The Welsh 3 Peaks: A Solo Mission, Three Epic Mountains, and One Determined (Slightly Crazy) Hiker
The Welsh 3 Peaks. A "fun challenge," they say. Fun? Who are they kidding? Dragging myself out of a perfectly cozy hotel room at 4 AM to face the chill, misty air of Snowdonia? Maybe "epic adventure" is a better way to put it. Three mountains – Snowdon, Cadair Idris, and Pen y Fan – all to be conquered within 15 hours. Most tackle this beast for charity, in a group, with all the camaraderie and support that entails. But me? I'm a lone wolf on this one. My own schedule, my own pace, my own personal test. Tuesday morning in June? The perfect time to outsmart the tourist hordes and weekend traffic.
With a mix of excitement and trepidation, at 5.19 am I set off towards the looming shadow of Snowdon, the first peak on my hit list.
Snowdon: Been There, Climbed That, Got the T-Shirt
Full disclosure: Snowdon wasn't exactly an unfamiliar foe. I'd scaled its heights before, just not alongside the two other peaks in one day. Heck, there was a time I practically sprinted up Pen y Fan a few times a week. But that was a lifetime ago.
The question I get asked most about Snowdon? "Is it hard?" Well, the Miners' Track starts off easy enough. A gentle, almost flat stroll for the first couple of miles. The sun was already peeking over the surrounding mountains as I set off, but it seemed content to stay hidden behind a veil of clouds.The air was crisp, with a hint of damp earth and the promise of adventure.
Half a mile in, I encountered my first fellow adventurer – a jogger! We paused for a quick chat (a rare luxury on a typically crowded path). He was training for the National 3 Peaks Challenge, testing out different routes. I wished him luck and continued my journey, feeling a mix of admiration and awe for his determination.
The real fun began after the lake. Giant strides over hefty stones, a steady climb towards the upper lake. Gloves on, I prepared for the rocky scramble ahead – this was no simple stroll, it was a full-on, hands-on, get-down-and-dirty mountain experience.
The Miners' Track merges with the Pyg Track about halfway up. I always get a twinge of curiosity at these junctions, wondering what I'm missing on the other path. But onward and upward! The final zig-zag was my reward. My favorite lunch spot in the entire world, even if it was a bit early for a picnic. Besides, who needs sandwiches when you've got a view like this?
The view from there is simply breathtaking. Mountains stretch out below like a rumpled green carpet. You can see the other hikers puffing their way up, many shedding their jackets in the heat of the climb. Little do they know that just around the corner, the wind will be whipping across the exposed ridge, sending temperatures plummeting. It's a classic Snowdon experience – the sudden shift from exertion to icy blast. I grinned, remembering my own first encounter with that chilling surprise.
7.37 am. the summit was a quick affair. A selfie to prove I was there, a brief respite from the wind in the shelter of the closed cafe (a shame, I could have gone for a large coffee). But two more peaks were calling.
Descending Snowdon is a different beast. The path is clearer, but the cold seeps in when you're not working as hard. And those big stones? Brutal on the knees. I picked my way down carefully, trying to give my poor joints a break. Still, it's always a bit of a power trip to pass the ascending hikers, their faces a mix of awe and 'how did you get up there so early?' My face beaming and a cheery 'morning' escaping my lips with every encounter – the traditional greeting of mountain walkers, no matter the time of day.
Back at the car, I set my sights on Cadair Idris. Piece of cake, right?
Cadair Idris: The North Face and a Near Miss
Dol Idris, the usual starting point for a Cadair Idris climb, was a mere hour away. But those infamous steps! Millions of them, ranging from ankle-breakers to "call-in-the-mountain-rescue" monstrosities. Not my idea of a good time.
Luckily, I had a secret weapon. A tip from a friend about a lesser-known route on the north side. Fewer steps, fewer crowds, and a chance to outsmart the mountain. Game on.
At 11.06 am, I found the secluded car park and took off like a gazelle…with a pulled hamstring and a backpack full of rocks. Okay, maybe not the most graceful start. The sun beat down mercilessly, making me regret packing every single "just in case" item in my backpack. Note to self: next time, pack like a minimalist ninja.
Cadair Idris is my nemesis. I’ve had five attempts, only one summit. It's a beast that can turn on you in an instant. From the usual route, the weather can seem perfectly fine, but once you reach the lake, the summit often disappears into a swirling mist. Winds pick up, and you're left with a tough decision: safety or summit?
On this north side adventure, I spotted a couple with two massive dogs on long leads ahead of me. Perfect! A target to chase. I quickly caught up (and nearly tripped over those enormous leads). A quick apology and a question about water sources later (apparently, this side lacked dog-friendly streams), I was back on the trail.
The summit was shrouded in clouds, but I'd spotted what I thought was the peak and made a beeline for it. Reaching the ridge, I realized my mistake. The true summit, complete with a trig point and a gaggle of hikers, was hidden in the mist, just a bit further away. Wrong peak! Talk about a deflating moment.
With a sigh and a renewed sense of determination, I corrected my course and finally bagged summit number two, it 12.55pm. The mist had cleared, revealing a panoramic view of Barmouth and Cardigan Bay. It's a view worth fighting for, even if Cadair Idris likes to play hard to get.
The descent was a near sprint. Legs burning, I practically tumbled back to the car. Two hours to Pen y Fan. Now, if only there were a dragon taxi service…
Pen y Fan: The Final Push (and a Whole Lotta Ouch)
That drive to Pen y Fan felt like an eternity. I resorted to punching and slapping my legs just to keep them from staging a mutiny. But at least the journey gave me a chance to refuel – water, snacks, and the mental pep talk of a lifetime.
4:51 PM. Pen y Fan loomed, and my body decided it was time for a sit-down strike. The car door creaked open like a rusty drawbridge, and I practically fell out of the driver's seat. But the real battle? The real Everest of this entire expedition? Getting my boots back on.
My feet, those loyal companions who had carried me over miles of unforgiving terrain, now felt like they were on another continent. They'd gone rogue, declaring their independence from the rest of my body. I had to grab my knee and physically hoist my foot onto the car's rear tire, to use it as a makeshift footrest. I hoped there was no hidden camera crew capturing this spectacle for posterity. The sight of a grown man contorted in a position that would make a yoga instructor weep, wrestling with a pair of rebellious hiking boots, was probably not my most dignified moment. If I looked this rough before tackling Pen y Fan, who knows what state I'd be in after?
Tiredness was creeping in, but there was no time for dilly-dallying. The Pont ar Daf track was my weapon of choice – the quickest, easiest, most direct route to the top. No backpack this time, just a water bottle and my weary legs (seriously considering leaving those behind too).
Across the stream, up the slope, I chugged along like a steam train that had seen better days. Past the plaque commemorating the mountain's donation, marking the 1km point. Then the long, gradual slog to the ridge. This was the busiest track of the day, and my body was screaming for a break. But my brain? My brain was a relentless dictator.
Finally, the ridge! No time for a Corn Du detour – this was a 3 Peaks challenge, not a 4 Peaks fiasco. I skirted by on the return path, summoning a final burst of energy for the last push to the summit.
At 5.50pm, there it was. The familiar pile of stones, the marker, the sense of triumph. Job done. Selfie time. As I caught my breath, I overheard a fellow hiker celebrating her achievement. It got me thinking. Pen y Fan might be a walk in the park for some, but for others, it's a significant victory. For me, It was a reminder of why I started walking in the first place – to explore, to discover, to answer the call of "what's over there?"
The descent was a symphony of "ouch" with every step. 6.35 pm and I was back in the car park, 13 hours and 16 minutes, 52,794 steps, and a whole lot of self-encouragement to get through this challenge.
But it wasn't just about the numbers. It was about pushing my limits, testing my resilience, and proving to myself that I could do it. It was about those moments of awe at the summit, the camaraderie with fellow hikers, and the quiet satisfaction of a challenge overcome. Would I do it again? Absolutely. In fact, I'm already planning my next adventure. Maybe I'll even try to find that dragon taxi service.