Story Pop: Snowden (Yr Wyddfa) - King Arthurs Final Resting Place

In this episode of Off You Pop, we climb Snowdon — Yr Wyddfa, the highest mountain in Wales, by the sharp volcanic rise of the PYG Track, traverse the legendary fortress‑ridge of Y Lliwedd, and descend through the slate ruins of the historic Watkin Path. This isn’t the story of my climb — that part comes later. This is the deeper world behind the route: the 450‑million‑year‑old volcanic arc that built the massif, the Ice Age that carved its ridges, the miners who cut the early paths, and the mountaineers who trained here before stepping onto Everest.

We explore the Welsh language Cymraeg, the Tylwyth Teg fairies who dance around Llyn Llydaw, the Afanc monster said to sleep beneath the waters, and the political and cultural identity of Wales written into the mountain’s name — Yr Wyddfa, “the barrow,” the legendary grave of the giant Rita Gawr. We dive deep into the Arthurian world: the giant‑slaying, the sword cast into the lake, the sleeping king beneath the mountain, and the traditions that place Arthur’s final battle in these valleys.

We cross Y Lliwedd, the dark rhyolite fortress where Mallory trained for Everest, and follow the Watkin Path — the oldest official route on the mountain, opened by a Prime Minister and carved by quarrymen whose ruins still cling to the slopes.

If you’ve climbed Yr Wyddfa, this episode will feel like returning to a place you know.
If you haven’t, consider this your doorway into the stories written into the stone.

www.blisterpopadventures.com

Transcript

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This is Off You Pop, the podcast for hikers and adventurers who want to be epic in just one day. Some mountains are climbed. Snowdon is entered. Today we're climbing Snowdon. Here with Vah, the highest mountain in Wales at 3,560 feet, by one of its sharpest, cleanest approaches, the pig track. We'll rise through volcanic rock, cross the saddle of Borky Moch, push up the zigzags to the summit ridge, and stand on the roof of Bumru. Then we traverse the legendary Illwith, the twin summoned fortress that guards Snowden's eastern flank, and descend by the historic Watkin path, the oldest and most beautiful route on the mountain. This is the story behind the mountain, the geology, the Welsh language, the folklore, the mining scars, the railway, the legends of Mallory and Irvine, and the deep Arthurian myth that makes Earwithfar feel like a place carved out of a memory and destiny. Now, if you pop, Earwitfar is the shattered crown of a 450 million-year-old volcanic landscape, a place where the earth once tore itself open in a chain of eruptions so violent they buried entire regions in ash and molten rock. Snowdon was never a neat volcano. It was a volcanic zone, a cluster of vents erupting sideways, collapsing, rebuilding, and exploding again. The rocks beneath your feet were once rhyolite that oozed like toothpaste, andesite that called into hard, dark slabs, and tuff formed from ash clouds so thick they turned day into night. The pig track cuts straight through these layers, a geological cross section of ancient fire. During the ice age, a glacier filled Kumduli, grinding the mountain into the shape we know today. It carved the deep ball of Linle Dar, the knife-edged ridges of Kribgog and E Fluith, the hanging valleys and quarries that surround the massif. Earwit Far is a mountain built by fire and perfected by ice. The pig track is sharp, direct, and dramatic, a route that wastes no time. One story says pig comes from the Benigurid Hotel, the Mountaineers Inn where the 1953 Everest team stayed. Another says it comes from the Black Tar, pig, used by miners to waterproof boots and tools. Both stories are true in their own way. The path is both a mountaineer's corridor and a miner's highway. The Penigurid Hotel is a shrine to British mountaineering. Its walls are covered with signatures from the Everest team. Hilary and Tenzing slept here. They trained on the ridges above Lin Ladar. They tested oxygen systems in the cold Welsh air. The pig track is part of that lineage, a path that connects Snowden to Everest. The miners of the Britannia copper mine carved sections of the pig track by hand. They carried ore down the mountain on pack horses, following the same zigzags we'll climb today. Their boots wore grooves into the stone. Their lives were hard, dangerous, and short. Our ascent follows their footprints. The track rises quickly above Lin Ladar, cutting across the flanks of Trib Gogh, the terrain is volcanic, angular, and beautifully engineered. At Balki Moch, the pass of the pigs, the summit pyramid appears, a volcanic crown rising above the ridges. The final zigzags are a steep, boulder-strewn negotiation with the mountain. At 3,560 feet, the summit is a place of story, identity, and myth. The name Earwidfar means barrow or the tumulus, referring to the legendary grave of Rita Gawa, a giant slain by King Arthur. This is where the Arfurian world begins to rise from the stone. Earwithfar is one of the great Arfurian mountains of Britain, a place where myth and geography overlap so tightly you can't pull them apart. The summit cairn is said to be the grave of Rita Gower, a giant who terrorized the land. Arthur fought him in single combat, killed him, and ordered his body carried to the highest point in Wales. The cairn grew stone by stone, century by century, as travellers added to the giant's tomb. Every rock on the summit is part of that story. Some Welsh traditions place Arthur's final battle, Can Lan, in the valleys around Snowden. Mortally wounded, he was carried to the summit of Earwudfar to die, watching over his kingdom one last time. The mountain became his monument. Lin Ladar, the lake you see from the pig track, is one of the strongest contenders for the resting place of Excalibur. Some say Bedevere threw the sword into its waters after Arthur's death. Others say the lady of the lake still guards it. When the wind moves across the surface, it looks like something is stirring beneath. Another tradition says Arthur never died. He sleeps beneath earward fire with his knights, waning for the moment Wales needs him again. Some shepherds claim to hear voices under the mountain, the clink of armor, the murmur of men waiting to rise. Earward Far is not just a mountain, it's a throne, a tomb, a promise. The Snowdon Mountain Railway opened in 1896. On its maiden voyage, the first train derailed, killing a passenger. The newspaper declared the railway cursed and it closed immediately. But the Victorians rebuilt it, redesigned the brakes, and reopened it three months later. It has run almost continuously ever since, a mechanical artery pumping people into the sky. The Summit Cafe, modern, windswept and stubborn, stands where a Victorian hut once served tea to early climbers. It's the highest cafe in Britain, a surreal refuge in the clouds. Our descent is not a descent, it's a traverse into a legend. Iluath is a twin-summited fortress of volcanic rock, rising above Lin Lador like a stone citadel. Its cliffs are dark, sheer, and intimidating. The ridge feels older than the rest of the mountain, a place where the wind carries stories. Before Everest, before fame, before the mystery of 1924, George Mallory trained in E Louis. He climbed its rhyolite cliffs in nailed boots, using hemp ropes and iron pitons. He wrote that Eloith was stern, forbidding, and magnificent. The cliffs taught him rope work, balance, exposure, and trust. When he stepped onto Everest, he carried Ewith in his bones. The very first British mountaineering guidebook, the Climbers Club Guide to Snowden, published in 1909, devoted more pages to Eluis than to any other cliff in Wales. It was considered the ultimate test of nerve and judgment. Climbers called it the mountain of mountains. The ridge is narrow, exposed, and atmospheric. It feels like walking the battlements of an ancient stone fortress. The Watkin Path is a descent through history. Opened in 1892 by Prime Minister William Gladstone, who gave a speech to thousands gathered in Cumlan. He was 82 years old. He climbed part of the path himself. It's the only path on Snowdon opened by a head of government. The South Snowden Slate Quarry was a brutal place to work. Men blasted slate from the cliffs, shaping it into roofing tiles shipped across the world. They lived in barracks halfway up the mountain, walking the Watkin path daily. The ruins you pass, barracks, tramways, and inclines, are the remains of their world. Lower down the path follows a series of waterfalls so clear and cold they look unreal. Victorian tourists called them the Welsh Alps. Today they're a favourite swimming spot, beautiful, dangerous, and unforgettable. Earwood Fa is not just a mountain, it's a symbol of Kimru, Wales. Kimraeg is one of the oldest living languages in Europe. It shapes the landscape through names like Earwood Far, the barrow, Lin Lodor, the lake of the people of Lidor, and Eloith, the slope of colour. The language is the mountain's heartbeat. The Tilworth Teg, the Welsh fairies, are said to dance on the shores of Lin Ladar. Travelers who followed their music would vanish for what felt like minutes, only to return years later. Time moves differently in their world. Earward Far is one of their gateways. Another legend says that Afang, a lake monster, once lived in Lin Glaslin. It terrorized the valley until villagers chained it and dragged it up the mountain. Its thrashing carved the riverbeds. Some say it still sleeps beneath the waters. Arthur is not English. He is Welsh. A Brytonic war leader, a defender of old kingdoms. Earward father is one of his mountains. The stories here are older than Camelot, older than chivalry, older than the medieval romances. This is Arthur the Warrior, Arthur the Giant Slayer, Arthur the King who will return. Snowden is not the highest mountain in the British Isles. It's not the most technical, but it carries a weight cultural, linguistic, and emotional, that makes it feel larger than its 3,650 feet. It's the mountain of Welsh identity, volcanic fire, our Furian legend, Everest training grounds, and the oldest footpath in Wales. It's a mountain that feels alive, a mountain that stays with you. Now let's get on the pop. My day began in the Isle of Man at 4.30 a.m. I woke up to catch my flight to Manchester. When I got to the airport, it was still closed at 5.30 in the morning, and I was greeted by a Cornish man who regaled me tales of all of his hiking adventures. The short 35-minute flight to Manchester was uneventful, and if you're going to climb Snowdonia, I highly recommend that this is your entry point. Manchester Airport is about a two-hour drive from Snowdonia, and it's a fairly simple route following A55, the North Wales Express, to Carnarvon before entering into Snowdonia. Now I had arranged for a parking permit at Penny Pass, which is the classic starting point of the route. Unfortunately, I changed my plans and changed my days and wasn't able to secure a parking pass. This means when I got into Lamberis and into Penny Pass, all the parking spots were taken. It was extremely busy. It was a Saturday morning, and there were lots and lots of people around. So I ended up driving over Penny Pass and down into the valley below to a second parking area, a paid parking area, which added probably about a mile, 20 minutes to my climb up from the valley below, up to the Penny Pass starting point. And so I got my stuff ready. It was kind of late already. It was around 8.30 in the morning. It was a warm, clear morning at the base of the mountain. And I got my stuff on and began the hike back up to Penny Pass. It was about a mile, about 20 minutes to get back up to Penny Pass. Nothing too dramatic, but enough to remind you that you're in the mountains. And from that vantage point, the Snowdom Massive looks exactly that. It looks massive and distant. But shortly you find yourself at Penny Pass. A bustling parking lot, a cafe at the bottom, some public toilets, and just the general hustle and bustle of a Saturday morning. There was a parking attendant sitting at the edge of the parking lot checking for people's permits, and I kinda asked him, Do you think it's too windy to do crib gog? My intent was to do crib gog, but my legs were tired, and I'd already been up for five hours, driving across the North Wales countryside. And the wind was relatively strong even at Penny Pass before you started to climb up into the mountains. He said, Yeah, it sure is windy, but he did not give me an assessment of whether I should be doing crib gogh or not. So I made my way across the parking lot and began the climb along the pig path, which is paved to begin with but quickly turns into a rocky path, and begins slowly ascending up through the valley. And as you're climbing up into the valley, looking down back to the town of Lamberis, the wind really picks up. It's not cloudy, it's not misty, you can see down into the valley, but it sure is windy. This gives me a lot of apprehension. I'm gonna have to make a decision shortly as I come up to the tra part of the trail where Kribg branches off from the main pig path. And as I'm going, I'm finding other hikers who are more than happy to chat and give me an assessment of why I shouldn't do crib gogh. And soon enough I've climbed up to the point where I've come across the shoulder, and before me is the Snowden massive, peeking up above in the clouds. And I look to the right and I look up into the impossibly steep Krib Gogh. And here I have to make a decision. So I stand and I ponder and I think, I come all this way, I really want to do crib gogh, but the wind is strong, and my legs are weak and tired after many days of climbing the UK's tallest peaks. This is number six. And so I make a decision that it won't be crib gog today. I just don't have the energy, and the wind is seriously concerning. And so I made up my mind and resigned to drop into the bowl beneath Snowden, here with fart, to make my way alongside Lin Ledore, that glorious lake with Excalibur resting at the bottom. And the path was busy. There were lots and lots of people on this morning. A group of young men reached me and overtook me. They were being loud and obnoxious and rude, and it really wound me up. I was used to the peace and quiet of the mountains, and this wasn't going to be that day. There were so many people with their dogs and their kids hiking their way up the mountain, making their way back down. There just wasn't a moment to breathe. And as I looked up at Crib Gok above me, I could see the shadows of other hikers who had decided the wind wasn't too much, and were making the traverses of Crib Gok, which made me even more irritated. I guess I just wasn't in the mood today, and this amount of people on this beautiful mountain was really spoiling it for me. But I put my head down and I began the climb deeper and deeper into the bowl. And as you start climbing up the zigzags, the terrain becomes steep and more rugged. The trail becomes more and more crowded. The pig path is connected by the miners path halfway up the mountain. And so you get the convergence of folks who've taken the relatively flat miners path to begin their ascent from Lin Ladar, and those that have taken the more rugged pig track. And now it's a traffic jam of human beings scrambling their way up to Snowdon, and it becomes miserable. And so I'm picking my way up the mountain through the crowds, not enjoying myself at all. And as you get higher and higher and closer and closer to the summit, the crowds become thicker and thicker. People who had no business being on the mountain, dressed in sneakers and t-shirts, and really making this an unpleasant experience just because of the volume of people. But it was a Saturday morning and it was a beautiful day. As you got closer and closer, you reach an engineered piece of the trail that takes you up to the ridge. And I see a guy standing there, and he's standing there, shaking and blowing into his hands. And it didn't feel very cold, maybe a little blustery. And up above you is the ridge line, and it's white out. Not here, just below the ridge, but on the ridge, all you see is white. And I asked him why it's cold, and he says it's freezing up there. Freezing cold. So I took a moment and ready myself to get up onto the ridge. And so I walked upward and popped up into the cloud and onto the ridge. More people. This time there was a charity event that was raising money for a good cause and a long train of people winding their way up to the final ascent. It was a little colder. I think the man was over exaggerating his coldness. It wasn't that cold, but it certainly was chilly and there certainly was a strong breeze. So I followed the charity hikers up into the cloud, along the ridgeline, until I came to the summit, to the trig point, to that burial place of the giant. And the train was at the top, and people were disembarking the train, and there must have been a line of a hundred people waiting to get their photo taken at the top. This was a miserable morning as far as I was concerned. Just so many people on the mountain. Those that had come up the miners path, those that had come up the Lamberis path, those that had come up the pig path, and then the train dumping hundreds of tourists who had no right to be on this cold and beautiful mountain. I didn't wait long at the summit. I decided to try my luck and complete the horseshoe down the Watkin path. And so you go past the trig point and behind the cafe and past the toilets, past the crowds of people through the mist and the cold, and suddenly you drop off into the Watkin path, and it's an entirely different experience altogether. The crowd thins, and you're left with just a couple of hikers who've taken this more scenic route up the mountain. And as you drop and you descend back down into the mist, it becomes evident this is a very different path. The Wokim path is more natural, less engineered, and most importantly, there are far fewer people. You come down out of the cloud and round the corner, and now you're straddling between two valleys, the one that can contains Lin Ladar, and another that has no lake, but has some rivers flowing through it. Now the trail at the top is quite steep, quite rocky, and quite slick. So you have to take care as you're coming off the top park. And as you're looking down, you can see the twin towers in front of you. But before you get there, you have to come down quite steep descent. So I'm making my way down, and there's a group of four muscular burly guys trying to pick their way down through the mountain. And they're clearly concerned and scared about the descent. And so I skip past them, offer one of them a hug, and move on my way, tiptoeing down the mountain gently and easily, making it past. It wasn't as treacherous as they were making out, but it certainly was a little slick in places. Oh no severe drop-offs whatsoever. Once you come down this slick, steep path, the path levels out, and you re-emerge along the ridge and see the view of Lin Ladar and Snowden up above. And I'm beginning to relax and enjoy the day out of the crowds. And as I make my way towards Eluif, I have a sense of excitement that I'm at least gonna get some scrambling in on this legendary ridgeline, even though I skipped Kribgog. I can see across the bowl of the valley. And as I approach Eluith, I see a group of hikers looking to ascend. They're being led by a guide, and they all have rock climbing helmets on, because this is more of a scramble than it is a path. But it's a solid scramble. You choose your own line. I talked to the guide briefly, and he said you can make it as easy or as difficult as you like. And so I left them early on and began to pick my way up through the box. Climbing in places, hiking in others, making my way slowly, slowly to the top of Eluith. And if you stray too close to the bowl, you see those dramatic drop-offs where the Everest team trained. You can stay back off of the ridge if you like and slowly make your ascent and tell you that at the top of Eluith. And what a stunning view of the Snowden Bowl. Just this beautiful, quiet view that you have to yourself, away from the people and away from the tourists. And you see the stunning ridgeline of Kribgog leading up to the Snowden, hidden in the clouds, and way below you that mythic lake of Lin Lador. And then you look across a little further down the ridge, and there's the second tower of Eloith. And it's a quick, short hike across, nothing dangerous, nothing scary. And so I sit on the second tower. There's almost a perfect little seat, looking over the bowl, and I sit there and enjoy a lunch in the glorious sunshine, now feeling much relieved that I'm away from the crowds and enjoying a moment of peace and solitude in the glorious sun. The wind has calmed down. I have the place to myself, and it's just an enjoyable Saturday afternoon, enjoying the mountain. After a sort of significant amount of time, I see the other guided group with their helmets coming up across the first peak of Eluith, and I decide to make my exit, making the descent back down to the Watkin path that will eventually lead you along Lin Ladar. The descent is never treacherous, but it is steep and demands concentration. You come off Eluith across a small grassy valley before descending down a steep rocky path. And that steep, rocky path takes you over numerous different types of volcanic outcrops of interesting different layers of volcanic rock types. And as you make your way down, you can sense you're coming back into the crowds, and you start to see people hanging around Lin Ladar. You see the crowds and lines of hikers going up the miners path. And as you join and come back to the lake, you get a sense of the magnitude of this of the snowdombowl, of Lin Ladar, of the old mining engineering. And suddenly you reconnect with the miners path. Now the miner's path is a very different path indeed. It's completely flat. It's been engineered with crushed road gravel. It's easy. I can't believe it. I see some hikers coming by. I say, what's this? I've just been up the pig path, and there's this simple straight gravel path that takes you straight to Penny Pass. They just shrugged their shoulders and looked at me like I was the crazy one. So I got on the miners track and made short work of the flat, easy trail all the way back to Penny Pass. And when I get back to Penny Pass, there are hundreds of people milling around. Cars and bikers and buses. I make my way into the small cafe and queue for what seems like an ungodly time just to buy a partially melded ice cream so I can enjoy the very end of my UK Six Peaks Challenge experience. So I take the footpath back down away from Penny Pass and away from the crowds and back to my car, enjoying an ice cream, proud to have finished a little piece of the Snowden horseshoe, but more importantly, having completed the UK Six Peaks Challenge, the sixth highest peaks in the six nations that make up the British Isles. From Southern Ireland to Northern Ireland, up into Scotland, back down into the Lake District, hopping over to the Isle of Man, and finishing up in this glorious mountain of Snowdonia. Now off you pop.