Snowdonia, or Eryri as the national park is known in Welsh, had long been on my list of places to visit more thoroughly. Aside from a scramble up Tryfan after The Gravel Rally , a couple of road rides, and a breif holiday near Blaenau Ffestiniog a couple of years before, I’d not given much time to getting to know the place.

What better way to do this than to walk the Snowdonia Way? This long distance hiking trail is around 150-200 kilometers long, and with between 5000 and 9700 meters of elevation depending on which of the mountainous options you choose to add on. The high and low routes reguarly intersect, and its easy to switch between them according to time, weather, or how you’re feeling. We had a great weather window and set off aiming to complete as much of the mountain route as we could.

The group for this trip contained myself and Ayoob, with whom I walked the Cape Wrath Trail back in 2023, his parter Freya, our friends Lucy and Cordelia, and Lucy’s boyfriend Will. I was intrigued about how the vibe would feel with a larger group having previously only ever walked multi days like this solo or in a pair, and having not been away with three of the group there would inevitably be more accumulative group faff and learning of our differences in routine, but I was confident we’d all get on and have a great time, and the group vibes would add to the experience rather than detract from it.

We chose to leave cars in Shrewsbury from where we’d take a train to our start point in Machynllth, but not before Freya had made a last minute stop in an outdoor gear shop to buy a new pack. She’d tried on Ayoobs the evening before and experienced a sudden dose of gear envy, decided that her heavy old bag was due an upgrade. She emerged from the shop grinning with a fancy new Osprey pack over her shoulders and proceeded to repack in the carpark while we all sussed out each others kit choices and bag weights. How many pairs of pants is too many pairs of pants?

I enjoy comparing gear and find it fun to see how people do things differently. What items are essentials to some and unncesscary to others, how much food and water people like to have on board or how many layers they might bring. I mainly stuck to my tried and true Cape Wrath packing list, with the only adjustment being a smaller power bank, and a pair of running shorts instead of trousers. I decided if it was cold I could wear my waterproof trousers over the top. This worked well and I appreciated the freedom of movement of my little pink shorts.

When boarding the train in Shrewsbury we were all fizzing with excitement. I took a look at Cordelia and told her to remember that feeling, and to think of it if at any point we were having a tough time. I think it’s one of the best feelings there is, when you’re all packed up and ready to go at the beginning of the adventure. All of the organisation and faff has been done, none of the ‘type two fun’ has started yet, vibes are high. It’s time to enjoy.

Day one took us out of Mach, acros the river Dovey and and straight up into the hills towards Tarrenhendre, giving us our first veiws out to sea and towards Cader Idris where we’d head the following day. The descent from this modest mountain delivered my first cause for concern. I felt a familiar and uncomfortable tugging at the side of my left knee, an inflamed IT band brought on a few weeks prior by slightly foolishly choosing to run 25km without a whole lot of preparation or conditioning.

I knew from experience that this was not going to go away without rest. My heart sank and I resided to what I knew was going to be a week long battle to maintain good morale and enthusism whilst in quite a lot discomfort. I took some painkillers and gritted my teeth, and wasn’t going to let it spoil my fun just yet. I did my best to keep this at the back of my mind as we headed on down through the forest and towards Bryneglwys Slate Quarry, where I hoped we’d find a good pitch for the night.

Decision making becomes more difficult the larger a group gets, and things like choosing a camp spot can be draining especially when people are tired. I find myself naturally comfortable taking the lead in these situations, but then feel the need to balance this with not wanting to be the guy who takes control at the expense of everyones voice being heard. Even with good friends, good group dynamics require concious consideration.

Fortunately towards the end of the day Cordelia pointed out a waterfall shortly off trail as a potential water fill up. We were expeciting a trickle but met with an impressive fall, even after weeks of dry weather. We filled our bottles and washed our faces before camping atop a heap of slate, a stones throw from the falls. Sitting on the slates warmed by the days sun we enjoyed dinner together, and got an early night as the midges came out to play.

Morning rolled around slowly and it seemed we’d all slept well. The air was still and warm even first thing, and we would be blessed with another scorcher of a day. The others were outside, but I escehwed the communal breakfast and hid in my tent munching on my granola, worrying about my silly little knee, and getting a moments alone time. I’m generally a social guy and like to be around people, but cherish my pockets of ‘me time’, and enjoyed being tucked up alone in my little tent sanctuary.

Day two would take us up and over Cader Idris, down into Dolegau, and with hope of finding a camp spot shortly after grabbing dinner and supplies in the town. Freya has been known to be quite fond of a challenge, and wasnt satisfied by the ease of day one. ‘guys’, she said, with a mischevious look on her face… ‘I want to feel totally destroyed by the end of the day’. This chat made me feel quite uneasy, but I loved then enthusiam and hoped we could get Freya the exhaustion she was looking for. She has earnt the nickname ‘Sendy Legend’ for her incredible mountainbike progress over the last year or so, but is generally sendy in all circumstances, even on a long walk. She was even quite sendy in her approach to buying a backpack in 5 minutes at the start of the trip.

The route took us along Cader Idris from west to east, giving us ample time to soak up the veiws, and for Lucy to bump into and old freind with a young whippet, who obviously received all of the attention. Cader Idris felt relatively busy compared to our walk so far, and I found myself yearning to be back on the quieter and lesser known hills. There’s something about having these placed to yourself that makes me feel more relaxed.

We made it down to Dollgellau and found a pub serving pizza which the others remembered from a previous visit. We sat in the sun and gobbled down our pizzas, I had a cheeky little half Guinness which left me feeling a little tipsy, and took a look at the map to try and make a plan for the evenings camp. It looked like we might be able to find a spot within three or four kilometers of the town, although this wasn’t a certainty.

Picking camp spots can feel pressured within a group. On your own you can fit a single tent discreetly almost anywhere, and can be less picky about your standard of pitch. I’ve slept in any old lumpy ditch before now when I’m too tired or bothered to find better. Trying to find a good spot for four tents that lives up to a reasonable standard for all can be a bit tougher, and as we lethargically trudged up the steep hill out of the town I was quietly concerned about what we’d find, especially as we walked past what looked like a very pleasant campsite.

I’m not against campsites. Campsites are great, but they do sanitise the experience, and finding a good wild spot is a big part of the adventure for me. As we wandered past the freshly mown green feilds I wondered what the others were thinking. Both Freya and myself really cracked at this point, my dodgy knee was giving me a load of shit. I looked like I belonged in a zimmer frame. Likewise Freya was having struggles of her own, and looked knackered, probably not helped by the frequent reminders of her earlier request to feel absolutely ruined by the end of the day. Be careful what you wish for.

Fortunately the stars aligned on this occasion and we found a perfect spot to pitch beside a small lake, with the veiw of Cader Idris stretching out in front of us. I love the perspective of being able to see where you’ve walked, it always looks like such a vast distace to have covered on foot. On the bike its easy to ride further than you can see. On foot it feels like more of an acheivement.

Cordelia took some offence at her veiw being spoiled by Lucy and Wills tent, and I cheekily encouraged her to move it a few meters to the left while they were dipping in the lake. Much giggling later and her veiw was restored. I don’t know Lucy well enough to know if she was as amused as the rest of us, but I was wetting myself.

As morning broke on our third day a few of the others took the chance to swim in the lake. As for myself, I value cosyness highly, and tend to save my swimming for later in the day unless I really feel like I need a wash. Despite sitting out this time I do feel like there is something liberating about getting naked around your freinds and it not being sexualized or weird, and it shows real comfort with each other. It’s just a body, and we’ve all got one.

Nudism preach over, todays walk was possibly my favourite of the trip. It followed an old quarry line with a vast veiw out over the valley and out to sea, before turning back on itself and up the grassy slopes of Y Garn Rhynogydd. Mid way up the climb we split around a boggy section, where Freya, Will, and I bumped into a farmer out with his sheepdogs.

Freya said she’d never seen sheep dogs at work and he gave us a little demo of thier skills, the two collies running up and into the thick gorse and rooting out a few hiding sheep. I absolutely adore Collies and love watching them at work, it’s mesmorising. If you’re sick of your social media feed being full of crap and nonsense, follow a few Collies. They are the best influencers about. Unlike most of the influencers in your Instagram feed they won’t attempt to soullessly flog you whatever shit they can get for free regardless of its quality. Their social currency is big adorable eyes and great skills.

From the top of Y Garn the path petered out and became indistict, before turning into a fully overgrown and unmarked section down to meet a stream alongside a long wall. I love bushwacking through unmarked terrain, it feels properly wild. None of this fixation with paths and routes and going the right way, just pick a bearing and send it through the gorse. I’m aware I talk a lot about my walk to Cape Wrath but it gave me some flashbacks to that feeling. On reaching the end my legs were cut to bits, I picked a tick off the back of my knee, but I was smiling. I’m not sure if the others enjoyed it quite as muchas I did but there wasn’t any complaining.

There was still some way to go before our day ended, and we’d pass through Coed Y Brenin before crossing farmland and skiring around Llyn Trawsfynydd and to the campsite we’d spend the night at. Despite my earlier expressed feelings about campsites I was glad to see this one and to get a shower and a reset.

The campsite had a little hut kitchen room where we sat to eat dinner, and progressed into the kind of silliness that comes out when you’re very tired. Examples include playing the word association game but with animal noises, and trying to convince Freya that ‘Torpedo’ was spelt ‘Torpaedo’ when filling out the wordsearch.

Day four would mark a change of rhythm for our group. I woke with posititvity, but this dodgy knee was nagging at me as soon as we set off, and I knew I would slow the others down all day long. I made the call that at some point I would split off, and take the valley route rather than climbing Moelwyn Mawr and Cnicht. This was dissapointing as I love the veiws out over Cwmorthin Quarry and Stwlam Dam, but I was eager to move at my own pace.

I wasn’t sure how far i’d go with the others, but the splitting point made itself known when we paused beside a lake. It looked so inviting for a swim, but the others weren’t sure, they were in for a bigger day and needed to make progress. I made my call and paused by the lake, feeling a weight lifted as they walked into the distance. I unloaded my pack, stripped off, and waded into the water. It was cool and refreshing without being at all unpleasant, the perfect temperature to spend a good amount of time in. I emerged feeling rejuvinated, and layed out on my towel on my little private beach, letting the sun dry me and eating a few of my snacks.

I missed the others, but found it fun to be alone with my thoughts for the day. The mind can wander on a walk alone in a way that it doesn’t when youve got company, and I found myself thinking of all sorts of things, not least the beauty of the whole area. Limping along with a dodgy knee was at the back of my mind when I wasnt trying to keep pace with the others, and it let me focus more on my surroundings. Walking beneath Cnicht I spared a thought for the rest of the group before engaging in some conversation with the local sheep. They didn’t have much to say, but I felt this was a good place to be a sheep. I ended up settling down to a camp spot at around 6pm, and told myself to lay down for as long as possible and give this knee maximum rest. I didnt get up for 12 hours.

I made a slow start on day five, as I knew the rest would need a couple of hours to catch up. Despite dawdling along, dipping in a river, and stopping for a cup of tea, I overestimated thier pace and found myself with a few hours to kill in the small town of Bedgellert, but after a wander around the town, an ice cream, and yet more time led down in the sun, the group appeared found around a street corner and we were reuinted, smiling. We’d only been apart for a day but it felt like much longer. I quizzed them on the origin of the trains on the Welsh Highland line to see if they’d been reading the signs en route. Lucy passed with ease. In case you were wondering, they are South African. I’m not embaressed to say I spent quite some time reading about the history of the Welsh Highland Line, I could say reading signs about trains creeps up on you as you get older, but I’ve been into them since I was about Seven.

Bedgellert was a key point in the journey being around half way, and the place we’d chosen to send out resupply parcel. Sending food ahead isnt a nessecity on this route, but It’s a fun thing to do, crowding round a large box of snacks and remembering what you’d posted yourself a week earlier. I’m a big fan of a resupply parcel.

The final part of the day required some discussion as to which route we’d choose. Would we stick to the mountain route up Snowdon, or avoid it, and hit the other mountain options later on. My preference was to avoid it. I’ve been up there before and dont like the tourist circus of a ‘celebrity mountain’. I’d rather admire it from afar than stand at a trig point surrounded by selfie sticks and drones. Cordelia did a great job of moderating this chat and making sure everybodies voice was heard, and we ended up settling on staying low and avoiding Snowdon, which would take the pressure off time wise, and certainly allow us to do all of the other mountainous options and get to Conwy with plenty of time for a low pressure journey home.

I was glad to camp and wake with the others again on day 6, having the band back together felt right, and I felt rejouvinated from my easy day. We decided to employ my favourite breakfast tactic, which is to pack down, start walking, get warmed up, and stop after an hour or so, or at the first attractive spot. This is usually nicer than eating where you camp, and lets you get a bit warm and build an appetite. The attractive spot came quickly on a rocky outcrop overlooking a lake with veiws toward Moel Siabbod where we would head later that day.

The snack stop on our way up Moel Siabod was perhaps my favourite of the trip, we sat beside a little tarn sharing our snacks and looking out over the mountains, really soaking it up. Ayoob had some delicious ginger biscuits, and I’d bought some local sheeps cheese from the shop where we’d sent out resupply parcel the day before.

On reaching the summit of Moel Siabod we took another pause. Its not the most beautiful of mountains from the distance, but apparently has one of the best veiws from its summit. On a clear day you can see 13 of the 14 highest peaks in the national park, without turning your head.

The descent was easy going, down a well made path and towards Capel Curig where we stopped in at the appropriately named Siabod Cafe. This was a beautiful pause and I was immediately struck by the smooth jazzy piano playing not only inside the cafe, but from a speaker in the carpark too. I took a lay down on the warm ground for a couple of minutes and just soaked it up, before tucking into an ice cream and filling up water.

whilst sat on the bench Cordelia and I decided to do a little ‘what’s in your pack’ breakdown in the style of an insufferable american youtuber, I dont remember the details but involved bad american accents and a lot of giggling. Her accent was mcuh better than mine and absolutely cracked me up. Taking the piss out of youtubers is one of my toxic traits. I’m sure they share a lot of useful information but the ‘Oh my gosh thanks so much to X brand for providing me with X random product’ gets tiresome, But makes for some great satire.

From the cafe it was a short climb up to around 400m where we’d pitch up on a plateu before taking on the biggest and potentially best day of the trip the next day, up and over Glyder Fach and Glyder Fawr.

On the way up this climb i began to feel uneasy and not quite myself in a very subtle way. It had been a long day in the heat of the sun, and with limited shade. I thought I may have picked up some mild heat stroke, but didnt feel too bad. I ate a chewing gum to ease the nausea and drank some more water.

When it came to pitching tents things really werent feeling good. I sat on a rock and let the others scout out a camp spot, growing frustrated at thier slow decision making. This isn’t like me but i felt desperate to get the tent up and lie down. Eventually I wandered over to the area they’d selected and put my tent up as quickly as I could. climbed in, and led there for a while hoping the discomfort would subside. It didn’t, and not long later I emerged and dramatically threw up my lunch.

Being sick is horrid but usually carries some sense of releif. The nauseaous feeling and expectation is often worse than the reality. you get it out, you eat some plain snacks and drink some water and everything is ok.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case this time, and what follows isnt for the queasy. I would continue to be sick repeatedly for the next 12 hours or so, and had a bad stomach too. I’ve never felt so unpleasant, retching the night away shaking, shivering, sweating, and concious I was keeping the others awake whilst doing so.

To make matters worse, a couple of hours later Will also threw up, and some deep concern set in amongst the group. Was this going to take us all down. I barely know Will, but felt a solidarity as we hurled our way through the night from our seperate tents, and warned each other of which direction we’d ran to jetison our diarrhea. Leave no trace principles are something I try my best to adhere to, but this was no time to be digging holes.

Spending time outdoors can be so exhillerating, you really havn’t lived until you’ve brimmed a drybag with vomit through a partially opened tent and shat yourself some way up a mountain, in the middle of the night. There’s really nothing quite like it. I would have given absolutely anything at all to have not been up that mountain and to be near a sink and a toilet.

I was so glad to have freinds with me, had I been on my own or the weather been bad I’m struggling to imagine how I’d have dealt with the situation. I was so ruined in the morning I could barely pack my kit up. I dont remember ever being as ill as this.

As I led there in the morning I could hear the others discussing a plan. They seemed worried about me, and I felt emotional at thier level of support. I’m fairly used to dealing with things on my own, and being surrounded by such a caring group was almost overwhelming, in the positive.

A plan was hatched, and the three women of the group who felt well would crack on and do the Glyder Fawr part of the route, Ayoob and Sam (Who had pedalled out to join us for the night, unaware of the literal shitstorm which would be occuring on his arrival) would head back down to Capel Curig with Will and I, and we would take the bus to Bethesda where we would find a campsite to rest and recover, meeting the others at the end of the day.

I was dreading the bus journey but managed to hold it together before getting seated outside a little greasy spoon in Bethesda and nursing down a single slice of jam on toast in between stints of falling asleep, and being afraid of spewing again. I must have been quite a sight. I’d also foolishly left my walking poles at the bus stop in Capel Curig. They aren’t hugely fancy but I am fond of them, and they are required to pitch my tent. Ayoob kindly took a bus tour to Capel Curig and back to fetch them for me, saving me from the potential bus-vom. Meanwhile Will and I made our way to the campsite.

I barely said a word to Will, who seemed to be one of those people who is endlessly energetic and enthusiastic. I didn’t have the capacity for smalltalk, or even much talk whatsoever, and plodded slowly towards the campsite before laying in the grass for several hours. By contrast Will seemed quite churpy, in a way not usually expected of somebody who had shat themselves the night before.

Having reached our campsite we felt the worst was over. We could rest and recover, get some food and liquids in, and from there take the low route to Conwy and finish the journey together. Freya, Cordelia, and Lucy arrived all smiles, energised from what sounded like a great day in the hills. I was really glad they’d had a good day out, and thier high spirits definitely lifted mine. Ayoob melted some chocolate in his Jetboil and we dipped strawberries in it for desert. This was camping luxury style, and was great for morale. As we drifted off to bed I felt slightly better, had some food in the stomach and was hopeful for us all completing the journey together.

Unfortunately fate had other plans for our tribe. I slept well, and woke in the morning feeling as though I could just about manage the final 20 or so kilometers, but this time it was Ayoobs turn to feel unwell. The sickness was spreading. We called it there and then, ‘lets get home’. With another one of the group sick there was no doubt that whatever had struck us down was spreading and it would be foolish to continue. I felt awful for him that day, he was sick on the train, and again in the car on the way home. Freya got us back to Bristol, and then began to feel unwell that evening. The WhatsApp group blew up. Will, Lucy and Cordelia were in another car, and had had to stop several times. Over the following hours and days everybody was struck down with either sickness, diorhhea or both. Everything had quite literally gone to shit.

It’s hard to pinpoint the cause of this illness but our best suspicion is norovirus from a public loo we stopped at on our fourth day, and which had no hand soap. Unknown to me at the time hand sanitiser is not effective against norovirus, and so despite our best efforts we might not have been as clean as we’d thought.

I’m sure in time this will be a story we will come to laugh at. ‘The Poodonia Way’? or perhaps to use Welsh, ‘Mynydd Y Cyfog’ – The Mountain of Vomit? either way, next time I will be sure to add some hand soap to my kit list alongside the hand sanitzer.

Sitting back and writing and reflecting on this trip a few weeks later, the unpleasant ending didnt take away from the first few days, the walking was lovely, and we got to enjoy each others company and see some lesser travelled bits of the national park for the first time. I’l definitely be heading back some time to finish the route, possibly making a long weekend of the final three mountain days.

Until next time. ✌️