. The Beast took full advantage of the cafe and bought himself a beer. He’s completing his own version of the Munros by getting drunk on all British mountains over 3000 feet. As we stared down from the viewing platform we saw the same marines we had seen on Saturday yomping up towards us (still in full kit). They stopped next to us for a rest and the radio operator nearly took three of us out with his aerial. Perhaps it is the military’s latest secret weapon, silent and deadly, with the added bonus of picking up ‘The Archers’ on a Sunday morning. The trek back to the cars proved quite interesting in places as we left the main footpath and scrambled down a scree slope. Mole was in his element and led the way. He’s a real mountain man, so much so that the Welsh have done him the honour of naming a mountain after him: Mole Siabod. We had all arrived
back at the Pen y Pass car park by about 2.30pm and then set
off home. What a great weekend! Thanks very much to The Beast
for organising the trip, we all thoroughly enjoyed it. Hopefully
the hash will be doing something similar in the not too distant
future. If you’ve got the chance try to come along - you
know it makes sense!
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