(The subtitle of this blog post refers to my feelings of inadequacy and subsequently acceptance before a significant walk)

At 6.59am last Friday 18th September I set off from the deserted car park in Llanberis opposite the tiny train station. I psyched myself up for a long hard climb, collecting my thoughts as I ate my banana meditatively and gulping the last of my now cold coffee.

It was looking like a beautiful day, the sky a promising shade of early morning pale blue with hardly a cloud in sight. I’d researched Snowdon a lot, and I mean a lot, looking longingly at dozens of exciting photos on the internet and social media, visualising each different route. No amount of homework could have prepared me for the full Snowdon experience. I’d waited for this moment for months.

I took a right off the mini roundabout, reassured when I saw a man sporting a backpack wearing walking boots in the distance and the two men I’d seen assembling mountain bikes next to me in the car park. The path I chose is somewhat misleadingly called the tourist path. If I was a tourist aiming to do a gentle tourist type stroll, this isn’t a route I would take. I’d take the train!

The initial incline from Llanberis was very steep, an excellent warm up for my legs and lungs. I wanted to stop as little as possible but walking uphill for 4.5 miles on not quite enough sleep was tough so I had plenty of mini breaks, making the most of the awe inspiring scenery to take photos and regulate my breathing.

I was alone for most of the ascent, passed by a few brave couples walking down, presumably having gone up in the dark to swoon at a spectacularly romantic sunrise. A couple of trail runners sauntered down effortlessly past me, their spindly legs carrying their lithe limber frames over weathered rocks and stones. I recognised that look in their eyes, one of gentle but complete focus. One false move…

After the first 20-30 minutes of any walk, I get into a zone. It’s a different time zone up a mountain anyway. Time seems to stand still and suddenly an hour has passed. And then another. My thoughts come and go. I wonder if I’ll ever make it, rounding a corner to see another intimidatingly steep slope. Be in the moment, don’t get ahead of yourself, I tell myself comfortingly. Remember all the other tough walks and hills.

It can be scary business walking up and down mountains and I always expect the unexpected. I kept my eyes peeled for Crib Goch just in case I took a wrong turn onto it. That perilous peak isn’t on my bucket list. I arrived at a small shuttered building, the halfway house. At two points on the tourist path with its twists and turns, the railway track crosses over the stony route.

Arriving at the second bridge, I was blown violently by a very strong gust of wind. Hood up! Brace! I had a moment of panic seeing clusters of clouds billowing around at the same level as me and I regretted leaving my waterproofs in the car. Thankfully the rain held off. I struggled to stand up straight, buffeted sideways by the unpredictable gusts. I hadn’t accounted for the wind. This made progress a bit slower but exciting. There’s a vertiginous drop after that second little bridge, a vivid reminder of how dangerous Snowdon can be. I hugged the boulders to my right, enlightened by a heightened awareness of my mortality. People die on Snowdon.

I checked my watch. 4 miles done. Only another half mile to go. I still couldn’t see the summit. I sucked hard on 3 sweets for fast energy. I got to this little rock:

and the trig point was in sight. I wanted to make this moment last, savouring the feeling of being above the clouds at the top of the highest mountain in Wales. It was windy and significantly cooler at the summit. Carefully choosing my moment, I arrived at the steps:

and up I went. I saw two big long fingered black birds careering playfully around the trig point. Engaged in their daredevil winged dance, they fought to stay in the air current before giving in to the wind, letting themselves be blown backwards a hundred metres at lightning speed and, dear readers, I got scared, very scared. I got to the last step and couldn’t stand up for the wind! I sat down, put my walking poles away and braced myself. I just couldn’t do it! To my right was a drop so sheer and so dramatically steep I couldn’t bring myself to look.

A small group of men were whooping gleefully around the trig as I, on my hands and knees, looked on hopelessly, almost tearful with frustration. I asked a man in a stripy orange beanie hat if he would hold my hand and help me up but I still couldn’t do it. Down the steps I went, exasperated. I gathered all my strength and willpower for a few minutes and gave it another go. The wind seemed even stronger. I tried again and again but I couldn’t stand up. After a moment’s reflection, I decided to call it quits. Snowdon, you win. This time. I’ll be back.

I’ll take on the trig another day, maybe next year. It really was enough for me to get to the top of Snowdon solo and see the views of all the surrounding mountains and lakes, and the sea in the distance, humbling reminders of my smallness and the magnitude of everything around me.

The summit visitor centre and facilities were shut so I decided to head back down as I was getting cold and it was getting busier. I greeted fellow walkers with a cheerful “Bore da!” as I made my way down. There were a few Welsh walkers. Some smiled and said Hello. Some people ignored me. How rude, I thought. Perhaps they were so breathless they couldn’t speak. Other people wanted a bit of a chat. I stopped every mile or so, again imprinting the scenery in my memory. There’s no place quite like Snowdonia.

Back down at halfway house, now transformed into a modest snack shop, I had an interesting chat with the shopkeeper, a friendly Welsh lady from Llanberis. She was concerned about the young woman she’d just served who seemed very inexperienced who was enquiring about taking the train back down once she got to the summit. She’d told her she wasn’t sure that was possible. When I got back down to town, the trains were fully booked and there weren’t many running anyway. A mile from Llanberis, two quite unfit people greeted me and said “Please tell us the summit’s just round that corner?!!” “The summit’s just round that corner” I obliged optimistically. Then I shook my head and regretfully informed them it was a fair way again and suggested they aim for halfway house. I bet there were sore feet and muscles that night but you have to start somewhere.

My first serious long hill walk took place last September when I did a 9 mile circular walk around Stoodley Pike near Todmorden with my friends Gareth and Sue. It felt like an epic walk at the time. These days I feel hard done by unless I’m walking double figures and next year I’d like to go beyond 20 miles. There are so many mountains I’d like to discover, so many other peaks in Snowdonia not to mention Ben Nevis and Scafell Pike. Then there’s the Brecon Beacons, the Munros, the Wainwrights…

I bought myself a pair of trail running shoes for my birthday, and I wore them last Friday. I really love running downhill, so I couldn’t help but run a few of the smoother sections on Friday. That’s freedom and my idea of fun these days. That’s when I forget all my worries and problems.

Back down in bustling Llanberis by midday, I saw a giant glossy plastic statue of a whipped ice cream and I celebrated walking and running 1,002 miles so far in 2020 with an ice cold crispy creamy 99 for brunch. It’s all about the food too you know! I won’t stop now either - a rolling stone... It’s only September and I’m looking forward to walking and running in more challenging weather conditions. I ran in rain on Wednesday night, it’s very good for the immune system!

I’ve never been sporty. I was always one of the last kids to be picked for a sport team at school and with good reason. I had an unpredictable right hand throw and I couldn’t run far or fast. I still don’t see myself as a walker or a runner but when I’m out, I forget all my worries and I have loads of energy and a fresh outlook on my problems as soon as I’m back.

I used to drive to picturesque places and sit in the car admiring the views, feeling a bit frustrated that I didn’t have the confidence to get out and walk, wishing someone would hold my hand and walk with me. So going up Snowdon solo really was a big deal.

I realise that walking has temporarily replaced music in my life. I don’t have a business for the time being. My playing work has probably all disappeared this year but I seem to be taking it in my stride. I’m as passionate about the great outdoors as I am about music, it’s just that the world of music seems less accessible to me for now. The outdoors? Well, it’s quite literally right on my doorstep!