Hiking the Pyrenees Day 9
Setcases to Nuria 19.5kms
This was my last day on the trail, as tomorrow I’d be hiking down from Nuria to get the train home. I was feeling a little sad to be honest. I’d had a great day on day 8, hiking all the way from Beget to Setcases – hot but beautiful sunny weather and unforgettable scenery. I’d also met some cool people on the trail and sadly even lost one. But as we all know, everything comes to an end, whether you’re ready for it or not. Most of us aren’t ready for change, and even fear it, but it is change in our lives that bring challenges and opportunity. If you miss something, like a person that you don’t see any more, or as often, an old apartment or car, even a country or city, then that means it truly meant something to you and should be missed, but remembered fondly. So, taking my own advice, I went to sleep on day 8, ready to start day 9 and finish this little journey of mine. I knew I would miss it but it’d been the best time. Today was an “itinerario clásico de alta montaña en los Pirineos” (a classic high mountain itinerary in the Pyrenees) and I knew it was gonna be tough but amazing. My route would take me from Setcases, snuggled in the mountains at an altitude of 1,270m, up to the ski station of Vallter (1,910m), past the “Eye of the Ter” or Ulldeter refuge (2,236m) up and over the highest point in the hike today at Collado de Noucreus (2,799m) and then down to the Nuria valley (1,960m), my final destination. To make things a little happier, I got a text from some friends who wanted to meet me in Queralbs for a quick hike – a great way to finish everything off.
The 3 of us packed up and headed off early, walking out of the village of Setcases just before the sun got out of bed. I’d stayed in bed a little longer than the Basque couple, not because I was older and needed the rest, but I liked spending those few extra minutes lying in bed enjoying it. That and I don’t eat breakfast until my first stop. I offered the guys some of my muesli and powdered milk; it was my last day and didn’t need it anymore, but they were going right till the end. We set off together, striding up the road, making good time, all the while the mountains around us got bigger and higher. We turned off the road, hooking around to the left to follow a rougher trail, greenery and rocks on either side. I was stopping to take some photos occasionally and before long my hiking buddies overtook me and disappeared. I always knew they would and had said goodbye in the morning, promising to send them some photos when I got home (which I did!). I stopped at the Vallter 2000 ski resort to have some breakfast, having walked for about 2 hours and climbed from 1,270m to about 1,900m. Not too shabby! I sat down and made my muesli for the last time, looking around me and where I was and where I’d started over a week ago. I was feeling a little sad, but more happy and very proud of myself to even have made it this far, to have at least started my dream of hiking the Pyrenees. I quickly washed up and packed before setting off again, tired of sitting down and also feeling a little cold. I walked up and past the ski resort, finding the path and a few cows wandering around. Before too long though I had the feeling that I was going the wrong way. Again. Thankfully I had that gut feeling and checked - I have no problems asking people to make sure either. I saw a guy coming up behind me, running and jumping around like a crazy mountain goat, wearing a t-shirt, shirts and some trainers. I asked him about the trail, but he didn’t know anything about the GR-11. He told me that if I was going to Nuria, I should turn around the head straight up to the top of the ridge and then just go down the other side. I looked to where he was pointing and wasn’t filled with confidence, as there was no discernible path and it looked very, very steep. I thanked him and headed back down to where I’d made the wrong turn. I checked my GPS (which decided to work today!) and found the path that I’d missed earlier. I was going to go the correct way, follow the path, not trust some weird guy who looked like a Viking on a Summer holiday in Europe.
I linked back up with the correct trail (I’d been following yet another off-shoot of the GR-11), cursing myself for the wasted time. I relaxed a little when I got to the Ulldeter Refuge at 2,236m, had a short break and decided to stop being angry with myself. It was the last day and there was no rush to do this – I knew I’d make it today. Also, if I hadn’t gone the wrong way, which only cost me an hour, then I wouldn’t have got to see the mountains and resort from a different viewpoint. The Refugio de Ulldeter was a classic mountain hostel; stone walls, chimney running up on side, but this one also had a cool café with seating outside and big windows for those who wanted to sit inside and see the view. I was tempted to sit and eat something, have a beer, but I knew that I would just waste time here – I told myself that I’d get something nice at Nuria, maybe even a cooked dinner. It was quite busy here as well, being so close to a road and a parking lot, so I wasn’t alone when I started the hike up to Collado de la Marrana. There were a few guys in army camo t-shirts and inappropriate shoes, struggling and sweating profusely, constantly out of breath and stopping frequently to catch it (they lit up cigarettes as soon as they reached the top). There were a few small groups as well, but what made me smile happily was a couple and their small child. The dad had the kid, who must have been under a year old, on his back in a special backpack, and was pointing out all the peaks and explaining everything in great detail to his son. Dads! Even though the child couldn’t understand or say anything back, we looked around and had a very serious look on his little face. Very sweet. I made it up the uneven, sometimes grassy path, to the crossroads at the top – and nearly blew right off the ridge! The wind here was incredible; anything not tied and secured surely would have blown away. It was also very sunny and I was squinting against the glare, still wishing I hadn’t lost my sunnies on day 7. I found a nice spot out of the wind, behind a purposely built, rough stone wall, sat down and had a snack of peanut butter. From here, you can climb to the peak of Ulldeter, which I did many, many years ago – one of my first trips in Catalonia too if I remember correctly. I was heading straight on though, a path that would lead me down into the lush valley, before heading up and skirting the border with France.
It was nice to be out of the wind, which abruptly stopped the moment I went over the ridge. It also made a nice change to be walking downhill for once! I picked up the pace a little, knowing that I would have a hard time of it on the other side of this valley – I could see the trail ahead of me and it looked impossibly vertical. I crossed a small mountain stream and stopped dead in my tracks. I could see at least a dozen Isards, Pyrenean Mountain Chamois, standing around and grazing. I unslung the camera and snapped a few pics from quite some distance away before realising that there were people walking past without even frightening the animals. I walked slowly, trying not to make much noise or any sudden movements, and I got a lot closer to these beautiful creatures, even enough for some real close-up shots. Their faces have what looks like war paint on them, all around their eyes, possibly to reduce the sun’s glare, and their horns are cute things that curl backwards and slightly to either side. I saw some babies in the herd too which is always special. I took way too many photos, but couldn’t help it as these chamois were pretty much unafraid of me – one of them grazed while another kept a look out, then they took off for a few yards, then back to eating. How could it get better than this? Well, not 5 minutes after I put my camera away and started walking again, I heard a quiet yet distinct squeaking noise. Groundhogs. Although these critters of the rodent family are fairly common in this area (and are actually called Marmots), they aren’t easy to spot and even harder to take photos of because of their shyness. You can hear them calling out to each other, but they quickly duck back into their burrows. I was quiet and patience and managed to get some good pics before they went back underground. On a high from my animal close encounters, I keep going, but frequently had to stop to catch my breath. I wasn’t sure if the altitude had anything to do with my out-of-breathness (is that even a word?). I was only at 2,799m, so it shouldn’t have made a difference, and my backpack was lighter than ever. It must have just been my traitorous legs – they could see the end of the hike and were starting to give up. I struggled up, reaching the peak and looked out over France. Well worth it!
Looking out over France, with its beautiful mountain forests and lakes, it was hard to just stay here. There was only myself and 3 other people; a mother and her 2 children. The poor woman was well and truly about to have a heart attack – and here I was worrying about myself! She said that she’d started from the refuge and was heading to Nuria, and up until now didn’t know what that entailed (thanks kids!). I wished her all the best (gave a silent prayer) and followed the trail until down to Nuria. You know how I said that walking down was nice? Well, that’s not always the case! The last hour or so down to Nuria was hell on my knees; lose rocks, steep inclines and strong winds. I was very, very tired by this stage and nearly lost my balance a few times, which in all honesty could have been fatal. I half-jogged, half-limped down, trying to get a pace going that would make good time as well as being a little easier. As I walked into the Nuria valley, everything evened out a little and became that much greener. I walked past herds of horses, the babies lying down in the sun which struck me strange as you don’t normally see horses on the ground, but I guess there isn’t much to fear up here. I found the camp, which was free due to Covid. Most of the buildings here at the complex were closed, and those that were open, had a skeleton staff. The bar was open, thankfully, and after I set up my camp, changed into some (slightly) fresher clothes, I found a comfy seat and celebrated with a couple of beers. I snacked on some salty chips, not caring how much the bartender charged me for the pleasure. I had dinner back at home, the last of my pasta, watched the sunset and went to bed. I was very happy that I’d made it – I never doubted myself really, but then again, I never really knew how hard it actually was in parts. I got lost, ran out of water, fell over a few times, lost my glasses, got lost (again)… so many things could have been worse too, but so much of it was incredible; the people, the scenery and the pure please of being in the mountains and walking 200 kilometres on your own steam, camping all the way. The memories would stay with me forever.
I got up at about 6am, casually packed my bag, not caring too much as I only had to walk down 2 hours to get to Queralbs. I headed off just as the sun was coming up, feeling refreshed and ready to rock. I think my energy levels come and go in 2 day cycles – one day I feel great and think I can walk forever, the next day I struggle right from the start. maybe that’s the problem – I do too much the first day and pay for it the next. Today was a good day and I got down to town in about and hour and half, found the first bar and went in. I ordered a coffee (my first in 10 days!) and a big baguette of pork, bacon and cheese – an absolute feast! My friends Anna and Carles joined me shortly afterwards, with their little daughter in tow. We had breakfast together, chatted for a bit, then dumped the Red Beast in the car before setting out on a light hike. It was such a relief to have nothing on my back – I felt naked almost, but loved it. Nothing like lose 17kgs in an instant to put a spring in your step! We followed an easy path which led down to a river, where we chilled out and even had a swim. The water was freezing but felt amazing once you got used to it. We headed back to the car and drove a little to a house they were staying at in a tiny village not far from Queralbs. We had some lovely white wine and a barbeque – true pleasures in life! The words said by David, about experiencing more in the mountains, came back to me, never sounding truer. Not only do you feel things more while hiking, the taste of pure water, the feel of the breeze in your face, but when you get home and meet with friends, have a glass of wine or smell sausages cooking on a BBQ, that is also more. I hope you made it David! Actually, I know he did, as he was as tough as they come, and he probably overtook me at some point without me realising! They dropped me off at the train station, as there were only this train and one more, so I couldn’t muck around. I sat on the train, mask all the way, headphones in playing soft music to keep out the noise of the people on the train. I smiled to myself, full of happiness that I’d done this, especially after such a tough time being in lockdown with Covid. It would be hard to re-adjust to city life and noise again though. That’s ok, my dose of the mountains should carry me through for a bit. Thank you GR-11 - see you again one day.
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MyUncleTravellingMatt. July 2020.
It was an oil painting come to life, and I was doing everything I could to capture it with camera and memory.
My night in the village of Beget was uneventful, which is exactly what you want when you’ve been hiking all day in the heat and just want to sleep. After having dinner, I hit the hay quite early, wanting to get plenty of rest in before the next day of hiking. I had to be on my game now, more than before, as I was tired of walking down the wrong damn path. My phone was charged and I was going to check my GPS more often, take my time and check everything before choosing a direction. The sound of the nearly river helped me drift off and when I rose it was still a little dark. I packed up my tent and got everything in my bag, ready to head off into the morning. I wasn’t going to wait for David this time, nor anybody else in fact – the path was mine today and if I ran into people, or they hiked at the same speed, then that would be fine. I was the first to leave our little encampment, which had grown since I went to bed. It was myself, David and the Basque couple, but there were also the 2 people I saw at the bar yesterday, the couple hiking the GR in the other direction. David’s tent was a small, one-man affair with a just enough room for his bag to go inside, and the Basque guys had a 2-man tent to share. The other couple however, slept apart and quite differently. The guy had a tiny little tent, no bigger than a coffin really (length, height and width!), and his partner was left out in the elements with only a sleeping bag to protect her, her face sticking up out of it. It was a little off-putting to be honest – not something I expected and a little scary. Their boots and backpacks were also just left outside. Although weight is always a consideration, I would rather carry an extra kilo than wake up to a wet face, bag and boots. Also, who would happily leave their partner open to the elements while they had a tent? I got my things together, put on my (dry) boots and shouldered my (dry) backpack and headed off. Even though the town had pretty much been empty when I arrived, it was most definitely a ghost town now. I snapped a few pics of the beautiful and very distinctive 12th century church of San Cristóbal on my way out and carried on along the path to Molló. The church was built in the Romanic style and has the tall, square bell tower and curved apse that is particular to churches in the mountains of Catalonia and Andorra. I made a mental note to come back to this special little place when I could spend more time here.
I left Beget, following the path that wound its way up through the forest, along a small river, and went up and up. It was getting warm and I was starting to sweat already. There was nobody else around, just a few farm houses and a lot of trees. The path crisscrossed the road, sometimes following it and then, for some unknown reason, it ducked into heavy shrubs and muddy paths that were uneven at best, only to come back onto the side of the road, making everything much longer and harder than it had to be. I thought about just staying on the road instead and making life a little easier on myself, but decided I needed to follow this path 100%, just in case. The path eventually led away from the road and didn’t go back, so I was happy about that – who knows where I would have gone to. The trail started to get steeper and I found myself puffing a little in the humidity, but after some time I came to clearing on top of a rise. This is where I decided that I would have breakfast, as I found a bench overlooking the direction I’d just come with some great views. This part of the country was much greener and wetter and I hardly remembered my first days on the coast; dry and hot with nothing but scratchy plants and rocks. I made my morning muesli of oats and powdered milk, munched on an apple and drank some water, enjoying the small things in life. The Basque couple arrived at this point but didn’t stop, they just kept steaming up the hill, walking sticks clicking away. I can only remember her name, Haizea, as it is such a strange Basque name – so hard I couldn’t even say it after she told me, and got her to write it down eventually (along with her email address so I could send them some photos). I finished my breakfast and left, knowing that Molló wasn’t that far away. I followed the curvy road, with the town in my sights, I came across an interesting sign. It talked about the great exile, or ‘retirada.’ Between January and March 1939, upwards of 85,000 and 95,000 people fled the civil war in Spain, hiking and crossing the Pyrenees, from Molló in Catalonia (Spain) to Prats de Molló in France. These people had fled for their lives, carrying whatever they owned, sometimes dumping their bags along the way so they could finish the hike… also, they were doing it during winter! A very sad story for many people – if only more people had more patience and understanding for refugees, as I’m sure many countries have a story like this so how can they judge and deny these poor souls? I bumped into the Basque couple again when I got into town at 11:15 and we sat down for a bit and had a chat while we got some water into us from the local fountain. I shared some of my peanut butter, which neither of them had ever seen before but both loved. We set off together, but I knew they would push ahead very soon, and so didn’t worry. I’d see them sooner or later, most likely in Setcases.
I did lag behind, but it wasn’t because I was unfit. They were clearly fitter than I was, but I was also taking photos. That was my excuse anyway! I did get some gorgeous photos of this part of the hike though (in my honest opinion), as it was hard not to – I was high up, climbing way up to 1,865m at the highest point for the day, all the way from 531m at Beget. From my vantage point I got a 360 degree view, from the green hills of the Garrotxa area to the magnificent Pyrenees. The trail was easy to follow as it was basically a giant dirt road, but it was steep and only went up. Somehow, I didn’t struggle, even though the sun was beating down on me and it was very hot. I met some quite friendly cows along the way too. I say friendly because they let me pass without panicking too much, as well as letting me take some close up family photos. There were dozens of baby cows, most hiding behind their mothers, and even a bull or two. I just couldn’t get over how beautiful it was up here – the green of the grass slightly lighter than the trees, the deep blue sky and fluffy white clouds. It was an oil painting come to life, and I was doing everything I could to capture it with camera and memory. A guy on a mountain bike stopped to say hi before rocketing up the hill, leaving me to eat his dust. I passed another guy coming down, who also said hi but stopped to chat. His name was Javi and he was from Terrassa of all places – the next city from Sabadell where I lived. We chatted about the trail, recommended a few places to camp, a few places not to, and we got on very well – all in Catalan! He was carrying everything, just like me, and he must have had about 17kgs on his back too. He had a smartphone with the maps on it, charging on his backpack with solar panels (I noted that for next time), but what surprised me was he was only carrying a 500ml plastic drink bag! He asked me if there was a fountain at the next stop as he’d already run out of liquid. I assured him there was, but also warned him about the last leg or two of the journey and how scarce the water was. How he was doing this on such little water I didn’t know – I carried about 2.5L on me and filled up when I could. He told me he’d lost loads of weight since starting, showing me how lose his backpack straps were and that he couldn’t make them any tighter. I wished him luck and kept going, me heading up and him going down. I was making good time and wasn’t finding it that difficult! Had I found my hiking legs today? The trail wasn’t rocky, slippery or covered by trees, just up; so I put my head down, stuck it into 1st gear and didn’t stop till I got to the top. I love the phrase, “Don’t stop till you get to the top.” It was a favourite saying of a past hiking buddy of mine, Steffie from Stuttgard, when he hiked together in Chile and Argentina. Happy days.
I must have got a little distracted by the view and the cows (and taking photos), because I over-shot the turn off a little. I bumped into 5 Catalans who were coming down from another path and I asked them just to make sure. I’d gone maybe 4kms too far, but I wasn’t lost. They pulled out their paper map (yes! Nothing like a real map) and I saw where I was and where I needed to go. If I had kept going, I would have detoured onto a smaller section of the GR-11 and gone past the Collada Fonda to another refuge higher up, rather than end up in Setcases. No big deal. I turned around and starting the downward trek from 1,800m down to 1,270m. The only thing that worried me were the clouds that were shaping up - big, black and nasty. There was a storm coming, and coming my way. I tightened the backpack and quickened the pace a little, confident that I’d make it before the rain hit. I knew it was eminent though, the wind was picking up and by now was blowing worse than me on the uphill in 35c heat. As I turned a corner and started going down, I could see Setcases nestled in the valley. I jogged the last 30 minutes into town as the storm wasn’t going to wait for me. I arrived in Setcases an hour later than expected, but still, 5pm wasn’t too bad, and 30 minutes before the storm. I ran into Haizea and her boyfriend in the little supermarket in town where we bought a few things for dinner. We also grabbed a couple of beers and enjoyed them outside under some cover while the storm let rip finally. She was a Basque language teacher in a town near Bilbao, but she spoke English too. He, on the other hand, couldn’t speak English and it was hard to understand his Spanish too. They’d been planning this hike for some time, going from West to East so they’d be home when they finished, but Covid had complicated things. Unable to hike, they’d borrowed a static bike from her dad and cycled every day at home. I could tell they were fit, and although she was quite thin, she was no whimp! The guy didn’t look much either, but he was your typical, tough Basque mountain type, and he carried their shared tent and most of the heavy stuff. I also found out they’d done some hiking in Nepal as well (I was there back in 2013), and they agreed that hiking this trail was harder. Fancy that!
We decided to stick together and find a place to camp for the night. I was worried about David though – I hadn’t seen him all day and the storm didn’t reassure me very much. We camped on the edge of town, right at the start of tomorrow’s leg leading to Nuria. We chatted over dinner but all of us were tired and wanted to sleep. Our spot was good though, the sound of the river to help us sleep, fresh running water for drinking and washing up and the cover of trees in case it rained. I knew we’d start the day together tomorrow, as these guys got up early just like me, but then as always, they’d speed ahead. The sun set in Setcases and there was no rain or even wind, the storm had already moved on. I never did see David again, and I have no idea where he was, but I knew that with his hiking experience, he’d be safe. That's the way of the trail; you meet people and then you say goodbye... In the morning you always say 'have a good hike' (un bon camí) and maybe you'll see each other again, maybe not. I went to sleep content after a great day’s hike, even though we were a man done. I’d done 23kms (plus about 4kms extra) and met some great people along the way though!
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MyUncleTravellingMatt. July 2020.
