Author: Dragon

Source d’Marmitou to the Millet Gite d’etape in Lescun

Distance Forward: 9km

I’ll let the pictures do most of the storytelling for today. I’m happy to have wifi to catch up on posts and things today.

The village of Lescun. A beautiful place to live, if only for one night.

I also ran into Robert Broos again as soon as I walked into the town center, at a table outside one of the local cafes. His parents were there, and they treated me to a lunch platter! What a welcome party for the town of Lescun! They said that everywhere they looked around town was booked up, but a Belgian couple said they found a place down the road, and to ask at the bar down the street.

I did so, and a girl led me to a beautiful, brand new Gite d’etape, where I got a swank room for about $60.

You know how much I like a room with a view!

Storm clouds rolled in later, with thunder, rain, and winds in tow. I’m glad I was able to make a rest day out of today and end up in such a picturesque place for the night!

This town better give me a frickin medal. I’ve mowed down at least 50 flies today using a hand towel–at least the ones ballsy enough to wander into my chamber.

The clouds cleared up an hour after the storm. I decided to go out to the local tavern for a nice dinner to replenish my energy reserves before hitting the trail for another 7 days. Beer, some kind of chicken vegetable/lentil soup, and a chicken leg with vegetables and salad, and blueberry pie for dessert. Good night!

Refuge Bagargui to Source d’Marmitou

Distance Forward: 38km

Today was AWESOME

I woke up bright and early at 6am, packed up my pack explosion, made a cup of coffee, and hit the trail by 7.

I wanted to spend all day on trail today, as I was aiming to make it 35km, over the monstrous Pic d’Orhy and along the frontier ridge to the source d’Marmitou, just below Pic d’Anie, which the HRP guidebook describes as “a fine place to pitch a tent.”

The morning started off with the usual fog, but it quickly cleared as the sun hit it, and I had perfect visibility after 8am.

The trail follows the highest ridgeline of the Pyrenees today, called the frontier ridge. That means, badass views, all day.

I set out towards Pic Orhy and wove my way through numerous small valleys on the side of the ridge before reaching the trail at the crest. It was easy enough, until you get close to Pic Orhy, and then you reach a stairway kicked into the dirt, that ascends about 1,000ft of the way up.

Then, you reach the crest of Orhy’s Ridge, a narrow, Angel’s Landing kind of trail, where you have about 3 feet of trail on the Crest, and then cliffs on either side of you, sheerly dropping down 500ft or more.

Once you navigate that, it’s pretty easy to climb to the peak.

But of course, I missed a part where the trail curves off of the ridge to dodge this Shark’s Fin looking stretch of ridge just before the easy walk to the top. The trail comes to a single point, a razor’s edge, and I felt totally uncomfortable even attempting it with a heavy backpack on.

So I slid down one face of the 60° slope to that trail that dodges this last hard part of the Orhy Spine, and took the trail up to the mountain itself. Of course, now they put up a safety rope.

The peak itself was spectacular! Here are views:

I also met another HRP hiker who is doing a big chunk of the trail, named Clemon. We leap frogged each other a few times throughout the day.

After the Pic, the trail was a refreshing ridge walk through scenic valleys and out of the grips of civilization.

I walked 20km and finally found water! There is a spring nestled in a glacial mountain, and it seemed a perfect place to take lunch. Mmm, chicken soup, chips, and almond chocolate from New Zealand (thanks Robin!)

I hiked on, and found fog on the dark side of a big mountain. I ran into three backpackers who said something to me in Spanish, but I didn’t know what. I just nodded and said “yep!”

Then, after a hard hike up to a col, I ran into a big group of young kids, who looked like scouts, or something similar. Apparently they were spending the day hiking up that big foggy mountain! I think that’s great and that more people should nurture a love for nature in children from a young age.

After that, there was a long downhill with sweeping views of the barren limestone mountain range I was headed into in an hour or so. Of course, the wildflowers were off the charts.

After a while, I walked past an old run down refugio, got 2 litres of water at the last stream I knew of (there is no water in the limestone canyon up ahead, for about 10km), and headed into an old forest.

It was pretty bad at first–livestock had turned the trail here into a sopping muddy mess. After 3km through the forest, I finally reached a pass and got views of the bizarre limestone canyon that leads up to peak d’Anie! It was otherworldly. Felt like another planet altogether. Not to mention I was exhausted from the 32km I had just done. This last uphill 6km would be a real test of my endurance.

I made first dinner under a tree, and the flies were awful! I almost set up my tent just for some reprieve from their tyranny. They would not leave me alone until I got to camp later in the night. Beef strogranof mountain house and tuna with mayo and crackers, mmmm.

I ran out of water about 2km from where I was to camp, and I swear I started hallucinating due to sheer exhaustion. I thought I saw a face that was speaking to me, in the sunlight that was hitting a face of rock. “Is this what you wanted?” It asked.

I didn’t really know how to respond to that, and besides, the flies were bothering me, so I threw my pack back on and kept a good pace all the way to the Pass d’Anaye, where the source d’Marmitou begins. Water at last!

The sunset view was superb. I’m loving having these epic campsites every night!

I’m definitely sleeping in after all that. 38km (24 miles) and 2,000m ascent and 2,000m descent, 12,000 feet of combined elevation change. My legs are feeling it.

Tomorrow is just 9km to the village of Lescun, where I will resupply for the week journey to the beautiful Cirque du Gavernie, and take a rest day. 200km down, 500 to go on the HRP!

July 16th, 2018

Okhabe to the Randonnee Refuge at Col d’Bagargui

Distance Forward: 8km

I set an early alarm for 6 a.m. this morning, but I was first awoken by the sound of rain on the tent. Really not the worst wakeup call ever. I slept in until 7:30 to give it time to blow over, packed up, and started hiking at 8:30.

My aim was to make it up and over the Peak d’Orhy, the first mountain of the HRP above 2,000 metres! Exciting stuff, but the weather did not seem to want to cooperate with my plans.

After a bit of morning fog, the clouds cleared up a little for the first 3km down the mountain and on a road past Chalet Pedro and an old emergency refuge. Then the rain returned right as I made it onto another trail and into the trees.

There are many people who would be miserable in these conditions, but I just found a nice tree for shelter, whipped out my umbrella, and made a cup of coffee with some tea cookies. Ah, the sound of the birds and the river rushing and the rain in the trees. Very relaxing.

I made it to Col d’Bagargui and had a beer at the local restaurant. Alas, the restaurant part is closed on Mondays! So no hot meal today.. oh well! I asked for the owner to open the shop next door and bought some luxury items like orange juice, milk, chips and cookies to refuel myself before setting out tomorrow. The forecast shows the fog and rain clearing up overnight, so perfect conditions to hike the badass Pic d’Orhy.

I walked back down the road to inquire about a room at the refuge. It was only 15 euros, and they hand me a key for room 12. Little did I know the intensity of the luxury I was about to experience! After 7 days in the wilderness, I felt like I was staying at the Ritz.

• My own private room with two beds and a beautiful balcony window!
• Bathrooms! Hot showers!
• Electricity! Charging of my phone, battery pack, and the ability to use the internet!
• A place to dry out my clothes!
• An actual kitchen to cook in!
• A sink to wash everything in!
• A wood fired stove for heat!

Oh my stars. I died and went to hiker heaven. After cleaning up and resting a bit, I went down and sat in the common eating area and had a big bowl of coffee with milk, followed by a full 1L pot of Knorr’s 9 legume soup, made using their electric kettle. I sat around and sipped it while listening to all the other travelers talk.

Oh, I lived up to my trail name today! I helped two older women make a roaring fire in the wood stove like a true Dragon would, so that everyone could dry out their gear. Some people were less prepared than I was for the rain, so they got utterly drenched. “Llueve gatos y perros (it’s raining cats and dogs)” I said.

For dinner, it was seasoned vegetable couscous and tuna with mayo and crackers, and hot chocolate for dessert. Oh, and a nice couple that helped me find the place shared their baguette with me! Sweet.

The sun finally came out as I took the hot coco and walked to the Col. I could almost see the Pic d’Orhy in the distance, masqueraded in the clouds.

Col d’Roncevalles to Okhabe

Distance Forward: 30.3km

Today, I’d like to give you some reasons not to hike the HRP. Or at least, some reasons to skip the first week. And if you’re going to do it anyways (like a real thru hiker would) heres what you have to look forward to.
It’s easy to romanticize the notion of hiking the length of France in the mountains, but I can assure you, there is very little romance to be had out here.

First of all, even on the easy days, it will be the most strenuous hiking of your entire life. The trail is always going straight up or straight down. The nice cruising stretches on good trail are far and few between.

Like today, after hiking out of the Col Roncevalles and passing a few other Cols, I came into sight of a beautiful mountain called Errotzate. It’s one of those mountains that is so big and vast that you spend an hour hiking towards it and feel like it hasn’t gotten any closer.

Once I got down in the valley below the mountain, I basically had to go up and over it at its lowest point (Col Errotzate), about a 1,500 ft climb. Of course, there is next to no trail as I bushwhack through waist-high grass, probably infested with ticks carrying debilitating Lyme’s Disease. The trail was a tiny, overgrown strip of dirt on the edge of a 45° ( / ) semi-cliff, going up at about a 25-30% grade

The second reason you shouldn’t hike the HRP: It’s dirty. There are cattle and livestock and their waste products everywhere all around you, and you almost never escape the tyranny of the asinine bells around their necks, ringing constantly at all hours, day and night. Which leads me to reason #3:

Biting insects. The overpopulation of livestock leads to plague-level hordes of biting insects, mosquitos, and horse flies. You can scarcely have a 10 minute break without having to swat 50 of the bastards off of you. And some of the livestock I saw were downright destroyed by them, with big festering gaping wounds under the extremities and in the sensitive places infested by the buggers.

And if it wasn’t bad enough, theres almost no accommodation out here. Even the day that we tried to find a bed and a shower, and went around to the only five places in town, they all turned us away. It felt rather inhospitable, and there was an air of “you’re outsiders, we don’t want you here” in that town.

Then there are long stretches of road walking that feel pretty unnecessary, and they will wreck even the most tempered feet, ankles, and knees.

Oh yeah, and the heat. There’s a reason the Spanish take siesta from noon to three every day. It’d be well and good if they hadn’t clear cut every single shade tree to make way for cattle grazing. The mountain breeze received in valleys and peaks and cols are the only way an HRP hiker can bear it. Pair that with the highly demanding ascents and descents, and I don’t care how much deodorant you brought, you’re gonna smell like a dead farm animal, lol.

And the heat and weather creating ability if the mountains creates some pretty gnarly winds and thunderstorms, with huge lightning strikes and weather that can turn from sun to storm in 15 minutes flat. Of course, the rains bring mud, which makes any trail more fun.

But then, if you decide you want to do a real thru hike and beat all this stuff and come out on the other side looking fresher than you did on the way in, and become a stronger person because of your strife, props! It’s hard work. Not many people’s idea of a vacation, but it is mine.

And that’s an essential part of any pilgrimage/long walk. Putting yourself at the mercy of the elements and the fates. And being prepared for all this jazz and anything that can be thrown at you, so that when you get to the good part (in this case the central haute Pyrenees), they feel that much more extraordinary, and you have truly earned every view you enjoy.

Also, today I got my first trail magic! As I was cooking dinner at the Col d’Oraate, an older woman and her granddaughter came over with a bottle of water and filled me up with over a liter, which allows me to camp wherever I like on this high mountain ridge that took all day to get to (1500m elevation and 27km distance). It’s not much, but there are some good people still out there. Kindness from strangers is another great ingredient of the pilgrimage.

A fog rolled in as I was coming to Okhabe, the highest hill so far at 1450m. summited, hiked down a ways to an old-growth hickory forest, and called it a night.

Col d’Lepeder to Col d’Roncevalles

Distance Forward: 18km

Today’s music: Mr. Blue Sky by ELO, Only Go Backwards by Tame Impala, The Chain by Fleetwood Mac, and Dogs by Pink Floyd

We woke up around 7am today, had some fresh coffee with some baked goods we got in Aldudes yesterday, dried out the tent (there were some big thunderstorms that rolled through last night!) and set out for the day around 9am.

Early on we met a hiker couple from Spain, with a cute border collie named Luna. “Bollo (Beautiful)” he said to me, making a rainbow gesture with his hands while pointing out to the view of the country. I had to agree with them!

Then, while getting water, we met an old man in his 70s, who, while he didn’t speak much English, was able to convey to me the love and passion he has for the Basque Country that he lives in. He asked if we were doing the Atlantic to the Mediterranean hike, which we are, and his reply was “ohhh, I just do this mountain” while gesturing an out-and-back signal with his hand. I thought that was a really good thing to do, especially being above the age of 70.

After a nice big climb of about 500m, we met another HRP thru-hiker! Finally! That makes two in the last two days. Proof of how remote and unknown this trail is. On the Pacific Crest Trail you would probably see 100 hikers every day! We both agreed that this is about as strenuous of a trail as you can get, and we probably wouldn’t see many other thru-hikers because everybody would generally be making the same pace. It’s pretty hard to move fast on this terrain.

Later, we had a gorgeous, easy walk along a one lane asphalt road, along a ridgeline that eventually led to the mountain named Lindus, which reminds me of a name for a cloud!

After that there was an easy hike down to the Col d’Roncevalles, where the Camino de Santiago crosses the Pyrénées! We found a nice place to make dinner and call home for the night and passed out pretty quick. Goodnight!

Col d’Berdaritz to the French Village of Les Aldudes (but spoiler alert, it sucked so we went back to the mountains at) the Col d’Lepeder

Distance Forward: 3.5km

Friday the 13th oooo!

I awoke to the gentle noise of rain drops on our tent, and booming thunder off in the distance. The rain came and went in waves, stopping for a moment, then dropping a whole ocean all at once.

The forecast did say thunderstorms, but they could have given us a little longer to pack up camp..

Anyways, it cleared up quick enough and the tent was almost fully blow-dried from the wind passing through the Col by the time we packed up.

We took a short road walk down to the village of Aldudes, which we thought would be a hiker haven! We were almost right.

Walking into town, we met our first fellow HRP thru-hiker! His name is Robert Broos, from the Netherlands. We were both glad to meet someone else who spoke English, and with whom we could relate to about all the hardships and quirks of the trail. It’s his first long distance trail, and he is doing it in 45 days before returning to his job at an outdoors supply store.

We said our goodbyes and thought we’d walk down to the place we read in our guide should have beds for hikers. When we got there, it said to inquire at the bar, back the way we had come. So we walked back to the bar, and after waiting quite a while, I nice woman came up and told us there were no spaces available at the bunk place, as it was sold out for a youth retreat.

Oh well, we thought. Plenty of options! We walked back to where we met Robert, and saw him off as he headed on towards the Col de Roncevaux. On the side of a large building there was written “Chambres” or rooms for the night, essentially. I thought I’d walk in and ask about it, and I was greeted at the front door by huge piles of junk on either side of a hallway leading up a staircase. I took a few steps up, and an old lady opened a door above. “Une chambre?” I inquired?

“No. Ferme. Ferme. Au revoir,” she said with an upset face as she closed the door.

Okay, no big deal! We decided to walk back to the bar and have lunch. Mmmm, fresh bread with potato omelettes and locally sourced Basque-country ham! A hiker’s delight.

Robin went off to check out the gas station for food, as I searched every website possible for a place to stay so she could rest up. She returned quickly, saying the market was on siesta until 3pm.

We spend the next 3 hours or so just trying to find a place to spend a night and get a shower. I walked back down the road and found a place called Gite d’France, which should surely have rooms available for travelers, right? Wrong! No chambres. At this point

I’ve just about given up and am ready to walk back to the mountains, where at least I don’t have to deal with all this nonsense running back and forth just to find an expensive place to lay my head for the night. So I walk back to the bar and sit at our perch at an outdoor table. “Nothing.”

Robin, who should have been in bed resting 4 hours ago, goes up to the bar to order a coffee, and some guy who is apparently a doctor says he would take her to a hotel 2km down the road. So I assumed we could both go, but he insisted only one of us could go, and not bring our stuff. Weird.

Then when Robin and I both agreed we didn’t want a one way trip to a hotel with a stranger, he left in a big hurry. The whole encounter just felt a bit shady, and left us feeling less than charmed by the village of Aldudes, all things considered.

We walked back down the road to the gas station grocery, grabbed a few supplies for the 108km journey ahead, and got the hell outta dodge. We found a beautiful campsite with a view, for free, at a Col just above the village, where we made dinner and watched the thunderstorms roll in.

The day ended as it began, with the sound of raindrops on the tent and booming thunder in the distance. What a strange day. Glad that’s over with. Reminds me of why I pick mountains over civilization, any day. Good night!

Col d’Ursua to Col d’Berdaritz

Distance Forward – 24.5km

This morning, my hiking partner said she was feeling worse than ever! She has been hard at work fighting off a nasty throat bug, and today it came back in full force. Not something you would wish on anyone three days into a hard walk through the wilderness.

Nevertheless, she is a real trooper and we have already made 10km as I write this. After a long uphill through pastures and forest land, we reached the Col Bagacheta.

We have been out of water since about 9am, so I was elated when I saw a big bathtub full of water just below the Col! I ran down and found the source of the spring that filled the tub. Ahhh, fresh, ice cold mountain water, straight from the top. There’s nothing like it.

I took the opportunity of having this pristine spring water to make a perfect cup of coffee, which I had foregone this morning due to not having enough water.

After that, we had a pleasant ridge walk down to the hamlet of Azpulcueta.

Then, onto the town of Arizkun, where we retrieved some more water out of a public well next to a stone arc bridge.

We stopped here to have lunch, but everything in the town seemed abandoned (as often happens as a daily siesta from 12-3pm in Spanish towns), so we settled on some snacks and soft drinks from a little convenience store/bar/restaurant.

Everything about the architecture and style of the building here in the Basque region is so picturesque! White plaster walls, lined and framed with old cedar wood and sandstone, shutters on all the windows, little balconies and flowers and stone walls lining every street and pathway. Every detail of every building seems artfully designed and maintained in immaculate condition. If it weren’t for the power lines and cars on the road, I would swear I had fallen back in time a millinia or two.

We decided to shoot for Aldudes as a goal today, to end our day with a nice hot meal and a bed to sleep in. That meant we had another 15km to go over the big hill called Burga (872m)! We set out at 3pm as the sun was in full force. Luckily, we had the cover of trees for much of the way, keeping us shaded and only slightly hot.

A lady passed us with a pack of three dogs, which looked like good shepherds. Everything out here relates to farming in some way or another, as that is the economic engine of all these fertile areas near the coast. I have to admit, the constantly dongling bells around the necks of every horse, sheep, and cow gets a little old after about a day. Can’t they figure out a better way to keep track of animals? Not to mention, the flies are horrendous in the lowland pastures. They won’t stop bugging me as I’m draggin’ up the uphill stretches.

And there’s the fact that factory livestock farming has possibly the highest negative impact for the environment, due to the clearcutting of pastures to make hay, the millions of miles of barbed wire fences cutting off migration passages, and the nitrogen runoff from vast herds of animals which go on to pollute the rivers with suffocating blooms of algae. Let the rivers run clear and pure, the way they were meant to, damnit.

And then there are people worried about the “impact” that backpackers have on the landscape. Do they not see the impact of having millions of cows trampling the countryside, eating everything in sight, creating horrible hordes of flies, constantly clearcutting more trees for more space to feed a ballooning population?

Yeah. Don’t try and say I’m having an “impact” by walking through the woods and camping here or there. The impact has already been made.

How can you help? One idea is to substitute local vegetables for meat on occasion, or at least buy meat with less impact. Generally, on a scale of how good different protein sources are for the environment:

• beef is about 1/5 most negative environmentally,
• pork and bacon 2/5,
• chicken 3/5,
• fish 4/5, and
• vegetables 5/5, most positive environmentally.

This makes me all the more ready to get away from the countryside and into the central, haute Pyrenees, that sanctuous fortress of nature that few ever have the opportunity to see, much less experience. Some of the most spectacular hiking above 2,000m and peaks above the magic 3,000m await us there.

That’s one of the best parts about a thru-hike–the negative parts in the beginning make you so ready for the parts you’ve really been looking forward to!

On the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), I spent the whole 800 miles of New Mexican deserts looking forward to the San Juans and RMNP, I suffered through the whole Great Basin in Wyoming to make it to the Wind River Range and Yellowstone, I hiked gnarly terrain and faced off with grizzly bears and mountain lions in Montana, just to step foot in the holy land of Glacier National Park.

On this hike, I am especially looking forward to the national parks, the stretch from Candanchu to Andorra, the high pyrenees, legendary for their grandiosity among hikers and mountaineers.

Back to the story: we almost made it to the top of Burga when my hiking partner really started feeling the pain of her ankle and strep throat. For some reason she started walking down the hill the wrong way in a big hurry.

“That’s not the right way!” I yelled.

No response.

“The trail goes over the top here!”

No response.

Worried she might get lost, I ran through ferns and brambles while keeping the same elevation so as not to miss the trail we were supposed to follow at the top.

Ah well. We both found ourselves at the right junction later on, and carried on towards Aldudes.

After stopping for water, we decided it would be best to camp just before the downhill into town, and to go in early tomorrow and spend a full nero (nearly zero mile) day resting and recovering from sickness and the strain of the Pyrenees so far. Also, we need to be in peak shape to tackle the 108km of wilderness between Aldudes and the village of Lescun.

And boy, did we score with our campsite! We couldn’t have asked for a better view to have dinner and spend the end of a long day. As I type this, the sun is barely inches above the horizon, moving through a dark cloud to a patch of sky between it and the horizon, centered between two mountains. Here are pictures. They won’t do it the justice it deserves, but the image is forever burned into my retinas. Goodnight Sun!

Larun to Col d’Ursua

Distance Forward: 21.5km

We awoke this morning in our forested campsite to the sound of birds singing and the light of the sun beaming out across the fog-laden valley below.

After a long, hard ascent up a one lane concrete road, we found ourselves at the peak of Larun, a large hill at 3,000ft above the Basque Coast, which can be seen from a panoramic viewpoint.

Larun is very popular with both French and Spanish tourists on account of the easy access via the gondola lift, and the wonderful views of both countries’ Atlantic coastlines.

After some sight seeing (we mostly saw fog), we made the steep descent down rocky, gravel trails to the Col of Lizuniaga, where I made coffee and finished off some snacks for lunch. We made use of a nice grassy yard outside of a cafe that is renowned for their hospitality to hikers and travelers of all kinds.

Continuing up the road, we found a breathtaking view of Larun, enveloped in a Laputa like cloud (If you haven’t watched Miyazaki’s Castle in the Sky, it is a must).

Then, the trail leveled out and became a picturesque stroll through the woods. We stopped for water and I dunked my hat and shirt in the water to cool off. We’re lucky to have cloud cover today. The sun becomes relentless when you’re in it all day! Yesterday felt especially hot, as our bodies have not adjusted to the full time outdoor life just yet.

The path leads on to the Col de Lizaieta, a mountain pass on the border of France and Spain. Two cafes punctuate this space between the wilderness we came from and the one we now walk into.

It’s amazing how quickly the population centers disperse, how swiftly you find yourself in the mountains, without a sign of civilization to comfort you, aside from maybe a small cabin far in the distance, or the sound of a motor down in the valley.

Soon even these sparse artifacts will fade away, and we will be left with nothing but pure nature, concentrated, distilled to its most fundamental form. While we often think of nature as the life that surrounds us, all the types of plants and animals in the world around us, these are a very small part of nature. Nature often means life, but if you love nature, you must also love death, and all the non-living things that allow for life to come about.

After all, the Earth is mostly “inorganic” material. The clouds in the sky and the rocks shifting under our feet are not alive in the traditional sense, but they make up the vast majority of the nature that we experience.

The water vapors that form hurricanes are not alive, but the hurricane, in our eyes, is a living thing (perhaps why we give them names?) in that it is born, collects resources for its survival, reaches a peak, begins to decay, and eventually dies, dispersing its vital essence to nourish future hurricanes (and other lifeforms, plants and fungi and animals).

Such is the galaxy of which we are part, the stars above us and the molten rock beneath us. These are not living things, but they are alive in this sense, and all life (that we know of) depends on them for survival. And who can say they do not rely on the earth and the rain to live?

In fact, every living thing is made up of nonliving parts. The stellar ash from 5 generations of exploded stars runs through my veins. Is it alive? I know I am, and so it must be, to some extent. The hydrogen and oxygen that spent billions of years doing, well, not much, floating in the cosmic abyss, now creates the beautiful waterfalls and oceans that host and replenish all earthly life.

I hope I can accomplish something even a billionth as grand as that in all my life.

The music of life must be universal. Our planet’s story of life may be unique, found nowhere else on a billion, billion worlds. However, the elements and components that comprise life and the laws that allow for it are ubiquitous. We now have catalogs of hundreds of earth-like planets. Each of them could host a history as rich and fascinating as life’s tenure on our own sphere.

What does it all mean? I couldn’t tell you. These are the thoughts that stream through my mind after a full day on the trail, the terminus of 10 hrs of hard hiking.

Where were we.. Ah! Right. We were hiking. Then we stopped under a nice oak tree, made dinner, set up the tent and went to bed. Good night!

We woke up around 7:30 and packed up our bags right away, excited to begin the adventure that we have been planning for nearly a year.

I know that I’ve been looking forward to this trip since I met Paul, who lives in the Pyrenees, on the CDT two Summers ago. He promised to send me the guidebook for this thing called “the high route of the pyrenees.”

I have to say, nothing makes me want to do a thru-hike more than the pictures I see of it. That’s part of why I started an Instagram, to hopefully be that point of inspiration for other thru-hikers. And when I saw the pictures of the HRP, I was blown away. I knew then that I had to do it.

So, two years later, my hiking partner and I start our journey. We got up, and our BnB host made us some stellar espresso to get us up and out the door.

Upon the tradition of walking into the Atlantic ocean at the beaches of Hendaye, and touching the obligatory HRP obelisk, the hike is begun.

I can’t say we saw anything truly spectacular today. Mainly, we climbed two big hills, a combined 1,300m of elevation gain (which is higher than most mountains where I come from). The hill we’re camping on now tops out at about 3,000 feet above sea level.

The views of Basque country are wonderful. Here are just a few of them:

We saw quite a few bikers and hikers today, mostly out for the day. I feel we will see less and less as we continue into the more remote reaches of the Pyrenees. Today we met a GR10 hiker, doing the trail that runs along the French side of the Pyrenees. It is also legendary for its beauty.

This will be a short post since I’m worn out from the 23km we hiked today! It’s hard to measure things with distance out here since there are so many climbs and drops. We should get an early start and have an easier day overall tomorrow.

The first step of a long journey is always the hardest. I estimate 3 weeks before we become lean, mean, hiking machines! We’ll need every ounce of strength we have to make it through this trek. But I’ll share every gram of its beauty with you.

See you tomorrow!

If you read yesterdays post, I left off as we were getting absolutely pummeled by a monsoon (dad said it looked like a hurricane the size of France on the weather radar).

Finally, we gave up on pitching a tent. It was futile in the hurricane-strength winds on the mountainside, the tent fly gusseting around like a kite in a typhoon.

My hiking partner went down to the refuge to ask for shelter, while her friend and I took down the tent. “Ahh, I’ve been in worse” she said. I laughed and said “you’re crazy! (But in the best way)”

She held the tent frame to keep it from flying into the next town over, and I began pulling up the stakes and rolling up the rainfly. After 5 minutes of this circus act performance, barely able to see through the sweeping curtains of rain, we were both thoroughly and totally drenched. She at least had rain gear on; I was using my only raingear, a poncho, to keep my backpack dry.

With the tent safely rolled up in its bag, we ran down the steep rocky path to salvation, a beautiful stone cabane built by the french alpine club, for serious alpinists only. Refuges like this were built all through the high mountains in Europe, to help hikers and climbers who find themselves in predicaments like the one we now found ourselves in.

“You can stay,” said the refuge owner, “but the price is 20 euro (~$24).”

A small price to pay to escape the hellstorm that had spent all day gathering its strength and then let slip in one fearsome burst of spray and sparks and splendor. It all descended on us in an instant, and we were thankful to escape, with a loss of only one tent stake, forever pounded into the earth and never to be heard from again.

Once inside, I changed into dry clothes and prepared dinner: tin tuna with mayo, salt, pepper, and crackers, and a freeze dried spaghetti mountain house.

It reminded me of a similar meal I had with my dad, when we once hiked deep into the backcountry of Denali NP, Alaska. We weathered a similar storm all night while trying to sleep on a hillside with a view, staring down at glaciers and snow capped peaks, hoping we didn’t meet wolves or grizzly bears in the middle of the night.

Inside the refuge, over dinner, a French girl who knew English asked about our route. Upon discovering it was the HRP and GR5, she gave the expressions that many have given in response before.

Everyone in France shows a mixture of shock and humor when I tell the plan to them, the kind of half laugh of disbelief someone gives when they sense mortal danger. The French know their mountains are fierce and brutal, fiercely beautiful, their beauty revealed only after payment of strife. I understand their disbelief of the thought, to hike 1,600km along the length of both of the highest, hardest border mountain ranges of France. Their reactions only strengthen my resolve to traverse them, collect their views, and bring them to the people who need their tidings, who would benefit from their therapeutic sight.

After drying out and chewing over some French radio musique, we were worn to shreds. Lights out. Good night!

The next morning was very foggy, with small gaps throughout the day revealing tantalizing views of farmlands and lush green valleys over 1,000 meters below.

Our refuge for the storm.

We navigated the Breche de Rolland, climbed Puy Mary and Chavaroche (both about 1,800m), and descended to the town of Mandailles. The whole day was along a beautiful ridgeline walk around the rim of the supervolcano, but we only got about 1% of the views we were supposed to get.

Down and up the Breche de Rolland

Puy Mary

We were hurting by the time we got to the village below, and quickly set up camp, ate, and went to bed. Two days of wet shoes will wreck your feet! We felt better in the morning.

The day after, the last day of our journey, we climbed out of the valley and summited Puy Griou, a rocky volcanic peak with a scramble to the top. The weather was ideal on our final day, and we got the views and pictures we had hoped for.

The walk out of town

One of the best parts of hiking is the clarity of thought. A combination of the relaxing sounds of nature, the wind in the trees, the babbling brooke, and the heightened blood flow to all parts of the body (spec. the head) makes clear thinking just sorta, happen. Some of the best ideas come about during a walk in the woods.

A nice spot to have lunch on the way up

Puy Griou!

A beautiful day

Great ridge walks today

The refuge we slept at two nights ago

The next morning we walked down to town, grabbed some snacks for the train ride, and made it all the way to Aurillac before finding out all our trains were cancelled due to railway worker strikes!

The train people put us up in a hotel where we are now. The trains should be running today, so we should make it to Hendaye tonight and start the high route of the Pyrenees tomorrow! Stay tuned for more tales of adventure in France!

A thru hikers pack, with 7 days of food, a liter of water, a tent, sleeping pad and bag, clothes, cooking pot and pan, stove with a pound of fuel, rain poncho, umbrella, toilletries, water filter system, electronics and spare batteries and chargers, headlight, trekking poles, first aid and gear repair kit, water bucket, spork food tool, compass, day bag, various tools (the corkscrew is important), cold weather gear, camp shoes, and hat! And CDT blaze patch. Everything I need for a week in the mountains. How does it all fit!? Ready for a good adventure.

(And please give me your input, I would like to be a better writer and storyteller)