Cadair Idris

When I did, finally, do a closer reading of the itinerary for this tour, I'd wondered if the details for each day were accurate. Because, if they were, I'd signed up for the most difficult hiking I've ever done.

Today would be calibration day. We were headed for a ridge touched by the clouds, taking the “easiest” route to the summit of Cadair Idris: the winsomely named Pony Path.

There were many other walkers on the trail, this being a weekend day. I was grateful for my hiking poles and boots, and was stunned to see many folks wearing casual footwear. On our way up, we crossed paths with a woman on her way down, shaking her head and muttering about this being quite not the way she'd wanted to celebrate her 50th birthday.

There were no signs along the trail; follow the path of rocks (and our leader). I'm sure the rocks are placed to combat erosion, but they're also hard on one's feet (and often command close attention).

By the time we met the clouds, I'd bundled up with all my layers: rain pants over hiking pants, fleece gloves, fleece vest under my insulated rain jacket, and neck gaiter pulled up over a fleece cap topped by my jacket's hood. When one of the women in our group mentioned that she was cold, our guide pulled a spare jacket out of her (enormous) backpack—our own Mary Poppins with a fresh take on that magical bottomless carpet bag!

Legend has it that if you spend the night on this mountain, you will find yourself either mad or a poet when you awaken. As I picked my way through fields of scree, I considered that I might have already gone mad.

Pay attention: Every. Step. Matters.

As the summit came into view, we learned that our guide has one important rule: Everyone gets there at the same time.

It was cold. It was windy. There was no view. We were proud of ourselves. And hungry.

One member of our group had chosen to huddle in a well-placed semi-circle of piled stones, rather than reach the summit. We joined her there to eat the bagged lunches we'd carried, sheltered from the wind.

Eager to drop below the clouds, we spread out across the scree. I surprised everyone (including myself) by apparently channeling my inner mountain goat and leading the way, while our guide hung back with one of our more tentative comrades.

Some trail segments seemed to have a softer, somewhat less rocky parallel path. I imagine we were meant to stay on the rocks, but it was hard not to seek a little respite now and then.

I did manage to find a spot of color near the end of our hike.

And yes,the details for this hike matched up with what I recorded: we traveled 5.7 miles, with some 2,300 feet of elevation gain overall. And since this was an up-and-back-down hike, that means we climbed 2,300 feet in half that distance. [Yikes!]

Tomorrow promises to be ... harder.