The day dawned bright and early on out first day and to make the most of it we got up at about 10am and headed for the highest peak in England and Wales. Mount Snowdon. At a full kilometre high (does that sound better than 1000m?) the sign at the bottom by the train said it would take about 3 hours to get to the top. Assuming that the sign was averaged to take account of the slow and unfit we decided that being young, hard antipodeans we would take in the country air and leave the train to the Americans.
The first photo is from half way up, about 1 and a half hours in, you will have to open it to see the lake in the background that we started from. And that wasn't even steep, we still had to climb the rest of the way to the peak and a further hour and a half later we found ourselves at the peak along with the 150 scouts that also had the same idea as us we caught our breath at the some time thinking so much for the average of 3 hours, we were overtaking people! There were a few dodgy points and several times I found myself lose my footing on the scree path. Only my mountain goat 
like sure footedness saved me from falling over the precipices on the side of the path. How they built a train track up here I don't know!
So, not liking the sound of a further three hour descent, though given the number of times we slipped coming off the summit the descent offered the distinct possibility of being an awful lot faster than desired, we decided to put our faith a 118 year old steam train on England's steepest railway. In its lifetime, Enid had 
climbed the equivalent of the height to the moon, four times! Upon arrival back at the cottage, this young, hard antipodean had a nap.
Following the nap, we headed out to Anglesea and I got to dip my feet in the Irish Sea. (One down, six to go), however the clouds were gathering and it was looking like the old saying was coming true, "it's always raining in Wales".
