Day 44. Saturday May 25, 2019.
Arles-Sur-Techà Montalba d’Amélie. Up: 620m;
down: 359m.
Took the bus from Barcelona to
Perpignaon to Arles-Sur-Tech to finish our Haute Route hike. Despite very
little exercise in the last couple months, we did just fine, meeting or
exceeding normative time in the book. Hiked 2:30 to 7pm—half day—and camped at
the side of a small parking lot at the end of a small road. Our packs
are much
lighter than before: less food, clothing and water. No snow tracs, no long
johns, no cheese or Nutella, and no rain pants or fleece. Mike was a little
impatient with how slow I was going up hill, and needing to stop to eat, so he said “give me
more weight. The less you carry, the better off I am.” So he carried almost all
the food, as well as all the camping gear. I carried the potato chips and
toast. Lightest pack ever!
It had rained in the morning, but
had stopped by the time we started out. It was overcast, giving way to partly
sunny and windy. The trail went up through mixed forest—first cottonwood (and slugs!),
then chestnut, holly, and live oak, and finally pine. The trail went over a
coll then gently down into a drainage that had scattered houses and roads. T-shirt
temperatures. At dinner it got chilly: good for sleeping.
Day 45. Sunday May 26. Montalba d’Amélie-->Las Illas. Up: 1030m;
down: 1023m.
Ah, the ups, downs, stupidities
and serendipities! The stupidities first: two-thirds of the way through the
day, after reading and following the directions in the book carefully, we
“thought” the rest of the route followed the GR10, which was well marked. So we
followed the GR10 signage for our destination, Las Illas. We ignored the fact
that the normative time on the signage—3:50—was considerably more than the
normative time in the book: 2:00. It’s not unusual for them to be different. An
hour down the trail, at a trail junction, for
some reason we decided to read further
in the book. It was only then that we discovered that we were not supposed to
follow the GR 10 from the last trail junction: we were supposed to go a
different way, following the yellow blazes. The trail we were on was two hours
longer. We thought it would be a short day, but it was not. On top of that,
Mike’s knee became painful—probably from too heavy a pack on too steep and
rough a trail down after too many weeks without a gym workout to strengthen it.
Why, oh why have we not learned to always read the book carefully, at every
stage and every junction?
So the last hour coming down the
road I took all the food. He tried to say it wasn’t making any difference in
how his knee felt, but I said, “the less weight you carry, the better off I
am.” The easy grade and firm surface made road walking easier on his knee than
the trail had been, but it was easier for me too, and I was faster than he,
even with the
added weight, which, frankly, felt good. I first offered the faux
explanation that I wanted control over the food: control is a motive he always
expects and bristles at. I then revised my explanation to the truth: I get tired
of being treated as a fragile incompetent, not a full partner that can carry
her own weight. I get tired of being patronized, especially when there is no
substance to it, as in this case when I am walking faster than he. Male
ego-enhancing chauvinism. I don’t think he will ever understand feminism.
Serendipity: when we arrived in
the tiny village of Las Illas we were looking for a place to camp. Lo and
behold, there was a park, with picnic tables and potable water (and a BBQ), and
next door at the bus stop, bathrooms and a shower! Outdoors, cold water, but so
much better than the river! And the bar/restaurant at the hostel sold me two
cervezas para llevar, which we drank at the picnic table, eating potato chips
and basking in the sun. Until it went behind a hill, then we rallied and cooked
dinner. Very civilized.
On to the ups and downs. There was
lots of commotion in the parking lot this morning. When we emerged from our
tent, we found two men and a boy setting up tables of food and water as an aid
It is spring, we hear lots of
songbirds in the woods, especially early in the morning. The trail went through
several beautiful beech forests today. Our route went up 1000m, over Roc de
Frausa, past the microwave towers, and gently down through forest, eventually
descending on a road. (This of course was the wrong trail, shortly after the
towers. We missed the hermitage with food and water.) Mike thought it was
scenic; I thought it pleasant, but nothing short of Alpine qualifies as scenic
in my view. It was windy all day, but sunny. Cold on the few exposed ridges,
and quite pleasant in the woods.
Day 46. Monday May 27. Las Illas-->Col de
‘Ouillat. Up: 1000m; down 570m.
Leaving Las Illas, we followed the
book and the GR10 out of town. Unbeknownst to us, the GR10 had been rerouted,
so following the trail marks we missed the turn described in the book. It was a
mixed blessing. The new route was longer, but also more pleasant, avoiding the complicated
neighborhood streets above town. It was easy road walking through woods and
intermittent farms. It made for a long day. We spent a lot of time checking the
book and maps.me, but mostly just followed the GR10 marks.
The route goes down through the
Col du Perthus where a major highway crosses the Pyrenees. It
was a major route
in Roman times as well, and has centuries of military history from Hanibal to
the Wars of Succession. Fort Bellgarde is a prominent landmark testifying to
this history. The border goes right through the middle of town with no
designation at all except on paper maps. There are lots of shops on the Spanish
side for French people to come buy cheaper Spanish goods. We stopped at a snack
bar for lunch and a beer.
Leaving town the GR10 went up the
D71, a small, paved road. It was quiet and easy walking. The book said the
turnoff would be in about 5km. When we got to the 5km post we looked for the
landmarks described in the book and saw nothing, and no GR10 markers either. We
continued up the road to a junction, and followed the road signs to a small
village named on our route. Although we were able to find the village landmarks
described in the book, we found no GR10 marks.
Fortunately, some locals were
able to point us to the well-marked trail. It turns out the GR10 had been
rerouted off the road. And when they rebuilt the road, they must have taken
down the poles with the trail markers that showed the turnoff. And the local
establishment mentioned in the book as a landmark had changed its name and
closed.
 |
| A cork tree |
We arrived at the Col de ‘Ouillat
where we tented in a park across from the gite. We went inside for a glass of
wine and ended up staying for dinner. It was a very aesthetic, wooden mountain
lodge, warm and comfortable. And yum, yum, yum! The best food I’ve had in a
year, since that other gite in France! It was a very simple meal the cook
prepared just for us non-meat-eaters, and she prepared it fast. It was kind of
like a cheese fondue with a poached egg in it, served with a very good French
baguette--better than Spanish baguettes. A very rich dish. And on the side,
large chunks of carrots, potatoes, zucchini and broccoli, perfectly cooked al
dente and perfectly spiced. Way better than Spain where the menus rarely offer
vegetables. The wine was quite good, and the company as well. After the other
guests departed for the evening the owner came over to show us his pictures
form the Haute Route a few years back. He’d hiked it earlier in the year when
it had lots more snow.
Day 47. Tuesday May 28. Col de
‘OuillatàBanyuls-Sur-Mer.
Up: 700m; down: 1680m.
The long day. It was windy and
cold when we got up in the morning, so we skipped breakfast, ate a couple
biscuits, packed up and hiked till it warmed up and we found a sheltered spot.
No cook, just ColaCao with pea protein powder and biscuits.
It was incredibly windy all day:
gusts up to 65mph in exposed places that nearly blew me over. It
was a side
wind: a gust would blow me off balance to the right, then stop and I’d fall to
the left; thus I staggered up the trail. It was exhausting. In the wind I
wanted all my layers. Out of the wind it was too warm for that. Off, on, off,
on… We followed the GR 10, though at one part the book suggested a deviation: a
shortcut over the top of a crest, which we missed. The hike was mostly gentle
ups and downs along a ridge, with a small peak at the start and a peak at the
end. Mostly cow pasture, and a little cork forest. The trail paralleled the
border, marked with a decrepit cow fence, on our right and a dirt road on our
left.
The drama of the day: we stopped
at an unstaffed hut to cook a hot lunch and take refuge from the wind. An older
French man joined us and started building a fire. He spoke Spanish and we
enjoyed
the company. I cleared off half the table to make room for him. We
finished, cleaned up, packed up, and walked on. An hour further down the trail
was a water source where we stopped to fill our bottles. Where was Mike’s other
bottle? Did he leave it at the refuge? I confessed I’d moved it off the table
and put it on the bunk near him. I also moved the food bags. Did he have the
food bags? He looked: no, he did not have the food bags. No, we are not going
back to get them. We’ll have to finish the hike on trail snacks. He said,
“Don’t move my stuff!” She said, “You’re right, I shouldn’t move it without
telling you. But how could you pack up and not realize you
were missing three
large items? They were in plain sight on your right, an arm’s length from where
you were sitting.” In fact I’d seen them, but since he was already packed up I
assumed they belonged to the French man.
The last little summit before the
long descent to the sea offered a clear view of everything: high, snow-capped
peaks to the west, and sea and civilization to the east. We looked for the tiny
refuge we’d been told about: a hobbit-sized niche in the rocks with plexiglass
door and window for light. It was private-built and well stocked, but clearly
open for common use. It was basically just big enough for one guy and his dog
Tomy, for whom the refuge was named. The door was so small I had to take my
pack off to get in.
Another problem with the book: it
is 10 years out of date, and in some sections the GR10 has been rerouted. The
descriptions in the book don’t match the trail markings. Like the last section
into Banyuls: Mike and I argued which route to follow. Fortunately, local
walkers came by and told us which way to go: the road, not the marked trail.
But both routes rejoined later anyway. The road was easier walking.
I felt tired all day: cumulative,
plus I hadn’t slept well. Mike was also tired. He had a bad cold for two weeks
in Barcelona, and the cough has lingered mostly at night. That is a major
factor robbing him of energy and sleep. And although his knee felt just fine
until the last hill, he was very wary and protective of it. He didn’t feel his
usual dancing, physical freedom and didn’t enjoy it very much. The hike was
25km and 8.5 hours.
Wednesday May 29. The campground
at Banyuls-Sur-Mer. I am clean. I am comfortable. I love my Big Agnes sleeping pad. I
love my Feathered Friends down quilt. I love my pillow made from my Patagonia
micro puff jacket stuffed inside my stuff sack, inside my Patagonia thermal
shirt. The sun and wind are playing on the tent. I don’t want to get up. I
don’t even want to write. I only want to doze and savor the delightful, drowsy,
dreamy rest.
All we have left to do is walk
down to the beach and put our feet in the water.
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