“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.”

I’ve always adored that quote, even though I know it doesn’t always apply. Some of life’s ‘storms’ are just too rubbish, and if you’ve experienced something really terrible, then the suggestion that all will be okay if you simply get up and jig about would probably – rightfully – be met with short shrift.

Particularly if you’ve broken your leg.

But literal storms in Snowdonia, one of the most beautiful places in the world?

You can definitely dance in those.

Which is probably for the best, since my good friend S and I weren’t to have much choice otherwise when we recently travelled up. Being Wales, there was always going to be over a 50% chance of rain, we anticipated that, but we weren’t expecting a full old storm called Dave to be joining us on our camping trip.

He could have at least asked us first, not that he’d have taken ‘no’ for an answer.

Nature never does.

But there are particular places in the world in which whatever the weather does, you’ll be smitten with it anyway. Snowdonia is one of those places, and it gets into my veins every single time, both in the hottest of sunshine (rare), or in the wettest of winds (much less rare) .

We ate sandwiches in the car by Lake Mymbyr in the pouring rain. Camped in a tent that flapped about more than me trying to decide what crisps to buy in Tesco.  Felt extreme levels of euphoria every time the stove was alight for long enough to make a cuppa. Got the majority of our clothes soaked, and subsequently worshipped the on-site tumble-dryer.

Yet during all that time, we were amidst some of the most stunning scenery I’ve ever set my eyes upon. The full moon hovering above the silhouette of the mountains, lighting up the way to the campsite loos at midnight to such effect it made the headtorch redundant. The azure waterfalls flushing down the sides of steep, slate inclines with their picturesque rock pools perforating the path. Fields of emerald green refracting the limited bursts of sunlight whilst sheep and lambs looked on.

Even in the worst of weather, some places just manage to grip you… in the same way you’ll grip on to a rock whilst a gust of wind tries to blow you into the Welsh skies, or down into a watery ‘llyn’ (not to be confused with a Lynn, who probably works somewhere in your HR department and drives a white Merc. Wears a lot of perfume.)

We were disappointed to not quite reach the peak of Snowdon, choosing to turn back 15 minutes from the very top due to treacherous 60 mph winds and hail on the ridge. It was the only time we gave into Dave’s demands, but perhaps by being so vehement he was trying to do us a favour. A different decision could have resulted in injury or worse, which would have spoiled everything.

Instead, we could take pride in being among only a scant handful of people to give the final stage of the climb a good go that day, a day when record-breaking winds (93 mph) were being recorded only down the road in Capel Curig.

Is the sense of achievement greater if you complete something with the assistance of good conditions, or if you don’t quite make it (but get very close!) in terrible ones? It’s fair to say I felt more proud of this ascent than the times I’ve reached the peak in favourable weather, simply because it was a lot more challenging and scary.

And maybe we could say the same thing about a lot of things in life. The harder you have to work for something, the less it becomes about the end goal. The finish line means less if you got a lift halfway, the certificate is less impressive if you copied the answers.

Instead it becomes more about the tenacity required just to give things a go when so many others wouldn’t.

(Another mountain, another philosophical lesson about life. How does this place do this to me every single time? You can read about another one here).

When you visit Snowdonia, you can be assured of three things:

1) You will fall in love with it and turn into a complete orophile, a word you’ll only learn whilst trying to work out the name for how you feel.

2) You will be touched by the kindness of local people (discounting the funny ol’ fish at the petrol station who seemed to take great delight in telling us we’d struggle to find a garage open on Easter Sunday to help with a car concern. Fortunately a man overheard and rushed to reassure us, demonstrating point 2).

The third thing? It’ll add a few new hues to your lens, and you’ll never quite be the same person again.

We definitely danced.