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We were told to meet at 6pm at Heathrow Terminal 2, though our flight was not until 8.45pm. Giles and I obviously thought this was a trifle early, as we didn't arrive until 6.30pm. Waiting for us were the rest, as they had been for at least half an hour - everyone else being more than punctual. After checking in and the delights of discovering whose rucksack was the heaviest, probably Mark's, we had a 'light snack' at Burger King. The Air France flight was delayed three quarters of an hour but passed uneventfully, landing at midnight in Toulouse.
We caught three taxis to a campsite in the suburbs where we slept for four hours.
As an introduction to the pattern of the rest of the trip, we woke at 5am, and took the tents down. However we had the luxury of a whole bus journey into the centre of Toulouse before a long hike with our kit through the humid streets to the train station. We caught the 7.13am train which arrived in Lourdes at 9.23am after passing through some flat French countryside - the last flat land we were to see in a long time.
As soon as we arrived we loaded our kit into the coach to Pierrefitte so we could wander around Lourdes for an hour and a half. While the others wandered around the "grotto", cathedral and cave, at which Bernadette saw the Virgin Mary; Mark, Matt, Simon C, Giles and I went to look for shops. Matt and Simon went to buy some Gas, and failed, while Giles, Mark and I went to the supermarket, with directions of "plus loins". Well we did go far - about one and a half miles. As time ran out before the bus left, Giles went back to buy meths while Mark and I finished the shopping, forgetting a few things and not getting enough of others, paid for it and hastily packed with five minutes to go. After holding up an irate motorist to unpack the trolley into two handy boxes we left the supermarket. After eight yards we swapped the contents of the boxes, enabling me at least to carry mine. After another ten yards my box gave in so I loaded Mark up with more things in the middle of the car park entrance. After twenty yards of running, Mark's box collapsed and we realized that we were not going to be able to get all the shopping back with just the two of us, and anyway the bus would have gone by then. I stayed with most of the shopping in torn bags while Mark went back to see what the situation was - if anyone had stayed back from the coach. After a while, and some curious looks, I re-packed the shopping slightly more sensibly and made it a fair way back before being rescued by Mark, Giles, Anna and Nicola. Apparently, the directions had been "ne pas loin" and Matt and Simon C had gone to the correct supermarket, down a side street back in the centre of town. They then held the bus up for ten minutes, before unloading all the kit when we failed to show. Matt then just laid down, arm over his head, and groaned.
When we got back, Matt was still fairly annoyed, so Mark and I left with Nicola to do some more shopping, in the correct supermarket. We were told to leave after a while as they were closing - so we still had things left to buy. One of the bottles of water leaked, so Mark took it back, having to knock on the door to be let in. Then we stopped to buy some more bread in a boulangerie to supplement the broken baguettes we had bought earlier. Mark dropped one of the water bottles and it promptly broke, spilling water everywhere - we hurriedly left the shop.
Whilst having bread and jam Matt told us that there were not any buses between Luz and Gavarnie - our final destination that day, so he went to try and get a special one for us and got stuck in the phone box until Mark kicked the door. Most of us went wandering around Lourdes while Simon H guarded the kit. The cathedral area was very picturesque, though the scenes of all the elderly and sick in wheelchairs and portable beds moved some of the group. On the way down, the road was crowded with loads of tourist shops selling anything from jewellery to Virgin Mary water carriers to fill up with holy water beside the cave.
We all made it to the coach at 4.45pm, which had the same driver as the previous one - so we got a few comments made to other drivers. We changed buses at Pierrefitte to go on to Luz. There a minibus, specially contracted, drove us to Gavarnie along a nice, perfectly safe, windy mountain road.
After discovering the absence of a camp site where the map said it should be, we went just outside Gavarnie to one where we slept the night away in the fog.
The mists of the previous evening had cleared sufficiently for us to see the Cirque de Gavarnie on waking. Suitably inspired, we packed all but one tent, and sorted out the food and equipment for a period of time away from base. Our first day of walking aimed to take us to the Refuge des Espuguettes, at which we hoped to camp - but at 2027m, it also ensured a fairly stiff climb to reach.
After the ritual "Who's got the heaviest pack?" - a ritual that was soon to become well established, we set off for the hills. We were soon into the swing of walking - striding past the 'true' tourists ie non-backpackers and those riding a horse, donkey or mule. However we were rapidly brought up short on being unable to find the path out of Gavarnie. Map reading was therefore brought into play - meaning a halt and rest after five minutes - and a chance for the tourists not only to catch us up - but to pass us . . .
The path upwards was steep - but zig-zagged sufficiently for us to climb upwards without too much difficulty. Water was soon in demand however, with the mid-day sunshine making it very hot beneath the packs. Halfway up, we spotted a hut - which we were assured, was as shepherd's hut, clearly marked on the map. Although not the refuge, it gave us something to aim for, and an incentive to get there through having an immediate association with lunch. The last section up to the hut though was particularly steep, resulting in some people struggling when the steepness was combined with the heat and the carrying of heavy packs. Hence the first consultation of the Gregson pack - for 'symptoms and treatment of sunstroke'. However, all was forgotten (and forgiven), on finally reaching the hut and discovering that its interior housed not sheep but people, together with running water and a toilet - the Refuge des Espuguettes. "But of course," said Matt, "encouragement and a sense of achievement was all I was aiming for". And this was the person who was supposed to be map-reading us through the next fortnight . . .
More walking was scheduled for the afternoon - but enthusiasm was waning. A high ridge was clearly visible, and it was suggested that this ought to be our aim. Moderation by the masses ensued however, with an eventual gentle amble to a nearer mound resulting. Photographs, and a doze later, we returned to the tents at the refuge and our second night of dehydrated curry [Yum Yum].
Today involved the ascent of our first peak : Piméné (2801m). Still fresh and eager at this stage in the trip, we got up at 5.30am, whilst it was still dark, and were ready to set off at 6.30am. The plan was to do all the climbing before the sun got too hot at midday. The climb was more reasonable than I had expected, except that the gradient increased as we neared the top. The views on the ascent were absolutely unbelievable : we watched the refuge as it dwindled away from far below us, and could look across the valley to the Brèche de Roland and Vignemale (3298m) the highest mountain in the region with it's impressive glacier. At 8am, we stopped to watch the dawn break over the mountains to our right, again a fantastic and quite moving experience.
After passing a mad Frenchman who was cooking his breakfast about 50m below the summit, having slept out on the ridge all night, we reached the summit at 9am. We spent forty five minutes at the top, taking panoramic photographs, admiring the awe-inspiring views of Vignemale, the Gavarnie valley and the Cirque de Gavarnie, and generally recovering from the climb. On the way down, we split into two groups: those who wanted to walk along the ridge via Petit Piméné (2667m) and descend via some steep scree; and those of us who were not so fit (or so mad) and just wanted to get back, (Simon H, Giles and myself). We duly set off back down the path to the refuge, a path which was very twisty and had lots of hairpin bends. We caught sight of the others silhouetted against the ridge a couple of times.
We arrived back at the tents at about midday, and the others were only about an hour behind us : they had had to come down the same way as us, as part of the ridge walk had turned into a serious scramble.
After a rather meagre lunch of crispbread sandwiches and a rather battered apple, we rested a while before striking camp, as we had decided to return to Gavarnie a day earlier than originally planned. Mark, Matt and Stephen set off first, to buy some food, and the rest of us set off back, with all our kit, at 3pm. We made good going, arriving back at Gavarnie at 4.30pm - one hour quicker than our ascent the previous day. The signpost at Gavarnie pointing up to the Refuge des Espuguettes claimed that the ascent should take one and a half hours, which we thought was a tad optimistic.
Being fit and eager, (or Mark and Matt claimed we were), we agreed to push on towards the Brèche de Roland. Luckily for my legs, however, we got a taxi, (the same man making two trips), up to the car park at the end of the ski road. The taxi fare was worth the expense, as it saved a long climb. From the car park to a suitable camp-site, near a stream of pure glacier melt, was about half a mile. At least, that is what it seemed to me, carrying a rucksack which I could hardly lift. We settled into what was to be our usual après-walk routine: pitch tents, cook a Vesta/Beanfeast meal and sleep. Mark's suggestion of a 6am start the next morning was vociferously overruled, and we snuggled into our sleeping bags soon after 9pm, exhausted after a long day.
We were originally planning to get up at 6am, but eventually that idea was quashed by Matt, who said 7am, then Mark said to get up when we felt like it, so we got up at 9am. We were instructed, by Matt, not to wash in the stream as it polluted it for people downstream. Having struck camp, we (group 2) had to wait for the others to get packed up. We eventually left by 11.50am, pausing on the way to refill water bottles at the stream running down from a glacier above us.
The plan for today was to reach the Refuge de la Brèche de Roland. The climb was relatively hard going, but it was worth it for the views obtained. The valley beneath us was blanketed by cloud (a few photographs of this were taken). The most interesting part was crossing a fairly large stream (quite steep) where we had to let other walkers past who were slightly faster than us (while we were in quite precarious positions sometimes). We stopped for lunch at 2pm about 200m short of the refuge. By this stage, the actual size of the Brèche itself was more apparent, rather than the centimetre tall one we had seen from the likes of Piméné. We pitched our tent just below the refuge when we arrived, group 1 were a long way down the hill, and rested before dinner.
Before going to bed, we packed our day sacs in preparation for the next morning, and lunch was also made.
We arose at 5.30am, and after a cooked breakfast both groups were finally ready to go by 7.30am. Our route for today involved reaching Le Taillon (3144m) via the Brèche de Roland (2807m) from the refuge at 2587m. Our group was going to attempt La Tour de Marboré (3009m), but this route looked somewhat dangerous, involving a wire traverse for which we did not have enough slings for, so Le Taillon it was.
The climb up to the Brèche involved some steep scree slopes (plus a bit of ice to stroll over), so we found the ice axes pretty useful as a third leg. The Brèche de Roland is a pass into Spain on the Cirque, where there is a 100m high gap in the ridge, rather like a missing tooth - it is a very impressive physical feature of the area. Once at the Brèche we were in Spain and here the two groups split - the others off to the Pic de Marboré (left) and we, with Nicola, went right. Le Taillon was not that far but there were some difficult moments where steep and loose scree had to be crossed. We reached the peak at 10.10am. A magnificent 360 degree panorama was to be seen - Le Taillon is one of the highest points for a fair distance.
We began the descent at 10.40am after photographs and chocolate. We took it fairly slowly downward so that the group remained together as far as possible. By 12.30pm we were back at the Brèche, where we had lunch and Simon went back a bit along the path to take some more photographs.
Going back down the long scree slopes from the Brèche was quite interesting. You could either step and slide (at various speeds) which required a fair degree of confidence, and at fast speeds, insanity, but at least it was rapid, or you could try and find a stable route down - a slow and arduous procedure (not to mention the impossibility of it). Members of our group tried each method. The tent was reached by 1.20pm. The rest of the day was free for us whilst we waited for group 1 to return.
The day promised an early start. At least it did for the other group, who were ready and raring to go at 7am, unlike us, who decided a snug warm sleeping bag was infinitely preferable to the cold, dark outside. However, being the heroic (ha ha) bunch that we are, we braved the freezing conditions and prepared for the formidable day ahead. Climbing up to the Brèche de Roland for the first time proved interesting. While some raced up the loose scree, others found it more unnerving and before they ventured up the second, steeper scree covered ice slope, I showed them how to use their ice axes for braking and stability. It was therefore a while before we reached the Brèche, where we split up into two groups. The heroic walkers set off towards the Pic de Marboré (3248m) - today's aim. En route we had to make use of a steel handrail [just like heroes would] which we clipped onto. After that, our route finding difficulties started, the map's uselessness and guide-book's vagueness combining to slow our progress, along with clambering over boulders and climbing a steep scree chimney.
Through a minor detour, we reached the summit of the Tour de Marboré (3009m), and having celebrated with a piece of chocolate and a sip of tea each, we continued along the scree terraces in the blazing sun. The route took us along the edge of the Cirque de Gavarnie, giving us impressive views of the sheer sided cirque and Gavarnie 1400m below us. We then came across our first snowfield which we actually had to cross, enabling me to try my crampons, which promptly fell off my boot as they were not sized correctly. Mark, feeling the heat of the day, decided to lie on the ice of the snowfield which after a few seconds he realised was freezing cold. A friendly Frenchman guided us on our way in his best English and shortly afterwards we created some shade with our rucksacks and enjoyed (?) a late lunch of stale cracottes.
We managed to reach the base of the ascent to the Pic de Marboré, but as time was getting on we acknowledged that we would not be able to reach the fairly distant summit, and so set off under the searing afternoon sun back to the Brèche. The journey back was eventful for losing our way several times; having a snowball fight on a snowfield; having to climb down from a scree terrace and lower down the rucksacks; running out of water and having to fill the bottles with dusty glacier melt; having fun climbing down the scree chimney with a rucksack on; the incredible heat reflecting from the white rocks; sunburn; and the coolness of the cave in which we escaped the heat of the sun. We arrived back after an eleven hour day of walking tired, but having experienced some of the best of the rugged Spanish terrain (all that effort and the other group still climbed higher).
Due to a watch being set for 5.30pm, it was not too surprising that the day started later than planned. Simon C and myself managed to get up and leave the refuge in eight minutes once we had arisen, in order to arrive at the ice caves to recognoitre and set up an abseil, prior to the rest of the group arriving.
We climbed up to the Brèche in darkness, ready to witness the beautiful sunrise from there. After having taken a tortuous route following some randomly placed cairns, we arrived at the caves. Some time was spend fiddling with crampons before we entered.
The caves were very impressive, even though much of the ice had melted being late in the season after a particularly hot summer. We proceeded through the two main ice halls and reached the back of the cave, where light could be seen. We failed to complete the traverse, after some searching had failed to reveal the lower exit. The upper exit involved a 10m climb, so we decided not to bother. We then spent some time placing the ice screws so that we could go down Niagara, an ice fall that dropped away from the side of the entrance hall.
In the meantime, the rest of the group had arrived, having found a more efficient route, and so we took two groups back through the system with everyone spending perhaps three-quarters of an hour there. The quote of the day had to go to Nicola, who on reaching a wriggly bit announced, "I suffer from claustrophobia!"
In the switch over between the two groups, I inadvertently dropped a bolt from the crampons - it disappeared down a small crevice between some rocks. After Lisa had removed half the rocks from the mountainside and after some manual dexterity with a pair of tweezers, it was fortunately rescued.
Once everyone had had a thorough look, and Simon H had put his boot into an ice melt pool, five of the group left to return to the refuge whilst Simon C, Nicola, Stephen and myself spent a short while going up and down Niagara, testing those oh so safely placed ice screws. It was a bit of a rush and we didn't get far.
On returning to the refuge in the heat of the day, we stopped for a quick lunch and equipment pack, before setting off for Gavarnie. Having completed a fairly tiring day already, it was not surprising that the group soon split into two, and later three, with Simon C and myself going ahead (ostensibly to cook the dinner, but in reality just to walk faster).
We celebrated our return to Gavarnie with 1kg of spaghetti and inevitably a Beanfeast. A large inroad was made on the plastic keg of wine, and I finally got to bed at 1.30am having sorted out the food and equipment for the two groups - which were to split the next day. Naturally we were oblivious to the ERM drama which was being enacted at that moment.
The much awaited first rest day was upon us, but group 2 still had to get up early (ish) in order to catch the bus to Cauterets. We of group 1 (or at least some of us), however had a lie in and were rewarded with a cup of coffee in bed. We eventually got up to help the other group carry everything to the bus, and I had the (very difficult) task of laying about the camp site to look after every thing that was left.
When the rest of our group returned the day had become sunny and hot - ideal for a lazy day! The group also returned with food and newspapers, so we tucked into a late breakfast whilst considering the fate of sterling. People read books, people lazed around in the sun, people had cold showers (for the sake of 6F was it really worth it?) and before long lunch was upon us - so the rest of the baguettes were produced and duly eaten. After all the morning's exertion in the hot sun, a cool drink was required so we undertook the long and arduous walk to the camp site cafe. Some of us stood in the shade under the trees, whilst others waded across the stream - only to wade back again. We then settled down around a table in the shade and more book reading occured, and the much needed drink was drunk.
In the afternoon we visited every postcard shop in Gavarvie that we could find, as well as going in the tourist information office and examining restuarant and cafe menus for the evening meal. After a close study of postcard prices (and standards) about 60 postcards and stamps were bought, the only problem being that they then needed writing!
We returned to the camp site where I got insulted on lots of postcards and it was soon dinner time (not that I'm dwelliing on the lack of dehydrated food this day, or anything like that), so we headed back into Gavarnie. In shorts and waterproofs we were hardly suitably attired for posh restaurants but they seemed not to mind (something to do with the number of empty tables maybe?). After a very nice meal we had coffee and postcard writing to finish up with.
On returning to the camp site the five of us piled into one tent for a game (or two, maybe three. . .) of cheat and I finished off my last postcard during the deals. We eventually retired to bed well prepared for the rest of the trip.
A lazy morning was spent in Gavarnie, sleeping off the excellent meal we had enjoyed the previous night, packing up rucksacks, shopping for food and booking the four wheel drive jeep taxi. At 1.30pm we piled into the Mitsubishi for the best journey of the trip. As our driver expertly manoeuvred his vehicle over the rough ground I conversed fluently with him, understanding clearly every word of his replies [ha ha].
We reached the Barrage and clambered out, the friendly taxi driver shaking each one of us by the hand and directing us on our way. We enjoyed a good and filling lunch before starting our walk up to the refuge. We went at a fairly brisk pace, passing impressive cascades and crossing a "permanent" snow bridge and thirty paces of nevé which had all melted. Simon found the pace a bit difficult so we slowed somewhat, as we crossed streams of pure glacier melt where we filled our water bottles, before reaching Count Russell's caves. These were near the snout of the Vignemale glacier and were dank, smelly and infested with unidentifiable rodents. From here it was just one last pull up to the area of flat land on which the strange building of the Refuge de Bayssellance had been constructed. We admired the views, felt the cold, and pitched our tents ready for the highest level camp of the trip , a distinctly chilly 2650m above sea level.
A cold night's camping at the Refuge de Bayssellance, coupled with a reluctance to vacate sleeping bags, ensured that our departure for an assault on Vignemale Pique Lonque (3298m) was a little delayed. However, once underway we made rapid progress to the snout of the Vignemale glacier - but here we were forced to slow. With no obvious path up either the glacier or the lateral moraines at its sides, we were reduced to scrambling up the latter - moving from cairn to cairn. This was hard and hot work - particularly for those carrying the two packs. After a couple of hours we found ourselves facing steep snow fields, which required crampons and ice-axes to negotiate safely. However, negotiated they were, but we still remained some distance from our goal. Further scrambling took us to a precarious, narrow ridge with sheer drops on either sides, and after a cautious crossing, the path seemed to peter out into nothing. It was here that our assault died a death. A quick scout around revealed no obvious route upwards. Lunch followed - food for thought, and a democratic decision resulted in which we decided to forget any further climbing and to spend time on the glacier that lay to our side. After roping ourselves together and donning crampons, we gingerly stepped from the security of the moraine, onto the fairly thin and crevassed ice at the side of the glacier. Once away from the side though, we soon gained confidence and set off upwards. By this time, the cloud had come down, coupling with the ice and snow beneath us to produce a chilly climate - a stark contrast to the morning when the sun reflecting off the white rocks had resulted in substantial temperatures.
Coming down the glacier proved to be more tricky in terms of stability than going up - and it was Stephen who had Simon practicing his much talked about ice-braking techniques. However, after several breaks to admire the sheer drops through the glacier that many of the crevasses represented, we were soon down, and once more on terra firma. Descent from the glacier was rapid, and we were soon on the path that took us back to the Refuge de Bayssellance.
Our return heralded a minor hiccup, in that no water was available from the Refuge. However reserves provided enough for a truly memorable evening meal - corned beef hash . . . After washing up achieved more by will-power and belief in the impossible than by water, we settled down for our customary game of cheat - an intellectual challenge of tactics and reverse psychology that provided the necessary hour or so of entertainment and mental stimulation required before hitting the sack. When both mentally and physically drained, sleep comes so much more easily . . .
The water was still off in the morning, but a lake that wasn't too far away provided the necessary water, and we headed off from the Refuge Bayssellance towards the Refuge Oulettes de Gaube. The day began with a gentle climb from the refuge up to the col. The original route had been planned from various guide books, which told us that we needed to climb 800m to the col, but once we saw it we consulted the map to discover that we only had to climb 80m.
Once we reached the col we had a rest while discussing what to do next. The decision was to leave the rucksacks at the col and to climb Petit Vignemale (3032m) partly as we had plenty of spare time, and partly to improve our record of two peaks climbed (Piméné, La Tour de Marboré) and two peaks failed (Pic de Marboré, Vignemale). The guide book described the climb as easy, yet offering good views of the rock face of Petit Vignemale, and we even climbed it in under the time given by the guide book! From the top we had spectacular views of the glacier we had been on the previous day, into the valley we were about to descend and of most of the surrounding peaks.
After absorbing the view we returned to our rucksacks and started the descent. Before long we were looking for a suitable lunch spot. We found a large rock that was reasonably flat and started making lunch, having previously discovered it tasted much better fresh than if it was made the morning (or evening) before. As we continued the descent Matt decided he had had enough of us and turned to his Walkman for company instead.
After a lot more down, we arrived at the refuge at about 2pm and proceeded to the camping area which was grassy, making a nice change from the earth and gravel we had been camping on at the previous two refuges. A debate now ensued about what to do for the rest of the afternoon, Mark felt we hadn't walked nearly far enough and I thought the day had been a bit short. Matt and Simon however just wanted to laze about for the rest of the day, so they told Mark, Nicola and I to go whilst they put the tents up.
After a look at the map we decided that a short walk down the valley and a 400m climb up to some lakes was in order, so we grabbed our waterproofs and left. The path along the valley was clearly marked and we walked along it watching out for a path off to the left, when we seemed to have gone too far I asked what the path being two dashes then a gap meant, Mark consulted the key and came up with the fact that the gaps were "interesting, but unmarked paths". So not knowing whether or not there would be a path to follow, a quick comparison of the map to the valley side suggested an obvious route and sure enough we soon found some cairns to follow.
A brisk climb brought us to the hanging valley from which a waterfall dropped into the main valley. Just behind the waterfall was a small blue pool, which was wonderfully clear. The pool was some way below the path, had steep grassy banks rising on three sides and was being fed by a small waterfall. After admiring this for a while we continued up a short way to the larger lake which fed the waterfall. This was similarly coloured and proved to be an irresistible paddling opportunity to Mark and Nicola.
After much waiting for clouds to disappear in order to take photographs we headed back to the end of the hanging valley; here we found a large rock in the sun from which we could see up the main valley. The view across the other side of the valley was a very long rocky ridge that looked spectacular because it was so massive. Looking back up the valley we could see the river running along the valley floor 400m below us, and at the head of the valley Petit Vignemale rose to the left and the bulk of Pique Longue stood to the right of it. After being suitably impressed by the view I lay back on the rock, put my sun hat over my face and enjoyed the sun.
At around 5pm we left our rock and headed back to the tents. On arrival we discovered that the tents had been put up, but dinner had not been started - so out came the Beanfeast paella. This was rather watery, but luckily tasted quite nice as today had been assigned a 'no complaining about the food' day to give Mark a break from the harassment we had been giving him. Whilst Mark and I cooked the dinner Simon demonstrated his sewing skills (or lack thereof) by mending the rip he had earlier put in one of the tents. With some assistance from Nicola (I can't think what Matt was doing at this time) the tent was mended and held up well for the rest of the trip.
After the washing up we played cheat (as per usual). By this stage of the trip Nicola had started winning some games and much to Mark's amazement was actually beating him. We then settled down for the night, aware that we had to climb the big scree slope the next morning.
A 9.30am start had been promised the night before. The motivation for early morning starts though, appeared to have an inverse relationship with the length of the time we had been camping and at 7.30am on a cold morning, more than a little reluctance to arise was apparent. Fortunately though, a martyr in the shape of Stephen arose from the Vango and breakfast was subsequently underway. Not only did this hero of heroes provide all four who remained in sleeping bags with cups of tea and coffee, he also acted as postman, delivering various envelopes from one tent to the other in recognition of the end of Mark's second decade. Further accolade to this great achievement followed when not only was a cup of coffee provided, but muesli and cold, lumpy milk - breakfast in bed.
After packing and just making the 9.30am start, we set off to meet the other group. Having camped on the floor of a valley though, this necessitated a long, hard climb up to the Col d'Arratile - a climb that took about an hour and a half. We weren't helped by the fierce wind and the squally hail showers, let alone the scree-like paths on which one pace forward resulted in two steps back. However, we finally made it to the relative shelter of the far side of the col, from where the majority of the path to the refuge was downhill, and as such uneventful.
We reached the Refuge Wallon at about 2pm, having failed to meet the other group who we were expecting to meet halfway along the route we had just come. They were found however - asleep in their tent.
The refuge was closed and consequently lacked water and a toilet. It was therefore decided to head back to civilisation the same afternoon instead of waiting until the next day. Hence we set off to the halfway point - the Pont d'Espagne, but in true donkey and carrot style, this soon became Cauterets itself.
Until the Pont d'Espagne, we remained together, but after a refuel of the remaining chocolate and emergency rations, we soon split into two, so that the campsite could be found and the tents put up in a reasonable time. After a 'brisk' walk to Cauterets with Lisa as guide, civilisation surrounded us, and newsagents presented ample opportunity for those who pretended to know about Norman Lamont, the ERM and the devaluation of the pound, to catch up with the shaky position of the UK economy. After various debates as to whether we should spend our remaining francs, or change them back to sterling, we headed down to the camp site where the store tent awaited us.
After setting up the tents, and having once again been reunited with the rest of the group, our stomachs called, and we set off on the quest for food. Lisa et al recommended a "little shack-like place" that they had previously been to, and it was there that we headed. The "shack-like place" was indeed a shack - a garden shed for a kitchen and a conservatory for a dining room. It had atmosphere however, and after ordering what was mostly salad for starters with steak and chips to follow, we encountered Albert - the 'restaurant' owner. Albert took a great liking to our group as a whole, and after serenading us for half an hour, proceeded to encourage us to join in. An hour and much embarrassment later, we were still struggling with 'London's Burning', and Matt was still struggling valiantly to translate. 'Happy Birthday' had had a good airing by this time and Lisa had performed well as a "One Woman Act". Maybe it was the wine that saw us through the evening, which was described by one as "an ordeal", - but who knows.
We managed to catch the 10am bus to Luz, and the other group did manage to drag themselves out of bed in time to see us off, and to help carry some of the kit. We arrived at Luz at 10.50am, unloaded all twelve bags, and went shopping to buy the food for the next five days. At 1.47pm, we caught a bus to Pierrefitte, unloaded all the gear again, and had a forty five minute wait at a bus station miles out of the town centre, before once again loading everything on a bus (finally) bound for Cauterets. This left at 3pm, arriving in Cauterets at 3.21pm. Oh, the wonders of French transport, getting three buses for what is in actual fact a very short distance as the crow flies!
We soon found a suitable camp-site at Cauterets - not only was it only 200m from the bus station, but it had good, clean facilities and a van selling crêpes, pizza, etc! We pitched the spare tent and put all the excess kit in it. This tent was to remain on the camp-site for the next five nights, whilst we were to walk up to the Pont d'Espagne, camp there for two nights, then walk up to the Refuge Wallon and camp there until the others joined us.
That evening, we had our first meal in civilisation after a week of Vestas and Beanfeasts, and very welcome it was. The 'restaurant' (it was more like a shack) was called 'Pêche à la Truite', and I was the only one brave enough to order the trout. We watched in apprehension as the owner went out to the trout pond, eventually managed to catch a trout and brought it in, still flapping. Surprisingly, it tasted very good, and we spent a very pleasant evening, except for getting soaked in a torrential downpour on the way back to the camp-site, (only Lisa and Giles were sensible enough to bring their waterproofs). The weather seemed to be changing: it had been a misty evening, and aniseed-ball-sized hailstones were a rather painful experience.
After waking up at 8am and packing the kit, we had pain au chocolate and a bowl of hot chocolate or coffee for breakfast, the latter being provided by the food caravan on site. We left the site at 11.45am in the fog to go to the centre of Cauterets, where Anna and Simon faffed around a bit until 12.15pm. It was cold and damp as we left Cauterets, passing the thermal baths and up to some shops before leaving the road. The rest of the walk was in the forest, underneath trees which had stored water from last night and now gave us a shower, and beside a river with lots of waterfalls all the way up. The fog lasted all day, spoiling some probably magnificent views of the river and the valley. We reached the Pont d'Espagne at 3.30pm where we had a hot drink in the cafe, finally got down to writing a few postcards and used their excellent toilet, with toilet paper provided! We passed the base of the chair lift before walking to the Refuge du Clot and the aire de bivouac beside it. We pitched the tent and had dinner, with my birthday cake of chocolate swiss roll and custard. As usual we went to bed fairly early.
The alarms went off at 6.30am. We checked the weather and found it to be clear, but none of us had the energy to get up straight away. By the time I awoke again, it was gone 8am, and I leapt out of my sleeping bag (because the ground was uncomfortable, not because I wanted to). This meant that I got to make breakfast again. We finally left the tent at 10.15am, to walk up to the Lac de Gaube, 200m above us. The ascent followed a zig-zagging path below the chair lift and a fierce sun, so we were all glad of a rest when we reached the top. Then followed a flat kilometre walk to the lake, from where we could see Vignemale, the mountain the other group were heading towards.
Arriving there at 11.30am, we decided to do our own thing until lunch an hour later. I tried to walk along the east side of the lake (the opposite side to the path), but had to turn back half-way as I had come to a sheer cliff roughly 50m high going into the water. Anna had also gone for a wander round, while Giles and Lisa sat by the water sunbathing.
After lunch, Anna and I went along the path to the south end of the lake, and made our way up to the Cabane du Pinet. This walk included: throwing stones at semi-submerged rocks; paddling across shallow streams; climbing five metre high rocks; crossing fast-flowing rivers and walking up steep paths. We rejoined Giles and Lisa by the restaurant at the north end of the lake at 2.45pm, and made our way back down to the Pont d'Espagne together to photograph the falls in sunlight, rather than the mist of the previous day.
At the cafe, we decided to treat ourselves to an ice cream sundae, one of the few indulgences of the trip. Half an hour later, we saw lots of clouds racing up the valley towards us, so we hurried back to the tent to cook dinner while we could still see. As it happened, the cloud did not descend on us, so we had another clear evening.
Lisa cooked dinner, and by 6.30pm, we had eaten and cleared away. So she and Giles washed and went to bed. Anna and I decided that it was far too early for bed, so we went down to the cafe and had a couple of drinks. Anna also wanted to phone home, but only after 8pm when it was a cheaper rate. Then we returned, and were in our sleeping bags by 9pm, with alarms set for 6am the following morning.
We awoke at 6am, and after packing everything up were ready to set off at 8.10am. After a twenty minute toilet stop, we finally began our walk to the Refuge Wallon. An hour later, the Pont du Coupon was reached, where we had the choice of either continuing down the Vallée du Marcadou straight to the refuge, or going on a detour to see some lakes. This would involve a 900m climb and a 600m descent. Never let it be said however, that we would refuse a challenge, so the lakes it was. We took turns at map reading : first Giles, then Simon, then me. Simon's map reading was - how can I put it tactfully? - inventive. As he admitted, he could tell where things were on paper, it was just relating them to the surrounding landscape that was the problem.
We finally arrived at the Lac du Pourtet, the highest point at 2402m (and our lunch destination), at 12.45pm. The climb had been slow and arduous, not least because of the very hot weather, making the path seem twice as steep and causing us to sweat a lot. On reaching the lake however, there was a chilly breeze whipping around, so we stayed there for only forty five minutes, just enough time to eat lunch and rest a little. Then it was on to Lac Nère, where I took over the map reading, then down to the Refuge Wallon, which we reached at about 3.30pm.
The lakes were worth the hard climb : they varied in colour from colour from orange the edge (due to the colour of the rock) to green and then a deep turquoise blue in the middle. The views from the top were also impressive. The Refuge Wallon is in a valley which actually contains some vegetation, unlike much of the area around. The surrounding mountains are clothed in pine forests, and the river next to which we camped had some has some beautiful small waterfalls.
After pitching the tent and making dinner, and lunch for the next day, we planned what we were going to do the next day when the other group were supposed to be rejoining us. Lisa said that her state of mind if they had not turned up would be : 3pm - mild worry, 5pm - worry, 7pm - panic.
We were all in bed by 9pm, tired out and with aching legs and feet (at least mine were aching), after a long day.
We had intended on getting up at 6.30am, but when the alarms went off, nobody moved (the early mornings were catching up on us), so we set a 7.30am reveille. An hour later Anna finally stirred, and by the time we ate breakfast, it was nearly 9.15am.
We came to a consensus that it was too cold, cloudy and windy for an enjoyable 400m climb to the planned rendezvous at the Lac d'Arratille, so we played a few hands of bridge, then decided to go on a short distance exploration of the valley. Splitting up, I initially followed the river up the valley for about a kilometre, until I met a path, then crossed a bridge and walked back to the tent on the other side of the river. This took half an hour. By this time, Giles and Lisa were about to set off following the route I had taken, so I decided to leave them to their own devices, and climbed up the steep side of the valley until I reached a large rock, where I sat for nearly 45 minutes watching all the comings and goings below (looking at the map later, I found that the rock was roughly 120m up from the valley floor).
While I was up there, I spotted Anna walking back from further down the valley. She reached the tent, realised nobody was there, so went onto a nearby rock and scanned the valley for signs of the rest of us. I waved, but she was not looking in my directon, so did not spot me. Meanwhile, I had grown bored with sitting there, so started down to the tent to join her. It seemed much steeper descending than ascending, so I had to zig-zag down.
Giles and Lisa returned, and we had lunch shortly after. Then we lazed around, disscussing the holiday. Just before 2pm, the other group arrived. Lisa and Giles gave Mark his present; an inflatable beer bottle, which he blew up and strapped to his rucksack).
This day started with a late awakening for most, following the previous day's exertions. The delights of the morning consisted of a leisurely breakfast and a hot shower, the first of the trip (hot that is), which even Stephen had (and looked all the better for it, despite the remaining pathetic beard). It is rumoured that he was introduced to the delights of shampoo for the first time that morning.
It was something of a lazy day, wandering around the shops in Cauterets and packing all the tents away in our rucksacks in preparation for our bus journey to Lourdes in the evening. This was along some nausea-inducing hairpin bends, arriving in Lourdes as darkness was falling. A longish wander around the town followed as we tried to find the campsite from signs dotted around the town. Having sent Simon H up a dark alley from which he fortunately returned, we eventually found the campsite, somebody's back garden. We pitched camp and then wandered down towards the "grotte" of Lourdes, just catching the end of a multi-lingual candlelit service outside the great Basilica, attended by hundreds of people, many of them elderly and in wheelchairs. It was a depressing, sad sight, and everybody had their own feelings and views about the religion and atmosphere of the shrine.
We spent a while contemplating before walking back through the tacky souvenir shops to the campsite, where the major tragedy of the trip struck. Mark lost his toothbrush, and much sitting outside the tent in the rain followed as he realised it necessitated the purchase of another, on the final day of the trip. However, a simple look in the tent was all that was needed to resolve that situation. The thought provoking day was not at an end before a torch shone onto my tent from the campsite owner, to whom I had to explain in my fluent[!] French that we had arrived late and had not known where to pay, and to whom I had to hand over my passport as a guarantee that we would not skip the campsite without paying, and then to sleep . . .
As morning settled on Lourdes the peace and tranquility of the camp site was shattered as Mark bounced out of bed with joy that his tooth brush was still with him and disappeared to the toilet block to happily brush his teeth. The other two of us lazed around in the tent for a while hoping that the next door caravan, which had squeaked a lot when the front wheel was wound up, would not run over us. It wasn't long before food hit the top of the agenda (again), this time our food organiser favoured buying something fresh for breakfast, but the other joint organiser wanted the left over lunches eaten up. The situation was resolved by Mark (being up) going to buy fresh breakfast for everyone, but just to avoid conflict I felt obliged to eat some of the old lunches as well. We then strapped lunch to the side of our rucksacks and left the camp site.
We then had a gentle walk to Lourdes train station (passing the bus stop outside again) and had an unevetful journey back to Toulouse-Mantibau; if anything happened on this journey I think I was too tired to notice it. In Toulouse we walked to a convenient fountain where we stopped for lunch before heading on to the central square which was to be our base for exploring Toulouse. Upon reaching the square "That wasn't there before." was all Matt could say to the market, so we retraced our steps to a park and dumped our sacks around the bench. Some complex time table was planned so that everyone had a chance to see Toulouse.
After visiting the offending market we headed down some streets more or less at random and eventually found a news agent that sold English papers. We then returned to the park bench where I planned to spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing reading my paper, however people kept borrowing sections of it and I kept being interrupted, not least by an english speaking French man who thought we were Americans and on learning otherwise asked our opinions on the pound and Europe.
After much debate we decided to go to MacDonalds for dinner, and a mathematical problem ensued - how to get the most food with the given amount of change so that breaking into a new note would not be necessary, failing to come up with a solution I just boought what I liked (having a few problem pronouncing "Le DoubleCheeseBurger"). We then made some presentations to the organisers of the trip, because we had all enjoyed it even there had been a few organisational mishaps.
The bus station turned out to be next to the train station, so we had to walk back there where I was obliged to look up the most recent chess score in my paper for Mark. Nicola was presented with a small Lourdes water container in appreciation of her water collecting activities. Then we made our way to Toulouse airport.
This was the least planned section. The idea was to try to stay in the airport over night as the flight left at 7.00am and one portion of the ticket said to book in two hours before departure. So we arrived at the airport and found some comfortable looking seats. I slumped down on the chair, rested my feet on a rucksack and relaxed, that is until my feet were suddenly grabbed and I was sliding across the floor on my back. Mark then suddenly let go having seen airport security looking at hin. A little later the security man wanded over and told us that we were not allowed to sleep there. We nodded in vague agreement and he went away again, a talk with the reception desk then informed us that we could stay there overnight.
We played cards for a while, then as the airport was preparing to close for the night two security guards came back and told us again that we could not stay there and demanded our passports. Matt attempted to ask them what was going on and that the lady at the desk had said we could stay there, but they explained nothing. They then told Matt to come with them and started walking off around the corner, Mark made to follow them to go as well but was turned away. Mark was by now getting a little worried so went over to the reception desk where the lady on duty just happened to be bilingual. She promised to find out what was going on and told us that they were actual police, not just security guards. Mark had by calmed down a little so explained to us that he thought foreign police were only allowed to examine your passport, not take it away from you, he also felt it was unreasonable to take just one person away from the group. After a while another of the police people came out and demanded that Lisa and Giles went into the office as well. At this stage we thought we were about to be thrown out of the airport and would have to try to find some where to put a few tents. Then the lady from the reception desk came back and said they had decided to let us stay, but we were to be confined to a small section of the building. Relieved at this we relaxed and some people got karrimats out to lie on the floor, when in came the cleaners. "I can't wait to feel those brushes all over me!" said Matt, but was disapointed because the cleaners had developed a cost cutting method of only cleaning the central section people actually walked on. As more and more people drifted off to sleep I got a chance to have my paper all to myself and eventually finished it at some stage of the morning.
I believe I had a little sleep at some stage that night but it was very little. People slowly woke up and some time after 5am breakfast began, but the airport still looked closed - so much for the 2 hours before the flight. Breakfast consisted of baguettes and jam - which made a bit of a mess when it dripped on the airport floor. After clearing up most of our mess we headed upstairs only to find the Air France check in desk was still not open.
After much waiting around, things started happening and most of us boarded without problem. As Simon H went through the metal detector it beeped at him, so he took a knife out of his pocket and placed it on the table. The people on the desk looked at it, picked it up and tried to open it. After a few attempts it open, they looked at it and put it away again. And then Matt who did not approve of the window seat he had been given, had to swap with someone else. The pilot informed us that it was raining in England and I remembered the great weather we had had during the past fortnight. As we came close to Heathrow a number of quite sharp turns made us think that we were in a stack and when we looked out of the window we saw a small dark dot turning in the distance. Disembarking went without any hitches and we were soon in terminal 2 having to say goodbye to each other and dump all the group equipment on Matt. After giving Giles an early birthday card I rushed off to the coach station and had enough time to ring home before boarding the coach for a journey home of almost three and a half hours.
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