A  Pyrenean Journey

by C. Large

Benasque is a rather dirty village at the end of the tarmac road up the Val d’Esera. We spent a night in the comparative luxury of the smaller of its two hotels after climbing Pic d’Aneto and Maladetta from the Refugio la Renclusa two days earlier. The weather had been mixed; we had been thoroughly drenched in a thunderstorm which started an hour before we reached the Refugio, but two days later climbed the two mountains in brilliant sunshine.

Our plans for the next few days were to reach Bielsa, 24 miles and two passes away, and to attempt the ascent of Pic des Posets, a peak of 11,050 ft., on the way. Compared with the Alps the country is very poorly mapped. The only map we had been able to get was a revised edition of one based on a survey by Schrader about 80 years ago. The scale of 1/100,000 was small, but we had to make the best of it and be prepared for mistakes caused by errors and omissions on the map.

Two miles lower down the valley, at Eriste, a good track leaves the village close to the west bank of the river descending the Aiguela de Eriste. First it passes through cultivated fields, then through clusters of small Box trees where sheep shelter from the midday heat and scrape a frugal existence on the parched grass below the trees. As the sides of the valley close in the vegetation becomes greener, and big trees, pine and beech, give more shade. According to the map three large streams run into the valley from the west. A cabane was also marked, near the junction of the third stream with the main river. This seemed a likely place to spend the night, and we would be in a good position for an attempt on the mountain next day. From Eriste to the cabane was about four miles with a rise of about 4,000 ft. Progress was slow with heavy loads, and in the great heat of the day. After some three miles it became evident that our simple assumption of going as far as the third stream on the left was not going to work out. We reached the third stream: but obviously a lot of streams were not marked on the map. The excellent track we had been follow­ing petered out after the third stream had been crossed but a few hundred yards further on the valley opened out into what seemed to be the highest pasture used by the villagers.

No obvious track appeared to leave the pasture. A shepherd’s cabane offered shelter so we decided to leave our loads and explore the route. There were two possibilities: one to follow the valley bottom; the other to find a possible route up through the trees on our left. Our investigations showed some signs of a track in each direction; the map seemed to indicate the valley bottom so that was the way we chose. After half a mile we came to another small pasture where the sides of the valley rose steeply all round. Time was getting on: in two hours it would be dark and the shepherd’s cabane seemed a reasonable place to spend the night. We decided that the best way of using the remaining hours of daylight would be for two to prepare the evening meal while the other two tried to find a route we could follow in the morning; I was one of the route finders.

At first the going was rough up a steep pine-covered slope, but once clear of the trees the rocky ground rose steadily in front of us and we made good speed, always looking for any signs of a track. After climbing about 2,000 ft. we found a reasonably good track which appeared to go in the direction we wanted. Compass bearings were taken on the surrounding peaks to determine our exact position on the map; this turned out to be close to our original planned halting place. Darkness was less than an hour away when we set off down the track. After some forty minutes we saw the others about 300 ft. below so we split up, one joining the others and the other following the track which eventually came out near the shepherd’s cabane half a mile lower down the valley.

Over our evening meal we discussed plans for the following day. The track was a good one for most of the way we had followed it; by it we could gain height easily—a point worth considering when carrying heavy loads; using it we could get close enough to the Pic des Posets to leave our packs and make an attempt on the mountain. After supper we made our way down to the cabane to sleep in its luxury and in the hope of escaping from the clouds of marauding clegs and mosquitoes which infested the upper reaches of the valley.

The sky was overcast when we rose soon after dawn next day, but by the time we were ready to start it was clearing. We made steady progress up the track and in just over two hours we reached the point by the stream coming down from the Col d’Eriste where we had planned to leave our kit. One of the party was feeh’ng ill so he stayed with the packs while the other three of us made the attempt on the Pic des Posets. The mountain was not visible from our position nor was there an obvious route to it. One member of our party, who had been forced back by bad weather the previous year when trying it from the opposite side, thought we should approach by the south-east ridge. The best way to reach this seemed to be across the south-east ridge of Las Espadas to a valley with two small lakes between the two ridges.

We reached the lakes after a climb of 500 ft. and a descent of one thousand. A scramble of about 1,500 ft. up the steep rocky side of the mountain brought us to the broad crest of the south­east ridge. From here we could see another party, who seemed to have come from the north side, a quarter of a mile further up the ridge near where the last steep section rises 500 ft. to the summit. We soon reached the bottom of this section and roped up to tackle the rock climb ahead; on the way we passed the other party who were resting at the top of a large couloir. Since leaving our kit the sky had been clouding over and now there were occasional rumbles of thunder in the distance. The rock forming the ridge was of poor quality and great care was necessary in selecting holds. After going up about 50 ft. we came to a more difficult pitch and at this moment a flash of lightning and a loud peal of thunder, combined with the difficulties directly ahead, made us realise that if we pressed on we might find ourselves in a very unpleasant position on an open ridge were the approaching storm to hit the mountain. Not knowing the route ahead we decided that retreat would be the most prudent course.

We had just arrived at the flatter part of the ridge when the full fury of the storm hit us. The quickest way off was down the rocky couloir on the south side where we had passed the other party on the way up. They were nowhere in sight and must have left without making any attempt to reach the summit. After half an hour we reached a patch of permanent snow at the foot of the couloir. During the descent we were continually battered with hailstones the size of peas which soon covered all hand and foot holds. On the previous evening’s reconnaissance we had noticed a snow-filled valley on the west side of Las Espadas that came out near where our packs were left; we had even thought of it as a possible route but had not been able to place it on the map. From our present position an easy route seemed to skirt round the south flank of Pic des Posets to a col between the two mountains whence we might make a descent to the snow-filled valley. To reach the col involved taking a diagonal descending course over moraine and occasional large patches of snow Snow in the Pyrenees does not seem to achieve that same soft consistency as it does on Alpine snowfields, even on a hot day, and we found going down on these patches very easy. At the col we were thankful to find that the way we had selected had been the right one; an easy climb down sound rock brought us to some steep snow and with a short glissade we reached the flatter valley bottom. Half an hour after leaving the col we joined our waiting companion at our kits. Had we used this route on the ascent we would have reached the final ridge much quicker but in this instance we would certainly have been caught in the storm much higher up on the mountain, probably in some very awkward situation.

The storm had now passed on though the sky remained over­cast. While having a meal we had to decide upon a plan of action; there was no shelter in our present position; the next shelter on our route was six miles away over the Col d’Eriste; the weather did not look like improving and might be bad for a few days. Almost four hours of daylight remained so, allowing for route finding, we ought to have enough time to find somewhere to spend the night. After studying all possible alternatives we decided to push on over the Col d’Eriste.

Soon after starting the 1,500 ft. climb to the col rain began to fall. Our map showed a stream running from the west, starting just below the col. Actually we found it to come from a lake, not marked on the map, in a southern leg at the head of the valley. The cloud level was just below the col at about 9,500 ft. and steady rain made route finding difficult. There are two cols at the head of this valley, the Col d’Eriste being the lower and further south. To reach it involved scrambling up a rocky slope to the last 200 ft. which was steep scree and mud, the final 30 ft. being very steep snow. Visibility at the top was down to 20 yds. but in spite of this we made a good pace down the upper snow slopes from the col until the valley levelled out and became rocky. After a mile we chose the left hand of two possible ways and this took us down a steep grassy slope to the Lago de Millar.

The worst of the journey was now behind us. A good track ran down the valley from the lake and although it continued to rain and we were thoroughly soaked we made a good speed. Darkness was falling as we approached the inhabited part of the valley; we would stop at the first likely looking shelter and spend the night there. We found an empty shepherd’s hut soon after crossing the river a mile from the Hospital de Gistain. We were all thankful to be under shelter and so change into dry clothes after a tiring day.

A hot meal and a good night’s rest saw us refreshed and ready to be on our way again. The day dawned fine and sunny; our wet clothes were quite dry after two hours in the warm sun. We were almost ready to leave when we were surprised by the arrival of four members of the Spanish Civil Guard, armed with rifles and sub-machine guns. This part of Spain bordering on France has every mountain pass between the two countries guarded. Woe betide the unsuspecting climber who thinks he can enter Spain without having his passport stamped at one of the official road posts; he is bound to meet armed guards in the Spanish valleys and will be sent unceremoniously back the way he came. We were aware of this position and when our pass­ports were demanded we were able to show that we were not in the country illegally. With our small knowledge of Spanish we managed to find out that there was a Refugio half a mile away on the other side of the valley where we could have spent the night in comfort. After they had drunk a glass of wine and shown us the first part of the route we parted the best of friends.

Bielsa, our destination on this part of the journey, was about 12 miles away across the Paso de las Caballos, a low pass of about 1,500 ft. The first three miles were on a good track which petered out at some pastures and we had difficulty in finding a way through the woods covering the valley sides. Often we found signs of tracks but when followed they soon disappeared. When passing the Hospital de Gistain, now a ruin, we were again asked for our passports. On reaching the pass we found a reasonably good earth road running down the valley on the other side; it must have been made for the construction of a dam up in the mountains serving a hydro-electric scheme down the valley.

We had been late starting in the morning so we thought we might find accommodation in the village of Real, indicated on the map as being three miles from Bielsa. On reaching the place where it should have been all we found was a tree-covered hill­side; another example of our map’s inaccuracy. We later found that Real was in another valley, six miles to the west. Obviously the best course now was to press on to Bielsa. Spurred by thoughts of hot baths in a hotel we soon covered the remaining distance to the village, to arrive in time to clean up and rest before an excellent evening meal in Bielsa’s only hotel.

It is difficult to liken the Pyrenees to the Alps. The mountains are much smaller and, apart from a few of the highest ones, not visited very often. Maps are poor; guide books of the Alpine type non-existent; huts are few and far between so sleeping bags must be taken. Route finding can present some very awkward problems which give a feeling of great satisfaction when they are overcome. All told the Pyrenees make an excellent change after a number of seasons in the Alps.