BÉBHINN
Snowdonia Way Mountain Route
Daily Journal
Day 3
Dolgellau to Trawsfynydd
Distance: 16.7 miles (27 km)
Total Ascent: 1,210 m (3,969 ft)
4:38 am
I just looked at the weather, and it’s going to be a bright, clear day! You know what that means? I’ll have clear views of the ocean!
I couldn’t fall asleep for anything last night, so I went to Yr Unicorn pub for a double of Bushmills Black Bush.I met a few other hikers from Spain who were extremely friendly, as well as some of the locals. “Johnny” wasn’t impressed that a little lady like me was tottering (his words) around the wilds.
He didn’t believe me when I told him I was turning twenty-one next month. He insisted on seeing my identification. I shit you not! And then he couldn’t read it, whether from poor eyesight or drunkenness, your guess is as good as mine.
When the bartender confirmed I was well of age, "Johnny of the Hacking Cough" wouldn’t hear of it. “The wee babber cannae be long oot o’ nappies.” I’m small like Mom, but Christ.
All in all, it was lovely, and the whiskey did the trick. As soon as my head hit the feather mattress, that’s right, feather mattress (thank you again, Mags), I was out.
I’ll talk to you tonight. I’ve a big haul in front of me today. And yes…I already ate my hot packet of oatmeal, a protein bar, and drank lots of tea.
B
Bébhinn crossed paths with a few other hikers, some going solo like her, and two groups doing day hikes. So far, the dayhad been lovely. She did get her ocean views, valleys, wooded farmland, and too many streams to count.
Summiting Y Garn was arduous as the rocky steps required a lot of scrambling, where she had to bend and use her hands for stability. Y Garn was one of the Welsh 3000s—a mountain over 3,000 feet—but worth every strenuous minute.
She was relaxing by one of the mountain streams, needing a break after the part of the trail aptly called Devil’s Kitchen. She still had many miles before checking in at Trawsfynydd, but there was no way she could pass up taking a twenty-minute break by the sparkling water.
She really wanted to cool her feet off in the stream. The water would be colder than ice, but the relief would be immense. Devil’s Kitchen was a cruel bitch.
“Screw it,” she announced to the trees, before standing and stripping off her shoes and socks and rolling her pant legs up. She wished she were camping out tonight because she’d wash her ripe socks in the stream and dry them by a fire. Shrugging as she laid the offensively stinky wool over a warm rock, she knew the small hotel she was staying at tonight had a launderette, which she would take advantage of.
Enjoying the rough grass and pebbles underfoot, she made her way to the edge, tentatively allowing her two big toes to touch the running water. “Jesus,” she yelped. The swift current was frigid. She inched forward with clenched teeth until she was ankle deep.
“Oh, God, that feels lovely.” She couldn’t force herself to go further, but the icy water quickly changed from painful to blissful. “Yes,” she breathed, wiggling her toes.
She arched her back, stretching her sore muscles before bending down to wash her hands. “Lovely, lovely, lovely.”
Reluctantly, she waded back to dry ground and her pack to dry her feet with one of the rags she kept for that purpose. Herhand was halfway to the pack’s zipper when she froze, except for every hair on her body. They were all standing at attention.
Bébhinn straightened and quickly looked around the area before returning to her bag. Where a clump of purple saxifrage sat in a neat bundle. She felt her breath whistle as she started to pant in fear.
“Calm the fuck down. It’s flowers, not a bloody adder.” She forced herself to take deeper breaths, bringing her heart rate down to a comfortable level. They could have fallen from a bird flying overhead or been dropped from the mouth of a foraging sheep.
“But how would I not have heard?” she mused to herself, though she reasoned that the stream was running at a fast clip, and it became noisier the closer she’d gotten.
Carefully, she picked up the bundle, and her heart was immediately pounding out of her chest once more.
The bundle was tied with a long grass stalk… Not an animal, then. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there holding the bouquet while going over any other—anyother—possibility for its presence.
Finally, it came to her. A fellow hiker must not have wanted to interrupt her moment of relaxation in the stream and left the flowers as a “hello, I was here” kind of thing. Her shoulders relaxed. Barely.
