A Pyrenean Adventure - high camps, vultures and whistling marmots

It wasn’t the most dignified of arrivals. Stranded at the final motorway toll payment station with hazard lights flashing and my credit card well and truly stuck in the machine slot, awaiting the “man from Pau” to come and extricate us. Something of a Winnie-the-Pooh moment. After an increasingly sweaty ten hour drive from the Channel coast Mark and I were tantalisingly within sight of our objective; at least we could admire the jaggy Pyrenean skyline from where we sat, albeit partially obscured by black thunderclouds. After half an hour, and the partial dismantling of the recalcitrant machine, I was presented with a slightly battered card and a receipt for payment, and we were waved on our way. Skirting the tacky fringes of miracle-industry Lourdes, and eleven and a half hours after rolling off the ferry at Caen, we chugged dazed into the campsite at Cauterets: put tent up, have shower, knock up quick functional meal on stove, go to bed, sleep deeply.

In theory we’d gained a day by covering the length of France in a single push, In practice of course we were too knackered to hit the trail next morning and wisely spent the day gathering our wits, planning in detail our first sortie into the mountains, and desperately trying to distil out of the absurd amount of kit and food in the car what was actually needed for this initial two day backpacking trip. The philosophy of the holiday was to do a series of separate mainly multi-day backpacking trips to get up and deeply amongst the Pyrenees, and through high camps experience them to the full without the subtle insulation and constraints that tend to come with mountain hut use. The obvious down side to this approach was the sizeable packs we would have to carry, often in hot sun, a combination I have neatly managed to avoid for most of my mountain experience – so this first outing was always going to be something of a personal test, not to mention a shakedown/proving of the whole approach for both of us for the next fortnight.

Beautiful Lac d'Estom at the head of the Vallee de Lutour

Thankfully, while initially a struggle to put on the next day, my rucsac didn’t prove crippling once in place, and as we steadily climbed southwards up the pleasant Vallee de Lutour the sun had the decency to stay behind the clouds for a few hours, helping us acclimatise to the level of effort required. We cruised nicely to the beautiful Lac d’Estom with its deep green waters, overlooked by many day trippers eating their lunches. We had our lunch too, we’d done over half the days distance so maybe this lark wasn’t going to be too bad after all. Unfortunately we hadn’t done half the days climbing or any of its rougher terrain, we’d ascended 700m so far but a squint at the map revealed another 900m to come, over the rugged Col d’Arraille. Hauling myself over this bouldery col so early in the holiday with full camping gear was the biggest physical struggle of the whole thing for me, and it was a very weary descent westward from there to our camping spot at 2150m, dramatically located directly below the north face of the Vignemale and one of the biggest rock walls in the Pyrenees.

The Vignemale (3298m)

No sooner had we got the tent up and got ourselves organised than weariness was temporarily eclipsed by the adrenaline rush of intense lightning, deafening thunder and torrential rain, the thunderclaps booming off the huge nearby rock faces. The weather persisted and we were forced to seal ourselves up in the tent and cook our evening meal listening to the lashing rain, which continued into the night. In a repeat of the miracle of the very first night I slept beautifully in the tent; this for a person who can’t normally fall asleep in a tent (a tricky shortcoming for a backpacking holiday), clearly total exhaustion is a good cure and one I was able to encore a few more times yet.

The morning dawned clear and sunny and we savoured our situation over what was to become our standard simple wild camping breakfast (large mug of tea, large bowl of muesli, both with rehydrated milk powder). The drama of the Vignemale dominated, gradually being lit by the rising sun, with a small but striking glacier sitting below it. The original plan had been to leave the tent where it was and climb the relatively easy Petit Vignemale summit in the morning before returning, packing up, and descending the Vallee de Gaube. However we were both too weary, after such a strenuous preceding day, to contemplate the climb and so packed up and made the most of the (actually rather long) beautiful descent down the Vallee de Gaube in sunny weather, to Lac de Gaube, Pont d’Espagne and ultimately the car at la Raillere.

Mark at Lac de Gaube, after descending the valley in the background

It was a satisfying first outing, which hence set the tone for the rest of the trip. It was good to simply confirm I could walk all day with a large enough rucsac to enable sustained backpacking, including substantial climbing and hot sun, and we’d both learnt that we wouldn’t be climbing 1600m in a single day with such packs again! After a nice rest day in Cauterets (cafes, pizzas,…) we were re-energised for a more substantial trip, this time a planned five day foray across the border into Spain and back, with possible summits in the offing. It was however interesting to note how reaching summits played a very secondary role on this holiday compared to most mountain walking I’ve done, it was more than satisfying enough to be traversing through the stunning high valleys and over cols that were generally only a few hundred metres lower than the multitude of jagged peaks.

Vallee du Marcadau

Despite the extra food that had to be carried we felt stronger on this longer outing and got into a good steady routine. The heavy packs made for a more measured pace and outlook that arguably allowed more to be taken in and appreciated. From Pont d’Espagne we wandered up the exquisite Vallee du Marcadau to camp at the Chapelle du Marcadau near the Refuge Wallon hut, within sight of the peaks clustered around the 3005m Grande Fache. We dozed off to the sound of the nearby stream and the cowbells from the slopes opposite. The next day was a particularly fine meander up through the small lakes of the Lacs de Cambales, toward the tricky boulder fields guarding the Col de Cambales. On this stretch we were regularly leapfrogging a friendly Spanish couple, Maria and Alberto, also with big packs and their beautiful white Pyrenean mountain dog which carried its own supplies in its panniers. We all converged at the col, which at 2706m was the highest point we hauled large rucsacs to, and had a chat over lunch with our new friends, one of whom thankfully spoke workable English. Large vultures could be seen drifting along the ridgelines looking for small furry fodder below as we ate. Further down the subsequent descent we met again for the last time, and I was astonished to see that Maria, having kicked off her boots and socks to chill out, had immaculate pink-painted toe nails; quite an achievement amongst hardened mountain goers who generally have battered and bruised toes!

The remote Chapelle du Marcadau, below the Grande Fache (centre)

Climbing through the Lacs de Cambales, towards the Col de Cambales (low point on the skyline)

Entering Spain shortly afterwards, we spent a lot of time finding a good campsite on rock-strewn ground in a neighbouring valley at about 2400m since the plan was to keep the tent here for two nights to allow a single relatively unladen day for peak bagging. It was a great perch for admiring the sunset over the Spanish mountains and the mists battling over the mountains from France; there is a natural weather divide between the two sides with mists regularly drifting south in the evenings but struggling to convincingly establish themselves on the Spanish side.

The next day was spent climbing eastward with light rucsacs up to the Col de la Fache back on the border, and then eschewing the obvious and popular ascent of Grande Fache itself (which Mark has climbed before) for the rarer pleasures of the Pic de Cambales to the north. Err, only to realise after a while that we had taken the wrong line and were climbing the rather more obscure Pene d’Aragon instead! We were suitably chilled about this however, and carried on with the serendipitous route change, to a very photogenic and prolonged lunch on the 2918m summit. Often the slightly lower peaks provide the best views of all, putting the highest mountains in context, and that certainly seemed the case on this occasion.

Mark on the summit of Pene d'Aragon (2918m)

After returning to the tent and another memorable overnight on the Spanish side, including watching the ubiquitous whistling marmots hurtling around the hillsides, it was time to head back into France. We’d originally intended to take two days over this but had realised it was achievable in one at a push, and that push came with deteriorating weather. Hence we scrabbled back up the Col de la Fache in light rain with occasional thunder, and began the long descent back to the Refuge Wallon and then the Vallee du Marcadau. The weather chased us all the way with waterproofs on and off more times than I can remember, and startling thunder and lightning at increasing frequency as we approached Pont d’Espagne.

Returning to Cauterets, for which we were developing a certain attachment, we felt we had earned a bit of a blow-out evening meal, but to keep costs down we headed for the take-away pizza parlour. Slightly anxious at the moderate size of box a customer left this establishment with, we decided that maybe three pizzas between two was the best policy to avoid any possibility of under-nourishment. Suffice it to say that this was an act of gross underestimation on our part, each of these three pizzas was a major meal in itself. We got through two and half before hurting enough to call a halt! Fortunately cold pizza is good packed lunch fodder so the leftovers kept us going for the next couple of days.

After another rest day, and drying out day for our kit, it was time to plan out the remainder of the holiday. We wanted to explore a little further from Cauterets, and also fancied a single day outing with smaller rucsacs, so we headed east over to Gavarnie in the car and did a strenuous and highly rewarding ascent of the distinct peak Pimene, which at 2801m proved a nicely varied and interesting climb and viewpoint. The Cirque de Gavarnie is justifiable regarded as a highlight of the whole Pyrenees, being a dramatic semi-circular distinctly terraced rock wall rising to 3000m, and we had an outstanding view of it from the summit ridge of Pimene.

Carl approaching the summit of Pimene (2801m)

Cirque de Gavarnie from Pimene

To finish the holiday we decided to go for one last special high wild camp, and headed further east to the less frequented Neouvielle region. The drive over to our start point near Bareges took us along the start of the ascent to the Col du Tourmalet, famous as a regular climb in the Tour de France. Quite a few cyclists were out and I confess to a compelling mixture of envy and sympathy for them, I would love to ride this and other classic continental climbs on my bike, yet the scale of even just this early part of the climb was inescapably daunting.

Setting off with full packs from the enticing looking country restaurant of Chez Louisette, typical of the establishments which the French seem to excel at, we headed south and steadily climbed up the steepening tracks to the rather ugly Refuge de la Glere at 2150m. Beyond this however we entered beautiful intricate higher ground from which we could look down on a number of small lakes and valleys, as well as out to wider horizons to the west and north. Idyllically a healthy stream was flowing through this just where we wanted to camp, providing our water supply and soundtrack for the night.

Camping at 2200m in the Neouvielle region

We savoured this camp and its situation which was in many ways the best of the holiday, and in the morning made a meandering foray further south, delayed by early rain, towards our original objective of the peak of Turon de Neouvielle at 3035m. However, due to the late start but also our general pleasure in our surroundings, we didn’t feel the need to push on to the summit and decided to turn around on reaching the high Lacs de Maniportet. This felt more like a success than a failure, an acknowledgement perhaps that simply ticking off summits risked tokenising a more rooted and all-encompassing appreciation of our surroundings and why we were really there. The whole fortnight had developed and matured such feelings, encouraged by our approach but also the very nature of the Pyrenees that seems subtly to invite it, a fine thing indeed to take back home.