Hillwalking boulderers of the world unite, and follow Big G high up on the outlying, northern flanks of the Snowdon massif.
Dear NWB readers,
As boulderers we must aim ever higher to attain new rock, even if it means lugging our wretched mats into the clouds, getting lost, falling into primeval sphagnum ponds and so forth. It's...the principle of the thing. Every cwm must fall to our twisted gaze. Even those where the air is so thin that a boulderer may feel quite dizzy.
And thus the zagged and ragged path from the road must be seen to die before our very eyes, merging with mud dripping back downstream in gloopy rivulets as the steep ground right of Llechog is followed to a place so desolate and undisturbed the goats will eat from your hand.
Passing below the distinct rounded tops of the ‘Hat-shoe’ and ‘Boot-coat’ cliffs, we are drawn west to the cwm right of the ridge proper. Strange unclimbed rocks lean over us from all quarters. Sheep mutter about the new visitors.
(Distasteful as hill walking is, you will notice by increasingly frequent backward glances that the Glyders have fanned into a downward explosion of weathered beauty; their lower slopes riddled with intrigue, right down to the sprawl of cliffs and boulders towards road level. If only these could talk!)
So; here we are. (gr 605 573)
People have passed the place, but nobody has ever stopped. Don’t let this put you off.
Some of the boulders seem to hover just above their supporting blocks, forming strange cramped shelters for disgruntled wildlife or people.
The problems have spread about the cwm making themselves comfortable, in readiness for the long wait for anyone to pay them any attention. The rock is very good. As are most landings.
Their time will come.
Blessed are the miss-guided for they will see what they were not looking for and be satisfied.
Love Big G
The Corrugated Glider of Llechog
Rumour has it that the numerous sheets of corrugated iron which abound here were once part of a large experimental glider which local shepherds built to streamline the transportation of livestock on market days.
On its virgin flight it was said to have swooped out of control during an unexpected gust of wind, smashing into numerous pieces. All of the sheep were said to have survived, but they refused to engage in any further enterprises, preferring to simply walk down hill on market days, accompanied by one or two dogs. This option can be seen to this very day.