Washout in Wales

Last weekend's sojourn to Wales for a weekend of multi-pitch climbing ended in a complete washout. The weather was unclimbably wet, windy and - well, Welsh all weekend, and we eventually admitted defeat, returning home a day early.

It got off to a bad start just south of Manchester, when we realised that we'd forgotten our sleeping bags. "Oh, we'll be alright" we thought, "we'll just buy a couple of travel blankets from a service station..." (shudder)

When we arrived at Dolgam campsite just after 9pm, it was cold, dark and raining. We set up the tent in record time and piled in for the night.

I don't think I've ever had such an uncomfortable night's sleep. The rain and wind got worse throughout the night, with the tent bowing in us frequently, and without the sleeping bags we could hardly stay asleep for more than five minutes at a time. I lost count of how many times I woke up and just wished desperately for morning.

Once dawn finally broke, and the farmer woke us up for his money, a quick look around the windswept and sodden campsite showed an array of people hastily packing their tents back into their cars and escpaing to a B&B - that is, providing their tents had actually survived the night. Some didn't - so we took one look at each other's faces, and made a quick, sharp exit ourselves.

As we drove up through Llanberis Pass, searching for a B&B, visibility was down to no more than twenty metres. When it did eventually ease off enough to venture outside, we tried a recce up to the Tolkein-esque landscape of Cwm Idwal, home to the famous climbing sites of Devil's Kitchen, Suicide Wall and our intended target, Idwal Slabs. But with the cloudbase seemingly just a few metres above us, and what felt like the whole of Llyn Idwal coming at us horizontally, we again had to admit defeat, and return to the Tyn-y-Coed to watch the England match, nurse a medicinal pint or two, and indulge in the best post-mountains recuperative meal on the planet, their legendary Shoulder of Lamb.