It started with a passing comment—a careless whisper—and suddenly a club trip up the highest mountain in Wales, Yr Wyddfa, was on the cards.
I’ve always enjoyed an off-road run. The Summer Series hosted by Staffs Moorlands is one of my favourites, but holidays and other commitments meant I missed out this year. So when Jason Barratt mentioned he was planning a run/walk up Snowdon, I thought, why not?
I’d never even considered running up a mountain. As a child, I’d spent many holidays in Wales, but Snowdon was never on the itinerary. Until two weeks ago, it hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’d heard the stories—people getting lost, huge queues at the summit, cars crammed onto grass verges. So when a 5 a.m. club departure was suggested, I signed up and set my alarm for 4:30 a.m.
We met, bleary-eyed but excited, and six of us set off (meeting two more in Llanberis). With my two bags—one to carry, one packed with clothes and snacks “just in case”—I felt like an overexcited puppy, not knowing what to expect but also nervous in case I was about to get lost in the snow capped, fog lined abyss of Snowdonia National Park. Two hours later we arrived at the car park by Llanberis Station, braved the not-so-fresh portable toilets (thank you Jane’s antibacterial gel), stripped down to T-shirts in the early warmth, and shouldered our gear.
At 7:30 a.m., all eight of us set off up the Llanberis Path: a “short” 4.5-mile route with 3,000+ feet of climb. The first kilometre was a tarmac ramp—400 ft of climb in less than a mile—so after an optimistic jog, David, Holly, and I slowed to a sensible walk to ‘warm up’. Rita and Glenis had chosen to walk the route, while the rest of us aimed to run what we could.
The reality? Running up Snowdon is no joke. The gravelly paths, jutting rocks, and constant gradient demand full concentration. Even the “less steep” sections offer little respite. We ran where we could but mostly hiked with purpose, stopping for photos and to soak in the views. Ninety minutes later, we reached the summit—Jane, Jason, and David about 10–15 minutes behind.
We were lucky: clear views in all directions and, thanks to the early start, no queues. Group shots, individual photos, even a couple of Kinisi snaps for my work blog—done. A chill wind prompted the waterproof jacket, but no snowcapped abyss or lost souls emerged, just a breathtaking panorama and that rare sense of being exactly where you want to be.
After ten minutes at the top, my legs were itching to head down. We called Rita and Glenis to let them know we were descending, and then David, Holly, and I set off at pace.
Now those who come to the interval sessions know I like a bit of downhill, whether it is going head over heels at the Downs Banks or leaping over cattle grids on the Fire Headquarters drive, downhill is what uphills are made for.
Trail running downhill demands complete focus—watching every foot placement, dodging boulders, and weaving around oncoming walkers. It was busier now, but most people kindly stepped aside. Some even called us “crazy,” which felt like a compliment and kids exclaiming ‘wow look at them’, I felt almost like a proper runner!
We stopped only briefly—to remove jackets and greet Rita and Glenis—before letting gravity do the work. The final kilometre of tarmac was brutal on the quads, but we reached the bottom in just over 45 minutes, a good deal faster than our ascent. Sitting in the sunshine outside the station, we rehydrated and waited for the others to arrive.
The trip back had its own dramas (best left untold), but the day as a whole was a triumph: perfect weather, spectacular views, and great company. I’d happily do it again… maybe Ben Nevis or Scafell Pike next?
Huge thanks to the seven who shared the day. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
Adventures like this are better with more people, so let’s make them the norm rather than the exception. Ideas welcome, volunteers essential.
Have a great week.
Paul
