I wonder what most people hear when they’re out walking on Yr Wyddfa’s (Snowdon’s) paths?
It will, of course, depend on which path you’re on, and also the time of year. On the Rhyd Ddu Path, for instance – statistically the quietest of the six main paths – you can be fairly certain of having a quiet time, and between conversations with the people you’re walking with, there’s plenty of opportunity to hear the natural sounds of the mountain.
On the busiest paths (the Llanberis Path, followed by the Pyg Track and Miners’ Track) there’s often a general hubbub of noise, often punctuated by shouts and calls of various sorts and, sadly, the over-loud playing of music.
Not that I mind someone listening to music while they walk – there’s plenty who walk with ear-pieces in – but the sensory loss on the mountain is theirs. However, playing loud music, the sort that can be heard up some 50m away is simply not on. Just who are they playing it for? (As an aside, the playing of loud music in public places isn’t actually allowed in the National Park, which by constitution is a place for quiet enjoyment.)
So what are the natural sounds of the mountain? Well, lets ignore the sound of gushing water in heavy rain, and think about birdlife; if you listen, birdsong is there. A common bird is the Meadow Pipit. These streaky brown birds are frequently seen in the grass and heather, often noticed by their sharp, high-pitched “tsip-tsip-tsip” or “peep-peep”, or their parachuting song-flight. The Northern Wheatear is a classic summer visitor that thrives in the stony fields, scree slopes and rock walls; their bright white rumps are highly visible as they flit between rocks. Wrens, too despite their small size, are deceptively tough, and common even high up on the mountain, nesting deep within the rock crevices and boulder scree. Skylarks are known for their continuous, pouring song delivered from high in the air; this is an incredibly fast, unbroken, shimmering torrent of sound — often delivered for several minutes without a single pause for breath. Its call has been described as something like: “chirrup, chissick, chree-chree-chree, tsee-tsee, trr-r-r-churrr, whee-it, tew-tew, pip-pip, cherr-r-r” !
More obviously visible are the larger birds, such as the Carrion Crow and Raven, the latter making their presence known by their heavy, hollow “pruk-pruk”, “kronk” or “groc-groc”. calls. Herring Gulls too are very common, with their loud, harsh call, especially where there are people; they have adapted heavily to human presence, knowing that where there are people, there’s often food to be scavenged. The Ring Ouzel – essentially a mountain blackbird with a striking white collar – is in steep decline across Britain, but the steep crags of Cwm Llan and Glaslyn remain a crucial stronghold for breeding pairs. The Peregrine Falcon, the world’s fastest animal, can occasionally be seen hunting across the massive rock faces of the mountain.
And then there’s the Chough (Frân Coesgoch in Welsh, the ‘red-legged crow’; it has a red bill too). This bird is fairly rare, and is celebrated on the large west-facing windows of Hafod Eryri, the summit building. Choughs can sometimes be seen performing acrobatic aerial displays along the higher ridges and cliffs. Recently I saw a group (appropriately often called a ‘chattering’ or a ‘clattering’) of some 20 choughs or more wheeling around in the air near the top of the Snowdon Ranger Path. This was clearly several family groups; it has been a good breeding season for them. The chough’s call is a loud, ringing “chee-ow” or “pyee-oo”, which makes its presence unmistakeable and really rewarding.
Whilst birdsong on the mountain is always music to my ears, there’s something more man-made which also is: the sound a the train as I’m on my way to the summit. On those days in the season when it’s uncertain whether Hafod Eryri will be open or not, because of strong winds, there’s nothing sweeter than hearing the faint hum of a diesel approaching the summit from below the Intersection on the Pyg Track. Depending on the wind direction, it can be the faintest of noises which most won’t hear, but my hot chocolate depends on it and my ears are accordingly well-tuned to hearing it from afar. If it’s a steam engine, it can be heard from much lower down. Walkers on the Llanberis Path don’t need to listen for it; they can see if trains are running.
Whichever path you’re on, and whoever you’re walking with, remember to leave a little space in the conversation for the sounds of the mountain.