A Tale of Two Huts

You’d be forgiven for thinking that a trip to a little-known corner of Wales straight after New Year might be a modestly attended affair. But thanks to an enthusiastic (not to mention meteorologically optimistic) endorsement by Chris A. several weeks in advance, this January’s trip to Dinas Mawddwy was so popular that we filled not one but two bunkhouses. So far so good, except that the overflow hut, Bryn Golau – which otherwise had a lot to recommend it over Bryn Hafod, being near the pub and not requiring a mile-long walk in the dark – had had its gas turned off due to safety concerns. As if the lack of heating and cooking facilities wasn’t inconvenient enough, the hut’s water supply had also frozen solid.

I arrived at Bryn Golau late on Friday evening to find a meeting of the Rockhoppers Whisky-Drinking Club in full session, and gratefully joined the other attendees as they huddled around the stove. A few single malts later the conversation turned to ideas for the morrow, and I rashly confirmed my interest in a plan, hatched between myself, Dan and Davy the previous Tuesday in the pub (can you spot a theme here?), to climb Cadair Idris via the Cwfrwy Aręte.

I’d done this route (supposedly a grade 3S scramble) a few years previously, in a rather milder January, and had found it exciting and not as dangerous as some of the books suggested; but the possibility of snow and ice in an unknown state of meltedness, and the forecast of windy weather, didn’t fill me with an excess of confidence. But Dan and Davy’s enthusiasm more than made up for any trepidation on my part, so the next morning we packed axes, crampons, a rope and a selection of hardware and set off for Ty-nant, leaving the more sensible occupants of the bunkhouse to an ascent of Aran Fawddwy.

The mild spell of the previous day or two hadn’t been enough to melt the ice that had been accumulating on the approach path since December, and an imaginative approach was needed to negotiate certain sections. Llyn Cau – a glacial tarn on the northern side of the mountain – was also covered by a respectable sheet of ice. Here we donned harnesses in anticipation of difficulties on the aręte. As I had a faint memory of doing the route before – on which occasion I was guided by someone who also had a faint memory of having done it before – it befell me to lead the group onward. On this occasion we bypassed the steep and scarily loose lower section of the aręte by slogging up a scree and boulder slope to the left. As we approached the scrambling sections I started to follow my nose, semi-confidently calling ‘this feels about right’ to my somewhat sceptical companions, until I found a pinnacle that I remembered from a photo I’d taken on my previous ascent and knew I must be on the right line.

From the pinnacle the obvious way onward was straight up, so I scrambled onto a narrow ledge with some difficulty, then contemplated the next rocky step. It certainly felt harder than I remembered, but maybe the cold, slight dampness and heavier sack were putting me off.

‘Hum,’ I said, ‘I’d feel a lot safer on a rope here.’

Not fancying reversing the move I’d just done, I stood on the ledge while Dan got the rope and gear out, then, with some contortion and precarious balancing from both of us, managed to collect an end of the rope and some nuts and quickdraws. Once securely on belay I proceeded confidently to the crest of the aręte and up to a convenient stance, leading out all of the available rope. The last couple of metres were frosty and slippery, and after I’d brought the others up Davy and I decided crampons would be a good idea. Dan, observing that there was no snow or ice to be seen, reckoned his unadorned boots would do a better job.

Ahead of us stood the crux of the route, a rock wall with a shallow groove rising diagonally up it. Davy placed a fairly ineffectual piece of gear just above the belay and then swarmed up, sparks flying from his crampon points. Dan followed a lot more gingerly, trying to find purchase with his boots on the small frosted holds. I brought up the rear equally unsurely, not finding it any easier to get good footholds with my crampons. ‘I’m bloody glad you led that,’ I said to Davy as I joined him.

We moved together on the easy but exposed upper section of the aręte (which turned out not to have any snow on it either), then unroped and tried not to get blown away by the gale that hit us as we joined the main ridge and continued to the summit of Cadair Idris. Back on the descent path and out of the wind again, we spent a happy ten minutes playing on a large boulder that stood conveniently by the path.

The hut wasn’t any warmer when we got back (though the water was flowing), so we all speedily made a tactical move towards the Red Lion. This was the place to be, it turned out: in addition to good food and drink we got free entertainment in the form of a traditional Welsh New Year celebration, involving a horse’s head and dancing in the street. Not something you expect to run into on every Rockhoppers meet.

The next day was easily the wettest on a club trip this year; a few of us who didn’t slink off early got thoroughly soaked on Tarrenhendre. If trips are this popular when the weather is bad, expect record turnouts this summer!

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