To Andorra
Day Twenty-seven, Pla de Boet to Estany Primer
I am in survival mode at the moment.
Something started to hurt on the top of my foot. I didn’t fall or step wrong. It’s probably cumulative.
It’s swollen, but I’m still walking, although a bit more carefully. I was going so well, so this definitely bums me out.
Still, I climbed two passes today, one a never-ending monster in the heat. Right now, I’ve set my tent and put my sleeping bag on top for shade. I hope a rest helps.
I’ve entered Andorra and it’s very dry and monochromatic. There are lots of waterfalls, but it’s spare and rocky with intense sunshine.
I wouldn’t say I don’t like it, but it’s just massive, the climbs up and down are massive, and it’s starting to get too long.
I meet a road and considered hitching out. Damn, I wish my foot would heal up.
I wake in the dark and climb most of Port de Boet in shade. Horses ding away up here in a meadow. A beautiful filly comes close perhaps suspecting a treat. Instead, I take her closeup.
As all the cols I’ve walked on this monumental hike, I reach one false col after another until the actual spot is revealed. Now the sun is right in my eyes, so I have to shield them to find the cairns.
There’s not really trail, or maybe I should say there are multiple trails made by animals, so navigation is tricky. It’s important to find the right way through and not get cliffed out, so I watch where I go.
Yes, the views are something from the top – big, majestic, awe-inspiring. But when I take a picture, things just seem to flatten out. Even the beautiful Étang de la Soucarrane just looks like a dull blue spot below.
It’s more lovely as I approach, passing a shepherd’s cabane with an added deck, then finding her with two sweet border collies, leaning into me for affection. Some of their fluff attaches to my bag.
She is watching a parade of baaing and jingling sheep in several long lines moving up the mountain to a new spot. A man with his dog works with them now and eventually she joins them.
I approach the lake and notice a father and young daughter packing up to move on. Every popular place I’ve gone is littered with toilet paper. I really don’t understand the thinking or the laziness of just packing the paper in with the rest of a person’s garbage.
At least out in the open, it eventually breaks down. The real surprise is hiding a poop stained bit of TP under a rock where an unsuspecting hiker is bound to find it. Yuck!
It’s steeply down now to cross the valley, then begin the tight switchbacks to Port de Rat. The trail at first cuts the switchbacks of a road to another cabane, then it’s anyone’s guess where the pass is.
It’s a cirque and I know there’s a way out, but it appears impenetrable. That’s what makes this fun. Someone found a way through and the trail is invisible until I am actually on it.
I like to drink a lot of water, get in the head and body space, then just go in one shot. It takes maybe an hour and a half to climb up like a steam engine, again with the lip of the port (pass) seemingly right in front of me, until an another bit of climbing reveals itself.
The crest – which has brought me into Andorra – is indeed satisfying and I kick back to view the enormous valley I crossed, and the heights I climbed.
Looking ahead, it’s a ski resort.
Dry now, but the lifts are running, and because it’s Sunday, the place is packed. I shiver in the wind – hard to believe, then descend steeply and walk what seems forever on humpy grass to La Goma.
A hamburger with all the fixins, chunky cut fries and a coke. Just what I need to cool down. I’m so tired and suddenly realize I accidentally took a Tylenol PM this morning. I guess they really work!
The trail up to the lakes is rocky and steep – and packed. I set my tent with the sleeping bag shade cover and try to rest and figure out my next move.
Rest is my next move, just laying here with yet another cascade falling nearby and the wind blowing.
rest
As the sun sets, I start to feel better. When I ate my burger, all I wanted to do was lay down. Yup, Tylenol PM hard at work.
But it makes me think of advice I received once when lost – whether actually or figuratively. Simply stop. Lay down. Take a nap. Relax and gather your resources.
I’m sure my body under a combination of heat, the drug and a full stomach – plus two big cols – needed to stop anyway, and I simply didn’t have the energy to make a decision about what to do in the moment.
And funny, I’d planned to hike here anyway since there’s no other appropriate place to pitch a tent until a refuge another couple of hours ahead and on road. It still was a decent seven hours of hiking, on a hurt foot.
Now it’s cool out and the sun is lighting up far off mountains. Finally, to my eyes, it’s beautiful.
And two other people set tents too.
Day Twenty-eight, Estany Primer to Refugi de Cabana Sorda
I’m cuddled into the alicoop with a shockingly beautiful view, my own personal babbling brook only a few feet to my right, and rumbling thunder in the long, echoey style of the Pyrenees.
No rain yet, but things are building. Good thing there’s a refugi close by if I need to make a break for it.
But what a thrilling end to a fantastic day! I slept wonderfully at the lake, deep and long, glad I stopped where I did.
Even if my tent is soaking wet.
I make coffee and begin to pack things away, preparing myself for new adventures, and just as I lower my trekking poles from tent height to blissful hiker height, the “good” one snaps in half.
You read that right – in half.
It’s so comical and utterly impossible for me to comprehend, I try to join the pieces together by force of will.
Is this some kind of sign? One pole has no handle and the other is essentially no longer a pole at all.
But I decide to ignore it and begin hiking holding the broken pieces as though they’ll magically reattach.
But lord almighty, my descent is a slippery, rocky mess and I’ll need that hand to keep me from breaking in half.
I begin wondering if maybe I should have kept moving last night and gotten into town where I could reassess all the broken bits – my poles, a piece of my tent I tripped over (and now needs to be tied into place) my swollen right foot and a persistent mucousy cough, likely brought on by so much heavy uphill breathing.
Not much can be done now except to get myself down to the road where there’s a bus into towns where (hopefully) I can buy trekking poles and figure out my next move.
The trail is rough and it’s hard to walk with a single handless pole. Eventually I reach a gravel road and inch along. My foot hurts and I begin to cry, thinking this is definitely the end of the line.
Just then, a car comes along behind me. I stick out my thumb, likely looking about as bleak and helpless as they come, but they drive by – only to stop a moment later.
I show them my broken poles and how desperate I am to get new ones, and they immediately offer to take me down the valley to their home in Ordino where I can get a bus further down to La Massana which has outdoor stores.
But as we move down the valley, they seem to come up with better plans – they need to pick up a leash for their border collie at home, then will take me to the store. Oh, and let’s have breakfast together, then go to the store. And, you know, forget the bus, we’ll take you back to the trail afterwards.
Friends, real live trail angels in Andorra, the loveliest people around save me this morning.
To be honest, it’s not just about the trekking poles – I buy an excellent pair of bright orange indestructible aluminum Black Diamonds on sale – but the inclusion into their routine on what turned out to be a day off for them.
They were on the mountain to watch the sunrise through a hole in a rock which happens only once per year. We eat “chocolate bombs” with coffee and he even picks up an extra three he put in my hands before I set off.
Caffeine, sugar, ibuprofen that isn’t expired having sat in my backpack too long, new trekking poles plus generous kindness leaves me feeling strong and brave. I lunge right up the hill towards Refugi Borda de Sorteny, and immediately activate my supra-ventricular tachycardia.
What is with my body today?!?
I’m walking through forest thick with plants and it’s still early. I could stay on schedule, but I have got to slow down my racing heart.
I come to a botanical garden where it’s the rocks of the Pyrenees rather than plants that interest me most. I had my feet balancing over every one of you, specimens!
It’s a road now with a very mild rise and I breathe as steadily as I can, ready to pass out on the last steps to the refugi. There are steps in the shade and I collapse, knowing that soon my heart will return to normal.
A young man is sitting here, Antoine, and I immediately offer him one of the chocolate bombs. I have one and we split the third, then begin hiking together.
Ah, delivered from trail angels to someone to share this day with. Heart is all back to normal and my foot feels just fine, so off we climb for the first pass, Collada dels Meners.
Antoine has only returned to trail, unable to finish last year. He lives in Toulouse, so is very close. As we climb, the beauty of Andorra overtakes me. It’s green and full of flowers. The trail is easy too. Still up for hours and steep, but easy to follow and straightforward.
This really surprises me. But not nearly as much as how strong I am on uphills surprises Antoine. He leads, but I stay close. We stop for water and to admire this lovely valley, then work our way to the pass, steeply climbing zigzags to the end.
A whole party of Andorrans eats lunch but we decide to walk to the next cabana to eat. This was originally as far as I’d planned to walk, but I’m feeling strong and it’s still early, so thinking of making two cols in a day.
For now, it’s simply enjoying this magnificent space. So lush with pine trees below and views for miles to larger mountain ranges. We meet other hikers, families and HRPers coming the other way.
Across the valley is a large ski area and cars parked below, though up here still feels wild.
It’s a good distance to the cabane. People have claimed spots and are rinsing off in the drinking water. I spot some shade under a boulder and we make our way to it, laying out lunch of saussison and fromage plus one soup I’ve bern carrying since San Sebastian.
It’s so nice in the shade, the water spilling down, just enough breeze. This was my intended target and thunderstorms are forecast for 6, but I think we can knock out the next col in two hours of less.
We linger a bit longer and Antoine tells me he hiked with a Belgian named Arne last year. I know him! Well, I know of him from my friend Kelly.
He shares pictures and s movie from their fantastic hike, then tells me of a woman he fell in love with on trail, named Alison. Aha!
We table our talk as we climb some more, still stunningly beautiful even while breathing heavy. Antoine stops for water and I keep going as the trail is just one, long, steep slash against the mountain.
When I arrive and look back, I see the mountain is so steep, it disappears beyond a few feet. I get Antoine’s pic in this space then we again linger at the top, this time thoroughly alone.
Such a contrast to yesterday, more rocky and inhospitable. It was hotter yesterday, too, and the expired ibuprofen was doing me no good.
I guess it helps to have friends to share it with too. Antoine is lovely and happy to be here. Our shared day feels easy and natural. It doesn’t hurt when he says I hike like a 25-year-old.
It’s hard to let go of this spot, but time to hike down. Short and sweet now to a lake and an unmanned refuge. Clouds are building, so I quickly find a good spot for us with running water and a pool.
So nice to set the alicoop with working poles! Then I dunk in the pool, “washing” my hair by running my wet fingers through it. All that sweat off my face now.
Dinner, then resting as the sky ends the day with a magic show of rumbling thunder, colorful projections and only s few raindrops.
Oh, my friends, the trail provides. Life is good.
Day Twenty-nine, Refugi de Cabana Sorda to L’Hospitalet pres l’andorre
If only every day I could feel as strong and plugged in as yesterday.
I set on a bit of a slope, so don’t quite settle in. Then a whole family of loud, headlamp-wearing Spaniards arrive after dark and I never quite sleep.
This is the last day of the section. I’ve made it with enough food and no trip-stopping mishaps (yet)
But it’s a long way with climbs – and, what I don’t know yet, long boulder crossings.
Let me just pause here to say boulder crossings are an accident waiting to happen. You need to concentrate fully on every move so as not to slip, slide, misjudge, hit a tippy rock or fall into a hole. It can leave you exhausted.
But right in this early morning moment, it rains a little and I actually put on the raincoat I haven’t worn since Section One.
That doesn’t last long when we descend one valley and climb right up another.
I move well on up, but I breathe so heavy, I’ve given myself a “runners hack.” My lungs are creating mucous to protect them from the dust and cold air. Antoine suggests breathing through my nose, which is the wisest way to protect the bronchia, but it will slow me down to a crawl.
Still, I need to tend to this. I don’t know if it could make me more susceptible to infection.
As well as fatigue. I don’t quite have the spunk I had yesterday. It’s gorgeous here, but the kilometers go on and on.
What does help is Antoine wanting to talk about relationships non-stop. It’s been a while since I was in the melodramas he finds himself in at 33, but he seems to enjoy my stories and insights.
We stop for photos and water, make salty soup to share that I’ve been carrying since San Sebastian in the shade of a giant boulder.
That’s a funny moment under that boulder when he talks about the toxic relationship he now has with his mom – controlling, critical, demanding. It sounds awful and I say as much, just as a beautiful blond comes barreling past us admonishing us for sitting directly in the trail.
“So your mom’s a bit like that woman, eh?”
We have a few steep patches and my coughing gets worse. I drink and drink, try to keep my mouth closed, but again it feels like I’m in survival mode.
The lovely parts of today are all the lakes in deep, rocky bowls, deep azure and light turquoise surrounded by tall magenta fireweed.
The beauty – the gigantic beauty – just knocks you out. And finding a little mossy spot under a rock or soft grass with a pine tree or wispy aspen next to the creek for your bum, is like heaven.
Up, down, over – on boulders, boulders, boulders. We talk, then energy flags as we reach Etang de Couart, out of Andorra now for good and back in France.
There’s a lovely shady bit of Aspen where Frederick is hanging out with his fancy mustache and beard like a wizard. Antoine decides to swim but I see clouds building and want off the boulders before rain.
So off I go up one more rise, then a long, slow descent through wildflowers and streams towards a town where I hope a place to rest awaits.
I find my own swimming hole in shade in the form of a waterfall with pool to cool down and drink up, just as they catch up and we all descend.
I am tired. Needless-to-say, I’m sure. I don’t think I’ve gotten this beaten up on any trail.
OK, right. In Montana, my heart raced and I couldn’t stop it. All alone, I needed to get out of there. Now I know I can stop that skipped beat with a beta blocker or vagal maneuver.
Here, I feel strong and connected, but the trail itself is so massive with extreme inclines – plus boulders, scree, route-finding, rock-climbing, snow fields, scrambles, heat…oh my!
No one can say I didn’t pick one of the hardest to tackle, that’s for sure. What tends to happen, though, is I feel less confident the more I accomplish. It’s like I managed something tough my sheer luck, and it haunts me that whatever’s ahead is going to stop me in my tracks.
The good news (and bad too) is that I’ll be more and more in civilization as I approach the Mediterranean over the next week to 10 days. This means carrying less food, more opportunities to fuel up, as well as more opportunities to rest.
There’s the problem of heat and lack of water, but I have dealt with these problems in Arizona, Oregon and California.
Plus, my friends will be here soon and perhaps we can hike some together. Lots turning around in my mind as I rest up and strategize the final steps to the sea.
One thing I can say for sure – the trail continues to provide. Trust existence!
