This weekend we had a bit of a mission to go to Snowdonia for some mountain walks. I’m planning to go for Summer Mountain Leader assessment in the next 12-18 months, and as part of that journey I need to log a total of 40 ‘quality mountain days’ during the consolidation period between training and assessment (now 20 years and counting!) So on Friday we bundled the boys into the car, still in school uniform, drove up to Machynlleth and, after a brief stop at Hennighan’s excellent fish and chip shop, arrived at the campsite in fading light and drizzle and snuggled in with a flask of hot chocolate and a couple of large brandies.

Saturday morning was damp and gloomy, and the tops were shrouded in cloud. My plan was to start at Bwlch y Groes and head up to the quarries at the top of the hill; this would give us a chance to see how Freddie’s knee was holding up and if all was well we could extend our trip. We had a delayed start when a bunch of lads pulled up into the car park as we were preparing to leave: there was a strong smell of weed wafting over and they seemed to be paying slightly too much interest to us, so we drove down to Dinas Mawddwy for a cup of tea while we waited for them to move on.

The second time we pulled up the car park was empty, and we started our walk along what I suspect was the old packhorse route, contouring round the hill to the south-east to a spur before turning west up to the quarries. This was still a tough route but hopefully not as hard on the knees at the direct route. The path was at first bisected by a fence and was then obscured by rockfalls and landslips. We were immediately into security on steep ground – great mountain leader practice! The route felt a little exposed but not dangerously so, but with the family tackling this kind of terrain for the first time I worked hard to make sure everyone was safe and secure. I resisted the urge to get the new rope out of the bag. The going was of course slow, and after half an hour we were only a few hundred metres from the car. Up ahead a line of reeds marked some flat ground where the path re-emerged from the rubble, and once we got to this the walking got easier.

Rounding the spur put us into the fold of the hills, and our delayed start had given the cloud a chance to rise. The tops were now in view and Cribin Fawr was streaked dark, as if chocolate had been poured over its flat summit and started to run down its sides. Legs were getting tired the higher we got, but everyone did well to focus on the summit and we were surprised to find there was little wind at the top. We sat in the open and enjoyed our lunch with a good view.

Everyone was fit and well and I was keen for us to push on. Two kilometres to our south-west was the summit of Waun-oer and I felt we had the time and energy to get there. We started off with a contouring route through some wet ground, avoiding a small summit midway, then dropped down into a small col. We had a brief discussion about whether to go on. The hillside ahead was grassy and extremely steep, and was still wet from the earlier rain. And were we pushing Freddie’s knee too much? In the end he took the decision for us to give it a go, and we zig-zagged our way gingerly towards the summit. It was one of those horrible-shaped hills that seems to go on forever, and the summit only appeared in the last few metres, but eventually it popped into view and the boys raced to be first to it. It was a small but not insignificant peak. At 670m we were higher than any point on Dartmoor, and we loomed over most of the nearby hills. To the west we could see Cadair Idris, its summit still shrouded in cloud, and the Irish Sea as a faint line beyond.

We took a few photos and were soon joined at the summit by a lovely lady who was walking the Welsh Nuttalls, the 190 hills and mountains over 2000 feet. Waun-oer was her sixth. She had had knee surgery in both knees a couple of years ago and was so encouraging to Freddie as he is recovering from surgery of his own. We left her resting her back against the cold stone of the trig point, enjoying the quiet air and widening views. She was the only other person we saw on our walk, and I was slightly envious of her solitude.

We left her to enjoy the summit and headed back the way we came, sliding back down the grassy slope on our bums and with tired legs returning back uphill to the quarries. The boys were tired and out of sugar now but kept going with minimal complaint. After all, there was no other way down. We passed the quarries quickly and carried on down. Rather than return via the packhorse route we took the direct and steeper path straight down towards the car. This path was in better condition and was presumably the more commonly-used route, and we were soon back at the car. We finished with a great pint of beer and a local Dyfi gin from the excellent Cross Foxes pub, a fitting end to a great day on the hill.

Tomorrow we had bigger plans.