Libby Peter reflects on her love for the Cromlech classic, Cemetery Gates E1 5b.

Created by fire and sculpted by ice, the umbered walls of Dinas Cromlech topple towards you. A giant volcanic wave with a sheer, impenetrable centre and furling edges that trickle benignly groundward. How does such a top-heavy giant retain this precarious perch? Resisting gravity, laws of physics and the onslaught of weathering. Will it one day stop resisting?

You'll surely remember the first time you drove down the Llanberis Pass – shooting glances at this most hallowed of cliffs, whilst negotiating the bends with a growing stomach-knot, moistening palms and seeds of doubt.

My first sight was a midweek, mid-autumn, carefree student day. Crisp air with a slant sun paling the rock. In my memory, we were alone in the valley - the laybys empty, our hearts full of dreams. We would have toiled directly up the bothersome scree, knowing no better and arriving sweaty and purposeful. The full weight of possibility looming above. 

But I am misremembering. My inaugural Cromlech day was not for The Gates. We were Corner bound. Imposters in this vertical world, having barely smelt success beyond VS, we didn't yet know to be patient. Or respectful. Fresh and fit from our first Alpine season; 6-weeks camping cheaply and scruffily at Pierre d-Orthaz, ensconced beneath the Chamonix granite that schooled us. Thoroughly.

Stream-washed hair, barely an uplift bought, invincible. At the end of our trip, our frugal living earned us a visit to Snell's, coming away with one of those long ropes that changed pattern midway. We'd chopped it - one became two - and we uncoiled them here at The Cromlech for their first outing. Proud of our thriftiness. Blue with pink fleck. Blue with pink zigzag. 

The days and years blur but the arrival beneath this cliff never fails to imprint. It rears up, incomprehensible and intimidating. An unbearable presence.

Repulsion. Attraction. Repulsion. Attraction.

Maybe it's not beautiful in an aesthetic sense, but it is sturdy and honest. No tricks, but no giveaway ticks either. If you are lucky enough to be visiting for the first time, at this point, with neck-craned and head-spinning, you'll be truly star-struck. You'll also be wracked by uncertainty and tempted to saunter away. To save it for another day. Don't. Set out and magic will unfold.

For a climb that I love, it's strange that I don't precisely remember the first occasion I climbed Cemetery Gates. Instead, the sum of countless encounters has merged to become a great fondness, like that saved for a reliable old friend. One you return to time and again, just because their company is easy. And enriching.  

If you're a trad climber, it is written in the stars that at some point you'll end up at the foot of The Gates. Lounging in the lap of the gnarled oak, you'll now struggle to get a view of the fissure that soars skyward, splitting the rightmost edge of the righthand page of the book. But you know it's there. You've seen it in a million photos, you've seen it from the road, from the scree, from the gearing-up ledge. You know it awaits.

You'll finally set off — a moment many years in the making. Wending your way comfortably at first. Lulled. Moments later, a teeter leftward – the first hint at the steepness ahead – threatens to unseat you. Your pulse will soar. You'll feel a little off-balance. You'll scratch your head, fish out awkward feet, look down at your partner for reassurance, an attentive nod and then, before you know it, you'll be sinking hands deep into the cleft. Deep into the past. Handfuls of rhyolitic ampleness. Enough to muster what you need to start pulling and swaying and writing your own tiny piece of history.

Engrossed now, you'll be oblivious to the vast expanse of nothingness beneath, nor the acres of verticality ahead. With every fibre of your being, you are living this moment, aware of nothing and everything. Finding energy and bravery and runners. Puzzling over some moves, breezing through others. You are finally climbing Cemetery Gates! Your partner, many worlds away below, will lean backwards now and again to get a better view, to check in, silently willing you to succeed.

Nevertheless, you'll feel very alone. And small.

Of all the climbs you'll later come to do on these walls, this one will feel the most out there. You'll be burning through your quota of bravery. Worrying too much, savouring not enough. But take heart, for it was ever thus. You are not alone in these endless cycles of doubt – paralysis, and eventually – action. Somehow, with elegance or not, you'll arrive at the girdle ledge. And here you'll find respite, for the first time, from your innermost demons. Belief and elation will settle on your weary shoulders. You might allow yourself a smile. You might consider carrying on to the summit.

But … to pause a while, perched safely on the unlikely ripple that cuts across the face at two-thirds height is one of the greatest delights in climbing. With an array of stout anchors to slump against you can finally relax a little, soak up the energy and magic of this unique place, gaze down from where you've come and across to where you might go next. A life's work. And maybe, in return for the enrichment you feel bathed in, gift it a tiny piece of your heart.

Add it to your UKC Wishlist: Cemetery Gates (E1 5b)