If someone had told me eight months ago that I would eventually find myself climbing 80 metres or higher up a stiff cliff face in Wales I would have been incredulous to say the least. But the incredible has happened, as it usually does. I find the whole situation ridiculous mainly because signing up for the Climbing Club was a whim. Wearied by jet-lag and complete with the insecurities of a stranger in a foreign land (and not just a stranger, but an annoyingly American stranger) I was accosted in front square by a very persistent student (possibly the club captain) who attempted to convince me in the first 15 seconds that the climbing club was worthy of my attention and money. He led me to the club table, and after a few minutes of intimidation tactics, I found myself handing over my three euro and receiving my flimsy club card. Now, less than a year later, I have been accosted by yet another climber, but this time in order to write the club trip report. Although I wasn't sure what qualified me for the job, I soon realized that the quickest way to get rid of his incessant babbling was to relent. So here goes my honest and completely accurate narrative of the adventure that was the club trip to Snowdonia over the Easter break.

When it comes to the Wales trip, the journey was half the fun, or half the difficulty, whichever way you choose to see it. Overall, we travelled by city bus, ferry bus (which looked uncannily similar to a prison bus), a ferry only running at three quarters it's usual speed, a charter bus, and finally a couple taxis to our campsite in Nant Peris. (Let me just add that the live entertainment on the ferry was so good that Megan and I were tempted to get up and twist with the masses of screaming four year olds already on the dance floor.) We finished off the day by pitching tents in the dark and firing up the stoves for food.

Friday morning was overcast and drizzly, and we decided to take a day hike up to the highest point in Wales, Mount Snowdon, instead of climbing. Kev begged to come with us, but we only had his best interest at stake when we told him, collectively as a group of course, that he should really get some bouldering done and skip the hillwalking. I think he was a bit hurt at first, but he eventually got over it. A half hour later, the local bus dropped Eoghan, Dennis, Gilbert, Declan, Megan, Hamish and me off at the beginning of the trail. Megan and I watched curiously as the boys set off at a good trot up the hill, and began to get nervous when we realized they had no intentions of slowing down. And that's pretty much how the hike proceeded, all seven hours of it. The girls were ready to rebel after Declan said for the sixth time, "I promise that was the last bit of scrambling." But it was never the last bit of scrambling. It was almost as funny as when he said, "The buses here are always on time." The rest of the group can back me up when I say that not a single bus was on time the entire weekend. Highlights of the hike: scary seagulls, Eoghan's hot soup with bread, and the discovery of a train that ran from Llanberis all the way to the summit. I never did get why we did so much scrambling when we could have just hopped on the train.

Saturday's group was slightly larger owing to the fact that Alistair and Norman had joined us the day before. A few of us left the campsite later than the rest and entertained ourselves by climbing up the narrow (waste removal) chute of an old castle tower along the way. The tourists were a bit confused. We rejoined the rest of the group and spent a long, lazy morning in the local eatery, Pete's Eats. Upon reading the restaurant sign, Gilbert and I finally understood why Declan was constantly found mumbling something that sounded like "Pitsitz." Eventually we all split up in order to tackle some actual climbing. I can't speak for the rest of the group, but Hamish, Megan, Eoghan and I all had a nice afternoon. Nice until Hamish betrayed me and told Eoghan that I'd left a stubborn nut behind and I'd enlisted him to collect it for me. Thanks a lot Hamish.

Although we had initially planned to stay till Monday, the group decided to play it safe and leave Sunday evening. Luckily we all had enough time to do some climbs (and bouldering) on Sunday morning. Unfortunately, no one got the chance to climb the legendary Cenotaph Corner due to the cascades of water running down the crag, but there were plenty of other possibilities for entertainment. That afternoon the ten of us convened once again and climbed aboard a couple taxis to begin our return trip to Dublin.

Some trip highlights for those of you that missed the fun:

When Kev explained why he would never return to Wales. In his words, "The rock was uninspiring."

When Norman chose to finish off his trip with a quick leak on the side of Alistair's tent. Luckily, the event was highly documented.

Megan and I had the interesting experience of confronting framed pictures of naked men every time we entered the pub bathroom. They used everything from ice axes to motorcycles as props in these highly original photos. (We liked the guy with the chainsaw the best.)

Declan wore out his middle finger from repeated use.

And finally, pulling away from the ferry bus station and realizing that Alistair had been left behind. Norman had to point out the window to Alistair strolling along to convince Eoghan he wasn't joking.

Carmen O'Donnell.