Pyrenees Hike December 2011, A short hop on the GR 10

A short hop on the GR 10.

Pretty much on the spur of the moment, I decided to quit the dreary dull winter we were having, and Ibooked a flight to Barcelona, with the objective of walking from the Mediterranean Sea to Andorra. So, off I set to Dublin on Thursday 1st of December and stayed overnight, before my flight on Friday morning. Everything went well and I landed in Barcelona just after 1pm. I caught the train from the airport to Figueres, and stayed there on Friday night, with the intention of heading to Banyuls Sur Mer, just over the border in France, on Saturday morning. I went for a walk around Figueres and got the maps and gas I needed. It is a nice town, with lots of quaint squares and buildings. Later, I visited a bar and internet cafe. There were about five others there besides myself, and loud dance music filled the air. The barmaid was entertaining the punters by shaking (almost vibrating) her booty as she looked at her laptop. The highlight for me was the ecstatic dance that a guy made when he won some money on a gaming machine. His beaming face and funky dance had me laughing well into the night.

Saturday Dec 3rd,

My train was leaving at 9am, so I had time to have another stroll about town, and get a bite of breakfast. I was delighted to see that a couple of the squares were now full of stalls selling all kinds of food. Lots of people were milling about getting their daily groceries. I wandered through one market, and picked up a smoked chorizo to take up the mountains with me. What can I say, but if I had the chance again, I would have got a few dozen, to hell with the weight. It was delicious. So different to what we are served here. Anyway, after a nice coffee and pastry, I returned to my digs and collected my BIG bag, and caught my train. It is a short trip, but I had to change trains in Cerbere, and there wait for an hour for the connection to Banyuls. This afforded me the opportunity to explore the little town, that tumbled down to a nice little cove on the shore. I had a little wander about, and as I returned towards the train station, a drunk with his dog fell in with me, and started pratteling away. He started in French and then switched to Spanish, when my responses dried up completely, he then asked me where I was from, and when I told him, he switched again to perfect (almost) English. It made me feel a bit ashamed of my linguistic limitations. I thought when I reached the station he would be off, but no, he followed me in and sat alongside me on the platform. When he boarded the train as well, and alighted with me in Banyuls Sur Mer, I was more than a little worried that I would have a companion for my trip, but thankfully, he said a quick farewell and I was left alone to face my adventure.

Looking back at Banyuls Sur Mer

A walk of 500mtrs, saw me reach the trail where it passed under the railway line. Seeing the red and white paint mark on the wall was great, and I knew, that now at last, the real trip had begun.  So I was off. The track twists and winds its way up the hillside, and soon I was after rising well above the village. Lovely views back towards the sea, competed with the exciting landscape that lay ahead. There is a definite arid look to the landscape here. There are large cacti and agave adorning many of the gardens, and the scrubby nature of the flora, and overall brown appearance of the landscape, gives the area an almost desert like feel. There was a stiff breeze blowing, but the temperature was mild, and it was great to be walking in just a base layer with the sleeves rolled up in December. Onwards and upwards, and each time I rounded a new corner, or crested a new ridge or coll, there were new sights to greet me. My bag was heavy, about 22kg at the start, which had food for four days, all my camping needs and clothes etc. I was actually quite pleased that I was able to climb so well with it. Of course the tracks are perfectly engineered, and are designed to allow you to gain height with the optimum of effort. Eventually I arrived at Col de Bailloury, and here I enjoyed a great view over the large plain that stretches north towards Narbonne, and blends into the blue Mediterranean Sea.

Looking north

From here on the landscape becomes wilder, and the rock buttresses of the first peak, Pic Sailfort 981mtrs, are to the fore. The track wends and winds its way up the flanks, and eventually, you emerge onto a wide plateau, and the extensive forests of Don Des Alberes, sweep away to the north. This was a grand spot for lunch, although, sitting at 3000 feet in December meant there was now a definite chill in the wind. It felt great to be here, and the feeling of freedom, and exploration, I had was exhilarating. I didn't tarry too long as I was eager to get on. The trail continued over open alpine pastures, crossing Pic de la Carbassere, and on to Pic des Quatre Termes 1156mtrs. Here, the trail dives into the forest, and I found it quite difficult to follow at times, as the forest floor was covered with leaves. At times, the only indications of the way ahead, were the often too infrequent markings on the trees. Almost inevitably, I took a wrong turn, and had to take a forest road for an extra couple of kilometers, before I regained the track . I eventually reached Col de L'Orry 1010mtrs, and was surprised to see that Banyuls Sur Mer was already 22.5 kilometers behind me. The day was now shoving on, and I still had a fair bit to go before I reached my target for the day, Pic Neulos 1256mtrs.

Still a fair bit to go.

Fatigue was now playing its part, and the weight of the bag, was taking its toll on my shoulders, as well as other places. I opted not to stay in the bothy like Refuge de la Tagnarede, and chose instead, to camp about a kilometer further on, near a water source, just under the Pic. It was great to drop the bag, and soon I was engrossed in finding a good spot for the tent, and once this was done, getting the stove going. Before too long I was settled and ready for the night. It was a wonderful spot, with uninterrupted views south to Spain, and north to France, I was right on the border on the crest of the ridge. The breeze had long since died, and it was very pleasant to sit outside, at about 4000ft, in December, enjoy a brew and wonderful views, in the fading light. This was what I had hoped for, and all in all, I was very satisfied with the day. I was beginning to realize that covering the distances I had envisaged, would be difficult if not impossible, but I was determined not to put myself under any pressure, and since I was carrying all I needed on my back, I could be completely flexible with my plans. Not long after I had retired in to my tent for the night, it started to rain, and this continued well into the night. Still, I was snug and dry in my nest, and I way happy to drift off to sleep, soothed by the patter of the rain on canvas. 

So ended day 1.

Sunday Dec 4th,

I awoke to a dry cloudless day. The rain of the previous night was well gone and the ground was dry and the air was quite mild. I had slightly overslept, and I quickly busied myself with the task of breakfasting and readying for the off. It's amazing where the time goes, and it was gone 9am before I set off once again. I could have skirted around the summit, but that would have felt like cheating, so I made the short hop to the summit, which is topped by a large communications mast. I followed the road down from this for a bit, before the route enters the forest once again. I soon lost the trail and followed another to a gite, which eventually rejoined the correct route, but this added about four kilometers to the descent. I found going down more difficult, as the weight of the bag, and the angle of descent, made me press into the toe of my boots. Soon enough, my feet were getting a bit sore. The route drops right down to the Col du Perthus 271mtrs, which has a little village. Unfortunately, the whole place is dominated by the motorway that links Spain and France. The constant noise of traffic must be a nightmare for the locals to endure. Still, I was very glad to have reached there, and I treated myself to a couple of croissants and a coke, which went down very well.

Dawn above Las Illas

From here, you climb again, past a huge old army fort, and then drop down into a wide open valley. Up again, on gentle forest tracks, to about 700mtrs before eventually dropping again to a little village called Las Illas, where there was a busy gite. The day was once again getting late, and I was now quite tired. I reckoned that I had travelled at least thirty kilometres by now. As I had approached the village, the only possible campsite I could see in the heavily wooded area, was on a treeless col above the village. This I headed for, but it meant another couple of hundred meters of climbing to end the day. Sure enough, there was a fine grassy patch at the col, and I wasted no time in the gathering gloom, in getting camp established. I had to walk down through the woods for a few hundred meters to get to a water supply, but that was OK. I wasn't too off put by the few cowpats dotted around the area, as these were easily avoided. My feet were really glad to get out of the boots, but unfortunately some blistering and blood was in evidence, and the first aid kit was required. I really enjoyed dinner, and watched the sunset in the fine evening. All in all it had been another great day, but it was now clear that I had really underestimated the distance involved, and that there was now no chance of reaching Andorra in the time I had, so a new plan would have to be thought of. I settled down to bed once again, with only the occasional hooting of owls for company, bliss. At about 9pm, I heard the ta-ting ta-ting ta-ting ta-ting of the bells that hang from the necks of cattle in the mountains. This is a sound I usually like, but now I realized why there were cowpats round and about my tent, and sure enough soon the air was full of campanology, as the herd made for, what was obviously one of their favourite spots. What can I say, but that at three in the morning, the musicality of the noise had long since gone, and I was having fantasies of juicy steaks etc. Ah well a lesson learned I think.

Monday Dec 5th,

Further than it looks

Where I'm going

Once again the day dawned mild and dry. The cattle had long since retreated, and despite the noisy night, I felt surprisingly well rested. Thankfully my feet seemed to have recovered, and once I was booted and suited, I felt good as I started the climb towards Roc De Frausa 1450mtrs, which would be the highest point so far. After about an hour, I arrived at the Refuge Salinas, near which there is a superb place for camping. It would have been a real struggle to reach there the previous evening, but one for the future I think. There was a little cloud about, and some unfortunately was covering Roc Du Frausa when I arrived, so there was no need to delay, and I set off on what promised to be another long descent. I soon reached Col Cerda. This was a grand spot, where an elegant rock spur rose up the far side. I was really tempted to climb it, until I looked at the map, and realized that it was over a kilometer to the summit, and nearly 700 ft higher. I reckoned it would take too much time, so I left it be. The plan now was to head for the town of Arles sur Tech. I followed a good track, through fine wild scenery, until I reached a tarred road. Try as I might I could not find the trail to Arles, and after going up and down the road for a couple of kilometers I conceded defeat, and went instead to Amelie Les Bains. This is a good size town at 250meters above sea level, so once again, the descent had been long, and my feet were again feeling sore. I checked with the tourist office, and found to my delight that there was a frequent bus service between there and Perpignon, so I would be easily able to reach Barcelona from there. I camped in the local campsite, and enjoyed a lovely shower and a few beers, and had a bell free night.

Amelie les Bains

Tuesday Dec 6th,

Once again, the day dawned clear and windless. An early start soon had me following the trail up to

The old barracks??

Montbolo, a charming little village some 250mtrs above. It felt great to be leaving behind the trappings and noise of the town, and to be once again entering the wilds. I was feeling quite strong, perhaps it was a combination of an ever lightening bag, or the fact that I was getting a bit stronger thanks to the previous few days. Anyway, I made good progress, and was soon at Col de la Redoute at over 800mtrs. I was quite excited, because today, finally, I was heading for the high mountains. Perhaps, at last, I would justify bringing the axe and crampons, across many kilometers of forest. A couple of hundred meters further up, I came across the ruins of an old barracks, which afforded wonderful views.
Unfortunately, there was no water to be found there, so if I was going to use it as a campsite on my return, I would need to bring an ample supply with me.

A des res with a view.

I had finalized my plan for my final few days the previous evening. It was clear that I would not be able to reach Andorra, or even Puigcerda, so my best option for being able to get back to Barcelona on Thursday evening, was to return to Amelie, and catch a bus from there to Perpignan, and then a train from there to Barcelona. So today, I was heading for Batere, where I would stay.Tomorrow I planned to climb the Serra del roc Negra. This is a spine of tops, between the major peaks of Pic Du Canigou and Puig dels tres vents. I continued up, and reached the ruin of the Tour de Batere at 1439 mtrs. There was now a threat of a change in the weather, and some cloud was rolling over the slopes of the hills ahead. I still had about four or five kilometers to go, so I pushed on. I passed the refuge and Gite, and choose to camp a little higher up in the old mining area. This was a delightful spot, with a flat grassy area, and a handy water supply. I was at just over 1600mtrs, and it was only just 2.30pm, so I had gained about 1400mtrs, and I had plenty of time to relax. Thankfully, the threat of rain seemed to have receded, and I enjoyed a lovely relaxed few hours, in really pleasant temperatures. After dinner I retreated to my tent, and once again, the weather turned. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a strong wind came, and the rain arrived. Once again, I thanked my good fortune, that I was warm and dry. I just hoped that it would have cleared up by the following morning.

Wednesday Dec 7th,

Beautiful dawn.

Serra del Roc Negre

Feeling like -20 at 9000ft.

Looking south to the mountains of Catalonia

Highest point 2714mtrs.

I awoke to what can only be described as the perfect morning. No wind, clear skies, and the start of the most spectacular dawn in the east, greeted me when I emerged from the tent. There was a good coating of frost on the tent, which was a reminder that I was at over 5000ft. Today I was leaving the tent here, as I was returning this way again, so I would have a lovely light bag. I breakfasted and got packed, and was leaving at 07.45am. The route went up to Col de la Cirere 1731mtrs, before turning west southwest to Puig de pel de Ce at 2105mtrs. Here, at last, I had my first steps in snow, and I was delighted to discover that it was rock hard neve. At 2266mtrs, I donned crampons, and for the rest of the climb I was in a snowy wonderland. As I gained height the wind strengthened. By the time I crested Pic Gallinasse 2461mtrs, it was very strong indeed, and at times walking was difficult. The views were wonderful however, and more than made up for any discomfort caused by the wind. I was glad that I brought my cycling goggles, as these kept the biting cold wind from my eyes.

Happy chappie



Vultures glide away

It felt wonderful to have, what was now, an almost empty bag on my back. I won't say that I flew along, but I was able to travel at a more normal pace. I was glad that the terrain was easy, as the wind would have made traversing narrow ground dangerous to say the least. Indeed, when I arrived at point 2698 metres, I  could see that the last couple of hundred meters before Puig del roc Negre (2714 metres) was quite narrow, so I turned around for this very reason. I didn't mind, as this was all about having fun, so I returned the way I had come,  and just enjoyed the day. Before too long I was back below the snowline, and I repacked the spiky stuff, and had a bite to eat. As I descended, I looked to my right, and to my delight, saw nine vultures glide from just a hundred meters away, towards a ridge. This, just about capped a wonderful outing, and I was thrilled as I returned to the tent. I returned to the campsite, and here, out of any wind, it felt positively balmy, and as it was only just gone 2pm, I chilled out and relaxed for an hour. I packed up again and headed down. I had intended to camp at the ruins I had passed the previous day, but I failed to fill up the water bottles in time, and had to continue on down to Col de la Redoute. All through my trip I was delighted to hear the gentle toohooting of owls, as they called and claimed their territory. The sound is surprisingly loud, when one calls from a small tree, that is literally above the tent. I found myself awake and listening to the calls at 2.30am. Still I wouldn't swap the experience for anything.

Thursday Dec 8th,

A lovely leisurely start, to yet another lovely day, saw me finish the last of the food and gas. I packed up and made my leisurely way, back to the valley floor. A nice lunch and a bus ride, saw me arrived in Perpignan. I passed the afternoon by walking miles and miles around this charming town, that bustled with Christmas markets, and quaint narrow shopping streets. I had decided to take an evening train to Barcelona, and so, I found myself in the impressive TGV for a short hop to Figueres.Another comfortable Spanish train took me to Barcelona. I chose to stay in the airport, as I wasn't there until gone 11.30pm, and trying to find somewhere to stay at that time, would have been more hassle than it was worth. By the evening my left heel was quite sore, and when I was finally settled in the terminal, I took off my boots and socks, and was greeted by the biggest blister I had ever seen, on my left foot. It stretched from right under the heel, up around the back, and when I pierced it with a toothpick, it sprayed water over the black tiled floor. Thankfully there was no one else near, and I was able to tidy up the floor, and myself, without undue disgust to others. So, I settled down for my morning flight, well happy with my little adventure, and feeling reinvigourated after a week of exercise and great weather. I will be back.