Brass Monkeys in North Wales – Adrian (Jan 1998)

The first Meet of the year was to Deiniolen, a no-horse (but plenty of miss-spent youths hanging about) type of dismal North Welsh village. The headline on the local paper in the petrol stage glared out “… problem council tenants moved to Deiniolen”. Strange though, the article wasn’t about complaining locals but the whinging tenants who had been moved there.

Welcome to Deiniolen, outpost of Welsh nationalists and the Sons of Glyndower.

Upon entering the high streets, the houses on one side of the street were boarded up, the other side providing doorsteps for the aforementioned youths.

The turn out for the weekend was the lowest I’ve seen, seven. Hopelessly, the best we could do was to take three cars (it would have been four if Michael Dodson) hadn’t spent the entire weekend at home on the great white telephone.

I travelled up with Mike Brown who was on his first trip although he had joined up a few months earlier. The Prairie was on auto-pilot and we got into Deiniolen at 7.00pm by which time it was dark and the directions to the hut which were scrawled on the back of the instructions on how to turn the electricity on were pretty limited (to put it kindly).

They read, “...Turn left at a church with a spire just before you get to the bus garage”, bloody good that, who ever heard of a Welsh church, presumably it meant a chapel, and chapels don’t have spires. Besides it was pitch black out there, we wouldn’t have been able to see the spire on Salisbury Cathedral if we’d been loitering in its graveyard at sun up. Anyway, there was always the fail safe - spot the bus garage.

Well, blow me, spotted some windscreens glinting under the one remaining street lamp - yes the buses, there they were - looking more like a bus graveyard for left over props from Heartbeat or All Creatures Great and Small. Power slid the Prairie left into where the road junction ought to be (good job it was) and up the hill - piece of cake.

Cunningly, the hut when we found it had one of those number-cruncher combination lock thingies on it. We even had the combination, which at the second attempt worked - phew we were in.  

Reccied the hut, found out the weather conditions wouldn’t allow the stove to be lit and pushed off in search of beer and solid sustenance. Well, of the two boozers in Deiniolen, they were as bad as each other; we were looked at as being from another planet when I asked if they did food.

So the nearest turned out to be The Snowdon View on the Llanberis-Carnarfon road. The food was over-priced and very plain and the Speckled Hen was off. Now Mike can talk a bit which seems to interfere with his ability in the drinking stakes. So whilst he talked I found breath for a couple of swift ones over a regurgitated lasagne and three chips.

Now we knew where the hut was we went back to have another go at fire lighting. My old touch must have left me, I used to be able to set fire to anything when I was in the boy scouts (could have been the four star). It was decided that the wind was definitely blowing the *wrong way/*not hard enough/*to hard/*not at all (* delete as appropriate). A few minutes spent sussing out which fuse board and coin meter did what - could we find any pound coins - yes - and we had the electric heaters working. Who needs matches anyway?

We crashed out but only moments later (well probably a couple of hours, but you know how it is - if you bothered to come on a trip or two) were woken by the sound of plastic boots stomping up the timber staircase. Think it was Pete, Alison and Heong, but not all in the same pair of boots, unless they took it in turns to put Heong’s new boots on and clump up and down the steps.

Settling down again for more kip at minus 5degrees it seemed ages before Steve and Nick turned up. Same procedure with the stairs followed by “…bloody instructions, useless, what f***ing spire…?”.

Come the dawn, well actually some time later than (Steve and Nick must almost have seen it rising over Pen y Pass), we rose to find Steve frying up in the kitchen. Much chortling at Steve and Nick’s expense was had as we heard how useless they thought the instructions were. It was wonderful to hear how the mobile phone had been used to phone Chris Abbott (the absent Meet Secretary) at 3.30am for clarification on finding the hut. I’ll never bitch about mobile phones again.

I proposed a walk, which in recent years I had only done in bog horrible conditions with some clients. Today was wonderfully clear, bright, and pretty cold with a tricky wind - revolutionary for North Wales. I decreed that it was necessary to drive to the start, the drive turned out to be about 500 yards to the gates of the H.E.P. land, still it saved us 100 metres of ascent.

If you’re still working off the imperial Ordnance Survey map, you won’t be able to find the start of this walk. The electricity board have built an access road into Marchlyn Mawr Reservoir, a twenty-minute walk up which brings you up to the dry side of the dam. A spot of gymnastics to get onto a well-worn track is necessary and then it’s open hillside most of the way - the idea being a high level circumnavigation of the reservoir and Cwm Marchlyn.

A five hundred foot climb (sorry, couldn’t find Sue’s metric map) got us up onto the northern shoulder of Carnedd y Filiast where heads were poked over into the Nant Ffrancon valley for views of the Carnedds, Tryfan and the Glyders. We definitely had the best of the weather although the wind chill was bitter.

Scrumbling up and over the rocks of Carnedd y Filiast 2695feet we plateauxed-out and struggled on against the wind to Mynydd Perfedd 2665feet. Fortunately the summits here have rock built bivvi-shelters on them and each was availed of to provide momentary respite from the wind.

There was talk of taking a tangent off the route and bagging Foel-goch, but I think the 200-foot drop and then ascent to be done in both directions muted the idea, or perhaps it was the wind.

Quickly dropping down to Bwlch y Marchlyn we found a little scramble with an ominous drop into the reservoir if the breeze got the better of you. So far the old knees were going well, at new year in Scotland I’d given in to the badgering and acquired a trekking pole, marvellous invention, put my back out for two weeks after I first used it (get two if you can afford it).

The pole was a real pain in a different way on the next section that was all boulders and easy scrambling up onto Elidir Fawr 3030feet. Thank goodness for the stone shelter on top. We were well ahead of time so over yet more coffee I was able to recount how I had hauled numerous bedraggled clients over this morass of rocks - it was great to actually see the view at last.

The descent over Bwlch Melvnwyn and Elidir Fach back down to the reservoir road seemed interminable but strangely we all made it. On the walk out another group one of whom recognised me from our Poly days, he turned out to be the President of the Green Lane Mountaineering Club of New Malden caught us up. We strolled the last few hundred yards to the cars discussing the merits of our respective clubs and we both thought there could be some mileage in talking about joint trips if not a merger in order for the clubs to survive and have better attended weekends.

We were due to meet them in The Wellington in Deiniolen that evening but strangely they didn’t turn up.

Back at the hut it was quickly agreed that because the local fare was so desperate/non-existent we would cook-in before hitting The Wellington. A sortie into Llanberis resulted in provisions being acquired from the Spar.

Steve put his squadie training into practice (or was it four star) and got the fire going with the fresh coal, whilst Nick & I knocked up giant mince beef and pork (for the abstainers) stews. There was enough food for twelve but the seven of us quickly polished it off and washed it down with bottles of Old Fart 6.5% - pardon.

Cooking-in worked extremely well, it was also slightly cheaper, there was even time for a few pints in the delightful village inn. But no Green Lane, curious.

P.S. - We also went walking on Sunday .