There is a risk. Would you like a lift?

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!

The route I was about to take was a section of a trail called the GR11. It’s a nationally recognised trail that runs the length of the Pyrenees, entirely on the Spanish side. It’s considerably less risky than the HRP, as it’s generally lower level and closer to civilisation.

What I wanted to tell the man was that I laughed in the face of danger, but even with the three of us there translating for each other, there was no suitable language available. Instead I cobbled together some French to thank the couple and explain that I had to carry on by foot.

There are times that local knowledge can be invaluable, like the guys telling me about the snow last night, but there are also times when crazy old men need to be ignored. The most dangerous part of the route was a steep scree slope, but the guidebook simply advised “take care on the steep scree slope” - it made no mention of getting a lift to somewhere safer.

Today’s route was pretty busy - Spaniards of all ages seem to head for the mountains at the weekend. Most of them would have got wet today, as the afternoon storms began around 14:00. Like yesterday, the first showers weren’t too heavy, but every now and again there was a menacing rumble of thunder from another valley.

The real rain arrived shortly after 16:00, at which point I’d just arrived in Candanchu, a small Spanish ski-resort. The place is pretty much closed down, but I found a bit of roof to shelter under and waited 40 minutes while the road turned into a river. When the rain finally subsided I discovered that the refuge was only 200m further on!

Tonight’s home is a little more luxurious than last night’s - I’ve got a room to myself with an ensuite bathroom. There’s also wifi, with the downside being that I managed to listen to the second half commentary from the England vs. Germany game. At least I don’t have to worry about missing us winning the World Cup now…

The first orage

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.

As well as football, Klaas’s paper had a weather forecast that mentioned storms on Saturday afternoon. I rang the mountain weather forecast yesterday to get an update and amidst lots of garbled French I picked out the word “orage” a few times again, but when I set off this morning the skies were clear.

I managed an uncharacteristically early start (leaving the campsite at 08:40) and reached the Col de Pau (on the border ridge - see photo) pretty much on schedule, just in time for lunch. Soon after that I met a French group who asked what I was doing. I explained my plan and they pointed out some of the key landmarks along the way, then wished me luck with the storm. As far as I could see it looked ok, but a lady assured me that a storm was on its way. She had a badge on her rucksack saying something about a French Mountain club, so I assumed she knew what she was talking about.

I blitzed the section from there to the day’s end, keen to avoid a repeat of last weeks’s drenching. The clouds got greyer and the thunder started rumbling as I trundled along towards Col de Saoubathou and on towards the Refuge d’Arlet. The rain began very lightly and slowly got heavier, but wasn’t too bad by the time I reached the refuge.

I’d wondered about camping near the refuge and the sun briefly shone through the clouds but, when I popped outside to check, the thunder was still rumbling and the rain carried on most of the evening.

This is the first refuge I’ve stayed in on this trip - very different to the hostels I stayed in during the last section. Whereas they were in villages and had private rooms (some even ensuite!), this refuge is over 2,000m up in the mountains and has 2 rooms - a dinning room and a single bedroom that sleeps up to 44 people. I haven’t seen a bathroom yet, but there was a guy washing in the stream when I arrived, so I suspect the facilities are limited!

There’s a strange mix of people here - I think the majority are HRP’ers, but there’s also a family and some Spanish walkers who look like they’re just doing a night up here. Amongst the HRP’ers there are huge differences in style - there are people who start early, start late, finish early, do long days, carry heavy (25kg) bags, carry light (15kg) bags…

Two of the other guys here are doing the Pyrenees in the other direction, finishing in Hendaye. I sat next to one of them at dinner (an impressive 5-course meal!) and he told me that both the main route and the variant described in my guide had sections that were unpassable last week due to snow. The blockages are in 3 day’s time, so I’m going to call a local refuge tomorrow to check if things have improved in the last few days. If not, I may have to go off-piste and come up with a lower-level alternative.

Section One - Complete

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.

I helped an old French guy sort the gear-indexing out on his bike yesterday afternoon, so in the evening he offered Klaas and me a Pastis or two, and we ended up chatting to him and his wife (in French) for an hour or two! It turned out he had done Mont Blanc 20 years ago, so he was interested in our climbing experiences.

Klaas and I then had a a couple of beers, then later some wine and cheese. Klaas had his rest day yesterday, and I was glad it was him setting off early this morning, not me!

I’m staying on a campsite which is about 20 minutes walk out of the village, but popped back in today to get my supplies for the next 7 days walking, which should get me to Gavarnie - the next decent village. Outside the shop I met a great couple from Hobart, Tasmania, called Doug and Di. We ate our baguettes in the village square as we discussed tactics for the walk - they’re also doing the HRP, and using the same guide as me, so should be following a day or two behind on the same route. Klaas is mixing in sections from the GR10, so is going a different way.

I doubt the French couple will be heading to Gavarnie, but hopefully I’ll bump into Klaas, Doug and Di again. It’s nice to have some company every now and again!

This is more like it...

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.

Unfortunately my route turned 90 degree left and up a ridge, back into the fog. I began climbing on the left of the ridge, but as the ridge got sharper I noticed the right side was clear, so swapped over. The ridge got narrower and narrower until I came to a complete stop, faced with the sharpest ridge I’ve ever seen. On the left was a steep drop into the fog, and on the right a sheer cliff, hundreds of metres high.

I sat down to try and work out how to cross the ridge, but eventually took a GPS position and checked the guide - it turned out that 50m back there was a path that ran 20m off the ridge down in the fog, so I gratefully retraced my steps and took that. On the way I noticed a plaque to someone who obviously wasn’t so lucky.

After the adreneline of the ridge I was exhausted, so stopped for some lunch, but the rest of the climb didn’t disappoint. By the time I reached the summit I was above the clouds and the views were phenomenal. I’ve begun remembering why I’m doing this…

Today’s route began with a hot walk across some mountain pastures, passed through a forest then ended up in an incredible limestone wilderness, where I felt totally cut off from civilisation. The route up to Col d’Anaye was remarkable, an almost lunar landscape made up almost entirely of rock.

I crossed my first few snowfields of the trip during today - the initial ones weren’t big enough to warrant crampons but over the col I found myself descending quite a steep one, so whipped them out for the first time.

I also started seeing some interesting wildlife now that I’m a bit more cut off from the normal world. There have been eagles around for a few days, but today I saw the first isard and a marmotte(-ger?). Loads of lizards too.

Still Alive

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.

Progress has been on and off - at times I’ve pushed ahead to try and claw back some of the time lost in Paris, but at other times there hasn’t been anywhere good to camp, or I’ve just felt like stopping. It’s now looking unlikely that I’ll make up the time by the end of this stage, which is a village called Lescun, where I should arrive on Thursday.

A break in the rain

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.

I was slow getting going again this morning, put off again by the rain, but after an hour or so it died out and I actually spent the rest of the day without my Goretex jacket on, which made a nice change.

Today was an easy day with only 800m of ascent, and it only took just over 5 hours, so I wondered about pushing on and trying to make up some of the time I lost when I missed the train on Monday. In the end though, it started raining just I was trying to make a decision, so I’ve stayed put in Aldudes. Climing for 2 hours wouldn’t have been too bad, but having to camp with a load of wet kit wouldn’t have been great.

Blisters are holding up OK, and I’m generally feeling better about things. I still haven’t seen a decent view though - the rain may have gone but the fog has been hanging around since I woke up on Wednesday. The friendly woman in the taverna said there might be some better weather on Sunday, which would be nice!

I’ve just tried reading the SD card from my camera but the antediluvian PC I’m on seems to find it too much of a struggle - I suspect 4GB cards hadn’t even been dreamt of when this machine was built.

Dark Days

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.

During the night in the tent, I was woken by the incessant cow-bells, which seem to get through ear-plugs! They were so close that I worried a cow might trip over the guy ropes and land on top of me, so I got out and took the two side guys out at about 2am. I’m not sure whether this was important, but I woke normally a few hours later, without a cow on top of me.

As I packed up I tried charging my iPhone, but the second battery suddenly died (the first had died on the train), so I’m currently without iPhone power: route logging won’t be possible and blogging is only going to happen when I find a PC.

The rain paused briefly as I packed up, at which point I met my first fellow walker - bizarrely he was a lad from London called Nick! He paused for a rest as I set off, and I soon left his path (the GR10) so didn’t see him again.

Not long after I left him, the rain started, and it didn’t stop until lunchtime today. I’d been hoping to make up a bit of time after starting so late on Tuesday evening, but Wednesday was a really tough day. The rain was extremely depressing and I began wondering why I’m doing this. I think I massively underestimated the impact of doing it alone too - I’m sure it would have been easier with a mate around, but I struggled yesterday and was wondering whether I wanted to carry on.

I presume the storms I was walking through are the same ones that have killed 25 people in the south east of France.

I reached the end of the guide book’s “Day 1” totally drenched. I could have carried on a bit further and camped but there would have been no way to dry any kit, so stopped in a hostel and hung everything up. Even the “dry bags” had let water in.

When I woke this morning it was still raining, most of my kit was still wet, and I struggled for motivation again. After breakfast I packed up and shipped out about 10:30, and actually began feeling more positive. The rain subsided at lunchtime which made a big difference, even when some drizzle arrived later in the day.

I haven’t seen a single view yet as I’ve been walking in fog the whole time, which has also made navigation quite interesting! Even with guide book, map, compass, GPS and altimeter I’ve gone off-course a couple of times.

I’m now at the end of the book’s “Day 2”, with a couple of shorter (5-6 hour) days ahead, so I may be able to make up time.  I’ve been encouraged by the speed I’m covering ground - today I ended up taking 7 hours in total for a day that the book thought would be 7:15 of walking, so not including lunch, breaks, and the 20 minutes I spent getting lost. The downside is that my legs are toast - I really need to lose some weight from the bag.

The other problem I’ve got tonight is blisters. I stupidly wore damp socks this morning (I can’t remember why, but I think it must have been because I thought the boots were already damp) so my feet are now suffering. Hopefully I can patch them up and make some good progress tomorrow.

I’m feeling a lot more positive today - I just hope I get a few decent days of sun. No photos I’m afraid, as I’ve blagged some internet time from the lady who runs the bar in Arizkun (where I’m currently staying) but don’t have any way of downloading from the camera.

Goal in concrete, plans in sand

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!

Things weren’t much better this morning: I went to Austerlitz to get the 10:05, only to discover that Austerlitz is only used for couchettes, and I had to go to Montparnasse. Luckily my attempt to get the 12:05 went much more smoothly, and I had at least 90 seconds to spare as I leapt on.

I eventually reached Hendaye at 18:30, and by the time I’d got to the beach and taken the required photos it was 19:30. Two hours later I found a slightly dubious place to pitch the tent and rustled up some very simple pasta as it began raining.

So far so good - the cow bells are still as annoying as 14 years ago and the bag feels very heavy on the climbs, but at least I’m underway!

The plan may have had to flex a bit but the goal remains the same - all being well I can make up time when I have a couple of shorter days later this week.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

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.

I felt a bit nervous about taking the hair off, but not half as nervous as I’ve been feeling about the trip itself! I’m sure once I start walking I’ll feel much better, but right now I’m wondering what I’ve let myself in for…

Dundonnell Kit Test

Driving north towards Dundonnell in north west Scotland, the little snowflake warning light in the car lit up and we began to realise what we were in for. We were hoping to climb the Fisherfield Six (the remotest of all the Munros) but after the heatwave of the previous weekend, the weather had completely changed.

Scotland has a lot it can throw at you. In addition to the cold, Andy and I have experienced rain, hail, snow and quite a lot of wind in the last 48 hours, prompting him to suggest that this was as much a test of resolve and endurance as it was of the kit.

We began later than planned, heading off into the hills just west of the Dundonnell forest at about 8:30pm on Wednesday, and got steadily colder and wetter as we aimed for our intended campsite about 3 hours away. Although the light lasts longer this far north, by 11pm we had had enough, so pitched one of the tents and were extremely grateful to fall into our sleeping bags.

We awoke to find the tent surrounded by boggy streams, but the bog had been very comfortable to sleep on and the kit had survived ok despite the encroaching puddles. It was still raining hard so we struggled for motivation until eventually the rain subsided, and ended up leaving the campsite rather later than intended.

The boggy theme continued down to the Shenavall bothy we’d been aiming for, then on through the rest of the day, but this paled into insignificance alongside the problem of river crossings. We’d been planning to do the circuit anti-clockwise, but when we tried to cross Strath na Sealga we discovered that it had risen too far. Looking back, we should probably have taken off our boots and tried wading, but instead we walked up the river, looking for an easier crossing.

Most of the day was spent hopping across bogs as we walked alongside the river. We pitched the tents at about 3pm and left some of the kit in them, then headed on up the river towards Loch an Nid, still looking for a way to cross so we could climb Beinn a’ Chlaidheimh and Sgùrr Bàn. In the end, we were defeated by the river and returned to our tents with our tails between our legs, having only got as far as the loch.

Today we walked back out to Corrie Hallie through more rain, and headed home. Although we didn’t make any summits, the trip was successful from my point of view, as the new kit all worked well. I’ve got a few changes to make but most of it is ready for the big trip.