Explore the ridges of Snowdonia with a Cicerone guidebook

• Location
• Description
• Contents
• Introduction
• Sample Route
• Maps

B2 GLYDERS: MAIN TRAVERSE

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Summary: A long and varied walk offering unrivalled views of this and neighbouring ranges.
Distance/Time: 20km (12½ miles). 7 hours.
Ascent: 1500m (5000ft)
Major Summits
Carnedd y Filiast – 821m (2695ft)
Mynydd Perfedd – 812m (2665ft)
Foel Goch – 831m (2727ft)
Y Garn – 946m (3104ft)
Glyder Fawr – 999m (3279ft)
Glyder Fach – 994m (3262ft)
Gallt yr Ogof – 762m (2499ft)
Terrain: Mainly grass, but with a long central section over stones and scree. Some boggy ground.
Main Summer Difficulties: Length.
Winter Conditions: No particular difficulties, but length is a problem.
Emergency Alternatives: Numerous descents from the ridge (see Section B1).
Special Problems: Problems with route-finding in bad visibility apply to the full length of the ridge. Possible trespass problems at Penthyn Quarry (if in doubt, start from Dol Awen – 631648).
Approach: Along A5 between Capel Curig and Bethesda.
Start: Layby at Ogwen Bank (627654). Adequate parking.
Finish: Capel Curig (721582).

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Route Description
From the layby, go down the track and over the bridge. Turn right to gain and follow an incline leading back up left. Cross slate spoil on the right to reach the main quarry track, which winds up to the highest workings. Tremendous views into the quarry. From the top of the road, gain the end of the ridge at a cairn (1 hour).

A narrow path goes along the crest to the first major summit – the rocky top of Carnedd y Filiast.1 Continue over Mynydd Perfedd, dropping gently over grass to the col below Foel Goch. A sharp ascent of this is rewarded by superb views in all directions (1 hour).

The ridge fall gently at first, but then rises sharply again – over scree – to the rock summit of Y Garn. Another fine viewpoint (1½ hr).

A good path takes you quickly down to Llyn y Cˆwn, from where an interminable grind up scree paths wins Glyder Fawr – the highest point of the traverse (1½ hrs).

Rock-covered paths, then a soil rut, lead to a shallow col below Castell y Gwynt. Find a way through the pinnacles (or dodge them down right) and continue over boulder pavements to Glyder Fach (½hr).

Continue due east, first on rock then dropping down to grass slopes and the bogs near Llyn y Caseg Fraith. The path becomes less distinct, rising and falling over gentle hills, until it loses itself among small crags at the end of the ridge. Find a way down to emerge on a track at Gelli (720585) (2½hrs).

It takes about fifteen minutes to drive from Capel Curig to Bethesda. The walk along the skyline ridge which parallels that journey takes somewhat longer. It is a big outing, set more in the mould of a Carneddau traverse than a Glyders ridge; and so if it’s length you’re after, this is the one.

The day begins early and starts with a shock: Penrhyn Slate Quarry. It would have been possible to bypass this leprous extremity of the ridge, were it not for that curious human condition which compels us to inspect exposed guts. The mountain has been half eaten away. In the pit of its dull grey sore, the mammoth trucks can be seen wriggling into the piles of spoil like maggots in the pus of an infected limb. But it seems the earth is rotten to the core: they’ll never find another green hill, no matter how deep they dig.

So extensive are these workings that is takes no time at all to get from the top of the quarry road to the tip of the first hill on the ridge. There are no footpaths here – only the trailmarks of preceding itchy feet that also found themselves here after long and conventional upbringings on the main peaks of the Glyders. This is connoisseur’s territory.

Carnedd y Filiast is not so threatened. At its summit there is opportunity for a more dispassionate appraisal of the surroundings: of the quarry behind, growing quiet and distant; of the road below, not yet alive with the day’s traffic; and of the Marchlyn Mawr dam, a fait accompli against the inner sanctum of Elidir Fawr. Smugly safe, frozen in a moment of time, the creeping threat stays frozen too. But don’t breathe, don’t dare move. Move and the threat resumes: surfer on a wave; rabbit in a cornfield. Too late: wave breaks; scythes cut. Better keep going.

From a small promontory there is a view of the Filiast slabs – a thousand foot expanse of rock, studiously ignored (for reasons known only to themselves) by generations of rock climbers. These slabs typify the contrasts that exist throughout between north and south sides of the ridge. On one flank are deeply penetrating cwms, each walled by crags and separated by jagged ridges; and on the other, rolling grasslands grazed at leisure by indifferent sheep. Most people out today will be committed to just one or the other. Here, though, you may tread the fine line between and sample both.

Elidir Fawr seems quite close in this light: a shapely head held slightly aloof by its slender grass neck. But there is no time for detours today, not even on that scale; and especially now that Tryfan has appeared some awesome distance away, a reminder of the task ahead. Not that this urgency need deter an ascent to Foel Goch, a summit arbitrarily ignored in favour of a well-worn path to its side because it fails to reach the magic 3000ft. It is a simple summit in itself, and yet has a northern cwm that is rich with neglected complications.

Y Garn is soon underfoot. It seems the day moves beneath your feet while your head is engaged elsewhere. This then is the familiar Glyders: people on summits, whose faces you will not recall; lake shapes in cwms, with names you know; and black north crags, with climbers somewhere on them, calling to each other. The high sun casts you and your shadow as a small and insignificant patch on the ground; recollections of other times here crowd in on you and further diminish the significance of being here today.

The descent to Llyn y Cwn is a romp: a great, galloping rush down a slope unhindered by anything except a ridiculous wire fence and its stile. The lake itself could be thought of as a halfway house of this particular walk. And of others, too, judging by the numbers of people who stop here to drink, or simply to sit with elbows on knees, staring at dusty boots. But be warned: this being the lowest col on the ridge, and with the long ascent to Glyder Fawr ahead, the threat to morale is enormous.

This, the north-west slope of Glyder Fawr, is the cruellest in all the Glyders. Ordinary people are seen to assume the hunted crouch of shot hyena (not the laughing kind) as they jerk and slither through the long, hot afternoon. Those whose movements and temperament happen to result in net upward progress are later found grinning ridiculously from high perches among the many piles of stones which litter the summit area, and showing few signs of ever wanting to come down again. But is it worth the effort? Don’t ask. Don’t ever ask.

By now the sun has come full round; while the ridge itself has passed the angle of the dogleg and heads due east, dropping all the way. The day, so soon begun, is nearly lost and gone.

All who pass over the Glyder plateau act out private little fantasies there. So that even on empty winter days, when hoar frost masks out the familiar landmarks, it is not so much of a wilderness as a wilderness waiting: a bus station at dawn; a market place on Sunday; an empty stage; and nothing you do will make it any different. The fantastic wilderness is nowhere but in your head.

A sense of urgency overwhelms the moment. Castell y Gwynt passes by in a rush, the imminent sunset over Snowdon an unsung masterpiece at your back. Even the summit of Glyder Fach is, without regret or redress, left untouched. No time for it; not today. No need either; not when you have done what you have done, and seen what you have seen.

Tripping through the bear traps, tired of caution, you will go down to the shore of a limitless ocean of grass. I challenge anyone who doubts the inherent sensuality of grass to come here, at this time of day, at the end of this walk, and plunge both feet into that sea while denying that truth. Unfortunately, as with all self-indulgent behaviour, the novelty must pale sooner or later. With this one it is sooner – at the bogs of Llyn y Caseg Fraith. What might have been a romantic stroll through the sunset of your day is reduced to something rather less when there’s a pound of slutch clinging to each foot.

And still there’s miles to go; out along and down along – a lingering arm that will not release its grip until it has wrung every last drop of determination from your miserable little body. The world, meanwhile, has turned: headlights flicker along the Dyffryn Mymbyr; black pools fill the Ogwen Valley; and the lights of Capel Curig glitter untouchably like those of a Christmas tree in a shop window. Never mind: if you are very, very lucky you may yet find a safe way through the crags at the end of the ridge. And wouldn’t that be nice.