SNOW STOPS PLAY

PIC DU MIDI D'OSSAU IN THE MORNING

GRAEME AT COL DE PEYREGET

I WAS THERE TOO

REGUGE D'ARREMOULIT

FROZEN LAC D'ARREMOULIT

PETIT TRAIN

FANNY & CLEMENCE GAVE ME A LIFT

CYCLISTS XABIER, UNAI AND JULIUS SHARED THEIR ACCOMODATION

Refuge d'Ayous is a good refuge, but the sleeping arrangements give new meaning to the word 'togetherness'. Everyone, male and female mixed together, is crammed like sardines into the two upstairs loft rooms. You wouldn't be closer to your neighbour if you were in a double bed. I gave the chap next door permission to nudge me if I snored.

With so many people in such a small space, the room was hot and stuffy. I had a rather restless sleep and was relieved when my alarm went off at 6.00am, a time selected to enable me to get an early start to my walking.

The sun was just rising and I was treated to a wonderful view of the twin peaks of Pic du Midi d'Ossau reflected in the lake as I ate breakfast. This scene is a favourite with artists (the mountain that is, not me eating breakfast).

I said a final farewell to Marietta and Catherine, and then headed south to rejoin the HRP, which then took me east in the direction of Refuge de Pombie.

To get there it was necessary to get across the Col de Peyreget, a tough climb over jumbled rocks and snowfields. I met Greame, a Scot, on the lower slope and we made the climb up to the Col together. It was reassuring to have company for a while.

Once at the top Greame sped ahead down to Pombie, using his heavyweight army boots to kick steps in the snow as he went. Since my boots were too flexible for step-kicking in anything but soft snow, I trailed behind using my lightweight crampons for the first time. They certainly helped give me a more secure and thus speedier descent, and raised a certain amount of interest at the refuge.

Graeme continued on his day-walk while I stopped for cake and a pot of tea at the refuge. I spoke to the guardian who informed me that because of heavy snowfall this year, the snowfields had been slow to clear, making walking conditions hazardous. He said the snow presently surrounding the refuge would normally have melted two weeks ago. He thought that it was safe to procede as far as Refuge d'Arremoulit, but suggested I ask the guardian there for further advice.

Getting to Arremoulit involved a long downhill walk to the D934 road before climbing up the Val d'Arrious to the Col d'Arrious. It was getting late by the time I got halfway up, so I pitched my tent behind a large rock with a cabane built against it. It had been a long hard day, but the weather had been good.

I continued with my climb in the mornimg (Saturday), but began to meet significant snow above 2,000m. The Col is at 2259m. For the first time the ice axe came out.

Once at the Col I was rewarded by spectacular views straight ahead down to Lac d'Artouste. I turned right, however, to walk along the famous Passage d'Orteig, a narrow ledge in the side of the cliff where steel cables have been attached to aid safety. From there, it was once again necessary to use the ice axe and crampons to make a safe descent to the Refuge d'Arremoulit, at an altitude of 2,305m. It occured to me that I was not meant to be meeting snow conditions like this until I got beyond Refuge de la Soula in another week's time, when altitudes would be 500m greater than now.

I spoke to the guardian at Arremoulit who confirmed that the snow will get progressively worse as I go further east, making many of the passes difficult and hazardous to cross. The other problem with snow is that it covers up footpaths and other features making navigation difficult. One could be standing on top of a stream or lake and not know it - until the ice breaks. This is not the sort of walking that one should be doing alone.

I had hoped to at least get as far as Gavarnie, but that would involve going into relatively wild areas with few people and few easy routes out. Mobile phone contact is expected to be sporadic at best. By the time the guardian went on to inform me that the weather was expected to deteriorate over the next week, my mind was made up. Proceeding would be too dangerous. I had reached the limit of my risk-tolerance and decided that I must go down and rethink my plan.

Decision made, I headed down the snowfields to Lac d'Artouste. There is a dam at the northern end which is also the end station of the 'Train Touristique du Lac d'Artouste', a scenic miniature railway. I caught the so called Petit Train to be treated to an hour-long, slightly hair-raising, cliff-edge ride along the Vallee du Soussoueou. The mountains looked even more massive from a distance than they had felt whilst walking them. It was hard to believe that I had hauled 18kg of rucksack to the altitudes I had.

The train ride took me to a cable car station from which I could descend to Fabrege, an obvious tourist centre. I hoped to find accommodation in the village of Gabas, some 5km away, and resolved to get there. As luck would have it, two young ladies, Clemence and Fanny, stopped their car as I walked alongside the road and offered me a lift just as it was starting to rain. How could I decline?

We couldn't find a place for me to stay in tiny Gabas so they offered to take me on to Laruns where there would be more opportunities. There was also a tourist information centre in Laruns and it would be a better place from which to catch busses to other places.

What Clemence and Fanny didn't realise when they dropped me off was that, on this particular evening, this was the halfway stop for the 2-day, 320km, Luchon to Bayonne cycle race. It seemed that all the hotels and gites were full!

Luck came my way once again. As I wandered around looking for somewhere to stay, or even somewhere just to pitch my tent, I met Xabier and his two brothers Unai and Julius. They were riding in the cycle race and had booked a mobile home for the night at Camping Bartheque. They offered me the sofa, which was far preferable to camping in the rain. We enjoyed each other's company and spent the evening eating together in a local restaurant.

In the morning they were away early for the second stage of their race, leaving me to hand in the mobile home keys. Sunday would be a good day for me to consider what to do next.

I took my time tidying myself up after two unwashed nights in the mountains and charged my mobile phones up now that I had power at last. It was pouring with rain outside, as I had been warned. I didn't leave the campsite until noon, but the proprietor didn't seem concerned and chatted to me in a friendly way as I handed him the key. He was a thin wirey man with a rugged face who must have been well over 70. He reminded me of neighbour Denis Lillywhite, whose farm is opposite to my house.

I explored Laruns for a while in the wet before settling down for the afternoon in the cafe of the Hotel d'Ossau to study my maps. The Bonny Tyler song 'Lost in France' kept playing in my head.

Pau looked interesting, though!