My first Crib Goch crossing
I was nineteen when I first crossed Crib Goch, on a mountaineering course at Plas y Brenin. We had driving rain, thick cloud and enough wind that our instructor, Caff, ended up hauling me along by my rucksack. He was better known for climbing very hard rock routes than dragging me across a Grade 1 scramble. It wasn’t the most graceful introduction to Welsh scrambling, but I certainly haven’t forgotten it.
I’d recently come back from doing the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal, completely obsessed with mountains, and wanted to do more. That first visit to Crib Goch certainly gave me something to think about. It also meant that, long before I was taking anyone else across it, I’d experienced being the person who needed quite a lot of help.
When I moved to Wales at twenty-three, I got into fell running and developed a fairly specific obsession with getting around the Snowdon Horseshoe in under two hours. After a few months I managed 1:59 from Pen y Pass, with a whole minute to spare. At the time I was doing the route two, three or sometimes four times a week, so I was getting a fairly thorough introduction to its various ups and downs.
Over the years I’ve walked and scrambled there in all sorts of circumstances. I reckon I’ve crossed Crib Goch more than 200 times in roughly sixteen years, and it could well be more. I’ve been up and down both the East and North Ridges, linked them by the Fox’s Path and approached the North Ridge from different parts of Cwm Glas. I’ve crossed the main ridge in both directions and spent plenty of time trying different lines on Crib y Ddysgl.
Some of those visits have been in glorious weather; others have involved rain or very poor visibility, and I’ve been there in snow and ice too. A familiar slab can feel very different when it’s wet, just as a move you barely notice on your own takes on a different significance when you’re helping someone who’s finding it difficult.
After qualifying, I did a “Crib Goch for Mountain Leaders” training day with Steve Howe, who’d been on Llanberis Mountain Rescue Team. Hearing about the accident blackspots and the ways people had got into trouble was interesting, particularly on a mountain I already thought I knew well. You can recognise every feature of a ridge and still have plenty to learn about what happens to people on it.
By now, I can picture a slightly unreasonable amount of the route without being there. There are sections I could talk you through almost hold by hold, including where I’d stand while someone climbs a particular step. I also know the ledges where we can have a decent breather and the points where someone might suddenly notice just how much space there is beside them.
When I take a group across, I get to see all of that through people who may be there for the first time. Someone might have spent fifteen years thinking about this ridge, while another is wondering whether it’ll help them prepare for the Welsh 3000s. I enjoy finding out what’s brought them along, and I can still remember how unfamiliar it all felt on that first visit. I generally manage to get across without being hauled by my rucksack these days.
