 |
| WATER, WATER! |
 |
| BRIDGE OVER GORGES OF HOLZARTE |
 |
| UNMANNED REFUGE NEAR PISTA PEKOA |
 |
| PISTA PEKOA |
 |
| BORDER CROSSING |
 |
| SPANISH FRIENDS MANEL, AURELIO & MARTI SHELTER FROM THE STORM |
It was quite misty so visibility of the surroundings was limited, but at least I was comfortably cool for the first time in days. The clouds enveloping the high mountain peaks confirmed my thoughts that climbing Pic d'Orhy would have required a huge effort for no real benefit other than the 'because it's there' kind of satisfaction.
I acquired a bit of a change of mindset at Bargariak that seemed to lighten my load. After taking on board a helpful email from Mum, I decided to stop worrying about my walking schedule and simply deal with things on a day-to-day basis. I found myself actually enjoying the walk rather than just bearing the discomfort. It occured to me that I should just allow myself to bathe in the beauty of the mountains more rather than always trying to dominate them. I suspect that there may be some analogy with my character here. Life teaches us lessons in all sorts of ways.
I stopped to have a quick look around the village of Larrau while I was passing, and was delighted the hear the melodic voices of female singers coming from a local bar. The bar was near the church and it was a Sunday. Perhaps the choir enjoyed what they did so much that they just couldn't stop? I bought a beer and clapped when they had finished. Carrying my rucksack I was obviously not local, and a lady thanked me for coming.
They charged me €50 for a demi-pension single at Logibar, but gave me a nice clean double room (demi-pension means inclusive of evening meal and breakfast).
After a shower, I enjoyed a rucksack-free trot to see the nearby Gorges of Holzarte, best viewed from the suspension footbridge that straddles one of the Gorges. The sign said it was 50 minutes away on foot, but I made it there and back in that time. It was encouraging to know that my slow rate of progress along the Pyrenees was not due to any general lack of fitness.
After an exceptional al fresco supper I retired to bed just as the lightning, thunder and rain started. If I'd climbed Pic d'Orhy, I would have had to wildcamp at altitude in that!
As for what to do next, I did consider getting a taxi to take me to the nearest post office next morning so that I could send home the camping gear and anything else I could manage without. This would certainly lighten my rucksack. However, carrying the tent gave me flexibility and made it possible to turn up at refuges even if they were fully booked, as they always allow hikers to camp outside and still use the facilities.
I could switch to the GR10 instead of the HRP, but this route looks a bit dull in parts so I wouldn't want to stick to it.
The third option is simply to select the route I want to follow on a day-to-day basis. If that doesn't quite get me to the Mediterranean by the end of July, I can always come back and complete it another time.
Monday morning's weather was clear although rain was expected later. As I ate breakfast I watched a French gentleman set off with a rucksack that look even heavier than mine. I immediately made up my mind. My third option was the one I would chose, and today I would rejoin the HRP by heading up to the border ridge, a climb pretty-well as high as Ben Nevis.
The route took me past the Gorges of Holzarte again, although this time I did take the full 50 minutes. It was just after the suspension bridge that I caught up with the heavily-laden Frenchman. He would shortly be heading off in a different direction, whereas I kept climbing for five hours to get to the border ridge, passing an unmanned refuge hut and a beautiful waterfall along the way.
It was foggy on the way up which made it pleasantly cool again, but when I peered over the Spanish side it was sunshine all over - at least for a while.
As I moved east along the ridge the weather gradually deteriorated. Drizzle turned to light rain and then heavier rain. I heard thunder in the distance and was then subjected to a pelting by hail. Then the cracks of lighting and the booming of the thunder became almost simultaneous and the rain became a downpour. I was now in a full-blown thunderstorm.
Enclosed in my waterproofs I marched along quickly, making sure not to make myself the highest point on the ridge. I come to a road and decided that the safest option would be to walk down it to the Refuge Jeandel at Port de la Pierre-Saint-Martin 10km away. Not far ahead of me along the road I saw three walkers looking like camels with their capes over their rucksacks. Beside the road is the old disused Belagua refuge. I saw them tuck under the porch for shelter and thought I would join them for a bit. They turned out to be my three Spanish friends again, and they had already arranged for a car to take them to Jeandel. I was pleased to accept their invitation to share the ride.
Jeandel was a bit of a mess because the roof was being replaced after having been torn off by 228km/hr winds during the winter. We had to sleep in temporary portakabin-like buildings placed alongside, which wasn't exactly luxury.
Any port in a storm, however, and the food was good.