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)
a true adventure storyteller! Love it!