The Scatter Gun Approach to Blogging
I am soooo far behind with this blog that I am having to apply a scattergun approach to catching up.
Here goes.
We arrived at a place called Cauterets in the Pyrenees on 20th August. A lot has happened since that day, so hold on tight while I tell you what we have been up to.
Our first job on arriving in any mountain area is to go up. No other direction is really going to do it for us.
Gandalf. Feeling at home at last in the mountains
So we drive up to a place called Pont D’Espagne. I don’t know much about it apart from the fact that it is a bridge over a rather impressive gorge and next to an equally impressive waterfall.
There are however certainly better gorges and bigger, more impressive waterfalls in the Pyrenees. This one though has something the others don’t have. It’s called a huge car park less than a 15 minute walk away AND a chairlift to allow you to avoid even those few pesky moments of walking should you feel inclined.
Following the crowds up to Lake Gaube.
We elected to miss the bridge out (seen it before) and hike up to the immensely popular Lac de Gaube. Popular once again because of the option of a chair lift to take you to the same altitude and allow you to saunter to the lake without breaking a sweat in a mere 15 minutes.
We opted for the sweaty, but short (50 mins) hike up along with several hundred other like minded idiots.
Normally we like our mountains quiet, but, after lockdown, it was nice to see lots of people enjoying the sun together.
The Vignemale (3,298m) and glacier from around 1,900m
Lac de Gaube is at 1,730m and not much of a test for my torn calf so, onwards and upwards, we continued, beyond the lake and on to a high point of around 1,900m and a great view of the Vignemale (3,298m).
Discretion being the better part of valour we then returned to the huge car park and from there back to our Cauterets campsite Camping Cabaliros where I declared my calf fixed.
A couple of days later we opted for an ‘easy’ day and cycled to a place called Pierrefitte and back. Just 9.5km (6 miles) each way, but a bit of a slog back with 400 metres of ascent over the 9km off road route.
Mrs P was a bit nervous until she realised how rubbish the competition was
Mrs P’s posh bike poses by some signs while my bike skulks in a corner.
Mrs P just before trouncing me back to Cauterets
Mrs P’s bike is very nice and relatively new.
My bike is very nice too, but it is 16 years old and the technology is somewhat dated.
Mrs P is fitter than she makes her self out to be. Often heard to say, “I can’t do it. I’m not fit enough.” Shortly followed by, “Come on. Hurry up. I’ve been waiting for ages.”
Anyway, in brief, by the end of our 15 mile ride Mrs P held not just the polka dot jersey as King of the mountain, but also the yellow jersey as stage winner. Bloomin’ show off.
I suggest we go climbing the following day. To redress the balance.
Me. Desperately trying to look the part.
We climbed back up to Pont D’Espagne where a short walk took us to some lovely little, easy climbs to break us back in after many months on the ground.
Me, demonstrating that my calf (left leg) is now ok.
After climbing I thought it time to really test the old calf muscle. Time for a long walk.
So, early on the 25th of August we are back, yet again at Pont D’Espagne (this car park is costing us a fortune!) for a 6.5 hour , 13 mile (21km) hike with 3,514 feet (1,071m) of ascent (and descent. It’s the descent that hurts. My knees may never be the same again.)
Early morning moon over the Pyrenees
Mrs P demonstrates the ancient art of Pyrenean bridge crossing
It was a beautiful route. Marred only by some construction work on a new enormous mountain hut that will certainly make this quiet part of the mountains much busier.
Every 4 minutes or so the same helicopter would fly over us, up the valley, with a bit of kit, gear, building materials, sandwiches etc. and then head back down the valley for more stuff a minute later.
A helicopter delivering baguettes to the mountain construction site
The scenery is stunning and it is so good to be back in the mountains at last. Alpine meadows with cows and sheep grazing and the distinctive sound of their bells filling the air. The gentle sound of the river (and the not so gentle sound of the helicopter) all slowly giving way to mountain wilderness. Bliss!
A cow channels her inner Gandalf and says, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS.” .
Finally, up at our high point of 2,400m (7,803ft) we reach Lac du Pourtet,
a stunning spot for lunch.
Lac du Pourtet (2,400m) and not a marmot in sight.
Two issues.
We still haven’t seen a marmot. We’ve heard them, but not seen them. Mrs P is getting edgy.
Why are there fishermen fishing in the mountain streams above 2,000m? If there are fish (mountain trout apparently) how the hell did they get there!? There are waterfalls of monumental size to negotiate. This ain’t your everyday salmon swimming up stream to spawn. This is about fish equipped with climbing boots and ropes!
Back on the ground Neil dares anyone to come near while he eats his celebratory ice cream.
We ate out that evening. Too pooped to cook.
After dinner and with an astonishing lack of foresight Mr. ‘1 coffee a day’ finishes off his meal with an espresso. At 10pm. Pooped I may have been, but could I sleep?
Watch this space for some Via Ferrata action and a epic on the mountains.
