“We’re heading back”, “We can make it Daddy, I honestly believe we can make it”, “I know but we need to make if off as well;  we only have one rule – safety first, please trust me.  We’re heading back”  As temperatures dropped in the wind, fog, sleet and hail, we turned back.  We had given it our best effort but we needed to reserve some strength for a successful retreat.

The decision to retreat was a good one.  We were about 300 linear metres short of the summit.  Mixed rock and mud with a little snow was becoming pure snow.  300 metres to the summit was a 600 metre round trip, and over snow and ice.  By my reckoning that was worth 2 or 3 km on good ground.  The landscape was ominous and imposing, I was glad to be heading in.

The previous day’s weather was quite mixed but mostly sunny.  We had camped fairly early at around 400m not more than a couple of hours hike from the car.  It was Arthur’s decision to camp where we did.  I had been in favour of pushing on a bit further but let him make the call.  It was a good shout as it started to rain almost as soon as the tent was up.  Night time temperatures hovered just above freezing but we were quite snug in our tent.  I had taken a stove so we had tea and hot food.  We had crossed a few isolated patches of snow which we melted when necessary.  It rained most of the night but it wasn’t strong and neither was the wind.  We could even hear the distant roar of aeroplane engines.  So far, so fun and straightforward.

I woke early and made some hot drinks and food.  We packed our kit and headed up having had a surprisingly pleasant night.  The plateau of Fan Brycheiniog is fairly flat for most of the way but it’s very, very exposed.  Our morale was high and we made good progress.  It wasn’t too cold – Cadair Idris had been a lot colder.

We reached the first significant patches of snow around 620m which became more persistent with height.  After about 2km from our camping spot we had reached around 700m and conditions were difficult.  At times we crossed the snow which was about ankle deep and our strength was eroded with each step.  At the false summit about 1km before the trig point conditions worsened.  Navigation was easy but with the fog it was mostly done using contour lines.  Dropping down from the false summit our route intersected the path leading up from Lly y Fan Fawr lake (this was to be our route out and I had been keen to see what the path looked like).  At this point deep within the Black Mountain range at about 730m the going was tough.

The path rounded slightly more to the NE and we went past what must have been the most ominous looking gully in Wales. A menacing drop into the grey mist below. We took a bide berth.  We reached the final climb.  With grit and determination Arthur battled on still carrying his pack.  The going was painfully slow – I told him we were heading back.

 

 

As soon as we turned back the wind that had been helpful on the way up bit into our faces. Arthur’s balaclava had been a good purchase.

We slid down the snow wall that we had just come up.  We made good progress past the terrible gully and down to the lake path junction.  Memories of our Cadair Idris summit up the Foxes path weighed heavy on my mind but even with the snowy conditions this route looked ok.  Almost immediately the wind lessened greatly and the chill stopped.

The path was easy to navigate although the snow was deep in places. With relative ease we made our down to the mountain lake.  Having covered about 4.5km that day and 2km the day before I was looking forward to what I thought would be a relatively straightforward walk out.  Paths were non-descript but we basically had to follow the base of the mountain face all the way out.  I even joked to Arthur that this was now just like a normal dog walk.

What happened next defied imagination. A wall of water and bitter wind crashed into our faces.  We were still at about 550m and our position was exposed. We picked up the pace.  Slipping and sliding in the mud we pushed on determined to get off the exposed ground.  We crashed through marsh and streams.  Caked in mud we battled onwards with a furious intensity slowing only for difficult ground and to replace wet kit with dry. Only our emergency kit was spared.

Down at around 400m the urgency lifted. The brief gale passed and the way out was visible.  We laughed and joked back to the start happily stopping to look at the ruins of old buildings and the bones of a long deceased sheep.

As luck would have it the route finished at a pub. We ditched our kit and boots by the front door and stood next to the fire. A fizzy for Arthur, coffee for me and two portions of chips.  Any menace of the last couple of hours had gone and we were recalling evens with exhilaration.  We decided to stay the night to decompress from the experience.  I checked us in to a B&B and we dashed soaking and half dressed from the pub to the car.  5 mins later we were at the B&B.  Looking like refugees we were greeted by a very friendly lady who seemed to think nothing of our state (our boots were in the back of the car with most of our clothes).

Our trip finished with a warm room, wifi, hot shower and satellite TV (but not before a quick trip back to the pub).  In the words of my old army instructor “Life’s a treat”.