OCCUPY.. Kettlewell bus shelter

Anti cuts demo Manchester

Icicles

These icicles were photographed a short distance from the Pennine Way near Hebden Bridge.

Looking up.

 

I thought Black and White for a change. 

That is me in the picture. The camera was on a tripod.

Hungry looking

Andorra to Banyuls sur Mer

 On route to Refuge Mariailles. I know how the horse felt.

 This is the last stage of my journey. I will at last be in a Mediterranean climate with air temperatures over 40 degrees at lower levels. Some days I didn't take any pictures and I'm now regretting it.

Day 30 l’Hospitalet Pres l’Andorra to wild camp.

Cattle near Etang des Besines.

The climb out of l'Hospitalet was initially steep but settled into contouring along the valley above the road. I was looking forward to getting away from the noise of traffic. Eventually I reached the lake, Etang des Besines.  This is an idyllic spot and a few families were picnicking at the waterside.  At the far end of the lake the ground levels to a flat plain where cattle were grazing. I noted a bull among the herd. I passed the refuge without stopping and started to climb towards Col de Coume d’Agnel. I met a lovely couple who had were walking a stretch of the GR7. We compared cameras. The GR7 and GR10 coincide on this stretch. I was to pay for not attending to where they diverge.

The HRP also takes a divergent route taking it over the summit of Pic Carlit. Dark clouds were building but I had already decided not to climb Carlit (though in the long run it would have been quicker if I had).  I descended to Etang de Lanoux. I continued to follow the red and white slashes marking the GR but was now blithely following the GR7. The route I was on took me into a complex series of cols with a boulder  descent into a valley. The route was arduous. The grey clouds didn’t produce rain but the evening and the night that followed were cold.

It wasn’t until I had set up camp along the river and started to prepare food that I realised my mistake. I studied my maps closely trying to figure an alternative route that would not involve retracing my steps but it was futile. I was resigned to hauling myself back up over those sharp granite boulders that I had just needlessly come down.

I saw no other human since the couple near Besines and was watching nervous group of Ibex.

Day 31, Wild camp to Campsite near Planes.

I was glad I had brought a warm jacket. This was the coldest morning yet.  I started at first light, feeling philosophical and warned myself not to rush and take risks on this terrain. I was at the col sooner than I expected but the col is complex and the route not obvious. I had to stop a couple of times to get my bearings but was determined to take it a s slowly as necessary rather than risk another navigational error.

Eventually I was looking down towards the lake and could see an orange tent that I recognised from the night before. I approached the ten to say hello and ask about the route. The couple were packing up by the time I reached them and I surprised them in a state of undress. They were not expecting anyone to come wandering along that path at that time of the morning. They directed me to the point near cabane de Rouzet where the GR 7 and GR10 merge. I could now see Portielle de la Grave that I should have crossed the previous evening and it was a much gentler route than the one I had taken. Indeed the broad clear path I should have taken rebuked me for my negligence.

Yellow algae on granite. It is hard to get the scale here,
this is a large rock face.

I watched some wild horses as I ascended the col and began the long decent to Lac des Bouillouses.

The day was hot but the route was gentle. The lake is massive and the walk alongside it mostly shaded. I reached the Refuge des Bouillouses at lunchtime and decided to eat there. The refuge was busy with day trippers and it took time to get a seat and get served. This was a popular stop with coaches in the nearby carpark. This is a good example of a refuge that isn’t really a refuge but a very nice country pub.

I now wanted to make up lost time and decided to reach Planes that day. I had arranged to meet my partner at Amelie les Bains in a few days.

The route continued to descend  through rough forest tracks. The area was more touristy.  Bolquere was impressive for its architecture and I regretted not taking more pictures.  These were not curious old buildings but modern heavily build log cabins and massive chalets with large conservatories. Some were quite beautiful though looked as if they had been built for the winter rather than the strong sunlight of summer.

I was now at an altitude, about 1500m that I hadn’t been down to for weeks. I had wondered when I would feel more in a Mediterranean climate than Atlantic and expected to notice the change much sooner. It was only at this stage and dropping to this altitude that I sensed the shift.

Wild horses

I carried on following the GR10 to a campsite near La Cabanasse. By the time I arrived I was footsore and in need of a shower. It was a small and very welcoming site, though not very well provided. It had few toilets and no shop and was being run by an elderly gentleman who was scrupulous (to the point of irritation) about keeping things ship shape.

I had a lovely flat open pitch, enjoyed my evening meal and several cups of tea. I slept well and woke refreshed.

Day 32 El Moli del Riu to Refuge du Ras de la Caranca.

The day started well with a visit to a shop to gorge on peaches and croissants and stock up with essential pasta and sardines. It was a short walk into Planes but not so easy getting out.

The first problem is that the red and white stripes are not where they should be and I suspect a local refuge of directing walkers to its door. Once back on the GR10 the path climbs out of the town to a forest track. Here the path continuing up the hill is not visible and a broken signpost suggests you carry on on the forest track. This is not the way. The actual path starts exactly at the bend in the forest track that you have come out onto. You may need to push through bushes to see it clearly.

 I assumed for a while that the track had been redirected but it hadn’t  though it cost me time before I realised the error. Thankfully the climb to the Pla de Cedeilles was  sheltered from the strengthening sun. The decent on the other side was pleasant walking and well marked. But by the time I reached the ascent to Coll Mitja the day was hot and the initial climb gruelling. Thankfully the steep climb to the ridge takes you into shade. The path is soon crossing the zigzags of forest tracks and sometimes I would just take the forest track for comfort.

Similarly the decent on the other side crosses forest tracks. And occasionally the track is the more inviting route. I met a farmer bring cattle up the track and had to take care not to startle them as they passed. A young bull accompanied the cows and despite a verbal language barrier I managed to exchange a joke with the farmer about its endowment.

Eventually I reached the plane near the refuge and set up camp. I was disturbed by the evidence of campfires here and even piles of wood left by previous inhabitants. I was just feet away from tinder dry forest and the evening was breezy. A fire would have been a foolhardy risk.

I cooked by my tent and didn’t visit the refuge.  The potable water supply was a small pipe in the stream.

That night I finally made up my mind about cowbells. Romantic associations about the tinkling of bells are common. Often the sound of bells would give you warning about cattle upstream making you take care about drinking. Tonight they were cacophonous, a veritable noise nuisance. I felt sorry for the cattle so burdened who would never know silence. I could understand the farmers view that it helped find cattle and sheep on the hill, but why did every animal have one? I saw sheep with massive bells on that acted as weights to slow them down. I watched one sheep try to sctratch itself with a rear hoof and stop every time it caused the bell to ring. I had no doubt now that these bells frequently caused distress to the animals.

Day 33  Refuge du Ras de la Caranca to Py.

The day started with the climb to Col de Pal. This was an easy and varied walk through trees and open grassland before becoming stony. The col itself when you reach it is a wide grassy expanse with glorious panoramic views. It was very windy at the top. I met another walker there where we calibrated our altimeters at the signpost and discussed their value as navigational aids. Many walkers I met carried altimeters but not maps, preferring for lightness to use the French topo manuals which gave detailed altitude profiles.

The decent towards Mantet was a bit of a chore. Mantet itself was beautiful but the day was now scorchingly hot. I was footsore and resented the climb through cobbled streets to the restaurant at the top of the village.

The restaurant was however a delight. I had a couple of omelettes and sang a Dylan duet with the barman.

The route out of Mantet takes you further uphill to the Col de Mantet.  This is a short and steep climb and not enjoyable in the temperatures that prevailed. The route down the other side is in the shelter of woodland.  It is downhill all the way to Py. I was now down to about 1000m and the increase in heat this brought was noticeable.

Py is a pretty little village with not a lot going for it from the hiker’s perspective. I bought cheese in a street market but couldn’t find bread. There was a gite but no campsite and no obvious place to camp. I found no public toilets. This is a place the English describe as ‘twee’. On the way out of town I spoke to an elderly gentlemen at a garage. I was sure from my map that it wouldn’t be easy finding a flat pitch. He suggested I camp on a rough piece of ground opposite the garage. This had some unused caravans parked on it and was covered in thistles and nettles. However it was good enough for me. It was only about 6-00pm when I stopped to camp but I saw no purpose in continuing.

The next morning I noticed that others had camped in a children’s play park in the town.

Day 34 Py to Refuge de Bonne-Aigue

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I needed to find bread before leaving Py. It would take a more than three hours climbing to reach Refuge de Mariailles and I was loathe to do that on an empty stomach. Good luck prevailed. I was up and about early and met an elderly lady attending to her allotment. I asked her where I could buy bread and she walked me to her home and gave me a couple of stale-ish  loaves.  Manna from heaven, I was on my way.

The walk to the refuge was notable for the extensive irrigation channels on the mountain side. Water was being channelled for miles in shallow trenches a that often ran alongside the track. Sometimes the track would be on a low dyke that edged the channels. Stream beds were being used as water was directed from one stream to another. I wondered how much maintenance of the channels was going on as it was obvious that they could be blocked by a very modest land lip or rock fall.

The refuge itself was beautiful. A wonderful set of black and white photographs decorated he walls. The warden was welcoming and I ordered an omelette to be eaten outside on the balcony. Unfortunately the refuge is an accessible one and  I had to share the balcony with a group of young men skinning up and acting like this was there space exclusively.  The warden spoke to them but they were a dull surly lot.

The route would now take me towards Canigou, the last big mountain on my route.  I had yet to decide whether to take the route over the summit or the much longer circuit that the gr10 follows. It was the heat of the day that decided the issue. I spoke to a number of people coming from Canigou who told me they had started early to avoid the heat of the day. The temperature was well into the 30s so I went for the circuit.

This path is not an easy option. Apart from being a much longer route it contours around he mountain going in and out of every gully and crossing countless scree slopes and rock falls. Most of these have well flattened and visible paths through but it is still possible to lose the path.  It was about 67-00pm when I reached Refuge de Bonne Aigue. This is an unstaffed shepard’s hut and a family were in occupation. I hadn’t been intending to use the hut but wanted a flat area near it to camp and to make use of the water source nearby.

The only flat spot for a tent was on the edge of the forest track running past the refuge. This had clearly been used before. The views from this spot are exceptional. I was invited into the hut by the family for a cup of coffee which I gladly accepted and enjoyed teaching their child a few words of English. My attempts at a singalong  were a bit less successful.

Day 35 Bonne –Aigue to  somewhere between Batere and Arles sur Tech.

A vast sea of mist filled the valleys next morning with the most magnificent cloud inversion. I was so pleased to be above it. Mountain peaks looked like islands and valleys and gorges, fjords.  The day would start with a climb before dropping to refuge de Cortalets. I hoped to do this stage quickly so wasn’t planning to stop on the ascent.

Just at the orry (ancient cabin) I met Carlos. I asked him about the path ahead and he replied, ‘let’s have a cup of tea’. He dug out his stove and I dug out my tea bags and we had a wonderful chat about the hills, photography and life in general. He was a very skilled photographer and carrying an even heavier camera than mine. He told me of his visits to England and photography workshops he had attended.

On the decent towards Cortalets I met a steady stream of people heading up Canigou.  One man asked me if there was a water source ahead. He was climbing the mountain on a scorchingly hot day with two children and no water. I told him about a water source mentioned in the guide book but advised him to return to the refuge and stock up with water there and start again. I thought the risks of dehydration and exhaustion were all too real.

Young sanglier

I refilled my bottle at the refuge and carried on. Canigou is a massive mountain. In reality I had been on it since shortly after leaving Py and would still be on it when I reached Mines de Batere. The path continued to contour around the hill. Many of the streams were dry but occasionally the path would cut into a gully blessed by the water god and crowned with trees. At one of these I stopped and met two women who at first seemed to resent my intrusion. They told me they had walked from Hendaye and when I mentioned that I was following a similar trail their mood relaxed. Carlos had told me of a hippy camp between Batere and Arles sur Tech where he had stopped and I shared the information with them.

The climb to Batere is through trees which provided welcome shade but the day was starting to cool by the time I was in the open again. I was now very conscious of the scarcity of water.

The ground levels out on a grassy plain and there is a water pipe flowing from a stream by the path. Another couple were already camped there and though tempted to stop, I decided to carry on. I was ahead of schedule and would reach  Amelie on time. I called at the Gite hoping to eat there but they were not serving food yet, so again I carried on.

The path continues through a long valley. A long dry valley. I kept a look out for water and flat ground to pitch on but found nothing until I reached the place Carlos had told me of. The people there were very welcoming but were themselves short of water and worried about being able to stay there for much longer without it. They were mostly local people who had cars and were able to fetch what they needed. I was given a large bottle of chilled water and camped nearby. I was up and gone in the morning before my hosts had risen.

Looking back towards Amelie les Bains

Day 36  to Camping Vallespir.

Over 40 degrees at 4-00 o'clock.

I continued down the path towards Arles. I was approaching civilization. I was dropping in altitude, Arles is below 300m. Evidence of mountain biking and campfires was frequent. However as I walked along I heard shuffling in the undergrowth and as I looked I disturbed three young sanglier, the first I had seen on my journey. I even managed a rather blurry photograph of one. I hope the hunters don’t find them.

I walked into Arles and took the road to Amelie. About halfway I arrived at Camping Vallespir and booked in. This was a welcoming family campsite, but it is probably not the best for hikers in the area. It was expensive at 20 euros per night. The pitches provided little shelter from the sun. It was close to the river where you could swim and  had a decent cafe.

Border stone

By lunchtime my tent was pitched and I was tucking into a pizza. My partner would arrive the next day and I had 24 hours to rest, wash and clean some clothes. I was somewhat lighter and hairier than when we had parted nearly 6 weeks earlier.

Jane arrived the next day on a 1euro bus from Perpignan. She had booked an apartment for 10 days starting later that week so that we could have a holiday together at the end of my walk. The temptation to hang around for a few days was strong and with temperatures now in the low 40s, irresistible.  We spent three nights in the campsite and moved into the apartment. The weather forecast that evening was for a cold front bringing rain and strong winds over the next few days.  This offered a big improvement on the heat wave and I set off the next morning to complete the walk. I anticipated completing in three days but did it in two.

 

Day 37 Amelie Les Bains to wild camp beyond Col du Perthus

The day started with a long slow climb out of Amelie to Roc de Frausa (Roc de France). This follows the original HRP route and has many redundant faded markers on it. The climb is gentle, through woodland and easy to follow. Near the rock the path meets the redirected GR10 and there is no obvious route through to the rock. This is the international boundary and the HRP at this stage crosses into Spain. True to form the GR10 backs away from anything so daring. I met a couple of walkers doing a section  of  the GR10 who had come up from Arles. Their plan was to carry on to Col Del Pou de la Neu, cross into Spain and return into France at Coll de Lli. So even committed GR10 walkers were using the more interesting and shorter routes that crossed into Spain.

Col de Lli

I wished to walk alone and parted company with them. The route around to Coll de Lli is unexciting being mostly through forest and on forest tracks. The col though was for me both the dullest and most interesting of the walk. I couldn’t recognise it as a col at all, It was a route through an old gate at the back of a house. But this gate had been the escape route for many Catalan republicans escaping Franco to  the nearby village of Las Illas in France, their welcoming place of refuge. Memorials have been placed on both sides of the fence and only these memorials indicate to the passing stranger that this is an international boundary. This was the only crossing of the boundary I found on my walk that was indicated on the ground and that is a tribute to those who resisted fascism.

Beware nudists!

I carried on to Las Illas but didn’t stop. The promised rain arrived but didn’t slow me down. Here the walk took me through a naturist reserve where signs warned me not to take photographs. The rain and mist would anyway have frustrated any attempts. The permissive path through the reserve lasts for 5 kilometres through which I did not meet another person.

The path then drops down to the road and leads to Col del Perthus. There is a military fort and cemetery and a number of historical remains.  I had braced myself to expect the worst of Col del Perthus having read about it as a border shopping mall on a motorway. Yes the road was a bit disturbing but I was able stop to buy food and eat some fruit and get out of the town easily without trauma. I was very satisfied with my progress but it was evening and I decided that I would camp now where ever I could find a suitable spot.

I took the D71 out of Perthus. The road climbs in zigzags across a steep slope and I was beginning to worry if I would find a safe place to stop when I came to an old disused barn. There was a flat area to the rear of the barn where I was able to camp. The wind was strengthening and I was glad to have some shelter from the building and put out some extra guy lines. As the sun set I had an amazing view back across to Canigou.

Day 38 Wild Camp to Banyuls Sur Mer.

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I started early and was confident I would reach the sea today and texted Jane to let her know. I continued up the road for a while before entering woods where the track was poorly marked but made my way through to Saint Martin de l’Albere. I was now following signs for the Gite on Col de l’Ouillat leading up a wooded slope. This was another refuge with road access and true to expectation the day trippers were gathering and the bar was doing business. I stopped to refill my water bottle but was not inclined to stay longer.

The path carried on uphill and turned towards a transmitter mast at the summit. From here I had my first view of the sea. The route from here to Banyuls is magnificent and follows a ridge most of the way. The path remains high (relatively) providing excellent views across flat lands of southern France and northern Spain. The route hugs the boundary which is marked by old rusting fenceposts.

A warning.

 I found the geology reminiscent of Cornwall with great outcrops of rock, though mostly limestone rather than granite. I took lunch in the shelter of an outcrop at Pic Quatre des Termes where the wind threatened to clean me off the hillside.

The sun was bright and the wind was punishing. This last day was not going to be an easy downward saunter into town. It was long and challenging and when I reached the campsite at Banyuls my legs could take me no further.

The last couple of miles were on road and only the sight of the sea mitigated this.

The campsite was on barren stony ground (where seeds wither and die) and I had trouble getting pegs into the ground. A pizza van was based on the site so I was able to eat and have a couple of beers (to replenish minerals) before bedding down. I didn’t go straight to the sea, I left that treat until morning. I had arranged to meet Jane at Colioure up the coast from Banyuls and would get a bus.

I had actually considered changing my route at the end to drop down into Collioure rather than Banyuls, but having had Banyuls in my sights for so long couldn’t do it. I do think it is an option though.

My experience next morning was different from the accounts I had read of other walkers. Helpfully the campsite provides a street map showing the shortest route to the shore. I arrived early when few people were on the beach. There was no brass band waiting for me and I will have looked odd compared to the few people around sunbathing but I didn’t have to pick my way through crowds to reach the water.

I have arrived

I knew something about myself now that I didn’t know before. I knew I could walk from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean along a 500 mile chain of rugged mountains. A certain song by the Proclaimers filled my head.

My gear,

I’m often asked how my gear worked. It all worked well though I would make different choices with hindsight. The one piece that failed totally and potentially very expensively, was my camera strap. This was an expensive Black Rapid Sport used by professionals. On my second last day the shackle holding my camera came apart through wear and dropped my camera on the ground. Thankfully this was on soft grass and not steep scree where I might have lost it completely. It was a new strap at the beginning of the walk. By the end it was scrap.

Check out the panoramic view here The original is a 45 mega pixel image.

Conangles to Andorra

Me (glasses and hat) with some very helpful Spanish walkers.

I'm now into the second half of the trip having covered about 250 miles and climbed a lot of very high hills. I wasn't peak bagging but often the climb to a col would be the equivalent of climbing Ben Nevis. Think of the cols as Munros and you get the idea.
During the walk I took many pictures for the purpose of constructing panoramas. None of these appear in the bolg but can be viewed on my Flickr page. or here.

In planning my trip I paid close attention to the blogs of other walkers. I aspire to making this as useful as I found them.

Cross Gentian

The main ones are:
HRP essential
Travelling on foot
Writes of Way
Selfpowered, David used his walk to raise money for charity.For a donation you get loads more.
Touching the Light
Amy Lauterbach where I picked up the tip to carry an umbrella.
Sedgely
Tilly and Martin  I love this site.
Andy Howell
GR10 Pyrenees Walk
Gordon's Pyrenees Challenge

Judith Hind    Judith Hind walked the route photographing and identifying every flower she found.  I bought a Pyrenean flora that she referred to on her site but left it at home as it is bigger than a phonebook.
Pyrenean Haute Route 2011 This guy  did the HRP in 23 days and took time to keep a useful record.

Day 22, Wild camp to wild camp (Val de Conangles)

It was a short walk to the road and it didn’t take long to hitch a lift into Vielha. I was there before the shops opened at 10-30am so had a pleasant kerbside breakfast. I had a choice of shops and went into one that took my fancy. The owner was very helpful. I tried on a few pairs before buying. I told the owner that the shoes I was asking him to bin were literally 4 weeks old and had only done three weeks hiking. He was reluctant to believe me but agreed to old the shoes outside so that I could photograph them.

I hung around town for a while looking for an internet connection but couldn’t find one. Wi-Fi was easily available but only useful if you had your own computer. I bought some self adhesive bandage for my feet, had a pizza and headed back to the road to hike back to where I’d left the trail.

I saw a large snake by the road as I walked away from the town. It took a while to get a lift as the road was not an easy one to stop on. When I got back I walked toward the Hospital de Vielha refuge. I was met by a fairly shirty guy with a dog who informed me it was no longer a refuge. It was late afternoon so I headed out the route toward Port de Rius to a level place near trees and a river to camp. The ground here was well churned up by sanglier (wild pigs).

The sky had been threatening a weather change for a couple of days. After I had set up camp hundreds of sheep started pouring down the hill and I wondered if they had heard a forecast that I had missed. During the night world war three broke out. Thunder was continuous and overhead. The lightening was flashing like paparazzi flashguns at the Oscars. The rain was threatening to flatten my tent  I was reassuring myself that nothing I could do would make me any safer than I was. I half expected when I poked my head out in the morning to see charred trees, sheep and sanglier but apart from a low mist and some light rain all was well, though I was uncertain whether I would be able to cross the port.



Day 23 Val de Conangles to Arties.

Arties

I watched the weather rather than set off uphill.  I saw another walker approaching and asked him if he had heard a forecast. He told me he expected the clouds to clear and not to have difficulty on the hills. I quickly packed up and proceded along the path. I was soon in mist with poor visibility but able to find the reassuring red and white stripes marking the route. I met another couple of guys coming down carrying a lamb they had found on its own. The sheep in their hurry to get to low ground had left it behind. BAD BAD mothers. The path divided between a direct route uphill to the port and a longer variant route via Estany Redo. I mistook the marking for the turn uphill as a signal to go straight on. I soon realised my mistake but as I was on a path leading eventually to the port I continued.

It started to rain heavily and blow harder. I got close to the lake when visibility became an academic concept. I was totally dependent on my GPS to tell me where I was. I climbed a rocky slope to a small building overlooking the lake. Except I could see the lake. I tried the door but it was locked. I was now out on the hill in a gale.

I sat in the lee of the building confident that I could put up my tent if necessary and sit out the storm for a day or two if necessary. I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag and waited. Then a group of local Spanish walkers turned up. They knew the area well and insisted on escorting back down. I was not keen to go back to the valley. By the time we reached the turn uphill that I had passed the weather had eased considerably so I said my goodbyes to my new friends and crossed my fingers that I would at least get over the col before the weather broke again. My helpers had said the forecast was bad.

Font at Sobira

I cleared to col and followed the GR11 to Refugi de la Restanca. According to my map the GR11 would drop into the valley and take me to the road to Arties. My plan was to give Restanca a miss. The path that I should have taken had the red and white ‘X’ marking indicating that it wasn’t the GR11 so I stayed  on the path I was on. This led up to Restanca by a loathsome excuse for a path. The refuge is a large building by a dammed reservoir. It had been originally built to accommodate worker building the dam. A fairly steep unpleasant path took me back down and connected me to the Arties road.

I now had about 5 miles of road walking to do. Soon I was dining on copious raspberries and redcurrants  along the side of the road. But the plod was long and the plod was slow.

I eventually found the campsite and it was a good one. As soon as my tent was up the skies opened again, but while the thunder roared and the lightening cracked I was enjoying a very fine pizza and a litre of San Miguel. Much of the campsite was under water when I returned to my tent but my pitch was dry...ish.

Pipe cemented into crack in the rock to catch rainwater.

I had told Dave that I would be in Arties if he wanted to join me again though I was there sooner than I had planned. I would have one rest day here but wanted to get away again after that. I phoned home from the campsite asking my partner to talk to Dave’s partner to find out his plans. I said I would phone home again the following night. That was the only time on my trip that I had specified exactly when I would phone. But the storm knocked out the phones and the next evening calling was impossible. I was worried about scaring my partner and did manage to get a call through at 7-00am the following morning.

Arties is a tourist town. Very little exists of the original hamlet, all is modern ski lodge type buildings. It also has two captive bears on display in a caged enclosure. I didn’t like that. I shopped in a posh delicatessen. The only tea I could buy was Twinings ‘Prince of Wales’ tea. Yes I know you have never heard of it. It is a  tea that you can’t buy in England except on the internet. The pack lasted almost to the end of my walk and I grew quite fond of it.

Having heard that Dave wouldn’t be joining me again I hit the road.

Day 24 Arties to Espot.

There is a carpark a couple of miles out ofArties where walkers park before going into the hills. The track I was taken started from the carpark. As I had already walked to the carpark and indeed beyond it I felt justified in hitching a lift back to it.

The walk to Espot was long and tiring and I was soon back amidst soulless granite.

I took the circuit around Colomers rather than over the col. The track had been severely damaged by the rains and it was officially closed. I met a couple of mountain bikers coming the other way who asked me if it was safe to proceed. I warned them about a couple of spots where the floods had cut through the track but where bikes could be got through.  Refuge de Colomers and the lakes were a bit of a tourist trap. The crowds were gathering.  The higher I rose towards Port de Ratera the fewer people I saw. I was entering a barren landscape of broken tumbled granite and mountain lakes. The view back down the valley was breathtaking.

Els Encantats

The decent to Espot was slow and rough. It was a hot sunny day but fortunately no shortage of water which is the saving grace of granite.

 Espot is a centre for visiting the popular sights of Estany San Maurici and the Catentats. This is the busiest part of the Parc National de Aiquestortes. It was a place I knew from previous visits but which had developed substantially since. A continuous stream of vehicles ferried people to and from the lake. I resisted the temptation to take a ride into town. But I was tired and footsore when I reached the Voraparc campsite which was packed to the gunnels. So packed they packed me off to find somewhere else. Fortunately there was another campsite in the town itself. This one had space and was very welcoming. The owner was curious about my Irish passport and introduced me to her daughter who had worked in Bray for a while. I met a hiker doing the GR11. He was heading to La Guingueta D’Aneu the next day. My plan was to reach Estaon.

Day 25 Espot to Estaon

Dorve

 I was able to buy meths and bread before leaving Espot. It was clearly going to be a hot day. The route to Guingueta is mostly on road and not very interesting. I watched two elderly gentlemen walking at a leisurely pace ahead of me but was surprised at how long it took me to catch them. They in turn were bemused by my umbrella. La Guingueta sits on a main road and I saw nothing to recommend it. I ordered lunch at the Gite and then ordered second. They clearly weren’t accustomed to the dietary requirements of hikers. I headed off uphill to Dorve in the midday heat. I was out of the granite now and passed a series of dried up stream beds and hoped that reports of water at Dorve weren’t wrong.

Dorve was fascinating. I don’t know if anyone lives there still though someone keeps a garden. Otherwise it looks totally deserted. The buildings are disintegrating and bullet holes are visible. It is easy to imagine that this was the sight of conflict under Franco.

Water was plentiful and I rested in the shade for an hour.

The track uphill is not clear and I had to check maps and GPS a couple of times. The problem is that there are too many tracks and too few GR11 signs so I ended up doubling back. I was looking for a gap in the ridge that takes you onto a path that rises through woodland.

Dorve

Again at the top the variety of options confused me for a while. I met a couple with a young child at the top and asked them about the route. I too them for day trippers picnicking but they told me they were about to set up their tent. They were doing the GR11, east to west, with their child. Sure,  they told me,  progress was slow but who cares. There was no water to be had between Dorve and Estaon but they had carried enough.

It was a long decent into Estaon. I was keeping an eye out for suitable places to camp for the night but didn’t find any. The flat grassy  summit would have been ideal but I wanted to cover more distance. It was another one of those occasions when you find the best site earlier than you want to stop but then have to keep going because there is nowhere else.

It was about 8-30 when I reached Estaon. Quaint or what. This is an extraordinary little hamlet of old buildings huddled together in a tight little valley. Too small to get lost in but too complex not to. I asked a woman in the street if she knew of somewhere I could camp and she offered me her back yard. The yard was tiled with broken slate and I was nervous of my groundsheet. I was able to find enough gaps between the slates to get tent pegs in. I cooked some pasta and sardines and had a lovely night’s sleep. If I had walked on another 30 minutes I could have found suitable spots along the river. There is a refuge in Estaon which was closed when I passed through.

Day 26 Estaon to Camping Serra

Two overly long days had left me tired again. I would try to make this a short day. I was up early and away before any sign of life in the town so didn’t get to thank my host. The route skirts the valley side eventually dropping to the riverside due north to Bordes de Nibros.  Here it zig zags up the valley dise and over the Col de Jou. The decent on the other side is heavily eroded but not to difficult. By now, mid morning the heat of the day was becoming oppressive. I met a couple walking with a dog. The dog was carrying its own panniers. They were doing the GR11 from the Mediterranean and had come through Tavascan. They told me there was nowhere to camp there.

I decided to skip Tavascan and drop down to Camping Serra south of Lladorre. I reached it about 1-00am. At reception the owner put my rucksack in a golf buggy and drove me around the site to choose a pitch.

Electric fence on crash barrier

I set up and was soon approached by my Spanish neighbour, Carlos. This was a very hospitable site. It appeared that everyone knew everyone else and were mostly Barcelonans decanted for the summer. I was introduced to someone else whose English was very good. We were soon talking politics at the site cafe. Once again my Irishness attracted attention and I was assumed to be a fellow struggler for the freedom of small nations. If anyone on this site wasn’t a Catalan nationalist, I’m sure they weren’t letting on.

I stocked up at the site shop which was small but adequate, had coffee with Carlos and back to the cafe for a pizza, which I’m sure I forgot to pay for. Carlos asked me what Time I was leaving in the morning and I told him I would be up at 6-00am. He insisted that he to would be up at 6 and make me a coffee before I left. He told me we were in a heatwave butthe weather would be cooler in a couple of days.

Day 27 Camping Serra to Plat de Boet.

This was to be a long day starting with a big climb to Coll de Tudela.

 At 6 it was still dark and the site was dead quiet. True to his word, Carlos was ready with the coffee. I packed  up in silence and was hoisting my heavy sack on my back when  Carlos presented me with a bag of groceries which I could neither refuse nor find room for in my sack.

I waited until I was clear of the site to have a look at what I had and decide what to do. Bread was always welcome, but I had a number of peaches, some tomatoes, a toilet roll, a packet of salt and more. I decided to eat the peaches and tomatoes straight away.  By the time I reached Boldis Sobera they were gone. Fruit and veg were always in short supply, and to heavy to carry. My usual custom was to make sure I had plenty when stopping at a village but not to carry any. 

Water font at Boldis

The route to Boldis was on the road and I noticed that a farmer had incorporated his electric fence into the crash barrier. Metal rods supporting the fence had been inserted into the hollow uprights supporting the barrier. I warned myself not to rest on the barrier. I have rarely seen anything so stupid and funny at the same time. A cyclist landing against the barrier and touching the electric fence would be perfectly earthed. I suppose you could think of it as instant defibrillation.

I was met by a couple of large dogs at Boldis where there was a water font enabling me to refill. This would be one of the hottest days yet so I was happy that the route to the coll would be mostly through woodland. The ascent was through forest tracks which contoured  along the slope before rising. GR11 signs were few and far between so I was anxious at one stage that I had somehow gone off the route. But there were no other tracks to follow. The crest of the col was unshaded and on the short climb over I was glad of my umbrella. I would use it a lot today.

Boldis Sobera

It was a 1000m drop to Areu, a decent into stifling heat. There was one bar open where I decided to sit for a couple of hours hoping the day would cool. A group of young people sat near me. They were a mix of nationalities so were using English as a common language. Conversation ranged from sex to skiing;  philosophy to responsibilities for elderly parents.

At about 4-00pm I set off again though the day was still very hot. I was walking on the road for the first mile or so and able to replenish my water from streams. The path was rising through  the valley. The road ran out and dirt tracks took me up the valley side into the welcome shade of the woods.  I still had a long way to go to reach the Pla de Boet where I intended to camp. At one point I was worried that I’d climbed to high and was on another track but I was fine.  As I approached the Refuge de Val Ferrera about eight o’clock I met a woman hiker. We exchanged pleasantries, I asked her how from my destination I was.  She was in the area climbing peaks and had just come down from Pica D’Estats which she highly recommended. When I told her I had walked from the Atlantic she commented on how much I must have to eat to fuel such exertions.

The guide book warns that Pla de Boet is a popular camping spot and that I might even have to pay a small fee to camp there. In fact I had the plain to myself. It is a very fine place to stop. The cattle were welcoming but so also were a few midges. I think this is the only place in the Pyrenees where I did get bitten by the little blighters but in reality they were not a deterrent to camping, merely an echo of experiences in Ireland and Scotland.

I was able to wash some clothes in the stream, photograph the sunset and enjoy an evening meal of pasta and sardines.

Camped at Pla de Boet

Day 28 Pla de Boet to Camping D'Ancalonga (Andorra)

Today would take me over the probably the steepest col of my trip, Port de Baiau (2760m). I had a choice of entry points into Andorra. The easier Port de Bouet would have taken me into a ski station but positioned me better for crossing Andorra.

It was a long uphill climb to Refuge de Baiau though much of it through pleasant woodland and open grassland. My starting point at Pla de Boet was well under 2000m. I rose eventually into the wasteland. Wonderful lakes sit under an intimidating wall of crags. It was difficult to look up at them and think there might be a sensible route through. The refuge at 2,500m was an iron shed bolted to the rock and held down with steel hawsers. One didn’t want to experience the type of weather this was built to resist.

A Spanish mountaineering group were using the refuge and planning their own ascent of the col. I had lunch and made myself sociable seeing the opportunity to keep company on this difficult climb. Clouds were gathering and rain looked likely later. I was sure (correctly) that we would get over the col dry but thought that rain on those gravelly slopes would be a much greater hazard that wind or mist.

Refuge de Baiau

The climb was, in the end, pleasant and it was reassuring to be in the company of a group who were looking out for each other. The main disadvantage was that I had to watch out for stones being set rolling by people in front.  At one point the gradient was at the limit of what I could climb and I struggled to get purchase on broken rock. We all made it up to the col and rested there. I was continuing down into Andorra towards refuge Comapedrosa and the group were climbing higher. The decent was every bit as barren as the ascent but not as steep but I had nearly 600m to shed before I could dine in comfort.

Looking back from Col de Baiau

Refuge Comapedrosa was a welcome stop and the food was good. I arrived about 4-00 pm. I walked on further along the GR11 which carries on down the valley before climbing again over Col de les Cases and dropping down to a campsite. By the time I reached the turning it was raining heavily. I could see nowhere to camp as I was entering an urban area near Arsinal and decided to hitch a lift. The lift took me to Pont D’Ordino from where I walked another few miles on the road to the campsite at, the wonderfully named,  D’Ansalonga.

The campsite was good except for a few idiot Englishmen partying all night.

Day 29 D’Ansalonga to l’Hospitalet Pres l’ Andorra

I was not enjoying Andorra. I should have stuck to the northern regions and avoided the urban areas. But now I decided to leave the place as expeditiously as possible and got the bus to Pas de la Casa on the border with France. This took two buses, the first into Andorra city itself. This made for a fairly miserable alternative to hiking the cols.

Pas de la Casa was a real shock. I may not have found it attractive but the hundreds of drivers queuing to get in clearly did. It was a shopping mall of ginormous proportions.  It is at 2000m, the mist was down and it was cold. I walked the road to l’Hospitalet and it was the most unpleasant part of my trip. However the campsite at l’Hospitalet, despite comments I have read elsewhere, was a gem. A family site rather than a trekkers site but very relaxed. The reception had free coffee, toys for children and a computer for the free use of people like me. I ate the food that I had left and walked back into the town later to buy more. The shop is a very small appendix to a small cafe but it met my needs. The cheese was expensive but delicious.