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Aigüestortes Adventure, Spanish Pyrenees – Maxi-METHS, July 16-23, 2009

 

Participants:  Robin Musters, Terry (Caveman) May, Stewart (Lightning) Halliday, Linda Barnes, Peter (Up-the-Down) Tolhurst, Mike (Mad) Petzold, Daphne (DM3) Martin (organiser/leader)(7)

 

Robin sussed out our circuit and was our map-reader par excellence.  We – well, six of us - never got lost.

Terry (Caveman) blazed the trail, spotted bashful cairns, chose best routes and lent a strong hand in desperate situations.  Once he stiffened his body between two boulders so that we could use it as a handrail as we negotiated a narrow ledge round the first monolith and then had to leap over a torrent onto the second.

Linda – (the Svelte Thing! in a clean pair of shorts every day!) - was superbly spunky, and terrifically determined.  Although parts of the route were difficult, and even frightening, she remained cheery, and participated irrepressibly in merry repartee.  Lightning failed to live up to his name because of his ENORMOUS and horribly heavy pack.  When bounding from boulder to boulder the unwieldy bundle was a great drawback.  DM3 is grateful for his able auditing of the complicated accounts at each hut.  This he achieved without even borrowing toes and fingers from anyone else.  Member/non-Member; picnic or not; wine/tea/coffee/chocolate; breakfast or what?  Each person had a different bill.

Up-the-Down provided the running commentary needed to help us through.  He was cheerful, positive, good company and wonderfully helpful throughout.  DM3, as befitted the organiser, plodded along as best she could.

Mad Mike produced historic and exotic hats that turned dinnertime into pantomime, which was enjoyed and photographed by all and sundry in Ventosa hut.

 

 

We were glad of his Scrabble board for the first two nights.  He also “livened up” the Colomers situation by nearly provoking an International Incident in connection with a Mountain Membership Card; so, from now on, CARD will count double in Rude Scrabble.

We were sad that Muesli was not well enough to accompany us but were impressed by the kindness of Mike and Verena when they drove from France to join us for dinner in the hotel on the final night.  Four Craigs were also “on the agenda” but, because of an indisposition on the way to Espot, didn’t make it in time to walk with us.  It was great to see three of them at dinner on the final evening.  Christie and Campbell, delightful, upright, cheery and outgoing, might not have liked having to tag along with us old fossils but we would have enjoyed their company.

 

The Trip

Robin Musters, Caveman and DM3 flew from Mallorca to Barcelona where Up-the-Down met them.  Instead of the Opel which we had booked, we were given an Alpha Romeo so, in fabulous style, with Terry driving superbly, we swished up to, and (later) down from, Espot (1320m, 4092ft ).  We found Mike already installed.  The Hallidays arrived soon after.  It’s always amazing how METHS people manage to converge from all over the world, at the correct time and place, on the remote spots where we choose to walk.

 

The next day we avoided the more accessible part of the National Park by bouncing up to 2367m (6718ft) in a Land Cruiser “taxi” which accommodated all 7 of us.  The narrow, 12km, cliff-hugging track almost reached the excruciating standards of the Addis to Isiola “non-road” so our packs on the roof complained.  We had to stop to calm-and-tie them down.  Had the track been longer some breakfasts might have re-appeared so we were relieved to clamber out of the warm vehicle even though icy blasts greeted us.

 

In other (limestone) Pyrenees regions we have experienced more enclosed, awesome and deep gorges with massive cliffs; but this section of the Pair-a’-knees is granite, eroded into fantastic high-altitude turrets, spikes and spires along sharp ridges or round more open basin areas.  The granite traps rain into spectacular little lakes.

 

In all 61 large and minor lochs glittered along our route – just a small selection of the hundreds in this region.  They were splashes of translucent emerald, sapphire, opal and azure, sometimes mirror-like, and sometimes whipped into waves by cold winds.  The sparkling, limpid water twice tempted us to illegal (very bracing!) skinny, and near-skinny, dipping.  Fishing is allowed by special licence in very few of the tarns.  Some of the lakes had strange spaghetti-like weed growing in sinuous loops and circles.  Heads, about to burst into bloom, were sticking up out of the water from these “hair-like” tresses.  They looked like serpents searching their surroundings for prey.

 

In the foothills glowed flowers of many colours, shapes and types.  Their numbers dropped as altitude increased.  Above the regions of deciduous trees we saw mainly black pines growing from bleak rocks.  When dead, they reminded us forcibly of defunct Mulanje Cedars.  In groups on islands or hillocks they seemed very Japanese, especially in swirling haze.

 

The forecast had been for rain and storms.  As these miraculously hit us only during the nights, we were remarkably lucky to have days of clear, brilliant blue skies, except for the first afternoon when we walked in thick mist.  What little we then saw of the lakes was dark, sullen and mysterious.  Before clouds engulfed us, five of the group managed to take in Pic de Ratera (2863m, 8875.3ft).

 

 

Linda bravely guarded rucksacks and the 7th person chose a difficult, independent approach, lost his water bottle down a crevice, returned before reaching the summit, and had to use a borrowed flask thereafter.  It then seemed a very long way to Colomers Hut.  En route Terry and Daphne made a short detour, via rocks and a floating log across a river, to investigate a small, unmapped, unmanned, but very accommodating, refuge that appeared, like Brigadoon, through the vapours.

 

During the first night (at Colomers) the surroundings acquired a sprinkling of sparkling snow, which remained for several morning hours (and many flowers were blighted).  On arrival in Espot we had realised that the trip would be COLD.  Robin vainly tried to buy a sweater before setting out.  As the snow and the temperature dropped Daphne offered him her very fetching (?!) green and white striped long-sleeved blouse as an extra layer but he spurned this kind offer and solved the problem by going round wearing almost his entire wardrobe.  Presumably he thought the striped blouse wouldn’t suit his style of beauty!

 

Throughout the trip we saw many major patches of snow.  Crossing some of these caused both concern and laughter.  Going downhill Terry clung onto Linda’s rucksack straps to save her from ending up in an undignified position.  This worked for a while!  DM3 also finished off tobogganing on her b-m (intentionally).

 

Sometimes we wandered in gently undulating meadows, leaped over clattering torrents, laboured over VAST blocks of tumbled granite, and surmounted horrendous cols.  The worst thing about a col is the moment when, exhausted, having scrambled and finger-nailed up immense steep screes, you put your nose over the knife-edge and perceive the spine-chilling descent ahead and below.  Perhaps the notorious Collet (as opposed to COL) de Contraix (2748m, 8519ft) is so-called because it is so tiny.  5 of us had trouble finding space to sit on the veritable blade while we waited for a straggler to catch up.  Neither its devastating access nor its high altitude qualify it to be called a “col-LET”.

 

All the huts were superbly positioned near, or above, lakes.  In particular, Colomina (the 4th), was perched like a Tibetan monastery.  It was even decorated with strings of genuine prayer flags that whipped violently in the strong wind.  The young woman in charge of Colomina has been trekking in Nepal twice and in Tibet three times.  She and four friends will be cycling through the high mountains of Ethiopia next October.  The people running the huts were mostly young, very jolly, full of vitality and, although very busy, great to chat with.

 

J.M. Blanc Refuge (the 5th) was enchantingly positioned on a picturesque small peninsular with another even smaller, round peninsular beyond.  On this extremity, was it Robin? (or Terry? or Peter ?– Their sniggers indicated that it was probably ALL of them !) thoroughly enjoyed, and photographed, the morning exercises of a lissom maiden.  At Estany Llong Hut a pair of immensely long shapely legs was also appreciated.  Daphne had to restrain the men from offering to help with anointing those with sun cream.

 

In Colomina and at J.M. Blanc a warm douche was available (for 2.50€).  We 4 were given the options of showering separately or of abluting all together!  Do you want to know what we chose? CENSORED!  Actually, space was limited.  Other refuges supplied only the freezing variety of sluicing.  Apart from Colomers (where there were 84 walkers, 4 loos, basins and showers, and at J.M. Blanc where there were 5 loos and basins and 1 shower) the huts had only 1 shower, 2 basins and 2 loos – for anything from 54 to 75 inmates.  This was obviously insufficient and unsanitary but people adapted and managed amazingly well.  Robin pointed out that the trees in the immediate vicinity of each hut were not flourishing so we deduce that Black Pines do not thrive on uric acid!

 

Although expecting to be appalled and repelled by crowded refugios, the organisation was so good that we were not unduly upset by the hordes with whom we shared the dining rooms and dormitories (where mattresses are laid out side by side on huge wooden shelves).  Larger dormitories provided a greater range of snores!  Boots and rucksacks were stacked on hooks or shelves in a vestibule.  Plastic basins were available to hold possessions that would be needed in the hut.  Flip-flops, galoshes, Crocs or carpet slippers were supplied for use indoors.  We were everywhere expected on the correct day and were teased when our numbers declined.  We were glad that there were no Goriz-type three-tier bunks.

 

When we arrived at any hut DM3 had to produce her identity card and the booking paper.  We were then told where to find our (numbered) bunks and which table to use in the living room.  Except at Colomers we were able to negotiate lower bunks (easier for those who needed to slip out during the night.)  At the last hut the young woman looked at our grey locks and said “Oh Dear!  You have been allocated the second-floor dormitory.  I don’t know whether you will be able to manage the topmost ladder.”  She led us upstairs and offered to try and swap us with another group.  Our cries of delight, however, assured her that we loved the cosy penthouse with its marvellous view and could easily manage the ladder.  Later, amid thunder, heavy rain and lightning, we remained snug, although very strong winds threatened to rend our garret to pieces.

 

I wonder what that damsel would have said had she seen us earlier that day scrambling up horrifying Tuc de Saburó (2912m, 9027ft), wiggling through cracks between vast upstanding blocks of granite, scraping along narrow parapets, and then teetering along a perilous ridge in an attempt to negotiate a route that was marked on the map but which, when we queried it a couple of days later, the Park office admitted did not exist.  We needed our heads looked at; and were lucky to emerge shaken but almost unscathed.  A loose rock floored Terry and nearly sent him crashing to the depths.  Robin had a close shave when he slipped.  He vanished.  Luckily his left hand found a protrusion.  I saw it close over the hold.  His arm then lengthened and lengthened… For a split second I trembled at what was about to happen.  But luckily the arm stopped extending, the hand continued to hold, and gradually a head and shoulders re-appeared.

 

We extricated ourselves from a tricky situation, thanks to Terry’s eagle eye, by taking a route suitable only for chamois round the back of the peak.  We had marvellous views of 5 magnificent griffon vultures which inspected us extremely closely.  They wheeled off when they realised that they were not about to get any pickings.

 

I am glad to report that the 550g First Aid pack that I carried was used only once - for minor scratches.

 

As an English-speaking group and well over the normal age range, we were an oddity, which aroused much curiosity.  One night we had, on the bunk above us, a charming Dutch family of parents with 4 cheery, well-behaved, blonde children, whose ages ranged from 4 to 10 years.  They had come up via a nearby cableway and planned a gentle programme.  Otherwise we saw only a few teenage youngsters.  We encountered a good smattering of strong young Spanish (Catalan) walkers, and a small group of Poles, but most of the hikers were French.

 

We noticed lots of energetic frogs of amphibian variety too – and insects, and a stranded swift.  In places hundreds of spiders sped about boulders like frantic commuters late for their offices.  An ermine bounced over a large stretch of snow.  No - We didN’T count his spots.  We heard a few marmots and several flocks of chuffs.  Otherwise the wildlife may have seen us but we didn’t observe much of it.  Other people claimed to have seen distant izards.  We were not so lucky.  Once we managed to overtake a slug!  For the first three days we broke all records for slowness, on Day 3 even managing to take 10 hours over what the signpost said (optimistically) was a 5-hour hike.  This pace ensured that no-one was overcome by any altitude-induced lack of breath.

 

On Day 3 we mislaid Petzold.  This was our most snail-like day and our objective, a distant high col at the end of a l-o-n-g straight valley, was clearly seen from breakfast time until we reached the col at 14.00, so DM3 was as mystified by our carelessness as she was sorry about the event.  The wardens at Estany Llong immediately swung admirably into efficient action.  They radio-ed every hut which Mike MIGHT just possibly have reached and, although they did not have the means to telephone, they radio-ed the Central Office and asked its functionaries to contact our Espot hotel to ascertain if Mike had decided to return there.  Centralita phoned the hotel and then radio-ed back their findings to our hut.  All replies were negative.

 

Petzold turned up later, to cheers from everyone in the living room, having accomplished two, instead of merely one, gruelling col.  We were immensely relieved and glad to see him though Peter said this was an oxymoron.  (Morons –oxy, foxy or otherwise - can look up that word in the dictionary!  I had to!)  We had met, and spoken to, many groups going back the way we had come, so were sure that if Mike HAD sprained an ankle, or worse, he would be succoured.  Besides, Petzold is a tough old bird renowned for losing and then extricating himself.

 

On the morning of Day 4 three people peeled off on a short route back to Espot thus completing a 4-day trip, which was part of the original offer for this Meet.  The 4 survivors, Robin, Terry, Peter and Daphne, (average age 73 years now that the “infantry” had departed) had a ball for 3 more days, completing the 6-day trip for which all participants had originally voted..  We walked briskly, made interesting detours, had dips in the “tonic” waters and made friends with 2 French groups who were following the same circuit.  In the evenings we compared routes which they and we had taken, and, amid huge hilarity exchanged table tricks, played cards and taught each other ridiculous games.  We got the whole dining room singing “Frère Jacques” as a round.  Our highly intellectual (?) cut- throat session of “matches” was watched excitedly and noisily by partisan French hikers but “Cramp stopped play” when Peter abruptly interrupted “Multiples of 5 dominoes” by prancing round the room groaning and clutching his leg.  Maybe this is the latest gamesmanship gimmick.

 

Daphne thanks participants of the trip for their fantastic spirit, cheerfulness and supportive attitude.  We enjoyed a LOT of fun and made an excellent, friendly group.  The scenery was magnificent and we agreed that the whole experience was unforgettable.

 

Summits climbed:  Pic de Ratera (2863m, 8875ft); Pic de Dellui Inferior (2677m, 8299ft); the notorious Tuc de Saburó (2912m, 9027ft).  The Collet de Contraix, with its very trying ascent and descent, certainly qualifies as a “peak” too.

 

Sayings of the week: 

Terry; “Hold me tighter!” (When he was being a handrail.)

Stewart, gazing down a precipitous descent: “It’s quite steep!”  (Understatement of the year!)

Daphne, of our Saburó ridge route: “It looks positively disGUSTing!”     

Robin: “Just a very straightforward circuit.”   

  

Lost property:  One walker by the name of Petzold; His previously-mentioned water bottle; One walking sick that preferred to remain marinating in a deep, water-filled cleft to being useful; One cheap plastic hotel-issue bath cap - losing that was punishment for disobeying the edict that ON THE SIXTH DAY THALT THOU WASH !; One pair of (presumably smelly) socks, which were dropped on the return from illicitly soaking lower limbs in a lake; One toilet kit complete with towel left in J.M. Blanc Hut.  That caused much laughter as Robin felt he must have put it into someone else’s sack and insisted on turning out (several times) the sacks of Terry, Peter, and Daphne as he hunted for a crushed plastic supermarket bag.  His cries of jubilation every time he found a Mercadona plastic bag were all in vain.  Other people also use handy plastic bags!

An altimeter, which was left in the Colomina washroom, was still there the next morning and therefore NOT lost.

 

Miscellanea:

Robin – at a few weeks off 81 – caused a sensation everywhere, not only because of his age but also because of the chirpy way in which he bounces along.  Like his namesake he hopped away, sticks clickety clacketing over the immense boulders where –arguably – sticks are more of a real danger than a help.

 

Prices for meals and lodging varied from hut to hut as did the discounts offered to members of recognised Mountain Clubs.

 

DM3 carried a nosebag of nuts and dried fruit for lunches.  By the end of the trip these had begun to ferment, giving off a rich aroma.  Maybe that was why she became so “merry” during the last 3 days!

 

Except in the first refuge the hut shoes were nicely laid out in pairs with the sizes indicated.  At Colomers we flopped about like Charlie Chaplin.

 

In the J. M. Blanc attic we opened the skylight.  Then, during supper, someone noticed that it was raining.  Watching the heavy downpour and joking with our French friends we went on munching…. …till Caveman LEAPT to his feet exclaiming:  “My sleeping bag’s right under the window!”  He kindly turned over the damp mattresses of the rest of us.

 

J.M. Blanc boasts proper rubbish skips into which we were DELIGHTED to deposit the litter which we had had to carry round.  This hut also actually has a proper electricity supply with handy heaters, and even a rotary toaster worth its weight in entertainment value as only people who have developed a very special technique can persuade it to spew forth neither bleached not charred offerings.

 

As the season was fairly young blankets provided by the huts were reasonably soft and clean.  Small pillows varied in quality.

 

It is interesting that the 4 walkers who completed the 6-day circuit arrived home only slightly tired.  From other similar trips they have returned exhausted.  I can only assume that this was because we acclimatised to the altitude by progressing slowly for the first 3 days.

 

Our Alpha Romeo was good at cruising downhill, and traffic was light, so the 4 ”survivors” had time to visit famous Monserrat Monastery just outside Barcelona.  The well-maintained and beautiful buildings inspired awe and contrasted with their grotesque surroundings.  They are niched between towering, monstrous, bulbous peaks on an isolated ridge that rises abruptly from the coastal plane.  The choir was in full voice while we were there.

 

After freezing for a week, we landed in a heat wave.  Mallorca’s furnace-like evening air made us reel.

 

The Ping a ting-a-ling in the tail:  At Palma airport, having no coins, we paid the 10c(!)  parking fee with a 20€ note.  Then we had to check a 19.90€ double-fistful of 10 and 20 cent coins that chinked into the change tray!!!!

 

On the first night home we heard with horror of the dreadful fires raging in the region where we had been and in other Mediterranean countries; and we also heard of 2 men who had been rescued by helicopter after separate accidents in the Cirque de Gavarnie where the Mallorquins had spent a week last year.

 

 

The Roya Hotel in Espot  was excellent, with clean, comfortable rooms and a friendly family atmosphere.  It coped with various unscheduled changes and served appetising, ample meals though one soup was uninspiring.  Highly recommended to anyone who wants a brief hiking/canoeing/ rafting/bungee-jumping holiday.

 

Carros de Foc ……….is a circuit in the Aigüestortes National Park.  Years ago, as hut wardens toured from hut to hut, they not only found themselves humming the tune of  “Chariots of Fire” but also found themselves racing.  An idea was born.  There are 9 refuges to visit if you want to accumulate 10 dated hut stamps proving that you have completed the circuit.  A certificate and free tee shirt is awarded to anyone who does it within the stunning time of 24 hours.  In 6 days we used 5 of the 9 huts of the circuit and passed 2 more in the Land Cruiser.

 

It is REALLY worth going on the Internet to look up Carros de Foc.  Read the entry for 24th September 2006 – and others…  See you there next year !?? !

There is a video (www.carrosdefoc.com/eng) which can be watched by people with a fast internet connection.

 

Robin has published on the internet an album of pictures taken on our trip and I am about to do the same.  If you want to know how to access these albums I shall be glad to give you the details.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© WDYFO, 2009/2018