Spanish Pyrenees. 3-8 October 2006
Participants: Daphne Martin, Robin Musters, Terry May, Mike Petzold, Verena Petzold, Christina Petzold, Steve Rainbow, Chris Read, Rupert Roschnik, Hanne Fränkel, Ronan Martin
Tuesday, 3rd: The 11 participants arrived at the Pineta Hut (1,248m/4,094ft). Daphne brought two of her Majorcan colleagues, of the Wednesday walking group. For Chris Read, this was his first METHS meet after 13 years of (paid up!) membership. "It's now or never!"
The hut was situated in the valley floor, 12km from the main road at Bielsa. The river close to the hut had flooded a few days earlier; the area in front of the hut had clearly been affected. Tomorrow's river crossing looked difficult, but we decided to "sleep on it".
Wednesday, 4th: The crash and groans heard during the night were "explained" when Mike appeared late for breakfast, saying he had fallen out of bed and couldn't walk. Forgetting he was sleeping in the top bunk, he had stepped out into thin air and crashed to the floor, hitting his side on another bed. He and Verena had to go off back to France to find an X-ray machine. We later learned he had two cracked ribs. However, they appeared again for the final supper and the last day's walk.
The nine remaining participants finally left at 10 o'clock. The water level in the river had dropped during the night. While two cars were shuttled down to Bielsa, those not driving tried to put stepping-stones across the river. Not too successfully, since most of us took off our boots to wade across, while some got at least one boot wet. A little later, some of us removed boots and socks again to wade through a flooded stream across the path. Others tried a wobbly branch and got wet boots. Then almost at once, we were faced with a long, sustained climb of almost 4,000ft to the Collado de AÒisco (2,460m/8,071ft). The main problem for most was altitude-induced shortness of breath. The cold wind on the other side allowed only a very short lunch break before we looked at what lay ahead. The marked path led down into the AÒisco valley, but we were able to find the correct one by climbing up and across another 600ft to reach the start of a spectacular traverse along a scree-covered shelf between two cliffs. (It had looked "impossible" from afar — indeed Chris had to revise his definition of "impossible" several times during the meet!) It was all quite wet, it tried to snow, and we had to go through a waterfall to avoid wet slabs. Later, there were metal chains in two or three places. One hung down a short, steep descent that required some commitment. The rest of the walk was pleasant, the weather better, and we finally reached the Goriz Hut (2,160m/7087ft) at 5.30pm. A long, strenuous day.
Thursday, 5th: We all left at 9 o'clock to attempt the Brecha de Rolando. The weather was cold and windy, with clouds blowing over the ridges from the north and some fresh snow above about 8,000ft. We did not rate our chances very high. At the first col (saddle), reached 1_ hrs later, Hanne and Rohan decided their footwear was inadequate to continue in the snow; they attempted Tobacor (2,769m/9,085ft) instead. The rest of us (now seven) continued to the next col, where we had a choice of paths. The direct way would have involved more traversing using fixed chains later on, not a nice proposition given the cold and the snow. So we detoured down into the next valley to pick up another path that avoided all difficulties. It was also marked on the map as a ski route.
An hour later Steve noticed that the wind was abating and that patches of blue sky were appearing. Indeed, by the time we reached the Brecha (2,807m/9,209ft, 6km from the hut) at about 12.30, it was fairly sunny and we had good views in all directions. The last part of the path traversed a scree under a huge cliff, partly overhanging, that was laden with huge icicles that dropped off as they were warmed by the sun. After floating through the air gracefully, they landed with a loud crash on the scree, often uncomfortably close to our path.
Given the improvement in the weather, we decided to continue to El Taillon as per the programme in the circular. A tedious traverse on the scree, back under the icicle-laden cliff, but below the proper path, led us to a small snowfield, from which we were able to reach the path again by climbing a snow-covered scree and gravel slope reminiscent of the side of a moraine. This turned out steeper than it looked and the two ladies needed the psychological support of a rope. Once on the proper path there was no further problem, except for a short section of path that lay to the north of the El Dedo pinnacle and was covered in snow with a steep drop below. Finally the flat summit (3,144m/10,315ft) was reached around 3pm. Beautiful views all round, and everybody was suitably pleased. For Steve, his first time over 10,000ft (on land). An easier way down was identified; we found traces of paths (or animal tracks) and a few cairns. The return to the hut was long but we were happy to have made the summit. At one point, Robin slipped and fell onto some sharp limestone karst ridges, resulting in a cut thumb that was soon covered in plasters by the nurses in the party. Two of us tried to get lost just before the hut by missing a turn-off, but in the end the last ones were back by 6.30pm. Another long day!
Friday, 6th: Christina, Steve, Hanne and Rohan had to leave that day and descended down the Ordesa valley. For the remaining five of us, given reasonable weather, it had to be Monte Perdido, the highest peak in the area. We left at 9 o'clock, on the "via cl·sica". A good path, well marked with cairns, led up grass slopes, scree and moraines and over a first rock step that required a bit of scrambling. Later, there were cairns everywhere and following two Spaniards through a boulder field, we missed the best route. The path took us high under a cliff but continued traversing to an obvious ramp that led over the next rocky step. The next half hour was amusing because the Spaniards — who had two ice-axes each (!) and had in fact left the hut a whole hour before we did and had already got lost twice — kept going wrong, then overtook us again when we twice showed them the right path. Just before the Lago Helado, the clearly defined path (almost a motorway here) led to the foot of a gently angled ramp that required some scrambling. They hesitated here, waiting to be shown the way, then rushed on ahead again. They were last seen at the foot of a tricky buttress that we avoided on the scree next to it, and must have turned back here.
From the Lago Helado (ca. 10,100ft), a long succession of scree slopes took us to a shoulder just 150ft below the summit, easily reached although criss-crossed with icy paths. We had reached the summit (3,355m/11,007ft) in 4º hours, the standard time, an excellent effort for the older members of the party, especially Robin (78). The view was clear in all directions, but it was quite windy. We spent about half an hour on the summit, then came down the same way in just over two hours. We were the only ones to reach the summit that day.
Saturday, 7th: Now it was our turn to descend into the Ordesa valley. We took the shorter, steeper route that required climbing down a short buttress with the help of fixed chains. Then it was 2-3 hours walk down the beautiful valley, through pastures and forest, passing several impressive waterfalls, with the autumn colours beginning on the larches and mountain ashes. We also met hordes of tourists and day trippers coming up from the car park. Near the end, the appearance of more obese people, unsuitable footwear, plastic carrier bags instead of rucksacks, pushchairs and toddlers, indicated that the car park was close. Once there, we had to wait a few hours before the taxi organised by Verena arrived to take us back to Bielsa, a ride of almost two hours across a scenic route that allowed glimpses up the AÒisco gorge. Mike and Verena met us at the Casa Matazueras with large, full glasses of beer and we were able to celebrate our successes with a huge "closing" dinner. Mike was pleased at our achievements but also jealous because he had had not been able to participate.
Sunday, 8th: All seven of us drove through to the north (French) end of Bielsa tunnel to find sunny weather, but with a cold wind, some clouds coming from the south. Leaving 20 minutes before midday, we climbed some 2,000ft on grassy path to a "brÍche", the Port de Bielsa (2,428m/7,966ft) a narrow cleft marking the Atlantic-Mediterranean watershed and the frontier.
After a picnic, we had some discussion on how to complete the circuit. We had to reach the Port Vieux de Bielsa (2,378m/7,802ft), maybe 2km away. The marked path would lose us too much height, the walk along the ridge would be windy and possibly tricky. In the end everybody chose to traverse the steep grassy slopes at a different level. We then had to climb to a shoulder below the Pic de l'Aiguillette (2,517m/8,258ft), then skirt round it to reach a small unnamed col, from which we could descend a valley to the cars. Total time taken, 4º hours. A very pleasant walk, with good views into France and Spain. The three Majorcans returned through the tunnel to Spain, the rest went home to the north.
Altogether a fantastic meet! Special thanks to Mike and Verena for the planning and organisation
GORIZ — A FEW ALTERNATIVE ONE-SIDED IDEAS
And so we were ...
{The official report will doubtless record fauna, flora, as well as the actual climbs and routes so you won't find them here.}
Day 1: ELEVEN sprightly mountaineers convened upon Pineta Refugio, all set to face devastating climbs and tricky footwork, convened upon Pineta Refugio, from England, France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany and Mallorca. The tasty wine caused some people to wander off to bed treading on air.
Day2: 00.30 Our revered leader felt the need to relocate his wine. Still imbued with the “treading on air” syndrome he stepped insouciantly out of his top bunk and tried to levitate to the chim. Unfortunately his godlike aspirations were mere groundless illusions so he hit ground with several thumps and a CRASH! For the rest of the night our dormitory resounded to groans. In the morning Muesli took Mike to hospital facilities back in France. Two cracked ribs were discovered and climbing was forbidden.
So we were NINE and the mantle of leader fell neatly upon Westface. In hot conditions he set a cracking pace (to match the cracked ribs?) up 1,200m (almost vertical — well — nearly vertical) and his followers puffed up in a long-strung-out line behind. To those of us coming from sea level starting with this precipitous climb, carrying our katundu, came as a shock to the lungs. The icy blasts and snow, which met us as we crossed the ridge, were further horrors — almost as breath taking.
At the (theoretical) lunch stop motion was resumed before DM³ had had time to pull long trousers over her shorts — let alone had a bite to eat! Desperately zipping she tried to gallop up the slopes to catch up. This was impossible since she hadn't enough breath to even walk!
The path disappeared into the next valley but our route was supposed to wander over and round the rocky heights. Going by Christina's vague recollections and Rupert's mountain “nous” we laboured breathlessly upwards. Eventually lettering appeared on a boulder giving the names of two peaks well to the right and well above where we wanted to go. There was no mention of Goriz. My heart froze in my boots. However — later — a path reappeared and there was "Goriz" painted on a rock. --- My relief was UNBOUNDED!
Cracked-ribs had warned us that there was no water after the second stream but we found: first a swollen river (off with the boots!) and then, throughout the four days, a constant supply of wetness which was the legacy of a previous deluged couple of weeks. Rain and snow on rocks can be slippery but no-one fell off the chains, got frostbite, or blown to bits by the vicious wind.
As we gazed with horror at the first chains Westface encouraged us with: “They look awful ...But remember — Petzold crossed them last year and he fell out of bed! You didn't fall out of bed so...”
Day 3: started glittering white. We were bound for (and later reached) the dramatic and legendary Brecha de Rolando. Two people without suitable snow footwear were handed a map and banished to a local climb. They achieved their aim, got lost, recovered themselves and returned safely. So then we were SEVEN who did amazing things dodging large clumps of snow that splatted (THWUMPPP!!!) and downpours of icicles which clattered (tinkle, chink, ping) off impressive cliffs. DM³ folded her anorak into a crash helmet!
To avoid the hail of snow and ice we had to drop below the (so-called) “path” which skirted the foot of the cliffs. Then, of course, came the scramble back up to regain altitude. At one point Steven and Westface fingernailed up a steep snow slope. Rupert wedged himself, and lowered a rope for the two ladies. Nearby the three others tottered up such a horrendous scree that it was terrifying to watch. We might have been satisfied by reaching an icing-sugared pinnacle had the thought of returning down that same frightful slope not forced our eyes onwards. The only way back down to the hut was to climb further.
A brief memory of Triglav flashed through my mind as we moved along a knife-edge but the slopes on each side of us were, this time, neither so steep nor so unforgivably HARD as those in Slovenia. The knife-edge was short and not the extended terror of Triglav, so the memory faded in the need to concentrate upon where to put the next foot and in the wonder of the horizontally spreading snow flowers.
Lunch on top of El Taillon gazing down at countless wonderful peaks in France and Spain was a reward and afterwards Westface, with his usual skill, found a ridge down which we could drop. Two laggards on the way back to the hut nearly took in an extra peak by choosing the wrong path but they were rescued by Rupert in time to get them back to the hut by supper time. (Almost 10 hours on the hills.)
Day 4: Youth had to return to the horrors of civilisation and work. So then we were FIVE, who watched, awestruck, as two well-kitted-out, energetic, young blokes, each with two ice-picks and goodness knows what else, set out from the hut at 08.00. More modestly, we started out an hour later: four of us over 65; one, at 78, probably the oldest-ever walking visitor, and another possibly the oldest active METHS member. We were thus only seven people in all that day trying to reach the top of Monte Perdido.
We caught up with the two young men at 10.00 (after they had attempted two wrong routes). Having then taken Rupert's advice, they charged off, and were next seen trying to scale a sheer rock face which, to our eyes, obviously led precisely NOWHERE. Once again they accepted Rupert's advice and followed cairns (which we had thought were perfectly obvious). They were last seen sitting disconsolately on a ridge from which we (and they) had been warned to descend onto a scree. They were never seen again. Are they still up there??? Did they give up, and, shamed by our silver-haired party, vanish off the mountains without ever revisiting the hut??? Who knows???
We five braved the scree and the frozen snow and reached the top (3,355m). This is the second highest peak in the largest limestone massif in Western Europe. The ultimate summit is not far away and 14m higher. Altitudes seem to vary slightly according to which map is being used.
We descended to acclaim in the hut and became instant “experts” to whom the weekend climbers applied for information and advice. A merry evening, and a hefty quantity of wine, was enjoyed in many languages: Spanish, French, English, Portuguese, German, Swedish, Czechoslovakian, et al. Luckily Westface managed not to fall off the top bunk, which here was three layers up.
Today, as we returned to the hut, three jovial men ,who had been up an adjacent peak (Cilindro de Marbore), overtook us and asked if Robin was Chris's father.
Day 5: Time to brave 50m of chains straight down rock face and to drop into the glorious Ordesa valley with its magnificent waterfalls, and autumn colours which promised to be impressive in a couple of weeks time. Twenty vultures circled hopefully and ghoulishly above the chains.
Then, for two hours a superb taxi with an informative driver (carried away by our enthusiasm for the mountains) took us via a wonderfully scenic route back to Bielsa. The chauffeur said he had never before and would never again take that road because of its bad surface! Cracked-ribs and Muesli were waiting at Bielsa. So then we were SEVEN.
DM³ had to borrow a bath plug from Muesli as the establishment didn't run to more than two plugs that fitted. The hotel lady — one Bili — who was/is wambili-bili kind and charming, gave us a fabulous dinner, part of which contained some of the 35kg (!) of fungi picked that day by her son.
Day 6: Seven little Methophiles* tunnelled into France;
clambered to a dizzy ridge on rocks and grass to prance;
followed hairline izard routes round hard, sheer, devil'sh scree...
Well-qualified as chamois in their afterlives * they'll be.* including Cracked-ribs ! ! ! * in their next re-incarnations
All but the Mallorquinos then swooshed off towards the Petzolds' French home. So then we were THREE.
In Bielsa the Casa Matazueras was closed, locked and lightless. A notice on the door announced that the establishment was enjoying its weekly day of rest. Prowling round the cold narrow tortuous darkening back streets we tried every door and bell that could conceivably have been a rear entrance to the hotel... All in vain! A helpful shop keeper told us that EVERYONE was out on the slopes collecting fungi! Later Bili proudly showed us the crates of fungi which had been gathered. Musters, May and Martin from Mallorca refrained from Muttering Sweras and located (not easily) a camp site.
Luckily DM³ elected to use the campsite chim and in the LADIES discovered an amiable youth (!) wielding a mop. He led us to Bili's husband and the husband found for us the lass who was lurking in one of the rooms and guarding our room keys. Possessing one of the two useable plugs, Musters and May were “alright Jack” but, having returned Muesli's bung , Martin was again considering using her heel. Muesli's ex-abode was in use and the incumbents didn't take kindly to the idea of sharing a bath plug so the lass and DM³ toured every room and store space searching for a plug! In the end Musters and May nobly donated her theirs.
Over another excellent dinner, which included another HUGE helping of fungi, we appreciated Rupert's expert leadership and superb route-finding, and the Petzolds' hard work over the organisation of the Meet. Without those and the clear weather which blessed us after Day 2 we could not have achieved all that we managed.
A FEW PERSONAL REMARKS
· 1. Daphne is spending many happy hours designing a VICIOUS drag which will reduce Rupert's speed on mountains.
· 2. At Goriz on each of the three evenings one or other of us lost (and later found) his/her spectacles. Terry also broke, and later dropped on the Monte Perdido scree, his dark glasses? Anyone going up to collect the pieces?
· 3. We saw a number of Alpine Choughs and heard a great many more. We saw griffon vultures, and some lizards — about 11 in all.
· 4. Suggestions for “next time”: Start with a climb or two in the lower valleys. Then choose an EASY route up to a hut (when people are carrying the most katundu) and leave the precipitous stuff till the climbers have become acclimatised to the higher altitudes.
· 5. “Next time” — if I have a “next time” — I should like to try and get to the top of Posets-Maladeto or of Aneto. I do not have a yen to see Monte Perdido again as I feel we really explored that region very effectively.
· 6. The Goriz ablution block consists of a portable cabin set at some distance from the refugio proper — chilly for midnight visits! It sways a bit as the inmates shiver about inside it. The glacial water is bracing so our edict was changed from “On the third day shalt thou wash” to “On the FOURTH day shalt thou wash!”
The chims were of the Hole-in-the-Ground variety and limited spatially. Later, when, in the Ordesa Valley, DM³ extended her hands for Terry to pull her up from the grass into a standing position, Chris remarked: “If I'd known you provided that service, Terry, I'd have employed you up in the Goriz chim!”
· 7. Wambili in Chichewa means “Very”. Wambili bili means “Very very”
· 8. The three Mallorquinos made it back to Palma but Robin's sticks declined to appear on the luggage carrousel. They were finally discovered in the piping of the airport by a Lost Luggage official. How lucky that this didn't happen at the start of the trip when we landed at Barcelona.
· 9. On her return DM³ was greeted with a large regurgitated rat stretched impressively on the floor — no doubt a mark of respect to her from one of her cats. Luckily the carpets had been rolled up for the summer.
© WDYFO, 2006