The ups and downs of up
It was dark and cold. Really cold, especially considering we were in Southern Spain. The thermometer said +2°C. It was also early. 06.25. I had been woken by Mrs P prodding me and saying, “The alarm is about to go off.” Well if it hasn’t gone off yet, why was she waking me? Another minute of sleep, another five minutes. How nice would that have been? I would never know.
Why were we awake at such an Ungodly time and why was it so cold? The answer dear reader is, mountains.
Mountains make us do stupid things. Often in the dark, usually in the cold and almost always in the early hours of the morning. Mrs P and I have been getting out of bed at stupid times in the morning to climb (stupid) mountains for as long as I can remember. 4 am is common, though the record is 2 am, way back in 2005, to climb Spantik, a 7,037 metre peak in Pakistan. Today’s task was not on such an epic scale so required less of an early start, but it still felt early. And so cold, but why the cold? Well, the previous night we had driven as far as you are legally allowed to go on Europe’s highest paved road, to an altitude of 2,500 metres in order to climb Sierra Nevada’s second highest mountain, Pico de Veleta, 3.369 metres. We had encased Gandalf in his thermal wrap, thrown sleeping bags over our duvet and shivered the night away. It was just 6°C in the van despite the thermal wrap. At least we could now put on our clothes and warm up a bit.
Mrs P is forced to confess that she shares the same tailor as Tinky Winky from the Teletubbies?
We were away by 8am, shortly after dawn and heading upwards. Where else?
It is a simple ascent, basically following the road up, but cutting all the zig-zag bits out, as a human can walk up a much steeper slope than any vehicle. But the altitude is not to be sniffed at. The human body can do strange things when taken very quickly from sea level to anything above around 2,800 metres . Light-headedness, headaches, nausea and fatigue are just some of the fun effects a body can encounter. Because of this we had decided to take seriously the suggested time of four hours to the summit. It may only have been little more than four miles to the top, but the ascent of almost 800 metres may have taken its toll.
Why are we awake at this hour!?
By the time we had reached the statue of the Virgin of the Snows (Virgen de las Nieves), just 100 metres above our parking spot, a bitter wind was making itself felt. The sun was still behind the ridge and we were in cold shadow as we climbed ever upward. On the ridge to our right the Pico Veleta Radio Astronomy Telescope sat and beyond that and far below lay a blanket of cloud obscuring Granada and the surrounding area.
The statue of the Virgen de las Nieves and Mrs P, looking slightly less like Tinky Winky in her over trousers
The Pico Veleta Radio Astronomy Telescope. Looking for intelligent life because there’s none down here.
In the winter this is Spain’s highest ski resort, open from the end of November, it looked like a typical summer ski resort; cable cars and chair lifts dotted the mountainside. As we got higher so the signs of snow increased, though never much to get excited about (read: make a snowman). In the summer season hikers get a chair lift from the village to within 200m of the summit, but there was no such luxury for us as we trudged ever higher.
Our summit (right) with the beginnings of it’s snowy mantle
Eat your heart out Chris Bonnington
After just two hours and fifty minutes we reached the summit (Mrs P will point out that that included a coffee and cake break) suggesting that we are a bit fitter than we thought. A concrete pillar marked the high point as did an even less photogenic old concrete building.
We took the all important summit selfie, looked across at the highest mountain in Sierra Nevada, Mulhacén - at 3,479 metres a mere 83 metres higher than us – and headed back down.
Me, blatantly posing.
Ali G and Tinky Winky on the summit of Pico de Veleta, 3,396m
A great view of the only mountain higher than us in these parts, Mulhachén, 3,479m
As I have already alluded, it was very cold, around -8°C with windchill and yet still, “he” turned up.
“He” is the man (rarely a woman, they are way too sensible) who almost always appears near the top of a mountain, regardless of the time of day, weather or conditions. “He” parks his car in the car park, says to his partner, ”I’ll just pop up.” and heads for the summit taking with him nothing but a scant regard for his own comfort or safety. His partner is left reading a book in the car. Some hours later, wondering where he is, said partner watches as he is carried away by mountain rescue who describe him diplomatically as, “ill-equiped.”
Mrs P demonstrates correct mountain attire
I will remind you that it was well below freezing with wind chill. Even without the wind, which was quite strong at around 25 kmph, it was at least minus two. “He” was wearing just fashion ankle boots, tight denim shorts and a thin, lightweight coat. Hatless, his bare hands shoved firmly in his oh so tight pockets, he bade us a somewhat blue lipped “Holla!” as he strode purposefully upwards to his icy grave.
Me, carefully avoiding a frosty end
You’ll be pleased to know that he didn’t die. “He” rarely does. Nor unfortunately does he learn his lesson. Other summits await his foolhardy approach to mountain walking. We’ll see him again.
Shorts!? In this weather? Bloody tourists..
We, on the other hand, toasty in our Teletubby inspired mountain clothes soon descended back to a still frigid car park and then on down in the warm embrace of Gandalf, to a slightly warmer altitude.
The very cool Lenticular cloud that greeted us at the end of our hike.
Unfortunately, there was a minor downside to this hike. It would appear that, along with intense exercise, exercise at altitude brings on my least favourite Long-Covid legacy symptom, ‘The Phantom Smell.’ It bothered me on and off all day and for most of the rest of the evening. To add to that I also had to put up with the horrible, weird covid head that very occasionally rears its deeply unpleasant head. Fortunately the head thing (when my head feels like it wants to be sick) only lasted for a couple of hours rather than the 16 months I had previously endured.
The Virgin of the snows statue in daylight
Ups and downs eh? Despite it all, it was a great day and a great summit. A huge thanks to my mountain guide for the day, Mrs P, who not only chose the route but also led the way.
