When I was writing about Port du Lavédan yesterday I didn’t mention a minor injury to my foot, as it didn’t seem important at the time. I’d been standing almost still and my left boot had slipped between 2 rocks, one above the other, so the side of my foot had been squashed between the rocks. I’d sworn at the time and thought how painful it was, then carried on.
The guidebook I’m using gives each day a grade to indicate how hard it is. Grade 3 is a short easy walk, grade 2 is a “classic HRP day” with a fair amount of ascending and descending, and grade 1 is “suitable only for experienced, well-trained mountaineers.” The vast majority of days are grade 2, with a few of grades 1 and 3.
There is a fourth grade, E, which stands for extreme. There are 4 of these, and today was the first. I’d been looking forward to it, as it was the first day that involved serious snowfield crossings, but I’m no-longer looking forward to the others!
Ford Prefect almost got it right when he advised Arthur Dent that a towel was the most important thing to take with him, but personally I’d always take a face flannel if space or weight were restricted. The flannel has proved its worth time and again: you can wash with limited water supplies, e.g. using a bucket; if you want to wash in a cold stream it limits the amount of cold water splashed around and you stay warmer; in a shower where you have only 3 pushes, it adds flexibility; and of course, if you wring it out, you can use it as a towel, so Arthur would have ben fine.
Spending a couple of months walking 800km solo across the Pyrenees brings with it the odd risk, but I’ve done what I can to reduce with the risks I know about. The only thing I’m not sure how to deal with is bears, but I read a leaflet last night that said stand up tall and don’t run, so even bears may be covered now.
Today I stopped, as I do from time to time, to consult the guidebook and see where I should be heading. As I was reading, I was warned by a random Spanish walker that the route I was about to take was very risky. When it became obvious that I couldn’t understand anything he said, he called his wife over to translate into French, but it still wasn’t clear exactly what he thought the risk was. He was so concerned about the unspecified risk though, that he suggested I descend a different way and he’d drive me to wherever I wanted to go!
When I first arrived in Lescun on Thursday, I met an American couple outside the post office, who told me that England had drawn their third match of the World Cup and been knocked out. I don’t know whether that was an honest mistake or a wind-up, but it wasn’t until Klaas showed me the results in his paper that I discovered the truth. If I was near a bookie’s I’d bet my tent on the Germans beating us on penalties.
After nine days walking, I’m having a rest day in the village of Lescun today. I was hoping Lescun might have an internet of some sort but, despite most GR10 and HRP walkers pausing here for a day, no-one has thought about the money to be made from having a connected PC.
Luckily that disappointment has been balanced out by meeting some great people here. Yesterday I met Klaas - a retired climbing instructor from the Dutch army, who has the same tent as me! He’s also doing the HRP solo, and has an even heavier bag than me, which was reassuring.
After days of miserable weather in the rolling foothills of the Pyrenees, the last couple of days have finally provided some proper mountains and some fantastic views. You’ll have to take my word for it I’m afraid as the phone charge situation is still bad, but I’ll upload some photos when I get to a PC that can read my camera’s memory card.
Tuesday began with an amazing climb of Pic d’Orhy from Iraty. The weather began warm and clear, but there were clouds building near the mountain and by the time I started climbing I was back in familiar surroundings - thick fog. After about 30 minutes climbing up a steep slope wearing hat and gloves, I suddenly found myself staring over the edge of a huge cliff, with unlimited visibility. Behind me there was a wall of fog and visibility of under 30m, but in front there were mountains and valleys stretching to the horizon.
I haven’t passed anywhere with Internet for a few days and the phone is getting very low, but I thought I’d better just reassure anyone who thought the bears might have got me already.
The weather has gradually got clearer over the last three days and today the sun finally appeared for the first time. There’s been a bitter northerly wind though, so I spent yesterday in fleece, goretex, hat and gloves - it was more like spring in Scotland than summer in France! The wind kept things pretty cool again today but, after a week of dark clouds and fog it was a huge relief not to have to worry about rain. To celebrate I washed some clothes and hung them off the back of my bag to dry.
To speak to people in this part of the world you need to know Basque, French and Spanish. My French is passable, and I can say hello, thankyou and goodbye in Spanish, but it was a great relief when the lady who ran the taverna last night spoke a few words of English. She explained this morning that it’s rained for the last 10 days, and said “this year is very strange”! She then read something from the local paper, telling me it had rained a huge amount on the local mountain yesterday. Having been there at the time, this didn’t come as a huge surprise, but she was making an effort so I thanked her anyway.
It’s probably a good thing I couldn’t post anything last night, as it wouldn’t have been very positive. I had a wet and windy night on Tuesday, on a hill about 2 hours outside Hendaye, and the rain carried on all through Wednesday. I arrived at what should have been the end of day 1 completely soaked and demoralised, and stayed in a hostel to try and dry some kit out.
My plan had always been to get the couchette last night and start walking this morning, but I bumped into a friend, Lucia, at Gare du Nord and ending up having a lovely dinner with her and her aunt. Instead of getting the train, I ended up admiring the Eiffel Tour from the Trocadero as it flashed its 1am lights, then partying into the the early hours with an American Airline crew!
I’m counting down the final hours now, and one of the last tasks was to remove the hair. I’ve got a tiny bottle of biodegradable soap which has to clean me, my clothes and my pan for the next 7 weeks - at least I don’t need to worry about shampoo now…
Since then I’ve had a shower and a shave, and realised that the next time I wash will probably be in a stream, and the next shave will be using a pan of water heated on the stove.