Lonely Wolf or Bored Sheep?

I feel the choice between being a lonely wolf or a bored sheep is a question that is currently defining my life. I'm not suggesting that following the path, behaviour and lifestyle that society would lead me on is boring for anyone else. It just relates to the way in which my brain perceives it and acquires a lack of stimulation from it.

Alone looking up at Mount Cook

 My thought process and ambitions don't seem to fit into the direction which I feel expected to follow. My thirst for the unknown left unquenched by what society, my community and my generation are directing me to experience. 

So what are my choices?

I can follow my desire to spend time with my friends closest to me, but starve myself of what I wish to achieve. I can manipulate my mindset into one which it was never designed to function, like beating a square peg into a triangular hole.

Or do I follow my gut and chase what I seek in the form of adventure thus leading me towards non-conformity and bohemianism. But at what cost? I risk being alienated by friends I hold closest from my childhood and school.

What's the point? 

I wanted to write something to show people that you don't always have to do what society says is cool or because your friends are doing it. Sometimes being a lonely wolf is the only way to achieve what you want out of life. 

Being a lone wolf has come at the cost of upsetting a few of my friends, missing some great parties and nights out. But I've gained a whole collection memories and new friends that have out weighed that cost. 

 I always wish my friends were there with me to experience the places and things I see, but I wouldn't want to be forced into doing something I wouldn't want to do. And the cost of forcing them may damage my friendships more, than seeing them less. 

I'm lucky now to have met people to share these moments with, but still I have times where I must go alone to do what I want to. And as time has gone on, I'm learning that these moments can be even purer without the pollution or commentary of others. But not often!  

Staring on the Pacific from Kaikoura

So don't fear being a lonely wolf. The biggest risk in life is not to take any!

Y Garn with Steve and Awesome Dan

Morning light from the cottage

The weather was looking bleak for Snowdonia as we sat in the pub on Saturday night in Llanberis pouring over the map. But me, Steve and Dan set our sights on the summit of Y Garn via the ice climbers haven of Devil's Kitchen, and hopefully a decent covering of snow. 

Me and Steve walking into Llyn Idwal (Photo by Dan Jackson)

The path to Llyn Idwal being clear of snow was not what we were hoping for as we marched our up from Idwal cottage on the A5. But soon we reached the snow line and clipped into our crampons to make the jump across the fast flowing and treacherously slippery Idwal stream. 

Llyn Idwal

Steve starring out over Llyn Idwal

The slog up now took us steeply through a path littered with boulders and scree, and above us hung huge sheets of ice clinging to the rock faces forming some of North Wales famous winter climbing routes. Me and Dan chatted away about how attractive a female Plas Y Brenin instructor was, who was leading a group from the National Mountain Centre. Unfortunately Dan hadn't realised how close she was standing to us, as he made his comment! 



Ice formation in the Devil's Kitchen (Photo by Dan Jackson)

Us ugly mugs high in the Devil's Kitchen

 

The wind picked up as we made our way up onto the col between Y Garn and the Glyders Fach, so we hunkered down behind a large boulder that acted as the idea wind break. As I tucked into my sandwich and a cup of foul tasting hot orange squash, I stared out across the frozen surface of the small mountain tarn.

 

Awesome Dan

 

A long way down from the summit of Y Garn

 

Progress towards the summit of Y Garn seemed to be slow as low cloud concealed the view around us. The whiteness only broken by several jet black raven circling looking for scraps. Once on the summit the light began to break through the cloud across the horizon, illuminating an incredible vista of the Snowdon Massif.



Me and Dan on the summit of Y Garn



View over to the Snowdon Massif

Out of nowhere two climbers appeared behind us from the top of Banana Gully, jangling a rack of hexes, ice screws and warthogs. After chatting briefly, we followed their line of descent kicking our way down a steep snow bank with ice axe in hand. Following the ridge line down with the sun breaking through behind us lighting up the Ogwen Valley. 

 

Steve looking down on our descent route

The trudge back along the path had to be taken with really care, and ensuring no crampon points snagged on my trouser legs. We strolled back into the car park and brushed off any loose snow from our boots and ankles before boarding my car for the journey home. Via the pub and a big Sunday lunch of course! 

Never Judge a Book by it's Cover

(January 2015)

The snow was falling heavily to the north of Cannock, coating the Peak District in a white blanket. I'd been working all weekend and had the urge to go out to explore the wintry conditions. I knew Dave (Chairman of the WMC) would most likely be free on a week day, so I gave him a bell to ask if he would be up for venturing out. Luckily he was, so I suggested walking the whale back ridge that forms the spine of Mam Tor. 

Walking up out of Castleton

Dave picked me up on a dry and overcast morning, and we set off in the  direction of the Peak. I sat in the car chatting away, already knowing some of the many expeditions Dave had taken part on from the Karakom to Greenland and the Andes. He talked about his connections with the British Mountaineering Council (Governing body of Climbing, Mountaineering and walking in the UK), I was amazed that I was sat in a car with such an accomplished mountaineer and climber. And also thought that if my CV looked half as good as Dave's I would have achieved a hell of a lot. 

The snow lay thick as we walked out of Castleton heading up across some farmland surrounded by flocks of prying sheep. I watched Dave move with his bag untidily stuffed with a map wrapped in a bread bag, a walking pole protruding out the top, a few spare layers and a loaf of Soreen bread. He didn't look like an experienced and world class mountaineer that he was. We plodded on up until we found a flat spot on the ridge for tea and some food. 

View through the clag

Mam Tor ridgeline

After Dave had brushed off his square section of foam that he used to sit and keep his backside from getting cold on the snow (another example of simple equipment gained through years of experience), we set off along the ridge. We waded through drifts of snow and watched as a few intrepid paragliders launched  from the summit, catching some form of thermals even on this cold day. 

Sun breaking the cloud behind Mam Tor

Intrepid paragliders

 

The summit was marked as usual with a cairn, and surrounded by a flock of crows searching for scraps among the snow. The descent route took us along the old road that lay destroyed after several large landslides over the decades off the East face of Mam Tor itself. 

Summit cairn

 

As we walked across the warped and buckled tarmac Dave told me about the history of the road, as well as the famous Blue John (a semi-precious mineral) that occurs in many caves beneath the area attracting thousands of tourists each year.

Which way?

I absorbed Dave's knowledge of his years of climbing and walking in the Peak and soaked it up like a sponge as he spoke about the area geological and human history. 



Mam Tor east face

The day may not have been an epic slog or climbing box ticked, but I had spent a day with a true legend of British climbing and mountaineering who I may never have got to know so well. And I learnt once again that you can never tell a book by it's cover, particularly a man wearing Aldi track suit bottoms. 

 

My advice when out in the hills speak to that person, join someone you normally wouldn't for the day and ask the questions when you get the chance. Because you never know who you may meet, stories you will hear or skill you may gain! 

#TypicalWales

(January 2015)

The wind howled and the grey sky streamed with low cloud as I stared out of the window of cottage. Me and Dan had risen surprisingly early and the sun had just started to brighten the sky, as we tucked into a couple of bowls of steaming porridge. As we ate we debated the plan for the day ahead and agreed that standing being chilled by the growing wind in the slate quarries was a bad idea. 

Low cloud coming down the valley

We packed up the car and headed up the Ogwen Valley amiss the swirl of low clag, pulling off the road at the base of Tryfan. I followed Dan up the monster like north ridge of Tryfan among a group of other fellow hardy walkers and climbers. The wind speed increased with height as we scrambled across the steep slopes of slippery heather as we lost our way up the normal ascent line, moving across a few loose gullies until we found firmer ground. 

Dan chilling on the canon

Me doing my best not to get blown off

(Photo taken by Dan Jackson)

We climbed higher towards the end of the first tier in search of the famous Canon feature. This large lump of rock planted into the mountainside and erected at 45 degree angle into the air. Even with the heighten wind we both knew we had to venture out as close as possible to it's end for a picture surrounded by the now very atmospheric Ogwen and low clag. I crawl to the very end of the Canon and stared down hanging hundreds of metres above the A5 below, as I was bufferted by the gale force wind.

 

Ice cold

Dan having a bit of alone time with his food

We hunkered down behind a few large lumps of rock to gain some rest bit from the uneasing gale to refuel for the final summit push. The second tier that makes up Tryfan is a crown of steep, uneven jagged rocks that requires the whole body to overcome. Along with the increasing difficulty of the terrain, the growing altitude allowed any excess water to form a thin glass like layer of ice across any willing surface. 

 

Tryfan steepening to the summit

Facing out onto the steep East face

The decision not to bring crampons seemed to be a mistake as we clawed and scrapped our way onto the summit. But arriving onto the very top of this 900 plus metre mountain, left us unprotected from the full force of 70 mph winds lashing across the summit. I wedged myself between the famous rock couple of Adam and Eve, unable to make the famous jump between them.

Me and my green bandana between Adam and Eve

Dan being battered by the gales

The descent reversed the ascent process just down a different route, slipping and sliding our way down towards the side of the lake. The path on the lake shores levelled out and eased us gently back to the carpark, and a date with McDonald's on the dark drive home. 

Snow and ice making the descent interesting

The descent view over to Llyn Idwal

A typical winter day in Wales of low cloud, strong winds and rain. But I couldn't have wished it any other way as this time on the mountain allows you to experience natures power and it's atmospheric ever changing mood. 

Back by the darkening shores of Llyn Owgen

A Big Day on Glyders Fach- East Gully Arete

(May 2014)

The sky was grey and air cool as me and Lee headed from the A5 at the bottom of the Ogwen Valley and towards the side the Godzilla like Tryfan and the cwm containing Llyn Bochlwyd. The path was fairly steep and I soon had to take off my jumper and tuck it away in my pack. I was en route towards my first multi-pitch mountain day and hopefully going to conquer a massive 150 metre route up the East Gully Arête, a place few have the chance or the urge to visit.

Llyn Bochlwyd and Tryfan behind

The path levelled out to follow the shores of the lake bustling with people heading towards the jagged Bristly Ridge high to our left. Lee pulled out the guide book and between us we began interpreting the direction in which we must go to find the base of the route. Heading from the path we soon had to start slogging through ankle deep mud and sheep droppings surrounding the lake shore and our trail. 

Tryfan with the grey sky above

 

The line we planned to take was a arête of jagged uneven rock raised above a steep sided and boulder littered gully to it's right. Lee took the lead up the first steep and twisting pitch, directly up the north face of the Glyders Fach. I followed and took over the lead once he was safely secured, scrambling up ladden with my rucksack. 

High on the Glyders Fach

The sun creeped higher into the sky evaporating the early morning cloud, leaving a bright clear sky. The rays beating down on us soon began to cook my neck and face that I had naively left unprotected. I came to the hardest section of my leads so far, a sloping narrow pinnacle of rock that I protection by quickly stuffing a large cam into a crack above me. I composed myself on this exposed and vulnerable position with a huge drop eitherside and moved up. 

The light fading and time to make an escape

 

(Lee abseiling down a gully to escape the mountain)

The light had began to relent and indicate that we must give up our persuit for the summit and descend down the gully to our right. Packing up the ropes we began the scramble off the side of the arête and into the gully, soon being required to set up a 25 metre abseil to reach some solid ground. 

The light slipping away out of the Ogwen Valley

The slog once on some leveller if boulder littered ground seemed to take for ever as we stumbled our way down and past the shore of the lake again. We were both knackered, hungry and dying for a beer and the sight of a horned local mountain goat made me think a barbecue would be a great idea for dinner. 

Last light from the hut

 

I just collapsed onto the empty carpark, savouring the smooth warm tarmac under my back after 12 hours of moving. The bottle of ice cold cider cooled my parched, dry throat and pizza soothed my aching stomach on our return to the hut. The tales of days adventures filled the room for the rest of the night as we discussed our successes and funny moments out on the hill.

Cadair Idris

(December 2014)

I dropped Dave a message last minute to ask if he could put me a pair of crampons and an ice axe in. The snow had been pouring down across the UK, but mainly in Scotland. I was hoping to get in my first days winter walking with the guys from the WMC (Wolverhampton Mountaineering Club) of the season. 

I rolled up outside Dave's house with the sun barely breaking the hold of darkness on the sky and waited for the John and Rich to arrive. John was fighting fit as usual chomping on a McDonalds breakfast to soothe the previous nights drinking session. 

John feeling a little better on the summit

 

I drifted in and out of sleep in the back of the car crammed in with John and Rich, and suddenly awoke to John requesting Dave to stop the car as soon as possible. Rich and I eitherside piled out of the car to enable John to empty his stomach contents on the side of the road. (That's why you don't drink too much kids!)

View up into the cwm and summit in the middle

 

The air was cold and crisp as we pulled on our boots in the carpark and the outline of Cadair Idris backed by pure light blue sky and the odd whisp of white cloud. Cadair lies on the Southern edge of Snowdonia National Park, Wales near to the town of Dolgellau.  

Llyn Cau

The path followed a set of block cut steps that criss crossed via slab bridges over a fast following stream that fell to form a number of small waterfalls and white frothy plunge pools. The stream was feed from a large lake (Llyn Cau) at the base of Cwm, the water of which seemed black compared to the white snow around it's edge. 

Following the rim of the cwm

View across the surrounding peaks

 

We followed the rim of the Cwm that opened out onto a snow covered ridge, plodding up in a line staring out at the view for miles across the Welsh countryside. The route led across several stiles with the adjoining wire fence eitherside encrusted in wind blasted ice. As we crossed the col towards the summit trudging through deeper snow that had drifted in the shallow depressions. 

Panoramic summit view

Me and Rich at the summit cairn

 

The summits cairn was encrusted in snow and ice from the strong winds blowing down from the north. We all stood in amazement at the breathtaking view across the Snowdon range and out to the Irish Sea. The wind soon began to pick up and the air cooled further, so we headed for shelter for lunch in a small bothy (a small brick shack) hidden in the hillside. 

Descent across the summit ridge

Wind shaped snow on the descent

The afternoon came and we began our descent stumbling and sliding down a scree banks the otherside of the horseshoe shape of the Cwm. We arrived back at the carpark as the sun was slowly sinking in the sky and the stream growing from the additional of the days melt water. The return home was somewhat mard by a trip to the toilets before leaving that were flooded with raw sewage, the sink I'm sure didn't help John's hangover.

Last view before heading to the car park

 

Cadair Idris is a true gem at the edge of Snowdonia with several classic mountain routes that can escape the weather systems trapped over the National Park itself. Well worth a visit!