Feel the fear and do it anyway

We’ve climbed 23,000 ft (7,000 m) peaks in Pakistan; abseiled off 500 ft (150m) overhanging cliffs on a 200 ft (60m) rope; I’ve spent 10 days alone, hiking through grizzly country; faced down knife wielding bad guys with nothing but a wooden truncheon and once even told my immensely traditional father that I was quitting my job to travel around the world. We are clearly made of stern stuff.

However, all of this pales into insignificance when faced with our current terror.

“What can it be?” I hear you say. “Must you fight the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal?” “Are you being pursued by Lord Voldemort?” or, horror of horrors, “Did you upset your mother-in-law again?”
No. It’s worse than all of those. It’s this...

WE MUST LEAVE THE SUNNY, WARM COAST AND HEAD NORTH. INTO THE COLD (and possibly wet).
Aaarrrrrgggghhh!

Mrs P is beside herself. She wanders around muttering unintelligible things under her breath. I have managed to pick out, “Dank” and “Gloomy” and such phrases as, “A drizzling Rain. Heavy masses of shapeless Vapour upon the mountains.” All said as she mournfully wrings her hands and stares longingly at her beach clothes.

Anyway, that’s the terror we face. We must leave this…

*Mrs P demonstrates looking deliberately in the wrong direction whilst wearing shorts and a T-shirt.*

…and head to this…

We are heading back across the Pyrenees in the vague direction of north as we must be back in old Blighty in 2 weeks time. This means a return to the colder weather. But, that’s fine isn’t it Mrs P? We love the mountains and mountain weather don’t we? What’s that you said?

“The day with clouds was sudden overcast, And angry Jove a hideous storm of rain Did pour."(Canterbury Tales, I believe.)

We are both as bad as each other. She had to prise my fingers off a coffee shop table on the sea front this morning!

*Not all coffee shops are created equal*

It didn’t help that as we drive past a place called La Consolació things become distinctly dystopian. My descriptive powers are not great, but let me attempt to paint a picture in words.

As the road climbs up to around 700 m (2,300 ft) the clouds darken and rain starts to fall. The view of what could be a pretty reservoir is marred by a huge, rain blackened, thermal power station chimney that dominates the area. The valley, which was open, begins to narrow and we are hemmed in by both cliffs and heavy industry. The rain starts to fall more heavily and, round a corner, we are confronted by a building sized poster advertising a Halloween experience at a local park. The image is of an evil, white faced, long clawed terror of a man. I kind of expected it to say, “All hail your illustrious leader.” It really doesn’t help.

We arrive in Baga, in the Spanish Pyrenees, just in time to “enjoy” 10 hours of heavy rain with added thunder and lightning. Slept well though.

Baga is where the green dot is. Prior to this we were down near Tarragona.

But, tomorrow will be lovely. It always is. The mountains we love so much will glisten after the rain. The rocky peaks will once again show their faces. We will forget the call of the coast, put on our boots, and if necessary our waterproofs, and head out to explore this gem of a mountain range. The sublime Pyrenees.

24 hours later…

As if to remind us how much we love the mountains the following day did indeed turn out nice. The rain cleared and the sun came out.
We took a hike up a river gorge that exceeded all our expectations for the day, as the following photos will testify.