Introduction. The Haute Randonnée Pyrénéenne (HRP) travels
the length of the Pyrenees mountains
800 km (497 mi) from the Atlantic to the
Mediterranean. Unlike its cousins the GR10 in France and GR11 in Spain, it
follows the high country along the French-Spanish border and through Andorra.
Sometimes it follows a marked trail, sometimes it is a trail marked by cairns,
and sometimes it is just an unmarked cross-country route. We were following the
Cicerone guidebook, 2009 edition, which describes it in 45 day segments,
grouped in five sections with resupply and transportation links.
Day 1. Friday, June 29. Hendaye > Col Lizuniaga. Up
1300m; down 1070m.
We were running well behind the 8:15 normative time in the
guidebook. We pooped out at the base of La Ruhne, the iconic peak at the
western end of the Pyrenees.
Fortunately, a local told us about an easier route to Lizuniaga. But we
followed a sign to the town instead of the Col and by the time we figured it
out we had gone half an hour out of the way. We were too tired to continue, so
camped right there by the trail and back-tracked in the morning.
 |
| Fresh at the start La Ruhne--the peak we didn't climb |
Day 2. Saturday, June 30. Col de Lizuniaga > Arizkun. Up:
800m; down: 650m.
When we arrived at the Col the restaurant was closed. But we
did meet Tomas, an Irish guy 36 years old, who is hiking the Haute Route too.
So we have become hiking companions.
Thus far the landscape is beaucolic, with horses, sheep,
cows and 4WD tracks to numerous hunting blinds. We have walked more kilometers
on country road, both paved and unpaved, than on trails. There are so many
crisscrossing routes it is confusing. The better-known ones are well marked,
but our Haute Route is not. It is a hodge-podge, sometimes following the GR10
or the GR11, and sometimes using unmarked tracks. The map is inadequate and the
description hard to follow.
There is a thunderstorm every night. Tonight we got caught
out in the rain. Actually, it hailed, and it was excitingly beautiful!
Fortunately, when we got to the village, a neighbor—we knocked on the door—said
we could camp in the portico of the abandoned house next door. We swept out the
dirt, cat shit, garbage and weeds as best we could and were glad to have a dry,
spacious place to cook and sleep.
The first three days have been hell. Temperatures in the
90s, and doesn’t cool off below 70 at night. Packs are too heavy. Thousands of
feet of gain. We are not in shape for this. Very foot sore, and sore backs,
hips and shoulders too. We have gotten off route every day, and twice today. We
are consistently 25% behind normative time in the guide book. The route
descriptions are often hard to follow, especially when they are not on a
designated, marked route. Sometimes the route cuts through fields or on unmarked
tracks.
We are not eating enough calories. We are too tired at night
to have much appetite or energy for cooking (or writing). We haven’t been to a
grocery store, so lack certain supplies like sugar, mustard, and crackers or
bread. We did buy a baguette at a bar.
The highlight of the day and of the hike so far was
summiting Mt. Burga. It was a gentle hike up through a beautiful, shady, open
forest, and a very pleasant summit.
Tonight we are wild camping just off the road in a mown
hay field. We were lost—though the book said “navigation is not difficult” —and
found our way down to a farmhouse, only to learn that we were several
kilometers west of the place we were heading for. It was threatening to rain,
so we were eager to get the tents set up. As I write two hours later, we
haven’t gotten more than a couple drops. We heard the thunder, but apparently the storm passed us by.
 |
| Rest break On top of Mt. Burga |
Day 4. Monday, July 2.
Les Aldudes > Roncevalles. Up: 1000m; down: 400m.
It was a long day, covering 11 km just to get to our
original destination from yesterday, Les Aldudes, then continue on to
Roncevalles, to get back on schedule with the guide book. We also got off track
in the morning, causing a 4km detour up to the end of the road to a small
village where we asked questions how to get back where we wanted to be. With
two major detours, it was a very long day. I was limping badly in the last
section.
In Roncevalles we had a very good meal at a hotel: I had
lamb stew, Tomas had steak, and Mike had a tuna steak. That meal was very
satisfying, gave us a good foundation for tomorrow, and a lingering, fond
memory.
 |
| Herd and herders A handsome ram |
Day 5. Tues July 3. Roncevalles > Egurgui. Up: 900m; down:
850m.
This morning we did get up early, but I was still
pathetically tired. Whole body tired that even a good night’s sleep doesn’t
cure.
We are learning how to stay on route. No error today. There
was some debate which way to go when the book route—nine years out of date—went
a different way than the newly signed GR12: the sign board clearly showed it
going where we were headed. The “man of the book” prevailed.
I have been having foot problems. A major blister on my
second little toe on my left foot, and taping it hasn’t resolved it. I have
tried different sock combinations too. The Wright socks are clearly the best.
Also, going on pavement, especially downhill, even with gel pads, my toes and
forefeet start to hurt. Walking up hill on soft ground my feet feel fine.
We walked a lot of road today, paved and unpaved. The
morning’s route was shared with about 200 “peregrinos” walking the Camino de
Santiago Compostella, going toward Roncevalles where we left this morning. Lots
of “Hello,” “Hola,” “Bonjour,” and “Buen Camino.” I even met a Brazilian woman
and got to speak a bit of Portuguese with her.
The last part of the day the route took us down a steep
slope with no trail, down to a river with a small bridge, then up the opposite
slope on a small path to the crest. The narrow valley was gorgeous, but I was
tired and slow and not happy. The boys were way ahead, mostly out of sight.
Mike looked back once or twice to make sure I was coming. I was fuming. Just
when I got to the fence near the top, they were coming to meet me. I said,
“Your timing is good: I was going to drop my pack here and send you back to
fetch it.” Tomas took it up to the pass for me. I gave each of them a big heavy
bag of food, “to slow you down, speed me up, make you wait less, and make me
less tired and grumpy.” Then I clicked my heels in the air a couple times and
ran down the hill. Well, sort of, just for show. But I was more cheerful and we
were all together.
There are sheep, cows and horses everywhere. Usually they
have bells. The terrain alternates between pasture and forest. I prefer the
trails through the forest.
Today we saw some cromlech (ancient stone circles). I am
curious to learn more about them. We saw a fox, a whole mess of huge, soaring
eagles (Golden?) and Tomas saw some kind of wild cat today.
Today we were a little higher and the weather has been less
hot. I wore shorts and tee-shirt finally, and packed away my skirt and skimpy
lingerie top. This morning we hiked through some mist, just what the Pyrenees
are famous for. I wished I’d taken a photo. Tonight it was windy and cool, no
rain.
I haven’t been writing much because I have been too tired. We haven’t had
much slack time.
Day 6. Wednesday, July 4. Egurgui > Col Bagargui. Up: 900m;
down 400m.
Mike has not slept well until last night: earplugs made the
difference! In this campsite we have had a constant chorus of cowbells and moos
to supplement the cacophony of the creek. It’s a little misty this morning, but
no rain, so we got to pack up a dry tent.
Breaking camp, we got to watch a couple herders in a big
animal freighter and a small pickup and their two sheep dogs unload the
truckload of sheep and herd them down the road. First they started up the wrong
hill, so the herders called the dog to bring them back, then sent them out again
down the road. It was awesome to watch and listen to them work. Then they drove
down the road and the dogs ran.
The day’s hike included more cromlechs and a stopover at a
restaurant where we had beer, salad, frites (French fries), and a mushroom
omelet. The omelet was really wonderous: I wonder what kind of mushrooms they
were, as they were more flavorful than anything commercially available in the
US.
I am still hiking by myself a lot, with the boys up ahead
route finding and walking their own pace. I’m not enjoying it much. It feels
like a forced march. I am tired and slow, with intermittent foot pain of
various types. I am constantly adjusting my socks, my gel pads, my blister
tape, trying to get a combination that works. My feet are generally good going
uphill, but hurt in my toes and forefeet when going down, due to more impact
and crowding. My feet swell. At least my toe blisters are starting to heal and
be less painful.
Rain. It started with a thunderstorm when we were just 15
minutes from our destination. We waited it out in the woodshed of a vacation
cabin. The renters arrived just when we were packing up, but didn’t notice us.
We are now settled into a “gite” (hostel) for 15€ per person, with kitchen and
shower. Basic bunks, no sheets or towels.
 |
| A cromlech |
Thursday, July 5. Layover at Col Bagargui. Rain is forecast
all day, so we will layover and get an early start on Friday. Ah, the upside of
a rainy day! My body is starting to recover and my enthusiasm is returning. I
am feeling warm, dry and well fed. And I have pawned most of my food weight off
on Mike and Tomas, so my pack will be lighter. And one pen just ran out of ink,
so I’m tossing that too. Now back to my audio book, The Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire.
Day 7. Friday, July 6. Col Bagargui > Cabane d’Ardané. Up:
1000m; down 1100.
Ah, a soul-satisfying day! No navigational errors, little or
no foot pain, not hot, no rain, the layover restored my body, and—best of all—a
peak worthy of the title Mountain. (The book called it “a demanding, tough
walk… Route finding can be difficult as there is often no path.”) We climbed
Pic d’Orhy, 2017m. Although there was sheep shit all the way to the top, it was
a rocky climbers’ route, including a short scree patch and a very narrow
limestone ridge. And had there been no mist, the view would have been
spectacular! I love climbing!
Hiking the frontier ridge we followed the border stone markers.
One of the joys of hiking the Pyrenees is the wildflowers: lots of
different kinds, some familiar but I wouldn’t be confident naming them. Too bad
Tom is not here to log them! Oh the other reason it was such a good day is that
my pack is lighter: Tomas is carrying our dinner food. Mike is starting to have
some foot pain like I do.
We are now camped at Cabane d’Ardané. The hut itself would
be good in a rain storm, but it is too dark to be pleasant when the weather is
good. Which it is. Cloudy, misty, but dry and calm. We are in bed by 8pm
because we have nothing else to do. This valley is filled with bleating,
bell-ringing sheep. We are camped near the sheep herders house and his
bell-decked cow is grazing nearby. We will sleep with earplugs.
We make a good team. Tomas is the strong one in the lead,
the scout, the earnest navigator carefully reading the book and learning to use
his GPS. Mike is the more experienced navigator, teaching Tomas and using his
own sharp eyes and judgement, which sometimes confirms and sometimes
challenges. And I have the language skills to ask directions when we can’t
figure it out. I also have good intuition: “If I were a trail, that is where I
would be.” Tomas’ strength comes from mountain running. His patience and
support for me come from his work with troubled teens and autistic kids.
Day 8. Saturday, July 7. Cabane d’Ardané > Source de Marmitou.
Up: 1150m; down 630m.
What a fabulous day! We are now in the high Pyrenees—over 2k
meters—and it is gorgeous! One long descent this morning gave me acute pain in
my forefeet, and I had to take a long break, but other than that I felt pretty
good. It was a long day: normed at 8:25 hours, but for us we left at 8:00 and
arrived at 6:30pm. I just go my slow pace, which gets slower as the km go by,
and they wait for me. They are quite tired too. But the limestone landscape as
been spectacular! And there was a hail storm that left an inch of ice balls in
the nooks and crannies. We just missed it by a few minutes: all we got was a
little rain.
 |
| Tenting in Source de Marmitou |
Day 9. Sunday, July 8.
Source de Marmitou > Lescun. Up: 50m; down: 951m.
There was the biggest storm last night I’ve ever been out
in! Started with lightening flashes at 2:30 am, then as it moved closer the
thunder and rain and wind lashed the tent. It shook all the condensation off
the ceiling of the tent down on us like rain. I discovered in the morning that
it also pulled the rainfly vestibule line off the stake so everything in my
vestibule got wet: i.e. my boots were filled with water. And enough came in the
bug netting that we had a couple puddles in the low corners of the tent. And
our sleep pads were wet on the bottom. But it was a dry morning, so the gear
was mostly dry by the time we packed up.
Not wanting to hold him up any longer, we took the last of
our dinner bag back and said goodbye to Tomas.
Just a 3 hour walk downhill to Lescun, where we got a hot
lunch, a clean bed, showers and laundry service. It feels good!
 |
| A shepherd's hut Lescun |
Day 10. Monday, July 9. Lescun > Refuge d’Arlet. Up:1300;
down: 200.
We had an excellent breakfast at the hotel, with the best ever, local,
artisanal yogurt, home-made green melon preserves, brown bread and butter, and
the lightest, flakiest croissants ever. Went shopping at the store for sandwiches
and bread and cheese and cookies, then off down the trail. A relatively easy
day, lots of climbing but an easy grade. Left Lescun at 9:30, arrived at Refuge
d’Arlet at 4:45.We are hiking more or less normative time.
The lower trail had the worst ever biting horse flies! At
the peak I was swatting about 6 per minute. When we finally got to alpine the
flies abated. Our last hour along the ridges included amusing views of mule
packers with kids, in two groups: one small with one mule, one dad and two
kids, and the other large with three mules and about a dozen kids, apparently
for a week of camping and hiking in the Parc National des Pyrénées
Occidentales. They and several other groups are camped next to us outside the
refuge.
Mike was especially cranky today, complaining about his lack
of sleep—due to springs in the mattress—and his heavy pack. When we sorted out
our food, however, we only gave away a couple things: some hummus powder, sour
cream powder and spices.
Day 11. Tuesday, July 10.
Refuge d’Arlet > Candanchu. Up: 550m; down: 1000m.
Mike is not having fun. He is not as strong as he’d like to
be. He complains that the pack is too heavy. We are considering how to modify
the hike. As for me, as long as the terrain is beautiful and I get to hike at
my own pace and give my feet a break when they are starting to hurt, and its
not too hot, I am happy! Mike says his feet and knees are beginning to hurt. He
is reading ahead to cherry-pick his priorities.
Today the route was long and challenging, but very
interesting. After lunch the book directed us to a steep path up the side of a
ridge that apparently is the route of a water pipe from a large lake reservoir.
There was even a short section of metal ladder. The top of the ridge was a
large lake where I took a quick bath. Not too cold either. It felt great. Then
the route went over a pass and around the head of a steep valley, complete with
rock-hopping a couple steep mountain streams and traversing a scree slope
reminiscent of the Goat Trail. The forest sections of trail I thought were
beautiful too.
We did make one navigational error. Before noon we were
coming down a road and missed the turnoff to the footbridge across the river.
We went down to the parking lot at the end of the track and had to figure out
where we were relative to where we were supposed to be. We weren’t that far off
and there was a trail directly there, so it wasn’t a big deal to me. For Mike
he was livid with rage, and while he directed it at himself and not at me, I
was collateral damage: he was irritated and intemperate with me. At lunch I
asked for an apology, which only set him off again. But he retreated until he
calmed down, and we both ended up apologizing.
We arrived at Candanchu, a Spanish ski resort. There was no
camping, so we booked into a refugio. The two German guys we met on the trail
were there too, and we ended up in the same bunkroom. Dinner and breakfast
included: grim, meat-eater fare, but the company was great. We were at a table
with four middle-aged Spanish guys from Barcelona who spoke English to varying
degrees. They were high school teachers: biology, English, Latin and Greek, and
PE. Stimulating conversation.
Day 12. Wednesday, July 11. Candanchu > Refuge de Pombie. Up:
1300m (whew!); down: 820m.
The hike today was hard, with lots of climbing, some snow
and a boulder field. Thunderstorms were predicted but never
arrived. It was misty morning and evening, but we had a few hours of clear
weather mid-day, just in time to see spectacularly craggy, monolithic peaks,
Pic du Midi d’Ossau, 2884m from the highpoint of our route, Col de Peyreget at 2300m. We also passed some lovely alpine lakes with lots
of day hikers, families picnicking and bathers.
Have I mentioned yet the wildflowers? They are spectacular,
and the immense variety is staggering. I have never seen so many varieties in
one region. Many of them are familiar, but many are not.
We are now camped out in close quarters with four other
tents outside Refuge de Pombie, 2032m. We have not seen Tomas for two days now. He left Reguio
d’Arlet an hour before us; we hoped to see him at Candanchu, but he was not
there. He probably went further to wild camp. We hoped to see him here, but no
sign of where he might be now. Maybe he is going fast: he is, after all, a
mountain runner.
I think we are past the crisis: the packs are lighter, we
are stronger and more in rhythm with the journey, and we are enjoying the
company. We met a middle-aged Scottish foursome today who are regulars here.
Day 13. Thursday, July 12. Refuge de Pombie > Lacs d’Arriel.
Up: 1150; down: 237.
More navigation problems. Record start: we left camp at 8am.
It was a dry morning with clear sky in the south, clouds in the north. We arrived
at the highway in normative time, found the two foot bridges, highway and cabane as
described, but nothing else made sense. We wandered around for a while trying
to figure it out. Finally went up the road to the pass on the frontier where
there was a national park visitor center. The ranger explained there are two trails down from Refugio Pombie. We
took the “wrong” one. We were at Col de Pourtalet, 10km from the trail junction
we intended. She suggested we hitchhike. Great idea! A nice French guy in a
hatchback Peugeot—he had been hiking that morning—picked us up and dropped us
down the road, just as the rain started. We took refuge in a small, dark
cabane.
Mike is not so angry this time, but disgusted and wondering
why he keeps making these mistakes. Humbling. Sobering. Is there any lesson
learned?
Soon we were joined by a French guy and his young daughter
also taking refuge from the storm. We shared some cheese and crackers with them. His wife, second child and three
dogs arrived just as we were leaving. I went across the road to buy goat cheese from a local
producer. She sold me three kinds: fresh, soft cheese—with added honey as a
bonus—medium cheese, and a hard, aged cheese. They were all delicious. Being
weight conscious, we ate the soft cheese first, and saved the hard cheese for another
day.
After the rain stopped we hiked up the hill to the Col
d’Arrémoulit. The weather was good so we took the via ferrata, Passage
d’Orteig, the high route to Refuge d’Arrémoulit. It was totally spectacular! We
stopped at the refuge long enough to greet our Scottish friends and have a bowl
of soup (just veggie broth actually) and a chocolate crepe. We’d decided to
hike the shorter variant route, skipping Refuge de Larribet and two high passes
(2617m, 2706m) with snow requiring crampons and ice axe, to go directly to
Refuge Wallon. We hiked through snow and rock over the next Col and descended
steeply into a spectacular cirque with a couple lakes surrounded by craggy
walls and roaring snowmelt waterfalls. We dropped our packs by the first lake,
then scrambled around packless. We decided to set up camp at the second lake,
in a stone circle probably built by sheep herders. The whole evening was
incredibly beautiful, though the sun had already passed our site. Lots of rock
and meadow with a few scraggly pine and azalea.
Day 14. Friday, July 13. Lacs d’Arriel > Refuge Wallon. Up:
544m; down: 1126m.
The morning was misty. Neither of us slept well—don’t know
why. Didn’t get up till 7:20, and hit the trail at 8:20, just as the mist was
starting to lift. Another spectacular hike! The most beautiful section looked
like the Butchart Gardens, with pine and granite and grass and green
ground cover and lots and lots of pink flowering azalea lining the granite
composite path. Another highlight was a bug I’ve never seen before. My Scottish friends said it
is a barnet. It is shaped like a bee, and acts like a bee, but it has brilliant
red wings and a black body. She said it is a type of moth. I’ll have to look it
up.
We had lots of snow to climb up to the Col de Faiche, so tried
out new ultralight traction devices. Unsure whether they were really any better
than just good Vibram soles. Mine did work better than Mike’s since his were on
incorrectly which provided a good laugh for all concerned.
Didn’t have the energy to climb the Pic d’Gran Fache, so
opted to descend directly to the Refuge Wallon. More snow fields, and we are
pretty fast going down the snow. Arrived about 4:30, just in time to get the
tent set up before a brief thunder shower. Good timing: I went out to wash and
bathe in the river. The sun was out by the time I returned. Oh I felt so much better!
I hope I can dry my socks before tomorrow.
Tonight we are eating dinner at the refuge. It is the
biggest one we’ve seen. Good vegan lentils with soy protein and rice!
Day 15. Saturday, Jul 14. Bastille Day! Refuge Wallon > Refuge
de Bayssellance. Up: 1400m; down: 615m.
We are camped outside the Refuge de Bayssellance, the
highest refuge in the National Park, near the highest peak on the
Spanish-French border, Pic Vignemale, 3298m. We had lots of high passes (2734m)
with snow fields and talus to cross today, and our first sighting of a
(remnant) glacier. We stopped for omelet at the Refuge de Oulettes de Gaupe,
which had a direct view of the glacier and the peak. It would be a lovely place
to spend some time. There are lots of day hikers and climbers around this
weekend.
Last night there was a big thunder, lightning, rain and wind
storm. Some things in the vestibule got wet, and the wind shook the
condensation off the ceiling so our sleeping bags got a little sprinkle too. We
ate breakfast at the refuge—great muesli—to give things a little more time to
dry, and to say goodbye to our Scottish friends. Our German friends were at Wallron last night too, and we
expected to see them here tonight, but haven’t.
Mike was kvetching again this morning about every little thing,
to the point where even he realized he was ruining the experience. I think this
is his spiritual journey for this Camino. We talked a bit. He asked if I though
he was goal-oriented. I said yes for this trip, but not in general. I offered
two more frames: (1) competitiveness--yes, he said, he’s very competitive--with
the book author, with the younger, faster climbers, and with his own younger,
wanna-be self; or (2) his deep desire for autonomy without external directives
or limitation is bumping up against the indignities of aging, and he is
fighting tooth and nail. All three frames boil down to ego, which any good
Buddhist will tell you is the root of all suffering. Maybe the insight is
taking root: he seemed happier this afternoon.
Day 16. Sunday, July 15. Baysellance > Gavarnie. Up: 200m;
down 1485m.
I was slow getting up, and slow going down, down, down.
Knees have been hurting for days, so I am on a steady diet of Vitamin I
(Ibuprofen). It was a beautiful day, getting hotter as we went down, saved only
by a breeze. The back side of Vignemale was snow all the way: it would have
been a great time to climb it, and frankly the only peak that has been
attractive to me, but having neither the equipment (ice axe and crampons) nor
the energy, it was not in the cards.
From the valley, the most dramatic features were several
huge waterfalls. Traversing around the head of our valley we stopped for lunch
and a swim and made love in the sun behind a huge boulder.
We reached Gavarnie without undue difficulty. We were amused to
see that it is quite the tourist town, complete with tours on horseback. Found
our way to the tourist office, drank beer, and savored passion fruit ice cream
at the bar next door. On the advice of our waitress, we walked uptown to find a
very nice gite (hostel). We are sharing the room with an older couple from
Barcelona. Our window has a direct, fabulous view of the Cirque of Gavarnie and
the Gran Cascade: an amphitheater of 2000m of sheer rock, with the tallest
waterfall in all Europe. It’s a tourist center for good reason!
After delicious showers we had a fab dinner at a great
restaurant with a perfect view of the Cirque. For just 23€each we had a three
course- dinner and every item was exquisite. Vegan cassoulet and gazpacho for
Mike, and “trout” ceviche-like appetizer and “trout” on a bed of lentils with a
delicate herb mustard sauce for me. Their trout appears to be something like
our Dolly Varden: a pale, delicate version of salmon. Mike was quite amused at
dinner watching a table full of older Japanese women hikers and their young,
multi-lingual boy-guide. They were quite lively.
Between the half bottle of wine and my bad knees, I leaned
on Mike all the way back to the gite. If my knees don’t recover dramatically,
we will have to postpone hiking section three. A thunder, lightning and rain
storm is forecast tomorrow anyway.
Layover. Monday, July 16. Our day in Gavarnie we laid pretty
low. Got my pole tips replaced at the Randoneé shop, new gel insoles, bought
food for the next several days, did laundry, napped, and took a short walk up
to the trailhead. We were both pretty tired, and my knees hurt quite a bit.
Ran into our Scottish friends who were staying at the same
place, so we had dinner with them and a good, long get-to-know you visit. Dave
and Alec are both career conservationists and vegan as well as strong hikers.
Day 17. Tuesday, July 17. Gavarnie > Héas. Up: 1150m; down:
1000m.
It was beautiful all day. Mike started out cranky again, but
mellowed as the day went on. The morning hike was up through a gorgeous cirque
and over a scenic high pass. The afternoon, we went down down down in the valley
and ended up walking on roads for several km to Héas. The parking lots at the
trailhead were over-full, and there were LOTS of day hikers and families on the
trail and picnicking by the river. It must be the first week of summer
vacations for everyone.
We are camped outside an auberge (refuge) that provides
amenities: food, showers, toilets, kitchen sink for cleaning up, mowed grass
and picnic tables. It is sunny and a very pleasant evening, very quiet except
for the waterfall behind us, with a glimpse of a beautiful cirque to the east.
We are definitely considering leaving off the trip early if
we don’t start feeling better/stronger. The next two days should be relatively
easy, ending up in the Spanish town of Parzan, with a road out if we decide to
take it. I don’t know if it is the vitamin-I or natural healing, but my knees
are feeling a bit better.
Day 18. Wednesday, July 18. Heás > Lacs du Barroude. Up:
1108m; down: 235m.
Slow start this morning. I was awake for hours in the middle
of the night with acute gas pains and diarrhea: three trips to the commode. The
guide book called for a 10-hour hike to Parzan; we opted to divide it in two.
It was chilly in the valley but warmer as we climbed the
hill. The terrain got more interesting as the day went by. Started with cow
country, and three passes later ended up in alpine, glacial carved cliffs,
talus and snow fields. In both valleys a helicopter was delivering loads to
local sheepherders. Some pretty dramatic sections of trail were cut into
cliffy shale ridgelines, or squeezed at the base of Barroude Wall, a sheer,
vertical wall of black rock. Don’t know what kind.
The Barroude refuge here burned down five years ago, so not
many people come here now. There are just three other guys here, sleeping in a
windowless cement hovel and fishing in the lake.
It started to thunder shower just as we got the tent set up.
It let up an hour later just long enough for us to fetch water and cook dinner,
though we had to retreat to the tent to eat it. In bed by 8:30. Then it lifted
and turned into a beautiful evening, so I postponed bedtime long enough to walk
up a hillock with a 360 degree view. It ended up a good day: I am not exhausted!
We have decided to continue the trip as planned, with the
possible substitute of GR11 for the Haute Route in section 4. More research
needed. Mike has gotten used to the pack weight and we are both feeling a bit
better.
Day 19. Thursday, July 19. Barroude > Parazon. Up: 162m; down: 1435m.
The hike from Lacs do Barroude to Parzan started in that
alpine wonderland, over a pass, and down, down into a valley. It ended walking
a few kilometers down the highway. It was beautiful weather. We saw more and
more day hikers and mountain runners. The valley we descended had a beautiful
clear river tumbling over large, granite boulders in a park-like setting. It
turned into a dirt road through a historic mining district—iron ore and silver.
The conventional wisdom is that there has been iron mining here since prehistoric
times, and silver mining in Roman times.
We camped in a field near the trailhead north of Parzan. We
walked into town to shop, eat and bathe in the river.
Day 20. Friday, July 20. Parzan > Camping Focallo. Up: 1320m;
down: 860m.
In the morning we had a long walk up the road. In fact, most
of the day we were walking on dirt roads. It was a relatively easy hike, over a
pass and down the valley on the other side. The valley was a pretty pine forest
with higher summits around. It was a relatively boring hike, and hard on the
feet. Mikes feet are now sore.
At the first col we met Hilda, a 39-ear-old dancer from the
Netherlands who is hiking the Haute Route solo. She had her ice axe and
crampons and was looking for someone else to hike the main high route with; we
of course, lacking the requisite Ice ax and crampons, were taking the alternate
route. She was a dancer, and knew all about foot problems. I gave her my old
gel pads to try. We also met Jaques, a French guy hiking the GR11. He too had
ice axe and crampons. We leap frogged them most of the day.
Our daily thunderstorm was early. We arrived at Camping
Forcallo just 15 minutes after the rain started in earnest. We sat in the bar
until we got a lull just long enough to set up the tent. The place was filled
with car-camping families. It cleared later that evening; we were dismayed to
discover, had we walked up to the highest level for camping, it was open, less
buggy, and had a nice view. So much for hasty decisions based on tired and
rain. We are now on Day 19 in the Haute Route guide book.
Day 21. Saturday, July 21. Camping Focallo > Benaques. Up:
992m; down: 1322m.
We hiked from Camping Focallo, past the Refugio de Viados,
over the Col, stopped at the Refugio de Estos for eggs and French fries and to
wait out the shower, and on down to Camping Aneto near Benaques. As usual, the
high country was beautiful and the low country was mostly walking on roads. The
river itself was gorgeous, clear water, tumbling over huge granite boulders. We
arrived to find a major running race in progress and the campground jam-packed
full. The place was nevertheless well organized and quite comfortable, with a
pleasant restaurant onsite.
Day 22. Saturday, July 22.
Benaques > Refugio de Coronas. Up: 730m; down: 0.
We spent the morning in Benaques watching the Aneto &
Pineas runners and the hoopla, eating and shopping. Nice town with about five
sports, ski and mountaineering shops!
Then we packed up and walked up the dirt road
to Refugio de Coronas. It is a small, unstaffed hut at the end of the road.
There is bus service here! And a big group of teens (a summer camp) camped
across the stream, despite the no camping sign. And no latrine, and lot of
human feces and toilet paper in the woods. Staying here was none-the-less
pleasant: nice table, easy to cook, eat and pack, and last evening was sunny
and beautiful, so we cooked and ate outside.
We were joined by a lone Spaniard from Barcelona named
Jaques. He was our age. He’d just come back from climbing Pic d’Aneto with
(slow, out of shape) friends. He got up this morning to climb again, a route
he’s never done before, and descend another way. He knows all the trails and
refugios around here and gave us good advice about how to do section four
without carrying lots of food. It was good seeing his trail map! Wish we had
one.
Day 23. Monday, July 23. Refugio de Coronas > Hospital
d’Vielha. Up: 1656; down: 1280.
The hike from Refugio de Coronas went up a beautiful valley
to a steep Col. It was very bouldery and the trail marks were hard to follow.
Mike was far ahead, and I started following cairns. But they didn’t seem to be
going the right way. I stopped some hikers who showed me a map, and sure enough
I was on the wrong route. I had to traverse across boulders and snowfields to
get back on the well-marked GR11 and reach the Col were Mike was waiting.
Down steeply on the other side, then over another Col to a
high alpine plateau gently sloping and dotted with lakes and ringed with mountains.
I proposed that we stop and bivouac to enjoy the beautiful place and enjoy a
half-day layover. Mike wanted to keep going. (More on this later.) So we left
the beautiful alpine country and went down, following the water course down the
switchbacks through the forest, to the bottom of the valley, down the dirt
road, down to the highway, and across in search of the Refugio Conangulus where
we had dinner about 8:00pm. Oh yeah, we were smart enough to stop for a splash
in the river while we still had sun before we got down to the highway. It was a
long day. Mike thought it was the hardest descent of all: he didn’t like the
tree roots. I just plodded at my own tired pace and was fine—though my feet and
ankles were tired enough to be vulnerable to injury.
So the issue of contention between us was whether to lay
over at the lakes in the beautiful, late afternoon. I was advocating more time
in the alpine, more “play” time, more R&R, and shorter days. I am not sure
what Mike was thinking, but it had to do with too early to stop; we’d just have
a longer day the next day; we still have days to go to get to
Salardu, and what about food? Not something he usually cares about. Anyway, he
did offer to flip a coin, which I appreciated because it showed that he was
giving my opinion equal weight: he’d learned this lesson from previous fights
we’d had while traveling. But I demurred to his preference. I took it as my
spiritual exercise in non-attachment, being generous. I had long since resigned
myself that this is his trip more than mine (i.e. I wanted to rent crampons and
ice axes to climb d’Aneto, which he’d rejected). He is hellbent on walking
coast to coast, "if we can.” I interpret this to mean nothing short of a
paralyzing disability.
So hiking down the trail I admit I stewed a bit about it,
resenting the “forced march’, planning to hate the heat and the boring valley
and the tiring descent. But in fact it passed and I mellowed. It was all okay.
I wasn’t exhausted and miserable. The shady forest was pleasant enough. I also
took some satisfaction that half an hour down the trail he “got it” that I was
proposing three short days, not two extra-long days. He offered to camp right
there—I think his feet hurt—but the new place did not meet my standards for
alpine beauty and we were already moving, committed to playing it out.
We arrived at the Refugi Conangles quite tired, and ready
for a big dinner and glass of wine. It was satisfying. We walked another 15
minutes up the trail near the former Hospital d’Vielha and found a discreet
place to bivouac near the trailhead.
The only real downside in the end was that we were too
exhausted to enjoy a robust next day. Also, the opportunity cost to bivouac in
a beautiful place.
Day 24. Tuesday, July 24. Hospital d’Vielha > Refugi de la
Restanca. Up: 694m; down: 310m.
We are now in sync with the guide book: Day 24. Our first
day hiking in the rain. We were tired and slept late: 8:30. Didn’t get going
until 10:20. Slow climbing the Col. As usual, the higher we got, the more
beautiful. Lots of false summits. I was running on low fuel, and had to stop
for a snack bar. Mike was way ahead. Lunch at the top at 1pm. Ahh, the cheese
and bread and super green drink were good!
By the time we got to the trail junction after the first big
lake, the storm had hit, so we bailed on the plan to follow the Haute Route to
the lakes and opted for the shorter, lower path on the GR11 to the Refugi.
Rough walking, but the valley was beautiful, rimmed with rugged cliffs. It
rained off and on the whole time: the rocks were slick and the creeks and
trails were running full. We were way slower than the normative time. Got here
about 4:30. Booked a bed and had a beer and hot chocolate. By that time the sun
had come out and it was hot and gorgeous. We had some regrets that we had not
taken the high route, but the Refugi is interesting too.
Sleeping at the Refugi with 30 other people side by side in
two long shelves was an experience. It was remarkably comfortable and went
remarkably smoothly. Everyone is organized and quiet and respectful going to
bed and getting up. We were comfortable, yet didn’t sleep soundly. We got up
just before 7, in time for breakfast. Still didn’t manage to hit the trail till
8:20. But felt good hiking today. Good energy and pace.
I also want to comment on the showers: good showers and the
water was really, scaldingly hot! I washed my hair. There is no gender
separation in the bathrooms but of course doors on the stalls. Veggie dinner,
breakfast, two showers and two beds and two red wines cost 96€. The refuge
administrator was a very friendly, funny, multi-lingual middle-aged woman. In
the winter she teaches informatics. The guests are totally international from
all over Europe. We’ve met no other Americans. Everyone uses English as their
travel language.
Tomorrow we will get up early, eat a refugi breakfast, and
get an early start.
Day 25. Wednesday, July 25. Refugi de la Restanca > Estany
Major de Colomers. Up: 600m; down: 440m.
We are camped in a pine forest below the Estany Major de
Colomers. There is a stream and marshy meadow, and massive glacier-scoured
mounds of bedrock.
The highlight of today—of the trip actually—was dumping our
packs to climb Montardo d’Aran (2826m) from the Col de Crestada. Its very
nearly the first time we did anything just for fun! And we capped it off with a
little tryst on top. The peak is not high and it was an easy climb. The view of
the surrounding mountains and lakes is spectacular! Especially Pic d’Aneto, the
highest in the Pyrenees.
The hike over three cols was satisfyingly alpine, though we
did walk through one herd of cows. The day was beautiful. Anticipating the
afternoon thundershowers—and we were ready to stop walking and didn’t want to
continue to roads and town anyway—we stopped and made camp about 4:30. The rain
didn’t start until 6:30, so we had a pleasant hour in the evening sun, and got
dinner cooked just in time to retreat to the tent and eat it.
Day 26. Thursday, July 26. Estany Major de Colomers > Salardu.
Up: 0; down: 850.
The rain last night lasted less than an hour. We slept well
and packed up this morning by 9. We were less than 20 minutes to the parking
lots! Then another couple hours down valley on roads and trails to the villages
of Tredos and Salardu where we had a nice lunch. Aside from the ski area, these are pretty little, historic villages, including an old church with gorgeous frescoes.
I’m so glad we stopped to camp last night when we did. It was
a long slog this morning, and my feet and ankles and knees are tired. There was
no place else to bivouac, and it was much prettier than anything here in the
valley.
We decided to take a few days off from hiking and go to
Barcelona. Unfortunately, both the tourism office and the supermercado close
for several hours mid-day. Fortunately the waitress is a good source of
information. We will take a local bus to Arties, and from there a long-distance
bus to Barcelona.
Layover in Barcelona: July 27-Aug1. Our six-day layover did
us good. Besides giving our knees, feet and ankles a rest (though of course we
did a lot of city walking) we ate ice-cream every day to make up lost calories.
We bussed back to Salardu and slept at the refugi.
Day 27. Thursday, August 2. Salardu > Refugi Airoto. Up: 1500m; down: 570m.
To get a head start on the hike, we took the bus to Boqueira
ski resort and tried to pick up the route from there. But nothing jived. We
eventually made our way up the hill (argh!) to Parking Orri of the ski resort
where the trail takes off. I didn’t realize until today how it was we screwed
up so badly: the directions were from the town of Bagergue, not Baqueira! No
wonder nothing jived! Anyway, we finally got on route, though our “short cut”
cost us time; no net savings.
The route took us off trail, over a summit, along a ridge,
over a col and down to the lake and refugi. We looked down from the ridge and
decided to take the direct route, down the steep slope and across a boulder
field to the lake. We did not realize until we checked Gaia, close to the lake,
that it was not Airoto. Airoto lake was on the other side of a ridge. But there
was a trail from that lake, so route finding was easy. It is still uncertain
whether our “short cut” was shorter or longer than the described route. It was
pleasant anyway. But it was a long day, and we were tired.
We slept
at the Refugi with five other guys. The young French guy—a math major
who did a research internship at MIT—is also hiking the Haute Route, but he
aims to do it in 35 days. The other three were from Barcelona and were out for
a couple days in the mountains. They even packed a bottle of wine! The refugi
was a modern A-frame, bright orange with one shelf and six mats for sleeping,
two large tables inside and out, and a nice wood stove.
Day 28. Friday, August 3. Refugi Airoto > unnamed lake. Up:
1020m; Down: 1200m.
The walk today was beautiful at first, going over a col
between two alpine valleys with lots of lakes, boulder fields and naked
mountains. But of course going down valley it got hotter and hotter and we
ended up on a road, then off track and finding our own way through steep ravine
and down across a steep cow pasture to the village. I was hot, tired and hungry
when we arrived and my feet hurt. The village was dead quiet. We ate lunch on a
bench and regrouped. There were incredible amounts of spiny grass seeds in our
boots and socks!
We walked up a tarmac road to a bridge across the river,
where we stopped to bathe before climbing the hill. It was 4:00 pm and starting
to cool, plus as we got higher (and happier!) there was some breeze and
intermittent forest. So here we are, back at heaven’s gate!
We are camped at a tiny lake 3.5 hours up the hill from the
village of Alos de Isil, on the way to Col de la Cornella. It looks clear
enough that we decided to take a chance and not pitch the tent. It is actually
cool enough to sleep in the zipped sleeping bag for once! The curious cows are
keeping us company.
Day 29. Saturday, August 4. unnamed lake > Noarre. Up: 790m;
down: 1090m.
Our experiment sleeping out last night worked great, except
there was a lot of dew and the sun didn’t hit our site until about 9:30am to
dry everything off. So we weren’t packed up till 9:45. Slept till 8:30.
Our hike today was over three cols and threaded through a
number of gorgeous alpine lakes. We were very happy with the day—cloudy and
not hot in the morning, sunny in the afternoon—until after Refuge Enric Pujol,
when we descended in the increasingly hot sun. We did eventually stop at a
cascading stream in a birch and pine forest to cool off, soak our feet and eat
Nuttella on digestive biscuits. We felt better after that. And we were
absolutely dumb-lucky delighted with our reception in Noarre and camping! We
asked information from a local, Maria, who turned out to speak good English
told us where to camp, then came down to our tent to invite us to dinner! We
are camped by the river below the village of Noarri. It is idyllic: clear
water, a level field, with no cow shit, a couple birch trees on our side and a
forest on the other.
Dinner with Maria and Pedro and their two teenage boys was
great. They have all spent time—i.e. a year of exchange—in the US or Canada, so
they all speak excellent English. Maria and Pedro are both self-employed
entrepreneurs: she is a graphic designer developing a line of up-scale hand
fans marketed as contemporary haute couture. He markets organic health
foods—super greens, protein powders and such.
The only remaining problem is that we are counting on buying
more groceries from the store in Tavascan, but tomorrow is Sunday…
Day 30. Sunday, Aug 5. Noarre > Certuscan. Up: 1005m; down:
365m.
In the morning we walked down the trail to the restaurant in
Graus, then hitched a ride into Tavascan to buy food, take a shower and drink a
beer. It was a big fiesta day celebrating the Virgin de la Nieve. We returned
to Noarre the way we came, packed up, ate our “picnic”, and headed up the hill
about 2:45. It was hot, but we stopped to bathe at a waterfall one hour in, and
the weather cooled down a bit after that. The trail up from Noarre started in a
thin pine-birch forest, up the steep sides of the valley, along the cascading
water, over three cols separating higher and higher alpine basins with the
requisite lakes and tarns. It is unbelievable some of the terrain they
designate and mark as “trail”. It is scrambling up fractured rock. Really
interestingly shaped fractured rock. It looks like a cliff, but the fracture
shapes make it easy enough climbing.
We are enjoying everything, and into a functional routine,
so the continuing problems with overheating and minor foot pain—Mike is now
dealing with tendonitis in his Achilles—are not damping our spirits.
We camped above Estary (lake) Certuscan, not far from Refuge
Certuscan. The lake is deep, the sides are steep, everything is glacial-scoured
bedrock, with clinging blotches of pioneering alpine plants, and a few
bonsai-size, ancient pines. It is cool up here at the lake, and supposed to be
cooler and stormier the rest of the week.
Day 31. Monday, August 6. Certuscan > Estay de Barberri. Up:
1200m; down: 1000m.
We had a mellow, beautiful morning and an easy hike into the
Refugi Certascan where we had tea and bought sandwiches to go. All the hikers
were gone: just the staff was there cleaning up. They were very friendly and
spoke good English. We had a long conversation with the guy who works there
year around: yes, it is open in the winter, on weekends and by reservation. It
is a destination for randonee skiers. I want to do that!
Yesterday and today we found a few patches of blueberries.
They were really delicious!
The big disappointment today is that shortly after the
refugi we missed the turn to go over the col to the alpine lakes—the high
scenic route—and instead followed the GR11 all the way down to the Pla dé
Boavi. I was bummed every step of the descent! The silver lining was that it
was relatively fast and easy, so the whole day was easier and shorter. From the
Pla d’Boavi, where we stopped for lunch and soaked our feet in the river, we climbed
steeply up through the forest at the head of the valley through a succession of
three higher and higher alpine valleys with lovely streams, tarns and cascades,
and over the high col, then down to the lake.
Today’s navigational error continues to bother me. Yes, the
book was unclear: it never said to leave the GR 11 red and white markers. The
take-home lesson is to check Gaia GPS more often, so we can see on the map
where the turn should be. But the other problem was again, I didn’t understand
the route clearly. I hadn’t done any navigational homework to check or
reinforce Mike’s navigation. I concluded that I should taker a more active
role, but then I didn’t. I like being the princess. Mike likes to navigate. He
is also a lot faster, so has time to check the book and Gaia while waiting for
me. For me it is a full-time job just getting up the hill, barely stopping to
eat and drink.
We are camped below the Refugi Barboti/Chinquainterie by the
Estay de Barberri. It is a beautiful, quiet evening. Nobody is in the refugi—it
is dark and claustrophobic—but two other couples are camped out where we can’t
see them. It is a big lake.
Day 32. Tuesday, August 7.
Estay de Barberri > Refugi de Baiau. Up: 720m; down 640m.
We were up by 7:30 this am and out by 9. Bought sandwiches
and beer at Refugi de Vall Ferra. Instead of back-tracking to the main trail,
we took a “short cut” signed Pla de Boet. Five minutes later when we were
unsure where it was taking us, we looked at the map and saw that the dog-leg to
our trail was a little longer—like five minutes—than backtracking. Mike started
bitching. He said, “we’re screwed.” I said “what are you talking about? I
haven’t been screwed in over a week.” He continued bitching about carrying the
pack an extra 15 minutes. I said, “you don’t have to carry it another step. We
can quit and take this road out right now. Who cares? What difference does it
make?” (And it was only an extra five minutes anyway.) “I don’t like being
around a guy who bitches obsessively over small, unimportant things.” He
responded, “there are lots of guys out there.” I started to turn back to the
road. “Are you done?” he said. “Are you done?” I said. We left it there. We
both felt better as the altitude increased step by step, and the temperature
dropped a bit—mostly because the clouds were closing in.
Another day hiking down, down from the beautiful, sumptuous
alpine to the prosaic forest, meadow and stream. Hot. Then the chore of hiking
back up to heaven. The thunderstorms started about 3:30, 20 minutes short of
the refugi. We weren’t too wet when we arrived. A father-daughter pair from
Valencia were already here. Over the next two hours, even more wet walkers
arrived. The place only sleeps 9; the last two will bed down on the floor. We
all expected it to subside in a couple hours, in time for some of us to continue
hiking and camping elsewhere, but the rain and mist never stopped. So we are a
cozy, good-humored, international bunch. Watching each other eat.
Day 33. Wednesday, August 8.
Refugi Baiau > Refugi de l’Argonella. Up: 844m; down: 1126m.
We were up and out early because everyone in the hut started
getting up at 6 and 6:15. And we had nothing to pack: we didn’t use our
sleeping bags or pads and slept in our clothes, using a refugi blanket (though
musty smelling) and mattress. We hit the trail at 7:30 am—record start!
It was a windy and chilly morning: the sun doesn’t reach
that steep slope of the col until late in the day. We were able to get over the
pass--into Andorra--without difficulty. We caught up with Martin and Yolanda
(from Valencia—father and daughter) on the other side of the col. We went down
to the Refugi Com Pederosa for very expensive soup, salad and two sandwiches to
go. I wanted a shower but the showers were closed—and reserved for guests
anyway. We passed Martin and Yolanda again: we were moving pretty fast
downhill.
We looked at the paper map we’d bought in Barcelona and saw
a two-hour short-cut which we decided to take. (Aren’t maps wonderful?) It was
pretty cloudy and threatening up on the HRP, so missing the beautiful alpine
lakes seemed like a good trade-off.
At a trail junction we met two interesting pairs. The first
were living in Barcelona, but originally from Birmingham UK and southern
Portugal. We had a lovely time speaking Portuguese: she demonstrated the
difference between a Brazilian accent—sweet and intelligible—and a Portuguese
accent—close-mouthed and unintelligible. Her English was excellent—probably had
a good education, but didn’t ask. The second pair were from the American school
in London. One was headmaster, the other a physics teacher. The first had
previously worked at an American school in Rome, and talked about the
differences. They both immensely enjoyed the benies of their jobs, like summer
off to hike in the Pyrenees. We ate our sandwiches while we talked.
From there we went up over another col, ridge, peak and col,
then down to the valley with this refugi. It was windy and chilly up on the
ridge, but not too bad. We just felt lucky that the rain held off. I even had
time for a quick splash bath from the water trough!
We are all alone in this delightful stone hut with a fire in
the fireplace. We lucked out: it didn’t rain all day—except for a threatening
spit for five minutes—despite the forecast. It only now hit at 7:30pm. Hail
bouncing off the paving stones! We are now engaged in intensive smoke
management: the chimney doesn’t draw well, especially with the shifting wind.
We are also food planning for the next, i.e. last, three days of this section,
hoping that the restaurant in El Serrat will sell the needed items. There is no
store.
Day 34. Thursday, Aug 9. Refugi d’Argoulla > El
Serrat/Ordino. Up: 110m; down 785m.
We awoke in the Refugi d’Argoulla and it was still
intermittently windy, rainy and foggy, so we stayed in our sleeping bags until
8:15. (We made love actually.) It brightened enough to encourage us so we got
up, ate and packed—peanut butter and freeze-dried cherries on old baguette—but
it socked in again. So we swept the cabin and read all the available literature
tourist brochures and a few pages of old newspapers until about 10:15 when we
headed out. As we descended the weather got a little better, or at least the
clouds were a little higher and it never rained more than a couple minutes.
Until we got to Llorts when it started to really rain hard. We took shelter in
a doorway, then the bus shelter.
We resolved to take the bus to Ordino to shop for food. It
was a depressing trip. The road and the town are packed with tourist hotels,
condos and apartments. Andorra seems to be a playground for the rich, with a
suite of recreation options including heli-skiing and scuba diving under the
ice. We had a nice lunch in the old, narrow pedestrian (tourist) street, then
had to wait for the store to open. The clerk was really friendly and showed us
the weather report (bad) as well as pictures of a refugi we would be going to.
We missed the 4pm bus back to El Serrat because Mike wanted to buy camping gas
at the mountain store that opened at 4. So we ended up staying at a budget
hotel in town. It was a great deal: 50€ including breakfast, and we really
enjoyed the shower, the bed and the hot water for washing clothes. We enjoyed
dinner with two glasses of red wine and wifi too.
Day 35. Friday, August 10. El Serrat/Ordino > Cabana Coms de
Jan. Up: 1200m; down 540m.
In the morning we missed the 9am bus by 5 minutes—mostly
because Mike was not packed and organized (and we took time to make love), so
we hitchhiked. Only got one ride, from two guys from Chile and Argentina who
had jobs in town, for 2km. We ended up waiting an hour for the next bus. We
noticed that the Spanish were much friendlier to hitchhikers than the
Andorrans: we never waited more than five minutes in Spain. We discussed
theories of rich culture. True, most of the cars were either full of tourist’s
or work vehicles. When we got to the trailhead, then the first refugi, Mike
recognized two of the cars that had passed us and recognized some of the people
too.
The hike was boring at the beginning: tarmac road, then dirt
road (past the small botanical garden), then trail up valley (past the Refugi
Sortenay where we ate torte de Santiago). It finally got interesting when we
hit alpine. It was windy and partly sunny. We found a pleasant enough place to
eat our sandwiches. The col, as always, was the most interesting part, with
wide views of surrounding mountains and lakes below. Going down the clouds were
skittering across the sun so fast it was like a strobe light: bright light,
dark, dark, bright light, dark…
The route took us down to a junction. Both trails reportedly
go to the Refuge Combs d’Jan, but author Ton’s Haute Route--a small track diverged from the
marked trail--was not well marked. Mike found it on Gaia, so we decided to
follow the book and not the GRP. Well, his description matched for the first half
hour. But we never found the junction he described. By the time we consulted
maps.me, we were 200 feet below the trail, heading down to a road and parking
lot. We decided to go cross country with a dicey crossing of the steep, rushing
stream and up the grassy slope (lots of blueberries!), then traversing on cow
trail till we intersected the marked trail just short of the refuge. I felt a
little exasperated that we had ANOTHER navigational error, even though we vowed
to be careful. My conclusion is we really need GPS to find his way marks. It
probably would have been easier to stay on the GRP all the way to the hut.
We feel very lucky that the forecast thunderstorm never
materialized. We were on the edge between dark, cloudy and blue sky most of the
day. We initially worried about getting over the col by 3:00, the usual time
for the storms to start. But it all worked out beautifully.
We are camped one kilometer east from the Coms de Jans
Refugi. The refugi was too dark and dingy, the evening weather was too
gorgeous, and the hour too early to stay there. We ate a snack and studied the
maps, and sure enough, this tiny pocket plain, stream and lake at the
headwaters of the Riu d les Portelles, just before the trail climbs the ridge,
couldn’t be more perfect! And even the wind died and we had sun until almost
8pm.
Day 36. Saturday August 11. Cabana Coms de Jan > Etang de
Juclar. Up: 942m; down 765m.
It was dry all day, and sunny enough in the afternoon to get
hot. The rain hit just as we finished dinner, about 7. The temp is dropping fast.
It promises to be cold tonight and in the morning, as it was last night and
this morning.
We avoided two navigation problems today, by checking the
map and maps.me early in the route questioning, as soon as there was any doubt.
We are basically out of food. Ate mashed potatoes for
dinner. Have lots of bread, Nuttella, a little cheese, enough PB&J for a
couple sandwiches. Plenty to get us to Hospitalet d’Andora tomorrow mid-day.
Day 37. Sunday, Aug 12. Collada de Juclar > L’Hospitalet
Prés-L’Andorre
Day 38. Monday August 13, pm. Hospitalet d’Andora > Étang des
Fourats. Up: 1310m; down 307m.
We are bivouacked at the foot of Pic Carlit (2921m) which we
will climb in the morning, and go down the other side. The little cirque where
we are camped is a lovely destination: I’m glad we made it. And we lucked out
again: though the clouds threatened all afternoon, it never rained, and we had
a pleasant, sunny evening. It was too cold and windy for my bath, so I’m going
to bed sticky.
Day 39. Tuesday, August 14. Étang des Fourats > Eyne. Up:
564m; down 1000m.
The morning climb up Pic Carlit was good, about an hour. We
had seen Jan on top before we started. When I was ¾ of the way up, I looked up
to see Mike at the pass. He looked like Christ on top of the mountain with a
brilliant halo. I wish I had a pic to send his mother.
On top we were shocked to see hundreds of people climbing up
and down, including families. The book had said it would be so, but we never
imagined what we saw. It was incredibly populated with day hikers and
picnickers all the way down through the beautiful lakes to
Had a fabulous lunch at the refuge in Bouillouses. Duck for
me, squid for Mike, beautifully garnished with roasted potatoes, topped with
grilled mushroom and aioli, and greens and a squash puree.
The HRP walk to the village of Eyne would have been five
hours “on tracks, road and dirt road. An attractive first hour, but
unfortunately the rest is less interesting.” So we cheated. We took a free bus down
from Bouillouses; the scenery was nice enough from the window. From the public parking at the bottom we walked 45 minutes into the
historic fort town of Mont Louis, then, not wanting to wait for a bus,
hitchhiked to Bolquére and food-shopped. From there we walked down the road to
Eyne and hitchhiked again.
The gite was full so we camped up the hill, near Jan and a new friend David, from Portland. We had a lovely time talking and drinking wine with Jan and David over dinner at the local bar, where there was live music in the courtyard. David is hiking the HRP in the opposite direction: he gave us the used part of his maps. Also some ibuprofen. I hope he doesn’t need it.
The gite was full so we camped up the hill, near Jan and a new friend David, from Portland. We had a lovely time talking and drinking wine with Jan and David over dinner at the local bar, where there was live music in the courtyard. David is hiking the HRP in the opposite direction: he gave us the used part of his maps. Also some ibuprofen. I hope he doesn’t need it.
In lieu of a bath, I used a washcloth and the village water
fountain trough to wipe down my arms, legs and face. I slept well.
Day 40. Wednesday, August 15. Eyne > Refugi d’Ull de Ter. Up:
1700m; down: 1050m.
We bivouacked behind the Refugi as they had no room for us
to bed together. They made an exception to their usual rule and allowed us to
buy a shower even though we were not a guest. We arrived too late for the
regular dinner seating, but they made us a nice supper of soup, salad and
omelet sandwich after they had served the others.
Day 41. Thursday, August 16. Refugi d’Ull de Ter > Refuge de
Mariailles. Up: 600m; down: 1110m.
Our feet hurt. Yesterday Mike’s hips were hurting: his pack
was heavy again, with all the new food. Today he thinks he is developing
plantar fasciitis. He is treating all of the above with stretches and the 600mg
ibuprofen that David gave us. This is day 40 in the guide book. We have five
days to go, though we are considering either bikes or buses where the route
gets too civilized.
Day 42. Friday, August 17. Refuge de Mariailles > Prat
Cabrera. Up: 1074m; down 1134m.
On top of Pic Canigou there were LOTS of people, day-hikers
up from Refuge Cortales. They weren’t in a hurry to leave the peak and weren’t
as fast as we going down, so they must have gotten rained on.
We opted for the “bad weather” variant in the guide book
because it was still socked in up high, and we didn’t want to get caught in the
rain. The variant was two hours shorter. Even so, we had two signed choices of
trail down to Prat Cabrera: one by road and one by trail. We opted for the
trail, as it appeared to be more directly down. As it turned out, it took us to
the Cabane at Prat Cabrera, and none of the signage or book instructions made
sense from there. We wandered around with the help of maps.me until we reached
a broad pass with dirt roads and signage—also Prat Cabrera. A cow herder who
spoke English told us where to find our trail up. I was reluctant to hike on as
it was getting late and cold, so we started to think about a place to bivouac.
Thomás invited us to stay at his cabane! We accepted.
Thomas is Czech. He has been a cow-herder in France for
seven years. He is handsome and muscular: I wonder how he keeps his
upper body in shape watching cows? He has an 18-month-old daughter who lives with him at the cabane
one week on and one week off. The cabane is about 9x20 feet with bunks for four
people—or gear—and a table and wood stove. There is a water source and picnic
table outside. It was very warm inside. We shared our chips and couscous stew.
A family showed up at Tomás’s door seeking shelter. They
were hiking to Canigou and had planned to stay at Pinatell, only to find it
closed. So they continued to the Cabane Prat Cabrera. Tomás gave them a tent
and blankets and offered them coffee and bread and jam in the morning. He is
very hospitable. We had tea and bread and a selection of the wonderful jams his
friends had given him. We liked the plum the best.
Day 43. Saturday, August 18. Prat Cabrera > Arles Sur Tech. Up:
252m; down: 1620m.
We hiked from Prat Cabrera to Arles Sur Tech. We had trouble
finding the trail: there are in fact three sign posts in different places, all
claiming to be Prat Cabrera. We had to hike up the GR10 for 15 minutes to find
the right trail junction. Our shortcut yesterday was not short! From there the
trail made a long traverse around the cirque ”La Carnisserie,” past the Cabane
do Pintell, which was closed “due to bed bug infestation.” There were steel
plates covering the doorways: it looked like it had been closed a long time.
We stopped at the Maison Forestiére for a snack: just cheese
because Mike had given all our bread, toast and cookies to Tomás as a thank you
gift. Over a Col and down to the Gite Mines Batére, where we stopped for salad.
It came with Charcuterie—Mike ate the cheese, I ate the serrano ham, and packed
the sausage. Then down, down down and more down to Arles Sur Tech. Arles is at
282m: almost tropical. The route followed roads, or shortcut the switchbacks,
or followed dirt roads or trails. We found and ate wild raspberries! We passed
a father and his 10-year-old daughter who were hiking the GR10. They were from
Toulouse and Banyuls Sur Mer. He spoke good English as he’d spent time in the
states. He liked the liberty in the states, but the social security in France
and Spain. We passed a substantial community of RV squatters and a teepee. We
walked through a cork forest. There was lots of evidence of old mines.
We stayed at the only hotel; there was no gite and the
camping was not near. Our pizza dinner was great!
Interlude. Sunday, August 19. Arles Sur Tech. The hotel was heavenly!
Sheets! Bed! Shower! Sink!
Balcony! It was so dry over night even my
newly-washed hiking socks dried. Our feet were so sore this morning—especially
Mike’s left ball-of-the-foot which feels quite bruised—that we decided to take
some time off. A day? A month? We’ll see. We had talked off and on all trip
about shorting the last three days of the HRP anyway: heat, boredom at low
elevation civilized country, lots of road walking—and either bike it or come
back in October to hike it, or take a bus on the road parts. So all the
motivations came together with the foot problems. We hitchhiked to Perpignon
and took the train to Banyuls Sur Mer to soak our feet in the Mediterranean.
No comments:
Post a Comment