Prologue
Walking the Pyrenean Haute Route from the Atlantic.
There’s 506 miles to the Mediterranean, I’ve got a full bottle of meths, half a kilo of peanut butter, it’s hot and I’m wearing a raincoat. Hit it
3rd October: Day 1
Today: 21 miles – 5,977ft ascent
I camp with a German trainee dentist, who seems to have learnt her English accent from posh people in Miss Marple. The accent is convincing, but it is disconcerting to be told about dental training by a member of the English upper class, who is actually German, while eating mash potato from a bag in the dark.
She is thru-hiking in the other direction so is just finishing. She seems impressed that I am heading off into the mountains at this late stage in the season, with snow coming in and all the huts along the route shut. Of course, the truth is, I don’t really know what I’m doing.
I’ll only meet one other thru-hiker this trip.
Leaving the Atlantic
Looking back on Hendaye
4th October: Day 2
Today: 23 miles – 6,300ft ascent; Cumulative: 44 miles – 12,227ft ascent
I run out of water for about 4 hours.
I spend some time considering climbing a fence and using the animal trough in the field at the back of a farmhouse.
I spend less time considering knocking on the door and asking – that would be embarrassing at the best of times, and now I’d have to go through embarrassing myself in 3 languages. That seems to play into the hands of the French lady on the train who didn’t believe I could survive with only rudimentary English behind me.
I end up at the side of a lane a few miles later, using a leaf to fill my bottles from a drip. It takes maybe half an hour, and occasionally a 4×4 full of hunters drives past and I stare nonchalantly into the middle distance as if to say: don’t worry guys this is all part of the plan.
(The guidebook lists loads of water sources – the problem is there’s been a whole summer of record breaking heatwave/drought and they’ve all dried up. Luckily, in a couple of days I’ll have more water than I know what to do with…)
5th October: Day 3
Today: 20 miles – 4,400ft ascent; Cumulative: 64 miles – 16,627ft ascent
6th October: Day 4
Today: 18 miles – 5,961ft ascent; Cumulative: 82 miles – 22,588ft ascent
It turns out to be a knife edge ridge with a sheer drop into a mist covered abyss either side, with a strong crosswind.
I’m definitely terrified, but then elated to survive – I can do this, maybe it’s all going to be fine…
I look at the guidebook again in the evening, and realise I’d misread it. The ridge of certain death is tomorrow, not today – this ridge today didn’t even register as something worth mentioning to a real hiker. Embarrassing.
7th October: Day 5
Today: 11 miles – 4,209ft ascent; Cumulative: 93 miles – 26,797ft ascent
8th October: Day 6
Today: 22 miles – 4,701ft ascent; Cumulative: 115 miles – 31,498ft ascent
It’s dark and I’m walking through farm land trying to find somewhere to camp.
A large Alsatian dog comes out into the lane to discuss some concerns he has with me.
I explain that there is nothing suspicious about a man walking around his farm in the dark with a torch and a big bag, and I’m happy with him barking and drooling where he is, if he lets me walk slowly past him.
He politely explains that his view is that men with torches and bags are exactly the sort of people he is supposed to brutally tear apart. If I’m willing to be brutally torn apart, that’s a service he’s happy to provide.
As a compromise, I suggest that I run away, and camp on the verge next to the farm entrance. He grudgingly accepts this – in the happy knowledge that the farmer will be driving a tractor in and out of that entrance from 3am onwards.
Lescun, a local village – there is nothing for me there.
Photo taken the next morning after a night spent wondering whether it’s worse to be attacked by a dog or run over by a tractor.