A Chill Wind And A Mountain Fog…
My first morning on the backside of Mount Snowdon, in the Snowdonia National Park Of England and Wales, was a cold one. I had been wrapped up in my winter sleeping bag all night and when I stepped out of my tent and out onto my small clearing there was a chill wind blowing. So to warm myself up again I needed to eat and drink something hot. My small gas stove was setup and I started to brew up some tea…. to an Englishman, manna from heaven. I needed to refill my water bottles and hurried down to the lake. Looking up I could see Mount Snowdons peak looking serene in the cold sunlight…. at least the day was dry. There was nobody around, of course, so I stripped off and jumped into the lake….BRRRRR ! All I’ll say is that it was refreshing and that I needed it.
Back at my campsite I could here my little kettle whistling, so I hurried back, partly to turn it off and partly to get my blood temperature up a little as I moved. I wrapped myself up in layers of clothing and sipped on the sweet black tea as I heated some more water with which I was going to prepare a watery muesli. I have to say that I was very content. The mountains around me were beautiful. I had no expectations of seeing anybody in the area in which I was camped. The weather was cold and damp but easily bearable….. and this was a good place from which to explore the national park. I made a decision to make this home for a few days.
I needed supplies, so after breakfast I hiked down into a small hamlet that I could makeout from my mountain perch. Upon my arrival an hour later I realised that it was actually a small cluster of old stone farm buildings and barns. It was ancient and people had almost certainly been farming here for hundreds of years. The slate roof was in need of some repairs and the paintwork on the doors and windows was in a sad state of repair. The small courtyard that I crossed was very muddy and well used, but the farm house had lights on and there was a plume of woodsmoke rising up out of the squat stone chimney that projected from the gable end of what appeared to be a kitchen, as I peered through the window upon my approach.
I banged on the door and dogs started to bark from another building behind me. Slowly the front door opened and a little lady…. very old lady, peered out from the rather inviting interior. Her curious eyes, looked at me questioningly, so I quickly started to pay my respects and explain who I was and that I was camped up on the mountain. I asked her if there was a shop or somewhere that I could buy a few provisions, nearby.
She smiled.
‘Come in’, she ushered…. I entered a deliciously warm kitchen. It was everything you’d expect to find in this part of the world. There was a heavy wooden kitchen table with an assortment of chairs sitting on a flagstone floor. It was made of slate as was the small worktop. A Belfast sink sat in the corner of what was a small room, and next to it was an Aga (stove) from which heat was radiating. She sat me down and poured me another cup of tea. We started to talk… me in my Bathonian Middle English accent and her with her beautiful sing song Welsh accent. She did me the honour of speaking in English. Our conversation ended with her scurrying around the house filling my ruck sack with vegetables, eggs and milk. Basically she had sold me everything that I would need for the next few days. I sat for a few more minutes and ate a slice of toast slathered in salted buttered and blackcurrant jam. The home made bread was amazing. We made an arrangement that I could visit her again anytime and that she’d make me a loaf of bread every two days if I’d care to pay her a visit on those days. Perhaps I’d have a chance to meet her husband. He was out tending to the sheep.
I hugged her and left, making the climb back up to my lofty perch. As I did so a fog came in and it successfully obliterated my gorgeous view of the area, but it didn’t matter….I’d made a new friend and the adventure had only just begun.