Ray was planning a solo climb to the summit of Pic D’Orhy, at 2,017 metres (6,617 feet), so he was disappointed to learn that the starting point for the climb was at 1578 metres (5,177 feet), making it not quite as epic as he’d thought. Since that was a manageable elevation for me, we decided to do it together.
Driving up the mountain road, we came across an iconic pastoral scene: a large flock of sheep being moved to greener pastures for the summer. Transhumance is the tradition of moving livestock up the mountain in spring and back to lower ground in the fall. Quaint as it was, we were unsure of the sheep-passing protocol, so we followed slowly behind them until the shepherd came back and tried to clear a path for us.
It was all quite cool and entertaining until we noticed a burning smell and smoke seeping out from under the hood of our car. Ray was riding the clutch while driving uphill because driving in first gear while surrounded by sheep who aren’t in any hurry to get out of your way could result in dead sheep and awkward conversations. All of this created stress and confusion for the poor car, whose proximity sensor was in panic mode, madly and incessantly beeping to warn us that we were too close to an object (or many objects, in this case). Once we got past the flock, we calmed (and cooled) the car down and carried on for an only-slightly-less harrowing drive up the mountain road, with its hairpin turns and sheer drop-offs.
Just after crossing the border into Spain, we reached the base of the trail at Port de Larrau. We didn’t get far before encountering snow. I had not missed snow. As we moved higher along the trail, my experienced mountain sherpa made the call that it was too dangerous to continue to Pic D’Orhy and we’d have to settle for the lower peak of Zazpigagn. In that moment, I understood what climbers on Everest must feel when conditions prevent them from completing their ascent. Okay, maybe not exactly how they feel, but, you know, I have an inkling.
Despite this climb being shorter than the others we’ve done, it was the most difficult hike so far (for me, anyway) as the footing was tricky in places. It was well worth the effort though, as the scenery was simply spectacular.
On another day, we hiked along the Voie Verte from Escos to Salies-de-Béarn, an old railway line that’s been converted to a walking/cycling/riding trail. We had a hot drink and a pastry in Salies, and then walked back to our car.
This past weekend was cool and rainy, which was particularly unfortunate for the organizers of the Pau Grand Prix, a Formula 3 race held annually on a circuit that runs through the city. Ray and I met up with Ann, a woman from our hiking group who lives in Pau. We had tea at her apartment and then walked into town to watch a few of the races during a lull in the rain. I don’t know much about car racing, but the noise of the cars zooming around the track creates a cool atmosphere, so it was fun to experience.
The historic Grand Prix (using older cars) takes place in Pau this weekend. Unfortunately, the forecast is for…rain.
I imagine those amazing hikes are not allowing the calories from your intake of chocolate and pastries to accumulate…you’ll both come home slim and in great shape, as usual 😉 Your photos just get better and better 😉
I now understand the moral of your stories. If I walk somewhere I get to eat lots of chocolate and drink lots of tea. The end. 😋
Nope. Just a little bit of chocolate and you have to walk a LOT before you get it. It’s the rule.
If the locals read this, they would be thinking ‘Those crazy Canadians, what they will do for coffee,tea and chocolate’. The scenery is worth it though, just fantastic.
Sorry forget to sign it, Barbara,mum