Cadair Idris without the Cwmshot

Cadair Idris or Cader Idris is a mountain in the Meirionnydd area of Gwynedd, Wales. It lies at the southern end of the Snowdonia National Park near the town of Dolgellau. The peak is composed largely of Ordovician igneous rocks, with classic glacial erosion features such as cwms, moraines, striated rocks, and roches moutonnées. Cadair Idris means 'Idris's Chair', the seat of Idris Gawr (Idris the Giant) after his 7th century battles against the Irish. I had been hoping to do the classic circular walk of Cadair Idris for about 35 years, so I jumped at the chance to do so when it came along. The classic walk is something like this:

The classic circular walk (which we didn't do).

However, because we had two cars, a gentler and more scenic option became possible; one which avoids the horrors of the steep scree of the Minffordd path and has a western approach.  We parked at the Minffordd car park but took the other car up to the chapel at Tyn-y-ddôl and walked up the valley towards Hafotty Gwastadfryn. We then took the path around the desolate amphitheatre of Tyrrau Mawr, accompanied by the whistling wind and wistful bleating of sheep on the hillside. From there we crossed the sodden moor of Rhiw Gweredydd and made for the steep ascent of the Pony Path and on to Cadair Idris summit. But... I got to the foot of the Pony Path ascent and just pancaked, my energy and stamina completely failing me, similar to my Fairfield Half-Horseshoe Fail from Grasmere. Fortunately, this didn't ruin the experience of my walking buddy who was able to press on and retrieve his car by following the ridge at Cadair Idris and descending the Minffordd Path, as planned.  

The walk we did was like an inverted question mark. Seems fitting. 

I was left to retrace my ascent and return to my car. In total I walked 9 miles with a total Elevation 2000ft. It took me 7 hours to walk my 9 miles, i.e. a staggeringly couch potatoey 1.28 miles per hour (half walking pace). From the point I turned back at the foot of the Pony Path, the remaining distance to the summit was only 1.2 miles with an additional elevation required of circa 1000ft. The thing is, if you're not up for the final ascent, you can't do it and must return the long way. It seems harsh but its the law of the jungle, or more precisely the mountain. My return journey was glorious. I didn't see a soul on the mountains apart from some friendly sheep. I collapsed several times and just lay there exhausted, in the sun, in the wind. It is said that he who sleeps on the slopes of Cadair Idris alone awakes as either a madman or a poet, and I would hope for both. The whole thing was an elemental exploration of my own fragility and humanity and I wouldn't change it for the world. It is wonderful to fail sometimes. To reach for the summit and find you are grasping thin air.

One additional aspect to my visit to Cadair Idris was that it was preceded (and followed) by 5 hours of car drive to and from Lincolnshire in an unfamiliar car which I had not driven before, and I had not made a long car journey for about 2 years before that. Circa 450 miles and 10 hours of driving, and 7 hours of mountain walking. Even though I didn't summit I felt like I had run a marathon by the time I got home. 

Appendix Apocalypse: Album Artwork

This time last year I had a ruptured appendix which required surgery. Despite being wheeled into the hospital at 6am stating I had sudden cessation of agonising abdominal pain over McBurney’s point (a clear sign of ruptured appendix, which I pointed out) it took the NHS eight hours to give me a basic clinical examination, 15 hours to give me antibiotics, and 28 hours wait in A&E before I could get surgery. The extent of my condition only became clear after 2 hours of surgery: my appendix had ruptured by 50% at the base by the cecum, and wrapped tightly in the surrounding omentum which created a challenging clean up job. The surgeon said I would have died without the appendectomy, and had understandable concerns for my recovery. When a surgeon worries about your “recovery” that means your “survival”. 

Weeks ensued of peritonitis, followed by a grumbling postoperative abscess. Given the standard of ‘care’ I had previously received, I decided to treat myself using herbal medicine. During my interminable A&E delay, I had started hallucinating as though I was looking out on the bleak ignorance of the world from inside a stagnating lime green fishbowl, with my internal organs churning in a dishwasher of their own faecal gravy. All around me was the madness and brutality of a medieval hell, which reminded me of the Hieronymus Bosch painting The Garden of Earthly Delights (1510). Completely unable to get through to the NHS staff the importance of getting immediate surgery, and in a private fishbowl of mortal torture, all I could do was elevate my consciousness above my broken body, and shine down compassion and unconditional love upon myself. 

During my convalescence I compiled this album. I felt something creative was in order to say I am here, I am alive, I will be whole again. Fuck you NHS, I survived in spite of your murderous negligence. I won’t ever be inanely banging pots and pans on my front doorstep like a clapping seal to say thanks for all your bullshit hard work.