OP mountain climbing

February 19

We made the trek to Snowdonia to conquer Tryfan. We started the day with far too many layers on. Sally made it sound like the higher we went the colder it would get. The theory made sense, but no such luck. We parked the minibus in the shade, and the lake across the road still had some ice on it, but after about five or ten minutes it was time to lose the hat and gloves. At the next pit stop I peeled off my jacket. Before reaching the summit I was down to an under armour and a t-shirt. The waterproof pants never made it out of my rucksack. The highest peak stretched up 915 meters, just over half a mile.
The climb started out pretty mild. The stairs made our legs burn after a while. At this point, we were unsure as to how much actual climbing would be required. I was hoping for more than an occasional scramble on a path of stairs. Luckily for me, the more intense climbing was yet to come. We ascended the north face of Tryfan, the most difficult face. I must say, the pictures do not give the scenery enough credit. There is nothing like experiencing it first hand. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Experience then, must be worth a thousand pictures. For all you math majors out there, that puts experience at a price of one million words.
During our ascent, as we reached a landing, Sally had us all grab a stone and toss it on the pile. At first we all just thought it was some random thing climbers do until Sally explained the reasoning behind it. On the way up, the piles appear where the path levels out, but while descending the pile marks were the path is about to drop off. During storms with heavy snowfall, the path can look very different and it can be hard to see were the path is going. If everyone who passes throws a stone onto the pile, it will grow larger and hopefully warn descending climbers in a snowstorm. I’m still convinced that we were putting stones on top of a dragons cave so he couldn’t get out.
At points in our climb it appeared as if there was no safe route without ropes and harnesses, but we made it. Upon reaching a landing nearly three quarters of the way up, Sally asked which way we wanted to go. It looked as if the only logical choices were right or left. The alternative, strait ahead, looked far too steep and too high. Guess which way I suggested. Jokingly, I pointed strait ahead, and we did it.
During this segment, Jaron, Jenni and I each took a turn leading the group. We reached a point were it looked as if we couldn’t continue. Sally had instructed us to find a sensible path before the whole group got up to avoid having everyone have to retrace their steps. After sneaking around to the left I found an acceptable route. We called down the line for the rest of the group to follow, and we continued upwards. I was a little worried about taking the lead. I wasn’t sure if everyone would be able to reach the same holds as me. I tried to keep that in mind while looking for a route.
I also tried to keep in mind that Sally was ready for lunch. She tried to keep us moving so we could reach the peak by 1:00. We kept pushing on, being cautious not to get too far ahead. I kept looking back, trying to number off and make sure everyone was accounted for. More often than not, I couldn’t see everyone, but I knew that as long as I could see Sally, the others wouldn’t be far behind.
Finally, after about a three-hour climb, it sure looked as if we had reached the top. Jenni was unconvinced. She asked if this was the top. A group enjoying their lunch welcomed us to the top, so we knew we had arrived.
During lunch, we head a dog barking and wandered over to check it out. There were three dogs, and a guy dressed in knickers and a bad golf sweater. The dogs were fending off the goats that must have been posing a threat. Before long, they too reached the top. Granted, they did come up a more mild face than us, I don’t think I would bring Midnight along to climb a mountain, let alone three dogs.
Before we headed down, Jenni and Elizabeth K made the jump from Adam to Eve. The two stone pillars are only a few feet apart, and they reach about eight feet above the peak below. Eight feet isn’t so bad, but when you factor in the thousand-foot drop behind the pillars it gets your heart racing. Both made the jump successfully, and for their effort, they both get ‘good luck’.
On our descent, Sally gave us the freedom to pick the route of our choice. We were asked to stay in groups of at least two, incase something would happen. She pointed off in the distance to the rally point, a wall running from the second to the third peak. We took the easiest face to get down, and most of the team stayed on the same path. I had not been challenged enough for the day, so I sought out my own line. I tried to stay within eyes sight of the others, since I had no followers. While they walked down, I scaled rock faces.
Just off in the distance, I could hear goats so I pulled out my camera. I snuck up and filmed the first bit of the future award winning documentary, “Goat Hunters”. More on that too come.
The entire decent took only half as long as the climb up. Had we retraced our ascent going down, it would have taken much longer. Much of the path would have been more difficult on the way down than the way up. While approaching the minibus, we noticed most of the ice had melted, and the ice on the hillside was slick as ever. Instead of driving past Bangor to get back to the centre, Sally dropped us off and agreed to put our kit away for us.