Caseg Fraith, Oct 2023

Up until the moment that the mechanism of the car seat jammed on a tomato, our departure had been going smoothly. We were loading up Sam’s 9-person rental van, the final vehicle to leave Churchill College, and folded down a seat to access the boot from the inside—and… the seat refused to fold back up. Levers were flipped, curses were cursed, metal was heaved against metal, but it only came unstuck when a tomato or two rolled out (destined for dinner) along with a pillow that had been folded into it. Then we were free to zoom through the night talking and dozing, waking occasionally for a service station stop or when Sam confused the non-existent clutch with the brake. 

Around 10 or 11 pm we arrived at Caseg Fraith and joined the 40-odd people milling about inside. The elderly among us were keen for sleep ASAP but we stayed up for Dan’s safety briefing, and then a surprising number of keeners chatted and played cards into the wee hours. That meant bleary faces in the morning as route card faff unfolded, but eventually the crowd broke up into walking groups and trailed out the door. Most of us were headed for Llyn Idwal, some groups via Glyder Fach in the clouds and some via a low route (with better views, honestly). The rain in the forecast never really settled in, so we admired the fragments of sun as they moved through the valley and illuminated red patches of bracken.

At the Glyder Fach-Tryfan col, lycra walkers with small backpacks and high-tech-looking hiking poles streamed past Eva, Michael, Birgit, and I. Most of them were in a hurry (some just looked tired), and it turned out that this was because they were doing the Original Mountain Marathon over some crazy distance. With runners scattering in all directions, it was easy to wander off the main path and we ended up joining them for the descent from Llyn Bochlwyd to Llyn Idwal, then wandered down to Llyn Ogwen, where we met up with a gaggle of CUHWCers. After crawling into a WWII pillbox, we marched back to the bunkhouse for dinner.

Thom and Stanni made a spectacular stew and the other meals looked just as good. When sufficient dishes had been filled and emptied, someone distributed songbooks and unleashed Bill, his backup singers, and the I Am Cow Song on the unsuspecting diners. Frozen to the benches, they could only exchange horrified glances as half the club informed them that two humans weigh as much as a cow (false!) and that they’d never get to Tryfan. Some joined in, and some escaped to the snug to play cards. Once again, people who seem to hate sleep played cards and had quote-fun-unquote into the wee hours. Humbug.

Sunday’s walks were even better. One group visited the same cafe twice, cause it was so good. I forget their names, but a friendly beecologist couple (I just made that word up and it’s here just so I can claim it for posterity) and others explored the local forest. Another group took advantage of unexpectedly sunny weather to walk up Tryfan by the easiest route, then thoroughly washed their boots in sodden peat moss on the descent. Back at the bunkhouse, early-departing groups did a stellar job cleaning, and once we had finished up we hopped in the van and zoomed eastwards, meeting other CUHWCers somewhat unexpectedly at a KFC in Coventry, then (I assume) collapsing in our respective houses amid damp, partially-unpacked gear.

Thanks to everyone who organised this great trip, led walks, cooked dinners, drove, managed the faff, and was otherwise very generous!