Death In The Pyrenees.
A near-death experience in the Pyrenees.
This summer Gareth and I took a longer break than usual and drove down to Ibiza in my little mini.
On the way down, we had certain places we wanted to visit, one of them being the Spanish Pyrenees, which we had to drive across to reach northern Spain. After a long drive, we found a lovely little campsite just outside the village of Planoles in the stunning Ribes Valley, and plonked our weary selves down for a couple of nights - the whole intention was to find a nice local hike and explore the area.
I always have a romantic notion that campsites in the middle of nowhere are quiet, hushed and maybe even serene but on the contrary no.
First of all people not used to spending the night under canvas believe at some level their tent is soundproofed especially when they have had a few drinkipoos which seems to ramp up their voices to around 85 decibels which has the effect of driving a light sleeper like me demented.
Then they fall into a state akin to a coma around 1 am and then snore at a similar level.
Also, a campsite with a bar is usually the only social centre for locals in very rural areas and Saturday night is party night, they descend on the place, dressed up to the nines with their extended families including at least one centenarian, two or three already tired infants and a couple of devil dogs - a real Spanish Fiesta.
Scouring my Alltrails App I found what seemed a reasonable hike not too far away (a great review from a French lady who mentioned 10 miles and stunning views) and after a poor night's sleep we rose early and made the 15 min drive to the start of the hike.
If any of you are interested, the trail is called Daio - Coma de Vaca and it's in Parc Natural de les Capcaleres del Ter i del Freser.
There was a huge car park which was fairly busy and we set off, rucksack on back, plenty of water as it was a lovely sunny day but not much to eat as we reckoned on being back around 2-3 pm.
Some of you are aware that I am a reasonably good walker as I’ve been hiking since `I was 11 years old however Gareth has been reluctantly walking with me properly for around 5 years and although vastly improved physically, he doesn’t have my Gung-ho lets just do it attitude!
Within about 30 minutes we were climbing and the sun was HOT. I made sure I put some distance between us then I couldn’t hear his chimp brain sliding into annoyance as the hike became more and more challenging, the steeper it got the more his social tourettes increased and I could feel him hating on me from a distance.
But to be fair after about another hour when the path levelled off and it became a bit more cloudy he did settle down and we both marvelled at the stunning scenery as we climbed ever higher, we even spotted an Ibex (wild goat) along with a few birds of prey, mainly Vultures. We started to make our way down into the valley and a spectacular gorge and waterfall.
The refuge hut was about halfway and we had already clocked up 7 miles so I sniffed a rat as to the honesty of the review. After a short stop we set off to climb again and within 30 minutes had reached what we wrongly identified as some kind of summit, we also saw the last walkers pass us - we saw not a soul after them. So after doing a victory dance high fives, and the obligatory selfie we could almost taste the finish line.
Boy, were we wrong…
The hike soon became more serious and we found ourselves climbing surprisingly higher and higher, and the path was not as well marked, luckily we found some painted waymarks but the hike became a climb over huge boulders and tiny mountain paths and slightly alarming steep drops.
We paused for a rest and looking around I couldn't see any obvious way down and apart from being in an aeroplane I had never been so high up - I swear I could see Wakefield in the distance.
Did I mention that Gareth has a real fear of heights? or to be more succinct he suffers from Acrophobia, a mental health condition in which the individual experiences an intense fear of heights resulting in extreme anxiety and a level of unreasonable fear, so plopping off that mountain was virtually nailed on in his mind.
He sat down and I could tell he was upset he declared that he had never been as terrified in his life and I started a mildish panic. Looking around we were so high up and there were some extremely steep crevices if you bothered to look.
I was concerned that he would go into freeze mode and I wouldn’t be able to get him to move.
We also became shrouded in low heavy clouds and a definite drop in temperature
All he said was “I haven’t even been able to say goodbye to my children” (we threw our heads back laughing at that remark when safely back).
Take a deep breath, Susan…
What is the worst that can happen? I put my faith in God and if it was my turn to go well so be it but at the same time I wasn’t going to go easy!
So, okay it’s hardly Mt Everest’s death zone (26,247ft) and I can’t say we struggled to breathe at any point ( maybe GB did) but for perspective, we reached a height of 6,900 ft - Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in Britain at a height of 4,413 ft, and we stayed at that height for nearly 4 miles before we started to descend.
“Gareth, you go first, don’t look down and don’t give any thought to me,” I said and he did exactly that. We spent about another 2 hours traversing over rocks and boulders using what the Italians call a via ferrata (iron path) which are metal handrails and steps ladders driven into the rock for you to cling on to hence you don’t hurtle to your death having a lovely Sunday stroll.
Gareth kept asking if we were descending yet and I admit I slightly bent the truth, but Gareth being Gareth saw through my thinly veiled untruths and I was not in the running for the wife of the year that day, my popularity was at an all-time low.
As I’m here to tell the tale all ended well and we got back to the car over 16 miles and 10 hours later full of heroics, laughing and joking.
Re-visiting the review it was for a completely different walk! I left my own review warning that anybody with a fear of heights should maybe choose a different route.
That evening we virtually inhaled a large tin of beef ravioli and slept like bastards. Brutus Gold's Love train could have chugged through the campsite without waking me.
I suppose the learning from that day was apart from booking an all-inclusive next time (lol) sometimes the road ahead looks scary but it's always within our capabilities, put one foot in front of the other, keep going and never look back.
There’s always a way and as Martin Luther King Jr said -
“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step”
None of us know what the future holds but be careful not to worry about tomorrow and miss the juice of today.
