Day 13: Refuge de Baston to Barages

We awoke eager to get started and thoroughly looking forward to our day's walk. Back at the refuge we continued along the track from the day before which — the map told — us would quickly become a variante of the GR10, the GR10c.

The walk was initially a gentle descent as we walked past yet more lovely lakes. Kev Reynolds had observed that one of them was called Lac "Inferior", — although it is not inferior in any way'. He was spot on as usual. This was a fine, high, tarn and we could see a few tents happily camped on the far side of the lake, perhaps, a better campsite than the one we had used — which I guess could get quite busy in August.

Soon we were being guided on our way by the familiar red and white of the GR markers. The trail dropped down through woodland towards the Lac de l'Oule which looked more like something you might come across in Switzerland than the Pyrenees. At the lakeside we joined a well maintained track which is the GR10 proper. At a cottage campers were cooking breakfast over a large camp fire. To the left was the route towards the Refuge de l'Oule which sits near the dam at the far end of the lake, but we took the route right which led to its north side. Half way around the lake the GR10 took off up the hillside, zig zagging though woodland. The guidebook suggested that at no time did this path get particularly steep and it was right. But we both felt the climb. Perhaps it was the sun and the heat and perhaps it was the packs on our backs, for we didn't meet anyone carrying anything but a day load. At the top of the climb we caught a glimpse of another huge lake, the Lac' d'Odeon, which we'd seen from the Hourquette Nere the day before. Our route, though, headed north west through woodland, over a high plateau, taking in another climb before dropping down to the two lakes of Aumar and d'Aubert.

On the map it looks as if the path passes between the two lakes but in reality you hit Aumar first and then drop down a fair way before reaching d'Aubert. We got in a little mess with navigation here. We reached a building which might have been a cabanne on the map. A path here clearly headed east towards the GR10 and the Col de Madamete and on to the cabanne where we'd left the route the day before.

Eventually I stopped trying to read the terrain and decided to simply follow Kev Reynold's instructions, walking along a tarmac road to the Lac d'Aubert. Here we found the cabanne and a place to spend the night that we'd been told about earlier.

Before we'd left the GR10 yesterday we'd chatted to a young French woman tackling the GR10, solo, in chunks each year. She was a really pleasant young woman who was quite surprised at how far we were going. She was also surprised that we had a tent in our seemingly small packs. She checked several times in case she'd misunderstood us. She only had a week to walk this year. We talked about our meandering route which seemed a bit adventurous to her. When we told her we'd started at Cauterets she said she'd been there last year. And do you know what? She'd stayed at a hotel that was run by a lovely Irishman. Another recommendation Phil!

We'd met her again this morning as we'd prepared to descend to d'Aubert. I figured she'd not walked much longer after we'd left her and she told us she'd stayed the night at these cabannes at d'Aubert, being looked after in a kind of gite by a really nice couple who looked after the donkeys at the lake.

Well, the Lake did have donkeys although the place was nowhere as tacky as it might seem. The Lac is another coach trip destination with folks dropped off so that they can spend an hour or two strolling around the lake.

We headed away from the lake up towards the climb that would take us to the Hourquette d'Aubert. I was rather pleased when I came across a sign which said Hourquette d'Aubert 1 hour. We usually found that the timings on signs were pretty comfortable. It looked as if a popular excursion was to climb up to Hourquette before dashing back down to catch the coach.

The walk climbed through woodland that provided much appreciated shade, before emerging onto a high, exposed section that led to the Hourquette. None of this walk was particularly steep but I was feeling it for some reason and was pretty grateful to get to the top of the Hourquette. Kate skipped over the top ahead of me and when I caught up I saw she was chatting to the nice — but loopy — couple who we'd chatted to the day before (while he'd had his legs licked dry by the goats)! In many ways this had been something of a disorientating day. We'd not only now met a couple of people we'd seen the day before but we'd passed a load more who we'd climbed up with on the GR10 and who we had now passed again as we'd picked up the route to head back north.

We took a break and found ourselves talking to a couple of French hikers in their early 60s (I guess). They weren't envious of our packs. The wife told us they'd done this backpacking thing once before, on the GR20 in Corsica. "It was just like this". "Never again, never again!". The couple seemed a little surprised that we were heading for Bareges, especially when we told them where we'd come from. Perhaps, this really was a much harder day than we'd thought. "That descent" said the husband "is long, too long back to the Pont".

The initial part of the descent was quite steep, cutting once again through loose scree and nipping over rocks and small boulders. It wasn't a particularly difficult walk but he was right; it was long. The knees began to complain and the feet began to feel as if they'd been clambering over scree all day.

It was quite quiet on the walk now as we descended towards yet another chain of lovely, small, lakes. A we approached the last of these — Coubous — we could see that there was a dramatic cloud inversion over the valley. This meant a descent in clouds which Kate wasn't looking forward to although I was more than happy at the thought of being out of the late afternoon sun. We crossed the dam wall at the far end of the lake and then began a long and steep descent down yet more scree. We were right in the clouds now and couldn't see anything other than the few feet in front of ourselves. We certainly couldn't see down into the valley and judge our progress. It was quite a trudge down. Eventually we reached the Pont which in the mist looked even more gloomy than the day before. Rain was now falling. We decided to leave the GR10 behind and take the more direct route into Barages, walking straight down the road.

At this point we'd been walking rather a long time. We were back on tarmac. Rain was falling. It was cold. We couldn't see a thing. We had to keep our wits as cars suddenly emerged from the mist without much warning. I reckoned it would take us an hour of reasonable paced walking to get into town. I didn't really fancy the idea of pitching the tent and then finding something to eat; it all seemed too much.

On and on we trudged, trekking poles ringing a weary rhythm on the metalled surface. Just when I began to think we might be getting near civilisation I heard a shout and turned to see Kate on the ground. Now I fall own a lot when I walk although I fall down on mountains. Kate never falls but this was a fall onto a hard tarmac surface. We mopped up some blood and then hobbled on down.

At last the Barages sign emerged from the misty gloom. We'd made quite good time from the Pont but we'd both had enough. I began to wonder about staying in a hotel when out of the midst emerged a sign pointing us to the 'Hotel de Bivouac'.

We struggled into the reception of an old, traditional, French hotel — something that looked like it had come out of one of those old, French films. Yes, they had a room. We would like to have dinner which was being served in half an hour? We jumped at the chance.

The rooms of the Bivouac are basic but comfortable. I suspect that we were in one of a few rooms that were always kept available for last minute hikers. Down in the dining room we could see that this was pretty much an ordinary hotel rather than a place for trekkers, which the name bivouac had suggested.

We ate in a room of French folks for whom we were something of a novelty, although, there was nothing unpleasant about the attention. There was a family opposite of mum, dad and two teenage boys who looked as if they were there for the cycling (we were on the road up to the famous Col du Tourmalet). Behind were two elderly women firmly rooted in a spot that seemed theirs and theirs alone. At their side were their favourite breakfast cereals. They opened their bottle of wine which had — in the traditional French hotel style — been bought the night before and stopped back up for the night. Behind us was a large table of French retired folk, which looked like some kind of singles party. They were having a great time, especially the men who were clearly outnumbered by the women. At the far end of the restaurant sat a rather nice but slightly severe looking woman of a certain age, dining alone.

The hotel seemed to be run by one women who worked like a Trojan. There was no choice; you had what came, but the food was all home made and delicious — I guess Monsieur must have been busy in the kitchen. Breaking with the restraint of the room we ordered a full bottle of wine, and folks noticed. The French really are more cautious than we are with alcohol. You see folks ordering half bottles or 50cl pichets of wine, but very rarely do you see a couple order a whole bottle!

Still, our wine was welcome as it eased away the pains of the day. Only now did we realise that we'd had two days of pretty hard walking. We'd reached the end of the trip, but what a wonderful last two days we'd had! This was a great circuit and we both agreed that it had been the highlight of the trip. We'd be back to Néovielle again some time.

Back in our basic room we slept like logs.