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Before long the dark citadel of the poetically named Castell y Gwynt (Castle of the Winds) builds up ahead, followed almost at once by the other-worldly piles of Glyder Fach. Here the desolation last witnessed on Glyder Fawr reasserts itself in a second outpouring of elemental power, even more intense than the first. Giant boulders randomly strewn create an impression of chaos, of disorder, of the insignificance of Man. No other top in Wales portrays Nature’s architecture more magnificently, or casts such an overwhelming spell of mountainly grandeur.

The Devil’s Kitchen (GL 8)

E of Glyder Fach the land falls away to a broad spongy saddle where, on a still day, you may see Tryfan reflected in the waters of Llyn y Caseg-fraith. The third of the low-level passages crosses here, the miners’ track from Ogwen to Pen-y-gwryd. Then a resurgence of vitality carries the ridge on to the bald moorland crest of the nameless peak. The passion is finally spent. The broad tongue of turf and heather that surges yet again over Gallt yr Ogof before declining to the wooded vale sheltering Betws-y-coed, is a far cry from the harsh, arid uplands of only an hour before. Gone is the drama of crag and cwm; this is pretty country made for late afternoon sunshine or the cool glow of evening when you can watch the shadows lengthen over the Carneddau and envelope the rocky crown of Siabod.