The day we were supposed to climb proved to be rather bleak as the rain sporadically fell and winds gusted up unexpectedly and the high temperatures reaching only the low 50s. Preparing for the worst, I bundled up in as many layers as I possibly could shove myself into. (We were lectured about the dangerous, fickle weather awaiting us in Northern Wales, and for some reason, I remembered the part of the lecture discussing the inevitability of one, if not all, of us Americans were to catch hypothermia) After checking my rucksack for all my necessities, eating a solid breakfast of plain, tasteless oatmeal, and slipping into my waterproofs, I headed out to the van, shaking from the nervousness that was welling up inside. Once we reached Tryfan, I hesitated. I was supposed to climb the thing that rose high up into the clouds, looming over me like some ominous creature. All I could see was this huge beast needing to be conquered, and I felt too small and inconsequential to achieve such a task. However, with the encouragement of my fellow group members, I started the long ascent up.
Within twenty minutes, my heart was racing, my lungs were desperately trying to get air, and my legs were screaming at me for causing them to work so hard. At this point, a little voice in my head kept telling me that I would never make it to the top. I had not even climbed 100 metres, so how was I going to climb the other 800? I kept at it, though, not wanting to disappoint myself or my teammates. After awhile, the hiking stopped as we confronted a huge, vertical wall of rock that required us to start scrambling (climbing up rain-slicked rocks without a rope). Normally, I would be scared to death to do this; however, since the clouds beneath us obscured my view of the ground below, I didn't ignored the possibility of my plummeting to my death, grabbed a hold of some rocks, put my feet into some natural footholds, and hauled myself up to the next level. A couple of times, there were some precarious areas that required some fancy maneuvering, but all and all I did pretty well.
As we ascended higher, the weather worsened. The wind picked up. The rain came harder and more often. Our breaks were short since sitting for too long would cause us to cool down too much. At one point, my glasses fogged up so bad that I could not see a thing. A couple of times, the wind battered me into the rocks and almost caused me to fall, yet, despite the terrible conditions, we continued to climb. In seemingly no time at all we reached the top, but no one believed that we had actually made it. Earlier, it seemed that whenever we reached the edge of a cliff and climbed over it, we were faced with another peak to climb. This time, it was for real. Our guide congratulated us at making it to the top, and I took a good look around at the mountain I had just climbed. Unfortunately, the entire peak was surrounding by clouds, so all I could see was this ocean of gray completely enshrouding the land below us. For all that I knew, we could have been at the edge of the world, and if I had strayed to far from where we sat to rest, I could have fallen into some giant abyss below. Thankfully, I avoided that peril and had time to enjoy a simple lunch before enduring the hell that is climbing down a mountain.
The prospect of climbing down scared me to death. I have some real problems climbing down especially since I have an acute fear of falling off the mountain. For the most part, my fear was unfounded as the climb down was uneventful (unless you consider falling down 5-6 times unharmed to be eventful). I was grateful to see solid ground, and for hours afterward I stood dumbfounded by the fact that I actually made it up a mountain. Even now, I ask myself if it were just some magnificent dream, but the bright purple bruises and the aching muscles tell me otherwise.
