Day 2: Refuge Wallon and into Spain

By morning the rains had gone and the sun was trying to break though the clouds, although it remained cool. We packed up early and began to climb up to Aratille.

I really like this walk. Initially you set off through lush, high pasture, the mountains ringing with the sound of cow and sheep bells. As we climbed cows climbed with us. After a short while the climb begins to get rockier and steeper, the path switching backwards and forwards, allowing alternate views of the way ahead and of the mountains behind Wallon. There's no doubt that you are entering the high mountains.

Beginning the climb up to the Lac d'Aratille

By the time we reached the Lac d'Aratille the sun was coming through, mid layers were packed away and we were dolloping on the sun block. The sun was glistening off a delta of tiny streams that cascaded from the bottom of the lake. At the high end of the lake a group of fishermen were setting themselves up for the day, and it looked as if they would be making camp for the night as well. We met a French couple coming down from the ridge. They had come over the Oulettes des Gaubes. There was a lot of snow they said, but it was safe to pass. The Lac is a fine place for an overnight bivouac. Just beyond the Lac is an open, flat, area of pasture that offers some lovely pitches. But today we were pressing on.

Lac d'Aratille and the snowy mountains beyond

As we climbed above the Lac we could see that there was a lot of snow around, far more than I remember having seen previously. Before long we were clambering across the snow. Even in August you'll often find yourself crossing small patches of snow and usually this is quite a safe manoeuvre, you simply follow the established footprints. But there was so much snow here that progress was slow. Some of the slopes were precarious as we skidded across to one piece of dry scree before heading off over the snow again. Some High Route trekkers have told me that they prefer to walk across the snow rather then on the loose scree that is beneath it. They have a point but one or two of these patches were large and on steep slopes; we did feel vulnerable without ice axes. As we climbed higher the obvious routes were fainter and walkers had diverged. There simply weren't footsteps to follow. In some places I ended up kicking steps. Kicking steps in July. In Inov-8 Terrocs. I ask you! I wish I had more photographs of this, but the camera kept steaming up!

Eventually we reached the top of the col but goodness knows how long it had taken. Nevertheless the South facing side of the scree was mainly snow free and there was a lovely view down the Vallée Ara, into Spain. From the col the footpath works its way east. In photographs the path looks quite dramatic but in reality the scree path is quite safe. I've heard this path described as one of classic walks in the High Pyrenees and it certainly feels like that to me. After a while we saw a couple of guys lounging on the scree and taking in the hazy, midday sun, their gear laid out over the rocks to dry out. They'd obviously suffered in the rain as well. When we finally met them there was a bit of a conversation in French. One couldn't speak French but told me he could speak English. He was a Sherpa from Nepal, trekking in the Pyrenees and having a great time. I must have said something about the snow, "Yeah, really nice" he said.

The Col d'Aratille path – you can see it winding across the scree

The path down to Spain joined this path a little further on. Things looked quite simple from afar but the nearer we got to the path junction the more snow that we could see. Our route down had to cross a massive snow field, on quite a sharp slope. I wasn't sure that it would be dangerous but it was clear that once you ventured out onto it you would be totally committed. Kate was not happy with it at all. We considered other options, the first of which meant a climb over the Col des Mulets to the Oulettes des Gaube. This is a steep climb and was completely snow covered. A well trodden chain of footsteps suggested that it would be quite safe, but by now we were getting quite tired. If we couldn't get down into Spain, perhaps, we would have to go back over the Col d'Aratille.

Kate enjoying her summer holiday!

We must have spent the best part of an hour looking for the best line down through the snow. Eventually we spied a small group of walkers coming up from the Spanish side and we were able to watch the route before safely following it down. In reality this walk was easier than on the French side. It was later in the day, we were facing south and the snow was softer and easier to kick into.

It was with some relief that we finally left the snow behind. Our route had put us on the other side of the tiny Rio Ara than the normal footpath but very soon we picked up the red and white slashes of a GR route. I reckoned that this was simply taking us to the connection with the GR11 variante that comes coming down from Respomunso. I realised that we were climbing again and were being taken, over boulder fields, out of our way. This was obviously some kind of high, circular route.

As we dropped back down, crossed the river and joined the proper footpath the walk become far more straightforward. The upper reaches of the Ara are very beautiful, lush and green despite being above the tree-line. Everything was on a bigger, wider, scale than on the French side. We looked down into a wonderland of deep valleys and fast running streams. A glimpse behind us revealed that we had been right to carry on. Dark, brooding clouds were collecting over the ridge and its cols and peaks. It was no time to be lingering up there.

Descending into the green Vallé Ara

The descent through the Ara is long. At a point where the GR11 enters the valley, just above an un-manned hut, there's a lovely expanse of flat, open pasture with streams and the river running all over it. This would have made a lovely campsite and, in retrospect, we should have stopped. For some reason I was a bit obsessed with making Bujareulo and its camping ground. If you come this way then use more sense than I did. Camp here for the night. it's a lovely spot and you'll probably feel that you're stopping at the right time.

Lower still and the valley develops into a wonderful high pasture,
set off by an explosion of wild flowers

At this point we met an Englishman and his teenage son who had taken the GR11 from Respomunso. They looked as knackered as we did but while they were carrying a tent they weren't carrying supplies or food and they pushed on ahead of us towards the refuge. On the map Bujareulo looks quite close but it is always further than you think. The evening shadows were suddenly much longer than they should have been. The clamber through the snow had cost us more time than I had realised. Eventually, and quite sensibly, we decided to stop near the next bridge. Crossing the bridge we found a fresh water supply and a lovely field with a stream running down it, across to the Ara. To cross the bridge we had to leave the GR11 which ran off down a small, foliage-covered path. As we past the entrance to the pista a fox trotted out of it. The fox looked confused, as if it realised that we were going the wrong way. As we walked down towards the bridge the fox continued to stand and watch, even following us for a while, as if to say, "You really have missed the footpath"..

We pitched the tent in a discreet place and warmed up some couscous and chorizo. As we relaxed we both realised what a hard day it had been, mentally as well as physically. We decided there should be no plan for the next day. We'd simply walk to Bujareulo, have an early morning coffee and then decide what to do from there.

All of my planning instinct told me to look at another long day. Kate was having none of it. "I'm on my holidays" seemed to be the definitive comment of the evening.