In the land of legends

By JAMES GILDEN

The Welsh mountain fog mesmerised me with its surreal beauty, whipping over the craggy peaks and ridgelines, riding the constant winds that sculpt the bleak rock face of the mountains.

But it is more than the constantly shifting fog that shrouds Snowdonia in mystery. Its very name evokes images of the fairy-tale castles and legends that inhabit the lush landscape of northwest Wales, the home of Snowdon, the tallest peak here.

The legendary King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table are said to have fought their last battle on the saddle of a ridge of Lliwedd, a peak near Snowdon, and Arthur's sword Excalibur is supposed to have risen magically from the waters of Glaslyn, a lake at the base of Lliwedd.

Legend has it that the knights are buried in a slanting gully on the face of Lliwedd, where they await Arthur's return.

At 2170 sq km, Snowdonia National Park, which draws 6 million visitors a year, is the second-largest national park in England and Wales. Unlike other "wild" national parks elsewhere in the world, this one has residents - about 26,000 of them - surrounded by emerald green peaks, lakes and waterfalls.

I came here to learn more about George Mallory, who may or may not have been the first person to climb Mt Everest.

Before he made his name as a legendary mountain climber, Mallory was closely associated with the Bloomsbury group, the bohemian intellectuals of London known as much for their artistic and intellectual achievements as for their varied and creative sexual entanglements.

A wistful picture of a shirtless young Mallory, which hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in London, is one of many Mallory portraits painted or photographed by Bloomsbury artist Duncan Grant. He captures on canvas Mallory's grace and beauty, admired by men and women.

I first saw that Mallory picture three years ago and became fascinated by this man whose life existed at the juncture of art and adventure.

Despite the stack of books I had read, I was still having difficulty understanding his ultimately fatal attraction to mountains. Nearly every biography mentioned the important role his visits to Snowdonia played, so I decided a visit might give me insight into him.

One need not be a mountain climber to explore parts of Snowdonia. There are several roads that cross the mountains, permitting easy access to trail heads. For the price of a short walk, you can enjoy stunning views of mountain peaks, waterfalls and lakes. In season, you can even take a train to the summit of Snowdon.

I was determined, however, to experience Snowdonia in as Mallory-like a manner as possible. I came across High Trek Snowdonia, a mountain-climbers' bed-and-breakfast at the base of Snowdon. This mid-19th century stone farmhouse is named Tal y Waen, Welsh for "top of the rough pasture".

Husband-and-wife team Mandy and Ian Whitehead live in the cottage next door and lead people on treks and climbing expeditions.

I made my reservation for one of their "Welsh 3000s" long weekends, during which I was scheduled to climb 14 of the 3000-footers (914m) in three days.

Mandy picked me up at the Bangor train station after my four-hour journey from London.

And after a hearty home-cooked dinner of Welsh lamb and nut loaf, I retired to one of the three bedrooms on the second floor. It had a double bed and a view of the hills rolling gently green down to the sea. The two other rooms, both empty, were fitted with bunk beds.

After a hearty breakfast I felt fuelled up enough to conquer all 14 peaks in one day.

Mandy equipped me with an anorak - a big, hooded raincoat - rain pants, a large day pack, compass, hat, plastic-encased map, gloves, water bottle and a packed lunch filled with chocolates, sandwiches and other high-energy foods. I felt outfitted to climb Everest itself and was certain all the gear was overkill. How tough could a few little 900m peaks be?

Days before I arrived, Snowdon had received a fresh sprinkling of spring snow. High winds and mountain fog were predicted that first day.

Mandy drove Geraldine Westrup, my guide, and I to the trail head at a lake named Llyn Ogwen, at a little less than 304m. We gathered our gear and began our day on an up note - practically straight up.

Geraldine motioned to the scrapes carved into the rock on the scramble up Pen yr Ole Wen, our first peak of the day. "That may be one of Mallory's crampon marks," she teased.

George Leigh Mallory was born in 1886 in Cheshire, England, to a parson.

He took part in expeditions to Mt Everest in 1921 and 1922, both unsuccessful. He made his third attempt in 1924. On June 8, just 10 days shy of his 38th birthday, Mallory and his climbing companion, 23-year-old Andrew "Sandy" Irvine, disappeared into the mists of Everest.

Mallory's body lay undisturbed until 1999, when a team found him at the bottom of a long slope on the flank of Everest, 244m from the summit. Irvine's body has never been found.

Geraldine and I reached the top of Pen yr Ole Wen, at 978m - the first of my Welsh peaks. Our ascent was steep, gaining more than 670m in about 1.6km. We broke for lunch on the leeward side of Yr Elen, a 961m peak off the main ridgeline. Though slightly protected by the mountain, Geraldine and I chased plastic sandwich wrap as the wind tore it from our hands.

We scrambled back across the side of Yr Elen to the main ridgeline and stamped our boots on the three remaining peaks for that day. By the time we reached Foel-Fras (941m), our last peak, we were ready for one more tea and chocolate break before beginning our descent.

"I can get nearly anyone up these mountains," Mandy had told me. "It's coming back down that is the problem."

She was, unfortunately, more prescient than I could have imagined.

A small stone and log shelter provided a resting spot out of the fog and wind. The low carved stones arranged inside the shelter forced our knees to our chins as we nibbled the few remaining snacks in our sacks. After the break, my knees - one of them temperamental and the other just sympathetic - had stiffened. As we started down a slight incline, a sharp pain stopped me in my tracks.

I was diverted momentarily by a small herd of wild Welsh ponies, looking magnificent in their winter coats, but by the time we reached the bottom, the last eight peaks looked a remote possibility.

I spent the next day curled up in front of a glowing coal fire, resting my knee and indulging myself with books containing references to Mallory.

My knee was feeling better by day three, so Ian and I geared up for our ascent of Snowdon, at 1085m.

On the hike down we passed Glaslyn, the lake where Excalibur is said to have appeared, now a deep green from decades of runoff from the closed copper mines on its banks. Lliwedd rises above the lake, though any hints of Arthur and his knights were shrouded in the fog.

The Pen y Gwryd, a trove of British mountaineering lore and of old-time British hotel keeping, gives a guest the feeling of staying with a slightly eccentric, set-in-her-ways aunt.

Built in the mid-19th century to provide accommodation for the growing number of Victorian tourists coming to explore the mountains of Snowdonia, the Pen y Gwryd has hosted numerous mountaineering greats, including Hillary and Norgay.



Tucked away behind the reception desk/bar is the "resident's bar", a dark, wood-panelled room open only to hotel guests. On one wall is a locked and alarmed display cabinet with memorabilia from the Hillary and Norgay ascent of Everest: a shank of rope that tied the two together at the top, plus various oxygen canisters and, inexplicably, a shrunken head from Peru. Eccentric indeed.

Dinner was announced by the ringing of a large brass gong. I was about to suggest that we sit together in the large, nearly empty dining room when I was led away to my table, near a window on the other side of the room. Not wishing to upset tradition, I sat quietly alone at my table, as did the other guests.

A cab arrived for me next morning to ferry me to Bangor train station for my return to London. We drove down through the mountains and toward the sea, past ancient castles and open slate mines. The fog lifted and the sun began to shine.

The buttresses and domes that inspired Mallory rose above the sheep-dotted green pastures, as timeless as legend and as beautiful as any painting.

I had walked in Mallory's steps and touched that beauty, though the key to the mystery of his life may be forever hidden deep within the mountains.



Getting there

Expect to pay around $2100 to $2800 (fully inclusive) for return flights to London (depending on when you travel). Bed and breakfast in Wales starts from around $70 a night.

Getting around

A hire car is probably the best option for rural exploring - expect to pay around $60 a day. There is a good bus service close to highly populated areas. Taxis are safe and reliable.

What to see and do

Many mines are now open to the public as museums. They really will take you back in time. There are also plenty of caves, walks and some fine pubs offering good food. Anyone interested in history will enjoy the many well-maintained castles.

Where to stay

Fancy staying in a haunted hotel? Try the Castle Hotel, Conwy, Gwynedd. Reputedly haunted by a friendly ghost called "George". Ph 00 44 1492 592324.

For list of B&Bs and farm stays in Wales see: Beduk

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