Eryri: Crimpiau
This was a walk I’d been meaning to do for a while. A promising forecast and the chance to stop in Llangollen on the way home to catch the Pyranha/Palm Park Jam on the Dee tipped the scales in Eryri’s favour over the Lake District for the weekend.
Having avoided the Ogwen Valley all summer, it felt wonderful to be driving the A5 again, that familiar ribbon of tarmac winding into the hills, anticipation tingling quietly beneath the surface as the landscape became increasingly steep, bright with autumnal colours.
Even with a 5am start, the small car park behind Joe Brown’s in Capel Curig was already full by the time I arrived around 9am. I should have known the fair weather would bring folks out, despite the cooler temperatures. A short backtrack down the road took me to the Tyn-y-Coed Hotel, where I reluctantly parted with £18 for overnight parking. Poles in hand, I set off towards the trail opposite Joe Brown’s, joining the stretch of the Snowdonia Slate Trail that winds east and then north through the valley towards Llyn Crafnant.
I’d chosen Crimpiau after reading that it’s often overlooked in favour of the bigger, more glamorous peaks down the road, and it lived up to that reputation. While the giants of the Ogwen Valley draw the weekend crowds, Crimpiau remains unbothered, a hill content with its solitude. The gravel path meanders gently through the valley, with only the occasional fellow hiker passing me by.
Eventually, the way steepened, climbing sharply towards the summit. A few short hand on rock sections added to the sense of adventure, though nothing demanding. This particular route avoids the boggy ground that plagues the more direct ascent from Capel Curig, and though slightly longer, the largely well surfaced path here makes for easy walking.
At the top, two friendly hikers sat among the rocks, absorbed in the view that Crimpiau is known for. It’s one of those summits that proves the point, that sometimes the best way to experience the most beautiful mountains is to look upon them from a distance. Westwards, Tryfan and its companions rose in soft layers of haze, turning the valley into something almost dreamlike.
We chatted for a while, mostly expressing wonder at how a modest hill could offer such grandeur. They’d come from London, so pretty much the same distance as I had, also craving the mountains. As the hours drifted by, a few more walkers appeared, lingered, and moved on, until I was alone.
As dusk approached, I pitched my little Hilleberg Niak and settled in for the night. At only 575 metres, Crimpiau’s summit soon became enveloped in low cloud, the night vistas shrinking around me and dashing my hopes of stargazing. Oh well.
The MWIS forecast had hinted at a chance of a morning inversion, and it didn’t disappoint. When I unzipped the tent at around seven, the sight was nothing short of sublime, the valley below having become a vast white ocean, the peaks of the Glyderau and Carneddau down the way adrift like islands in milk.
I’ve seen many inversions in the Lakes, but this one felt grander, almost otherworldly. For an hour or so I simply sat there, letting the clouds swirl and part and gather again. A local photographer showed up, hoping to take photos of the inversion, but as the summit was being frequently shrouded by the clouds, he eventually gave up and headed down; he should have stuck around though, as shortly afterwards the summit did clear, the spectacular views once again distracting me from packing up for a while.
Realising I needed to start heading down in order to get to Llangollen to watch the kayaking, I gathered my things and, with one last look back, I descended into the greyness, following the wet and boggy path down towards Capel Curig, the mountain fading quietly behind me. Crimpiau, I’ll be back again for sure.
