Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills (part 2)

Warning: this post is no different from the previous one: the reference it contains to the Bible-of-mountaineering,-your-ticket-to-the-wilderness is nothing but a humble tribute of two enthusiastic Mountain lovers (and occasional Tree huggers, btw). We would consider ourselves truly satisfied, would you decide to buy it and dive in its amazing content just based on our warmest advice...

the back of the 2c15 in B.B.B (Breakfast-Buffet-Brunch) setting. 

For those who don't remember it, the first part of the adventure finished like this: "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." Our idea was to wake up early and do a fast up-and-down hike to summit Jean-Pierre (the emblematic Bearnese peak's nickname) by its normal route: Refuge de Pombie and Col de Suzon, pif-paf, back to the car for lunch and let's roll... I can hear them laughing "the meek shall inherit the earth". Well, our early wake-up was early-ish and the car park (i.e. both sides of the narrow mountain road) was over-crowded with vans, cars, campers, motorcycles and motor-homes packed in a chaotic, yet optimized pattern two hundred meters before and after the beginning of the trail. The trail itself - wandering through the high altitude meadows, peacefully grazed by a bucolic crowd of sheep and cattle - was a continuous, never-ending and dense chain of hikers, who resembled, from a distance, some Catalan pro-independence demonstrators or some XIXieth century firemen passing along the buckets of water to control a fire...

Iconic view from Laruns downtown: "le Pic du Ger a mis son écharpe".

It's not that we don't like human beings, but we're not that much into massive gatherings and tend to find mountaineering enjoyable and rewarding precisely because one can (eventually) experience loneliness and solitude, while feeling lost in the seemingly infinite wilderness. Bull-poop! The Pic du Midi d'Ossau happens to be THE place to visit on a sunny August 10th morning. Call us anti-conformists, we passed along and parked the 2c15 a few kilometers lower down the road for breakfast. The little road to Bious-Artigues was closed due to a heavy traffic jam and the tiny village of Gabas was totally collapsed. Les Eaux-chaudes was desert and looking like a ghost town (this shouldn't be a surprise to anybody who's ever been there), so before we could even realize it, we were in Laruns, taking pictures of weird electric sheep and weeding the grave of Futuna's grandmother (not shown). All right. We had an appointment we couldn't miss with our dear A., his girlfriend M. and her family (two sistas and motha), somewhere over the rainbow: "let's meet at the Refuge de Baysselance, he told us, on the evening of the 12th. We'll have climbed all the way from Pont d'Espagne to the North Face (the "Gaube" side) and hopefully summited the Petit Vignemale along the way! We'll have dinner together and then we'll sleep at the cosy shelter while you guys set your bivy somewhere around: it's gonna be legen... etc.". When A. sets up a meeting, you don't doubt about it nor negociate: you do and you make sure to be on time.

Wallis looking for her route at Arudy ;end of the day on the way to Ossoue ; two wild Iris and still waters right after dawn.

So, with an extra day in the pocket, we drove to Arudy, found a nice spot and did a little bit of sport climbing at a nice crag whose name we don't remember*. Pleasant and quiet spot, nice routes in our grade (5+ to 6a+, we left the couple of 6b and 6c for the next go, "when we're stronger", if that day comes, inshallah!), smiling friendly locals and a middle-aged couple of french traveling hippies playing pétanque with a glass of rosé before dinner. The perfect retreat? Almost... Unfortunately in less than one hour, some forgotten (but still pretty fresh) canine mines exploded under our feet and not even the left one(s). The next day, we did just a tiny little bit of early climbing then we drove to Pau, Lourdes and Gavarnie. Once there, we finally took the dirt road up to Ossoue's dam for an early dinner and 4-star night in our 2.0 bivy: a minimal 1,1kg McKinley tunnel shelter we (compulsively) purchased in Pau after the 1.0 experience: the sleepless slap-in-the-face cold and windy night. Truth is, we were inspired to get it and take it with us on this hike and you'll soon discover how much! No fee for us, no family working there, no special interest in selling the gear, but: we are generally very satisfied with McKinley products and the Arium1 shelter is just fantastic! End of the commercial... back to the hike: from Ossoue, the trail goes up a narrow valley, on the right side of the creek, all the way to a couple of caves dug in the rock (probably by Russell). From there, a trail takes you to the Refuge de Baysselance, while another one goes straight to the foot of the glacier d'Ossoue.

the lower part of the glacier d'Ossoue, with the thick lips of some impressive crevices...

After hiding the bigger backpack under some flat stones, we headed to the glacier, disturbed some young fellow Pyrenean chamois**, took out the ice axes and put on the crampons... The glacier was impressive, steep and deeply cracked but fortunately, some clear and quite young traces gave us the confidence we may have lacked... Ha ha! Ice terrain is no joke... Approximately half way to the top of the glacier, we met two friendly guys from Madrid and finished the ascent with them, while a rope-party of seven, most probably led by a guide, was taking the tourist route across the crevices. I reckon when you pay for the services of a mountain guide, you want to see some real stuff and go where you wouldn't on your own! Anyway, at some point and after passing at the foot of the Pointe Chausenque, the Piton Carré and seen from above the perspective of the most famous corridor of the Pyrenees, the Couloir de Gaube, we reached the foot of the Pique Longue du Vignemale. On a neat and flat area, sharing the available room with the other two parties, we removed the crampons and soon began to "climb" the final section, wisely following - as the guidebook advised - the lines of red rock better than those of grey, more slippery and loose.

All the way up on the glacier d'Ossoue: with an old pair of vintage crampons and many unreal shades of blue!

A professional rope party, the glacier from la Pique Longue and the last 100 meters of natural rock stairs.

Breathtaking views from the top of Pique Longue (3298m), with the Midi d'Ossau in the background and... rush hour to the top!

The summit of the Pique longue (3298m) was easy to reach and the weather clear enough to enjoy 360º of breath-taking, jaw-dropping views: with Gavarnie on one side and the crowded Midi d'Ossau on the other, plus an endless sea of unknown mountains and valleys on the Spanish side... After some quiet sandwiches and still water, the loud guided crowd started to make it to the top and chased us right away. The way down along the (red) rock stairs was easy and quick, so we soon were back and down on the glacier. The refuge de Baysselance we saw from the top at about 600 vertical meters lower to the East right at the foot of the Petit Vignemale and the Hourquette d'Ossoue, was still a long way around the glacier, back to where we dropped the main backpack and back up to its green saddle facing Gavarnie. Just took the average 5-minute pause for a photoshoot by the exit of the Couloir de Gaube, and down we went, following our own previous traces through the rare cracks of the north side of the glacier. As morning advanced and the sun got higher, we feared the snow may become weaker and switched to the rock earlier. Lower on, the backpack was so artistically covered with stones and hidden, we hardly could find it, and the rest of the way to Baysselance was about 40 minutes with no particular problem.

hourquette d'Ossoue and refuge de Baysselance ; beautiful way down ; impressive Couloir de Gaube ; photoshoot in B(lue) flat ; Vignemale family, from left to right: Small, Chausenque ; Carré and Pique Longue!

At about 14:00 we were sunbathing in fornt of the refuge de Baysselance, sipping an instant coffee with milk prepared on the wonderful Trangia stove U&L gave us and giving a bite to the special homemade "mountaineers' cake" they cook up there: absolutely delicious! We met a very nice Belgian couple from Charleroi, hiking part of the GR10, and chatted with them part of the afternoon and evening, while they made plans for the next days... we showered in the wind, stared at the views of a storm approaching from Gavarnie and waited for A. and his angels to show up... but they didn't. At some point, the Belgian couple decided to summit the Petit Vignemale in the evening, just in case the weather became bad for longer than just the night and we went to built the bivy 2.0 on a nice flat area sheltered from the wind with a great round sonte wall. Perfect spot? Looked like... A. and his angels were still nowhere to be found by the time dinner was served, which we enjoyed even more after the guy from the refuge told us they had arrived safe at the refuge des Oulettes de Gaube, at the foot of the north face, and decided to stay there for the night... One eats much better with no worries!

the bivy 2.0, the whole Vignemale family again and the refuge de Baysselance... the calm before the storm. 

We went to bed early and slept like two logs, until the roaring storm reached us, pouring lightning, thunder, rain and thin crushed ice around our 1-person ultralight, waterproof, tiny, shiny lime-green, nylon fortress! It held all night and did the job remarkably, even though the neat stone-walled flat area we had settled onto eventually became a cozy jacuzzi, whose 10 cm high tide started to move our mattresses across the perfectly dry floor. When the water finally found its way through the door's zip, it was about 06:30. We called it a night, packed everything, jumped out just on time to see our hiking boots drifting away with the flow, put them on and run to the refuge for a warm breakfast. Some weren't as lucky and others pitied us after a comfortable and warm night in a comfy bed and under a solid roof. Call it classes if you want, but as for the way down, we were all equal! Fortunately, the rain stopped shortly after 09:00 and we even saw a little bit of sun and blue skies before reaching Ossoue's dam and the 2c15.

Ossoue's waterfalls backed by the night's rainfalls and the unreal greenness with its icelandic je-ne-sais-quoi. 

After a short second breakfast of bread, cheese and red wine, we gave the Belgian couple a lift down to Gavarnie, exchanged emails, bought some postcards and arranged a meeting with A. and his angels, who happened to be doing some sightseeing and miracle-hunting in Lourdes. The rest of the adventure is not worth telling in details (the road, drying the gear, washing the clothes, showering with warm water, cooking real food...), except for an important one: we didn't summit the Petit Vignemale on day 2 as we hoped, but we made it back home alive and safe, which is - according to Mountaineering: the Freedom of the Hills and without a doubt, the one and only goal when going into the wilderness!

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* help us retrieve this information and win an exclusive Un(t)raveling postcard and envelope, all the way from us to you, straight in your mailbox!

** here they are: a bunch of young Rupicapra pyrenaica fellahs, on quite an exotic "Holiday on ice" ballet:

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! ;)