A few photos from a a bitterly cold day and night around Cnicht and the Moelwyns, it was easy enough to lose the sparse crowds that had shuffled up to the summit on a frozen November weekend and explore the scattered high tarns that populate the landscape to the north. Regrettably it was also the swansong for ol’ faithful; the cranky blue ford fiesta that had, up to this point, reliably delivered me to so many remote corners of the UK. I’ll miss its mod cons of FM and LW radio, a loud clicking clutch pedal and the unpredictable ‘will they or won’t they move’ windscreen wipers. The cars final act of betrayal was unforgivable, I was supposed to be running around the Borrowdale Fell Race route on Christmas Eve with my mate Stephen, a flat battery instead had me running around the forecourt of Tesco petrol station at the A610 in Nottingham trying to keep warm. So ol unfaithful was was duly sentenced to the scrap heap.
Back to Cnicht (689m), the mini Matterhorn of Snowdonia cut an impressive conical profile approached from the village of Croesor. Everything looked impressive that afternoon as a low winter sun cast golden light across the larger mountains to the west. The warm light was almost enough to forget how cold it was. I camped through a very cold night on the edge of an icy Llyn Edno below Moel Meirch and woke to frozen solid trail shoes that refused to thaw. The following day it was back south over the lakes and down to the blue grey slate of the old Rhosydd quarry before a climb to a snow speckled Moelwyn Mawr just as the cloud and rain came in.