Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills (part 1)

Warning: the post below does not intend to talk comprehensively about, judge or even review in any way the absolute and definitive Bible of mountaineering (here pictured in its 8th Edition, the one we bought in flesh and bones - or in paper and ink - and have been going back to quite regularly since that moment)! This being said, we can nevertheless make a general comment: anybody who has ever practised, be it once, back camping, hiking, trekking, skiing, rock or ice climbing... should consider buying it for the mere pleasure of holding it in their hands and experience the wells of knowledge and wisdom it gathers inside its sober, yet inspiring soft cover. It is thick. And it is heavy. Needless to add we won't (and don't want to) publish an Amazon fast buy link, nor earn a single cent on your purchase to finance the time we spend writing this blog! Buy it wherever you have a chance to, most preferably at your local dealer, be it a bookshop or a mountain gear store... Ah! the Bible's ISBN is: 978-1594851387. 

the Book, the one and only Bible, the way to wilderness.

What's really fascinating about Mountaineering: the Freedom of the Hills is its seems to contain everything: from how to choose a backpack to how many pairs of socks and grams of dehydrated mushrooms you need to pack per party per day; to how to dig an emergency shelter in the snow; to how to escape a belay in a self-rescue trad-climbing scenario; to how to use a map and compass... It's an outdoor equivalent of Julia Child's two volumes of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking": indispensable, definitive and brilliantly haunting. In our culture of mass consumption, Mountaineering is both your ticket to the wilderness and the exact opposite of a Decathlon store (your B plan to the back country):
 - from the moment you grab Mountaineering..., everything inside the book is about being humble, taking steps one after another. Understanding at any time what you are doing,  what you can do and what you shouldn't. Looking ahead and planning back-up(s). Being alert and humble. From the introduction, you'll learn the first and main goal is not summiting but getting back home alive.
 - from the moment you enter a Decathlon, everything in there is about acquiring then conquering. Plus, of course, having fun. Looks like all you need to become a rock-climber, a para-glider or an ultra-trailer is to pay for the gear! As if the pieces of nylon fabric sewed in PRC contained nano-particles of terrain wisdom and experience that silently penetrated through your skin and went straight to your brain and limbs. Their implicit anthem seems to be "buy the stuff, you'll master the skill". Which is a lie. And there's always an opportunity to (re)learn the lesson!

We had to deal (Futuna did but, technically, Wallis had (and still has) to deal with it too...) with a bad shoulder injury back in November 2014 and consequently almost didn't climb nor hike (nor do any kind of outdoor activity!) at all during winter and spring. August 2015: several months, general practitioners, traumatologists, neurologists, physiotherapists and osteopaths later... things haven't improved. Not a bit. And finally, here we are: mid-summer, our first hike of the year! We decided to go to Monte Perdido, Aragón, for a 2-day hike through Valle de Pineta and the classic north face from the Étang du Marboré. Left home early afternoon headed to St. L, where Futuna's godfather keeps enriching his amazingly huge and reasonably freaky collection of stoups, had a nice time and dinner with him, listened to the Boltaña's mountain choir and orchestra, then crossed the tunnel way too late at night to go and sleep at the end of the road, 15km off Bielsa.

"an amazingly huge and reasonably freaky collection of stoups..."

After a late wake-up and lazy breakfast, feeling exhausted before even starting, we packed late and heavy (food, shelter, sleeping bags, thermarests, water, stove, ice axes, crampons...) and finally started to walk passed noon. Under a bright, cloudless sun!
Not sure whether we already talked about this special kind of hikers one often meets in the mountain and we call seagulls (les mouettes in French and las gaviotas in Spanish, sure enough in some posts from 2014 in the Dolomites). Not because they laugh/scream like seagulls, but because like seagulls, their presence means land. Terra firma. When you see some, your car shouldn't be very far anymore! They usually wear shorts or jean's, tanktops, flipflops or "sport shoes", a baseball cap or nothing, a tiny backpack or even a stray basket, no water or just a 25 cl bottle. They never seem to care for sunscreen, dehydration or evening storms. And more importantly, as you're coming back down early afternoon after your seven-hour hike, they're generally starting and doomed no to get far away up the trail - even though they're convinced they'll eventually summit AND walk down safely. You sometimes pity them, sometimes warns them it's long, without shade, very long, steep and extremely long, sometimes say nothing more than "Hello!" and feel responsible for what may happen to them within the next 3-4 hours...

What seagulls never see: north faces of Monte Perdido (3355m) and Cilindro de Marbore (3328m) from the Balcon de Pineta.

So, our soundtrack for that day could be a cover of David Bowie's We can be Seagulls just for a day! After a tough hour struggling with a 15 kg backpack and the heat in the shade of the forest, we found a spring and the very last tree we'd see in 24 hours. Not far from them, the amazing pool of a beautiful waterfall. Then nothing but a steep trail under the sun and a long three-and-a-half hour to make it to the balcon de Pineta... As the two wise and usually-not-too-seagull hikers who we sure are, we tried and convinced a bunch of other first-grade seagulls to give up their intention to make it to the balcon without any food, proper clothing and especially, without a strong and clear will to bivy up there... and Ford, did it go up long and steep! We thought (and argued about) giving up and going down a few times... But finally got to the balcon de Pineta, exhausted. And from there, up to the little Marboré's lake, where we crashed with headache, nausea, sore joints and swollen feet!

The view from the first window through the trees (0h30) and past the spring and waterfall (1h). Further up, looking back (2h30).

A miso soup with a lot of water and a late nap saved us. As the sun went down behind the ridge of the Astazous, we were ready to set the bivy, cook dinner - mainly a broth - and go to bed. Skip the soundtrack to Marc Ribot's Dark was the night, cold was the ground... and strong the wind. We were lucky it didn't rain because the minimal setting of our shelter wouldn't have done much to protect us... A long sleepless night: the fabric flapping and slapping us in the face with fury, like the sails of a ship in the storm. Sounds romantic? Well it wasn't. Eventually though, the wins stopped with the first lights of dawn - immediate blackout for Futuna, who had spent the whole night receiving the slaps with his strong nose so as to let Wallis get some rest (he's a hero, why doesn't anyone seem to notice it?).

Ready to enjoy a miso soup thanks to the fantabulous TRANGIA U&L gave us ; our sexy slap-bivy ; the north face at dusk,just before a long night!

Next thing we remember: we were having biscuit while heating water for the instant coffee at around 09:30. Sore legs and shoulders, backpacks still way too heavy and right in front of us: the thousand vertical meters of the north face, with its glacier and steep rocks. We tried to spot the way up to the col du Cylindre, between ice and rocks, only to discover an enthusiastic party of young and loud Basque mountaineers had picked the wrong access to the small yet recognizable chimney and were somehow stuck not even half way to the top... We humbly decided to walk back down (alive!) to the car and called it a... WUTH (Warm-Up Test Hike. It was absolutely worth it on its own, since the morning views were breathtaking: Monte Perdido, Cylindre du Marboré and the Astazous; the unreal Brêche de Tuquerouye, a thin scar in the rock face of the Cirque d'Estaubé, where some insane Frenchmen hung a small halfpipe-shaped shelter at 2660m.

"the valle de Pineta from its balcony, an ode to greenness after the..." zzzz!

And finally: the whole Valle de Pineta from its balcony, an ode to greenness after the silent landscapes of stone and ice... The way down was long and painful for the knees and eels (gravity being on ones side, it may feel it's going to be easier than going up, but it's not). The sun was already quite high and hot. So, when we finally met our first couple of seagulls, we (indeed) felt relieved: the end was near! Home was close! We met/crossed/passed them just a few minutes above the spring and last tree. We remembered this old logic trick of the monk hiking up the mountain then down the next day, thinking whether he might have been at the exact same point of the trail at the exact same time on both days, then thought these seagulls would be our "us" of the previous day, then decided the old monk was actually right and forgot about the problem. Unlike us, the other "us" were four, smiling and they visibly had no idea what they were up to. Light sport shoes, no backpacks, looking extremely tired and desperately asking for ¿el balcón? ¿el balcón?

Magnificent Pineta and a little "Where is Wallis?" challenge.

Our conversation was something like:
- How long did it take you to make it here? (gently asking)
- One hour and fifteen minutes! (proudly answering)
- So, I guess you still have about three to three and a half more hours to make it to the balcony, with no shade, no water and the last two hours are the steepest of the all route. I assume you're not sleeping up there and plan to hike back down today, right?
- ... (quietly weeping inside)
- There's a lovely tub with free waterfall and flat rocks ten minutes up the trail and to the left, you'll love it there! (both smiling)
- Sounds like a plan! Have a nice day, amigos! (relieved)

The forest part was long too, but we found our little corner by the creek to bath and refresh before getting back to the car, cooked a nice pasta while watching the squeeking ballet of hundreds of seagulls of all kinds and ages in their brightest Quechua outfits, then pushed the 2c15 down the road, heading to L'Ainsa, Barbastro and finally got to S., our beloved friends' secret retreat at the foot of Sierra de Guara, just on time for a nice dinner with red wine and sobremesa before a well-earned night of rest. Tradition is, when we drop by S., to stretch limbs and sport climb at Olvena's Garrapatillos sector, then lake-swim somewhere along the nearby congostos and pantanos. We also (even though for way too short a visit) drove up to Rodellar to try and blend in among the really tough climber fauna. Due to a surprisingly moody weather (understand "heavy pouring rain"), the whole valley looked like a mountainous remake of Woodstock: mud, tents and more mud, everywhere around! The tough climbers seemed pissed and depressed, smoking and sipping coffee with milk all day at the camping's cafeteria, while sporadically staring at the cliffs around with a sad dog look - and a wet dog smell, by the way...

Breakfast in Bierge; psychedelic sunset in the Somontano wineyards close to Barbastro; G.'s handcraft: handmade with rope!

Seriously, the true reason we went all the way up there despite an awful weather, was our dear friends G. and I. who were working at the camping for the season. We hadn't seen them in a while and thought the rain would allow us to spend a couple of hours chatting with them and doing the due updates! In spite of the hard work shifts between camping and hotel, plus some canyoning and climbing on their (rare) spare time, G. handcrafted bracelets and necklaces off old climbing ropes and slings - a must-have for all freaky climbers at the camping - and some amazing sculptures of branch climbers in tough overhanging roofs*! After that, we headed the 2c15 up north again, through Huesca and Sabiñanigo to the Pourtalet, where we spent a beautiful yet chilly night with the milky way and the Midi d'Ossau (2884m) straight in our bedroom window.

Coming soon: the rest of our Mountaineering adventures in the central Pyrenees...

The balcony: a silent geology masterclass (taught in Aragonese)!

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* anybody willing to buy one (or several) of G.'s bracelet(s) or freaky branch climbing sculpture(s) can ask for a contact; we'll kindly provide phone number and email of the artist - and charge you no extra fee nor commission! ;)