Central Pyrenees
Day Fourteen: Gavarnie to Héas
I’m lying in the alicoop on soft grass at a delightful little campground called “Le Cairn.” I even got a shower!
The place is popular and three boys are running around, a bit wild. But seriously, there’s nothing cuter than little kids speaking French.
out of the storm
An ‘orage’ is expected in the middle of the night with heavy rain, so it made sense to get myself to this spot, down low in a tight valley with rocky peaks towering above.
I’ll be right back in them tomorrow with a straight-up, coronary-inducing climb to prove it.
But no more storms are expected this week and temperatures are supposed to drop at least a little. My timing is good.
You wouldn’t think storms are brewing from the absolutely glorious sunshine and lazy clouds in an azure sky all day. I climbed steeply out of Gavarnie and right up on the mountains I could see out my bedroom window on my rest day.
A woman follows a heavily laden donkey straight down and I’m almost knocked off the trail not calculating his girth.
I should mention Gavarnie is a great base for all things Pyrenees. Plus it has stores for food and outdoor gear and many restaurants. I was happy just sitting with my magnificent view of the Cirque with that unreal set of waterfalls.
I’ll leave this Cirque for another Cirque – d’Estaubé. But first I grab water from the Refuge des Espuguettes right on the cliff’s edge staring into the beauty.
Upon leaving, I promptly turn the wrong way, following an animal path down. But it’s obvious where to go, and I step up on grass steps toward the cutoff for another peak.
to Piméné or not to Piméné
As I planned today, I noticed there was yet another peak right off the main trail. The guidebook builds in up with fantastic views back in the Cirque du Gavarnie as well as into Glacier d’Ossou, remember the one I camped next to?
I just couldn’t turn it down, so bought extra food in case I’d take more than one day to do this stretch.
It’s made me heavier and slightly unwieldy, but I leave my giant pack below, somewhat out of sight (again, taking the passport) and head up with just my bumpack and walking sticks.
It’s a serious climb, but mostly on long switchbacks – and it’s starting to get packed. Just when I think I’m taking some big risk to climb an extra peak along the way, everyone and their grandma are on it today.
I overtake a guy named Laurent and we take the guidebook’s advice to skip the Petite Piméné and go around its back. It leads us to an eroding nightmare that pulls us too far down.
We go straight up and meet the ridge and see we should not have skipped Petite, but climbed her and then kept going.
Never mind that, we have some slanty slatey kind of rock to climb, perfect, like stairs. Things get steeper when we meet two young French guys.
As the four of us bust over the final bit, we see that it’s not the final bit. Rather it’s a false summit. The final bit is a pimple of impenetrability.
How do we climb that?!
Once we figure out we need to stay left, it’s a rock climb using hands and not looking down, up and around, a catwalk (really, don’t look down) and finally an unusually large summit.
It’s absolutely stunning of gray crags and snow, only seen from this vantage point.
We take pictures and the boys call home. A group following us turns around when they see the vertiginous climb
It’s not that bad!
It’s all ours, but time to go with a walk ahead of me. One of the young men says, “Three hours of climbing for ten minutes of pleasure.”
True that. Unwinding the climb requires sure-footedness, and off we come. My third peak of the trail, second bonus peak. And it was really cool!
the valley of the marmots
My bag is where I left it, so I get a snack and need to climb again. Sadly the peak is only tenuously connected to Horquette d’Alans, so no way to skip any of the slog up.
A whole group hangs out at the pass, one old, leathery French woman shocked I protect my skin from the sun.
An attractive blond man surprises me with a “hi.” Hello? Oh, it’s you! Peter and Marta from Poland (I think I called him Tom before, whoops!)
He’s a photojournalist and carrying the same weight I’m carrying, just in camera gear. All the rest to stay alive is on top of that.
We walk together and talk non-stop, mostly because it’s downhill, but also because they are just so interesting. The Estaube Valley is also green and glistening with a rampart of fanciful rock and snowy icing as its back barrier.
The two have traveled to unusual places like South Sudan and Northern Finland. They’re funny and observant with a wry sense of humor.
At one point, Marta describes the grouchy warden at Pombie telling a group of hikers they shouldn’t dare hike the route with dangerous snow. She apparently conjured her inner French and got him to call someone with actual knowledge of the conditions.
Funny, since he was completely unhelpful with me too, only agreeing that there indeed were “snow conditions,” and refusing to elaborate beyond that.
As we descend, we come to one particularly lovely area and three marmots race around each other playing under the bored gaze of a sheep.
They stop to take photos and shoot video while I continue on, lower and lower as the valley tightens. The racing stream is crystal clear against a worn white rock.
road walk will take all you got
The trail flattens out in a bowl filled with large rocks seemingly placed for maximum aesthetic effect. Brown and white cows are busy mowing the grass, even on a tiny island not quite big enough for a full grown bovine.
The stream is dammed, creating Lac des Gloriettes in a dark turquoise. People swim and fish and I lope around toward the dam itself, which I cross with groups of tourists.
And then the real fun begins. Road walking.
I guess there’s no other way to get us from one bit of mountains to the other but through this particular valley. In a series of tight zigzags, a one lane bit of tarmac makes its way down to a larger bit of tarmac.
All those tourists are making their way down too, so I’m passed rather closely. To be fair, this is how it is in the country. Everyone is used to it.
Down and down. My feet, my knees, my brain. They hurt.
The good news is huge cumulus clouds are building and hide the sun most of the time from cooking me.
I’ll spare you the unpleasant details and how later I meet two French HRPers who happily hitched making me feel like the stupidest type of purist.
Héas is not much of a town with no store or restaurants, but it has a lovely church, a Notre Dame, which stands open seemingly just for me to come inside and offer my thanks for a safe journey and the cool of these stone walls and the lovely glow of the stained glass in afternoon light and a chance to light candles for the health of my warrior sisters and to simply bask in the spirituality, belief, hope and thanksgiving in this hallowed spot.
And then I go set my tent, eat dinner and prepare myself for tomorrow’s adventures.
Day Fifteen: Héas to Lacs de Barroude via Cols de la Sede and Géla
Fork in the Road
I asked for a sign on whether I should hike a high variant route.
The Polish friends said no mostly because Peter has damaged a muscle in his leg lugging all that weight.
A French couple hiking for just a few weeks has no interest in making things harder.
So I wonder if alone is safe and ask for that sign.
It seems to come by way of the ‘horage’ around 1:00 am. Thunder in a low, echoey, crackling against huge mountains fashion wakes me, then it rains. Not hard, but enough to make the morning a blow out of fog.
When I decide to sleep a bit longer til it clears, I wake at 9:00! That is seriously late for me and even then, the sky is filled with mist.
I pack up, certain I’ll just walk the normal route (which is plenty hard enough) but the mist seems to lift a bit and the mountains are beckoning.
What appeals to me are the added views of the fabulous Cirque de Troumouse, which are hidden on the main route.
I also just like the idea of trying to find these two tough cols to cross and what it will feel like pushing myself that hard.
I come to the fork where two men have returned from the main route. They tell me there’s no snow, which is helpful even if they haven’t been on the other. Those long steep snowfields are dangerous and I’d be happy if it all melted.
Truth is I’m not sure why I keep walking straight, up into the variant and its unknowns. I’m afraid I can’t handle it, but know it’s always possible to turn back.
Sometimes we just have to do things even when we’re afraid, knowing there’s no shaking it. Fear is coming along for the ride. Knowing that and going anyway tells us about who we are and what we’re capable of.
the unknown
The beginning is filled with people doing a day hike loop. It’s long, steep switchbacks up and my feet are soaked from the grass already.
I cut off from them towards a Cabane which sits empty in a large plateau with cows grazing. I get water and eat up trying to figure out just how I’m going to climb up that sheer wall in front of me.
The guidebook describes following a dry riverbed then using “natural steps.” I flail about a bit trying to get a bead on where I begin climbing, and then I notice a cairn.
A cairn, we’re saved!
Indeed I very much am. The guide stresses there’s no path or waymarks and yet some kind soul places stone piles to mark the way up this seemingly impenetrable hulk of stone.
It’s some sort of metamorphic rock that indeed breaks into kind steps that are fairly easily negotiated. It’s wildly steep and looking down can make a person dizzy, but once I focus on climbing, I make light work of reaching the pass.
It’s lovely and wide, so I make a sandwich and look at my views – the stunning cirque of snow-covered mountains sloping into the deep valley of waterfalls I walked up.
Where I’m headed is more stark and forbidding. The Horquette de Héas, where I’ll meet the main route, is sort of straight ahead. But it makes more sense to circumnavigate this wild bowl and stay mostly high.
My hunch was right and there is no snow, just rock breaking in rectangular slabs and clinking underfoot.
I see two men descending a peak and we meet at Col de Géla where the Barroun Lakes come into view, my final destination.
Sadly no getting there from here as I look through a tight V of a window leading straight down on eroded cliffs.
I skip their mountain and continue sidling the bowl, my walking path becoming a smaller and smaller edge.
Finally I find the enormous cairn marking the Horquette and my high variant quest is done.
never assume
I feel good I did it. It was demanding, exhausting, thrilling, a bit unnerving, but ultimately I did it just because I wanted to.
I do need to tell myself not to let down the energy. Snowfields occupied this face only a few weeks ago, and it’s a torn up rocky mess to descend. No trail exists until I’m far below, where I blow right past my turn and descend too far.
Argh! That means climbing back up, and up some more to another pass, Horquette de Chermantas. It’s no real big deal, but again, the trail down fizzles out into a mess of churned up rock and my assumption I keep descending is entirely false.
A trail to my right catches my eye, heading steeply up on scree under a massive rock face. Wait, that’s my trail?!?
Yup, up I go and over realizing this feeling of going backwards is because now I am under the variant, where I couldn’t access the lakes.
Over here, the mist fills the valley and I can see only 20 feet in front of me. I’m high on the edge of a cliff, but the trail is wide, it’s an actual trail and there’s not far to go.
I pass two hikers and we “Bonjour” in the fog. Finally I hear running water and see lakes emerge. A refuge used to sit here, but burned to the ground ten years ago. We can camp anywhere and I choose a flat spot near the lake, where a snowy mountain appears and disappears.
hoping for a better tomorrow
This is supposed to be a prime destination for sunrise and here’s hoping the fog lifts and I’m treated to the full show.
Am I glad I took the variant? You bet I am. It challenged me and put me into a certain mindset all alone. Until the two men, I saw no one on the route, so it was particularly exciting.
I had mist, which obscured some views but also added to the mystery and forced me to calm my fears and concentrate.
It’s cold tonight and I’m already bundled up and inside the alicoop ready to take the views and the joy I felt into my dreams – as well as hope for sunny skies on tomorrow’s adventure.
Day Sixteen, Lacs des Barroudes to stream above Parzàn
Siesta
My brother once asked me if I ever just camped by a lake.
It reminded me of some advice given to me by a trail wiseman named Broken Toe. “Take zeroes!” he said, referring to days off. “Take zeroes on trail.”
It’s more of a “nero” having walked a good long way today plus resupplied in Parzán, but I have stopped early on what promises to be a hot, dusty, boring uphill on road and found a sidetrail to my own private rapids.
The view isn’t exceptional, but the sound of the water plus loads of crickets enjoying this hot summer day is just what’s needed between an icy night by the lakes and some of the hardest – and highest – hiking ahead.
Release the Sheeps
I’m awakened by a light, the nearly full moon piercing the mist, then the mist finally clearing completely.
I’d wished for this since the mist is cold and damp. It rains just a little as I cuddled in wearing all my clothes, then freezes solid, my tent crunchy reflecting the moonlight.
Still, I open my door to look at my view, the lake right at eye level, the snow glistening. I sleep til daylight when the sheep are released for the cozy pasture I chose to camp in.
Their bells get louder as they approach and several look in at me making coffee.
The tent is soaked, and I pack it soaked knowing the sun will be cooking soon. It’s an easy hike up to the Port de Barroude on the border, then steeply down on a clear path into the gorgeous Barrosa Valley.
I’m tired today. Not so much my body as my mind. The flowers, the views, the cows, the waterfalls, the cloudless sky are all beautiful but I’m bushed and not entirely sure why except the extremes from a frozen tent to boiling sun and all slamming my legs on a downhill might just be getting to me.
I come to a cabane and descend to the river, a light aqua color, so clear and cold. Then find shade for me under a pine tree and sun for my tent and the polycro undersheet, which dry in minutes.
Resupply
Then it’s down and down from trail with many day hikers ascending into forest following a rocky road. Yes, it’s this that wears me out. As lovely as it is, down is exhausting.
I finally reach a road and attempt a hitch for the intensely hot five kilometers. But it’s narrow with nowhere to stop.
At the old customs house, I flag down a man parked in a van if he might take me to the Supermercado. Alejandro says he’s going the other way, but is happy to take me the three minutes drive, saving me nearly passing out.
Parzán is a funny little place with three competing modern markets just before town. I’m not allowed to take in my pack, so set it up next to an outlet and charge my phone and battery while shopping.
First, it’s for some fruit which I haven’t really had much of in weeks. I gobble it up, then shop for the basic camp foods, buying likely too much for the four days to Benasque, but they’re long days, so might as well stock up.
It’s hot back up the hill, and no one stops to take me. I turn on a dirt road which I’ll follow as part of the GR11 all day tomorrow, planning a very early start to beat the heat.
secret spot
It’s a little weird for me to stop so early on a gorgeous day. But even in shade, I’ve put the sleeping bag on top of the tent to block out any sunlight getting in.
I’m trying to be strategic and know I’ll need good weather ahead to attempt the hard parts. But to move now would just wear me down climbing in the hottest part of the day.
I’m far enough off the GR11 not to be seen, on a road that appears to dead end at this stream. I feel safe and content and hopefully timing the climb in the morning will set me up just so.
Here’s hoping!
Day Seventeen, Parzàn to Camping El Forcallo
heat wave
Again I find myself in my tent in the early afternoon, parked under a tree out of the sweltering heat with my sleeping bag atop the pitch for added shade.
It’s a bit overpriced campsite “Forcallo” because the upcoming refuge does not allow camping and to move on would most likely have me directly in the sun all afternoon.
There is something a bit curious in the stylish way Europeans camp. There are showers and bathrooms, but also a restaurant and fully stocked bar.
I walked the official “stage” today and the hard parts await me, so might as well enjoy the shade and breeze and the giant hambergesa I scarfed down with a few days to the next refuge.
up before the dawn
I set an alarm. Please don’t ask why since I don’t have an answer besides wanting to see how much light there is at 5:00 am. Not much, it would seem.
Still, my goal is to get up this long, dusty road to the pass before the sun crests the peaks.
I drink my accidentally bought decaf coffee hoping the wee bit of residual caffeine keeps a headache at bay, then I’m off on a steep rocky road.
The guidebook describes it as long and boring and he’s got that right. Though honestly, if we had waterfalls carving channels in cliffs this high in Minnesota, they’d designate it a state park.
I see a couple of backpackers in the gloom. Peter and Marta! They camped a bit higher, walking up here late in the day. I must say, though, my wee private spot was glorious next to a rushing stream.
They stop to make breakfast and I heave on, passing the funky Urdiceto power station on a dammed lake. The building looks like it belongs on the set for The Munsters, in this case with a lovely cascading falls.
I can see the Paso de los Caballos above and resist an urge to stop, absolutely dying from my big resupply, leave the road and crawl up broken rocks to – more road!
There’s a tiny cabana emergency shelter, complete with stone table and a comfy plastic chair. Four German hikers of the GR11 arrive (had I mentioned I follow this alternative Pyrenean traverse all day) and take my direction to pose like tough guys for a photo.
Then it’s down and down
Too hard, too easy
The men tell me it’s beautiful ahead, and they’re right. Dryer in Spain with a more ochre hue to the towering peaks. Less snow here, but the peaks ahead are higher and grayer – and of course have snow caught in their crotches.
Crickets jump out of my way and lizards scurry, then stop as an S-curve looking back to see my next move.
As tiring and hot as the road was, the heat fully retained from yesterday’s sun, this is very easy trail. Ahead, I could opt to stay on it and avoid the tricky stuff ahead.
There’s big climbing and steep descents, but most important, the highest col, Literole, is ahead with steep snowfields. I can’t bear to miss it and keep marching on trail that’s this easy. I want the challenge, but can I handle it on my own?
The trouble is I need to decide right after this campsite where the trail forks. Once I commit, it’s three days either way without much of an exit.
There are refugios up there for food, beta and to hole up if the weather turns, but once I’ve made up my mind, it’s a commitment.
Truth is, the hot weather is perfect and the snow should be squishy and traversable. Still, I’m alone and unsure what my next move should be.
The trail descends into meadows dotted by gnarled pine trees. I find a beautiful bit of shade next to a rushing stream and fill up my water bottle.
The Pyrenees have plenty of bugs – bees, flies – but I have yet to see a mosquito. Can you imagine such an idyll? I can leave my tent door open all night and never risk getting chewed up.
yet another siesta
I meet another cabana with two rooms this time in case of emergency. There’s even a threadbare mattress.
Then it’s forest and cutting the road’s switchbacks and finally meeting civilization at the campsite. I eat a hearty meal and attempt to make my decision, when in walk Floris and Evelina!
They skipped the mountain and the high route and moved way ahead to arrive here today. We immediately make plans to take on Literole together. I am beyond happy.
So now I lay around and rest up, trying to stay cool in body and spirit.
Funny thing, the trail and how it provides just when you need it to. I kind of thought something like this might happen. I have the strength and willpower to do it, but having friends along will make it that much safer – and sweeter.
