It seems I have the summit to myself. ‘Yr Wyddfa’ I say, grinning stupidly. Any mountain makes me euphoric, this one particularly so – for a special few moments I stand alone at the apex of Cymru. Or not alone as it transpires. A herring gull hunkers here too, grumpy but not incongruous. Cold mizzle slaps my face and the entire squally summit, with rocks and ghostly figures looming through swirling cloud resembles a shipwreck. The figures materialise, grinning and whooping. There is always a party atmosphere on the top, even when like now, the weather (which only 24 hours earlier was forecast to be light snow and sun) has closed in – vanishing the fabulous views of north Cymru into a theatre of mist.
Read more in the February 2023 edition of BBC Countryfile Magazine
