No need for lullaby
Left, right, left, right. I am still rocking from side to side as if Mother Nature as been cradling me all night. My neighbours are already awake, I can hear them softly chirping around me, as I open my eyes, I discover the ornaments on the ceiling of our improvised bedroom, it seemed to just be black as we went to bed but the light blue morning sky reveals a large piece of dark green lacework gently undulating with the fresh breeze. The light swing of my hammock makes me understand why we are rocking babies, I close my eyes for a few minutes to enjoy this feeling, but it suddenly feels different : the air gets warmer, the birds get louder and closer, the light sneaking through my eyelids gets stronger. I open my eyes again to discover that the show is on, the sun is peeking out over the mountains, and bathing the forest with a warm light, highlighting the lacework with some golden details. On their way to the sky, trees seem to have left behind some short wiggly branches that birds are now using as a stage for their recital. Only interrupted by a cock on his morning duty : it is 5 am, it is time to get up. I can’t help but having a smile on my face, obviously being able to observe the nature waking up plays a big part in it, but I am also looking forward to start the day, the weather is lovely, meaning that we will have great conditions to do what we came here for in the first place : hiking the Horseshoe Route of Snowdon.
My partner in crime is now awake, we can fold back our sleeping bag and hammock, we can see on our faces that we are a bit tired but that we are just happy. Happy to have been hiking yesterday, to have see great view, to have spent a moment chatting while enjoy the sunshine when the rain was gone, to have improvised a nice dinner while looking at the sunset on the coast, to have find a great spot for the night, for the porridge with a view this morning, for the coming day. But more than anything, for feeling truly alive.
The car parked, we start to hike, setting up a pace that we would try to maintain for the all ascension. The view on the ridges with teeth sticking out of this huge jaw is both exciting and intimidating. We don’t talk about it but we both wonder how is it going to be up there. We alternately take the lead to keep the pace up. The vista all around us is clear with just a few cumulonimbus in the sky over a succession of mountains getting more and more covered by trees as they get distant from the very harsh and desert Snowdon massif, but its highest peak stays hidden in a thick grey cloud, giving to this place a mysterious Mordor feel. That cinematic view fills us with more excitement and as we get closer to the final slop, the wind rises, the temperature drops, and the path gets looser and much steeper.
Our heart is pumping hard against our rib cage but as we discover what we imagined being a remote and lonely place, is actually way too crowded for us. This is underwhelming, or frustrating should I say. Having a train station and a relatively easy way converging with our route, where we barely met any living creature apart from a few hikers and a couple of lost sheep is quite a contrast that we didn’t expect and weren’t ready for it. So we simply decided to go as soon as we finished to swallow our little snack.
The second half of the route is probably worth the best definition of what scrambling is : a long narrow jagged ridge without defined path with no way out. We often struggle to fully be in the moment in our urban busy life having to deal with its multiples facets, but being forced to pay close attention to where you put our hands and feet in an environment where hazard is surrounded by mesmerising landscapes let you experience true present moment. And we soon find ourselves alone again, and quickly forget the tainted feeling of the summit. We both wear a childish smile, the one we used to wear picturing the incredible adventures we were in, jumping from cobble to cobble surrounded by a deep void only us could see. But this time it is closer to what we were imagining. After two hours ploughing along, we get to the last hurdle of our route, one last irregular rock face that we have to climb down before returning to the hiking trail. We are now just two bipeds again with the civilisation in sigh.
We came to Wales to get to the top of Snowdon, but being there has been the less memorable part of the trip. As cliché as it might sound, this is a good reminder that the journey is more important than the destination.
location : Snowdon, Wales, UK
2019