They wouldn't tell me what I was going to be doing for my stag weekend. All I was told was to turn up in Nant Peris and to bring my black tie evening suit.
Dutifully, although with slight trepidation, I arrived, with a rather more colourful jacket and top hat in place of the more traditional evening wear. Old friends began to arrive, many of whom were mountain people, all of whom I had shared tents, boats, climbs and adventures with. In a field we changed into our finery and our adventure began.
Assembly of a small pile of equipment began, with people producing pans and stoves, candles and table cloths, boxes and bags, cutlery and crockery, folding chairs, plywood sheets and scaffolding. It was quickly divided up and disappeared into rucksacks.
Leaving the road we set of on our path. Despite the heavy, awkward loads the equipment presented, there was a sense of amusement and good humour as we took the steep path up towards the top of Tryfan. As the path gave way to scrambling the pieces of scaffolding were passed hand to hand up the rock steps and the people followed. Two hours hard work and we were on the summit.
Once there, the miracle began. The scaffolding and plywood became a table, complete with cloth, candlesticks and cruet set. Some laid it for our feast while other set to cooking the meal. Dressed as if for a country house, we dined on soup and goulash, bread and biscuits, cheese and fruit, and wine and port and watched the sun slowly set over the Irish Sea.