...to the sublime

"Not as many people here as on Snowdon, eh," we ventured cheerily as we approached.

"More than we expected," one of the them replied, in mid-munch.

Fluent in the language of mountain etiquette and diplomacy, we got the message and headed off out of sight.

They were, we felt, a tad over-touchy. Bumping into two people on a top doesn't exactly make it Piccadilly Circus - it was after all Saturday on a busy holiday weekend. Their intention to give the crowds a miss, however, was similar to ours.

We'd begun our day at the Snowdon Ranger Youth Hostel, the starting point for a well-used way up Wales' highest mountain. Unlike most walkers, though, we'd turned our backs on Snowdon.

Our target was Mynydd Mawr which, despite its name meaning Big Mountain, isn't high enough at 2,290ft to attract much attention or gain a place in peak-baggers' hit lists.

Size isn't everything. The walking was pleasant, the views across to Snowdon and back to the Nantlle ridge tantalised, and once clear of the valley forestry we were on our own all the way up.

Snowdon presented a very different picture. Studied through binoculars the summit was a squirming kaleidoscope of brightly coloured jackets with more bobbing dots moving upwards like beads on a web of string.

Now Snowdon's top, with railway terminus and cafe, is rarely a place for quiet meditation in summer. But a crowd of that size must have snuffed out the faintest glimmer of enjoyment.

Mynydd Mawr, undemanding and unglamorous, delivered the goods - open spaces and quiet places. We had fun.