Of Men, Women and Mountains...

So another bank holiday descended upon us. All too quickly as the bank had not yet been replenished from the last few weeks. But hey, we're not the kind of people that worry (too much) about mere numbers on bank statements. And well since we're the praying types, we prayed and really felt like God spoke from on high and said "for such a time as this, i have created thine credit cards!" OK, so the last couple of bits were made up, but you get the idea. No money, three day weekend. What to do.

Fortunately our other adventures had earned us a free rental for a weekend, so, after a splendid night out on friday with Sally (my workmate) and her partner Steve (a kiwi physio), the alarm bells were ringing to tell us it was time to move. Fortunately for me, i'm a heavy sleeper, so i merely integrated the bells into my dream, it was a great dream too - mez was baking something fantastic, I was typing away at something on the computer and the oven started alarming. I asked her to turn it off, it kept alarming, I asked again, she ignored me (all such happenings are quite normal you must realise!), then my brain started to suggest to me that perhaps that wasn't reality, that in fact mez was also still asleep (as opposed to baking) and would need me to turn off the alarm. The alarm turned off by itself. I groaned. Mez groaned. Saturday was upon us and it was 7.15am.

So it's traditional for Monastra's to be late when leaving on hoilday. We didn't do too badly really, getting away by 9.00am instead of the planned 8.30, but who's splitting hairs?
The drive was mainly on windy wee back roads and had us into Betsw-Y-Coed by about 1.30 given a traffic jam or two. Bit wet on the way mind you and to be fair both of us were stalling at the idea of climbing this mountain. Snowdon, our bite-sized parcel of the day stands at 1085m and is the tallest mountain in England and Wales, but smaller than Ben Nevis (Scotland) which is the highest in the UK. Betsw-Y-Coed is a cool wee town, a bit like Wanaka except without the skiers, all mountainbikers and climbers and trampers - bit of an outdoor pursuits mecca in wales - Frank Sinatra can have chicago, this is my kinda town!

So we stalled and had a look at some jackets and outdoor gears, bought some fuel for the stove, and a guidebook to find our way... Stopped at Swallow falls for a wee squizz, and watched as the clouds thinned and disappated...

Arriving at the base of Snowdon at 2.30pm my guess was we were leaving it a tad late, but i'm one for adventure and the sun peeking from behind the clouds was enough to coax us out and on our way from the Llanberis Pass. We made it half way in just under an hour and were smoking it pace-wise towards the top - full steam ahead and beaten only marginally by the steam train that also chuggs its way up the same valley. There was discussion on whether this was a lamentable or likeable fact about the journey - conclusion that it was both, and gave some impetus to keep moving quickly, to try and beat the next one... Got some interested looks (kinda spoke of "are you crazy?") from those descending in their full wet weather pants and jackets, while we were powering up, me in a singlet and shorts and Mez a T-shirt and shorts. Clearly they haven't heard about icebreaker! About 700-800m ish we headed into the clouds and got this quite cool shot along an exceedingly cold, windy ridgeline looking back down the way we had come (see lake in far distance). By this stage I had added a T-shirt, and shortly after a windproof vest and then the Gore-tex as well!

To be fair the top was not that impressive. White on white and bloody freezing as you may be able to tell from the photo - great to stop in the cafe for some lollies and nuts and a hot chocoloate, before a brisk jog and walk back down the mountain.

Some cool views of cliffs and tarns (mountain lakes) and a few wild and woolly sheep... ooo that reminds me, when we were in south wales we noticed that all the sheep have tails, well in north wales a lot of the sheep are docked (tail-less - like their NZ cousins), we thought maybe this was a southern sheep vs northern sheep thing (similar to the mullets sported by many a southlander (no offense to any southlanders out there)) but alas we were mistaken, some sheep manage to escape docking in north wales too... Got a photo of a cool fluffy white sheep but he looked better in person than on camera so i won't bore you with that. I can report that the sheep in wales are polite and Baa back to you... sometimes... when you baa at them. You've got to try these things.

Anyway. Snowdon conquered. One Mez with one sore SIJ and the other sore Hip and tummy upset from all the diclofenac. Two tired Monastras we ventured to find a campsite and some exceedingly cold, 'hot' showers. What can you expect for 50p i guess? Dinner was to be a highlight as I has pre-chopped excessive quantities of fresh veges for a stir-fry, But alas a near disaster finds its way to this page instead.

We have a beautiful mountain safety designs stove, an engagement present from the VC's which has served us well, however I had a dream, call it a premonition about a disaster with the stove blowing up. So what happened... I lit it as usual, and somehow the flames tracked instantly back to the fuel bottle, so, somewhat in a panic and thinking i was about to be horribly burned and scarred for life at best, I reached into the flames and turned off the gas. It kept burning. Fearing explosion and fireball as well as shards of exceedingly hot aluminium from the pressurised gas bottle, I put our big wok over it and my foot on it. What seemed like a minute or so passed, nothing happened, so I thought I had starved it of Oxygen. I was wrong, still burning, not yet exploded. What to do. Mez to the rescue with water to put it out, and disaster averted. Thank God for wives eh?

So I went begging and found some campers who had been watching who lent us theirs to cook on. A good meal was had by all. Disaster averted. Great day, and we settled peacefully into bed.