Drowned Rats

There were two days on which the weather prevented us from climbing. This is a tale of one of them. 

The morning was forecast fine, if a tad windy. So we headed up to a climbing area called Troix (I have no idea how to pronounce it, we went with “Twox,” which is almost certainly wrong). It is a great climbing area with a real mix of styles (non-climbers look away now); single pitch and multi-pitch sport and a good offering of trad routes. 

Non-climbers may now rejoin.

The view from a VERY windy Troix looking across to the mountain/hill we set out to hike up (far le

It was however windy. REALLY windy. Yes, windy enough to warrant that upper case ‘REALLY.’ 

Our plan had been to do a multi-pitch route, 70 metre rope after 70 metre rope length, but it was plain that communication would be impossible in the high winds. We didn’t fancy re-doing any climbs from previous days so returned to Altea to sulk. 

We had decided to walk from the campsite up a small mountain called Alt del Gobernador 438m. 

On the drive back from the climbing area we stopped for a spot of lunch above a beautiful beach overlooking a small island and felt smug about our decision not to climb as the heavens opened just as we arrived. 

Soon though the sun returned and as it did a local influencer appeared on the beach below us.

Gandalf’s mini mascots pretending to be influencers

Said local influencer promptly stripped down to a thong and bikini top, set her phone to record and commenced doing press-ups on an upturned boat. I averted my eyes, like a well behaved husband. Looking again (only briefly of course) just long enough to see her recording herself looking wistfully out to sea before wading seductively into the waves. Tricky to do on a pebble beach and I think it unlikely that she shared with her myriad follower the footage of her stumbling back up the pebble beach in a scene more evocative of a cat on a hot tin roof than a siren emerging from the surf. 

Anyway, I, like the true gentleman that I am, wasn't looking, so what do I know? 

Alt del Gobernador 438m on a sunnier day

Back at the campsite the rain showers seemed to have moved on so we set off on our walk up the little mountain. A detailed weather analysis (read: Look North, looks okay) saw us pack only light windproof coats for our hike and so (ill prepared) off we set. 

Before we even set foot on the mountain the rain had started. Torrential at first it eventually eased off to a steady downpour. I suggested running away to the nearest bar, but Mrs P is made of sterner stuff (read: as stubborn as a mule), said, “Well, we’ve come this far…” and off we set. The higher we got the heavier the rain fell. To add insult to injury a cold breeze was now accompanying the buckets of water and it was a sorry pair of ‘should know better’ shivering hikers that finally reached the summit. 

Post event debrief

The view down to the flesh pots of Benidorm was the best I had ever seen, in other words you could barely see beyond a 100 metres, so the awful high rise buildings that make up the sprawling mass that is Benidorm were totally hidden from view. As was Mrs P… oh, no, there she is, her usual happy smiling face temporarily hidden behind a shivering, grim faced exterior. She gave me a look recognised by husbands the world over. The one that says, “Whose stoopid idea was this?” I grinned back with a look that said both, “Yours.” and “Smile for the camera” and took a photo.

Mrs P poses in front of the view of Benidorm

Here is a close-up of her “happy to be here” face.

It just got colder and wetter on the way down. On arriving back at the sea front and as if to publicly show our miserable state, the rain stopped and a weak sun came out bringing with it lots of people who had been indoors for the last 2 hours. We squelched our way through this irritatingly dry looking throng and back to the campsite for long hot showers. 

There was a change in the weather pretty much the moment we returned to sea level. Too little too late.