Uncertainty. Tangaroa ā-roto. Inner emotional travel. Solace in uncertainty. That was the moon phase we were in.
We definitely felt uncertainty today, and fear, and exhilaration, and relief, and weariness.
After spending yesterday in our preparation phase – the start of the Tangaroa phase of the moon in the Māori maramataka is all about looking to the future – we were ready to go. Our future yesterday was fairly immediate. Planning for the tomorrow which is now today! We had packed our rucksacks, pored over the map – I love a good map, especially a real paper one that I can spread out on a table and look at properly. I like the digital one on my phone so I can see in the moment where I am. But there is something about spreading a paper map out and identifying features, estimating walking times and making the connections between what we see physically on the ground in front of us and what is drawn on the paper.
We had also read several different accounts of the route we planned to do, so we could lock the description into our heads. We were clearing the way so that we could visualise the challenge.
All of that helped to prepare us, but it also served to sow seeds of doubt and a touch of anxiety. Was this challenge going to be too big? I always have a sort of nervous energy before embarking on a big challenge – it’s natural, and I think also a good thing to have – it stops me from being over-confident. But this time seemed different – more anxiety and less excitement, or at least, the excitement was muted. The more I read about the ‘clavijas’ climbs – ‘almost vertical’, ‘challenging’, and considered the suggested walking time of 8 hours to do 17km, and looked at the elevation gain over a very short distance, the more I wondered if it might be too much for us. We are in our 60s after all!
I think this time, though, it was, ‘yes, I’ve done this sort of thing before, faced challenges, experienced the unknown and plunged in anyway, but that was long ago when my body was young and strong.’ My nervousness today was less, ‘Can I do it?’ and more ‘Can I still do it?’
After checking the description and the map, we had decided that we didn’t need the harnesses and cow’s tails we had arranged to hire. It seemed that the ‘Clavijas’ sections we were doing were not so steep and sustained as the Clavijas de Cortadueros. We also took heart in the description on one account that said it was suitable for children.
Ah! But I haven’t even said what our adventure was going to be! A circuit in the Parque Nacional de Ordesa y Monte Perdido, Los Pirineos, would take us up to La Faja de Flores, along the cliff, across the limestone pavement to the Goriz Hut, where we would stay the night and then walk out past La Cola de Caballo waterfall and back to the Pradera where we started.
The early morning drive from Oto to Torla was in darkness, but the sky started to lighten during the bus ride from Torla to La Pradera. By the time we started walking along the valley in the forest in the half-light of dawn, the morning sun was starting to hit the uppermost tips of the mountains, bathing them with a bright golden glow.
Nervousness was now giving way to excited anticipation of what was to come. We moved steadily up through the forest listening, smelling, breathing it all in. We were alone. Peace. Quiet. Just the natural sounds of the forest.
We had glimpses of the cliff on the opposite side of the valley through ‘vegetation windows’ as we climbed. A strong smell of urine, which we decided was goat, around the shelter was unpleasant, so we didn’t linger. We started to hear voices ahead and behind us – it’s amazing how sound travels in the mountains, but we didn’t hurry. Our pace was steady.
As we came out above the treeline, we could see around us – cliffs looming on both sides of the valley and above us. Which of them was the Faja de las Flores? The path levelled out for a short while, and then we zigzagged up through the meadows. It was still early, and there was still a nip in the air, but the sun had almost worked its way onto our side of the valley.
We caught up with a father and his daughter, who, like us, were looking for the way up. We had reached a small stand of young beech trees; the path seemed to go through it, but then petered out at the foot of some rocks. No sign of any ‘clavijas’, but it seemed like the way on. A mini climb to warm us up! It was more of a scramble up the limestone blocks, and then the path was clear. By this time, the pair had disappeared ahead, but we managed to keep an eye on them, which helped us in our route finding.
Eventually, we came to the first of the climbs. Nigel went ahead while I waited below to check he was ok. I’m not sure what I could have done if he hadn’t been ok or if he had fallen, but he was more nervous than I, and had done less climbing in the past. He made his way carefully up, and then I followed. Not too bad – a couple of dodgy moves – I tried not to make too much use of the ‘clavijas’ as they were quite shiny and I thought they may be slippery. There were plenty of natural hand and foot holds, but it was good to have the security of something bombproof to hang on to if needed.
Onwards and upwards to the next climb. By this time, a group of 4 young fellas had almost caught us up. This climb was more vertical, and there was a bit of a chimney. We discussed our strategy first, noting that we didn’t want to get wedged in, especially since we were carrying sizeable packs. It was definitely a bit more of a struggle. There are advantages of going first – the person below can point out foot and hand holds, but there are also advantages of going second – being able to see where the first person has gone and the route they took. Nigel made it up, and then I followed. I was very nervous as I climbed, again, I wanted to make as much use of the natural holds as possible without getting caught in the narrow chimney. As I huffed and puffed and wondered about a move which was going to mean swapping my feet on a small ledge and trusting that my arms and hands could hold me as I did so, I heard/felt someone coming up hot on my heels! No time to prevaricate, I needed to go for it! Pressure was not what I needed, or was it? I breathed in and went for it. Phew! But, ‘what the heck!? Why didn’t he wait until I had got to the top?’
We topped out and made our way up to some slabs with an epic view down the valley. It was time for a rest, some kai and photos! We ended up chatting with the young guys (actually not that young, probably in their late 30s, early 40s, but definitely younger than us!) We took their photos, and they took ours. Of course, it was a perfect spot for a handstand, and they were suitably impressed! We ‘let’ them go ahead and didn’t see them again until we reached the hut later that evening.
La Faja de las Flores
The next section took us across the limestone pavement for a while until we wound around to the start of the ‘Faja’. Faja means girdle in English, but in the context of the environment, it refers to a natural, horizontal ledge or band on the cliffside, formed by erosion of softer rock layers. The faja paths in Ordesa traverse different parts of the canyon at varying levels, and we had been looking up at them all the way, wondering which one we were going to traverse!
My word of the day was ‘WOW’! Oh, my goodness! (can’t swear in my blog, but I did lots on the walk!) It was amazing. The sheer size, massiveness, openness of the sky, the cliffs, the landscape. Looking down was dizzying, looking up was mind-blowing! When we reached the start of the track, as we had read, it didn’t seem as bad as it looked from below. Yes, it was narrow but not too narrow. Yes, there was a sheer drop off to the right, but there was a bit of space, and so we weren’t teetering on the edge. The sense of exposure wasn’t as great as if there had been the same drop-off on both sides – somehow, the overhanging cliff provided some security.
Nevertheless, we proceeded with caution whilst also remembering to look up and around and say ‘wow’ every now and again! The ledge is about 3km long, and so it was mentally hard maintaining focus and concentration so we didn’t trip, but it was easy walking. At one point, it was even wide enough for me to do a handstand!
The ‘flores’ part of the name refers to the flowers that abound at this level of the Pyrenees, and although it was late summer, there were still plenty of them around. I thought I had read somewhere that ‘flores’ also referred to the fossils in the rock at this level, though I can’t find any reference to that now. If you want to know more about the geology, this site is interesting.
As we came out of the end, we could see where the shorter round trip would have taken us – down the next set of climbs, which would have required climbing/descending gear. But we were heading upwards and onto the limestone massif. Before that, though, a brief rest and a bite to eat.
We found a flat rock between grikes and settled down to eat our typical Alpine/Pyrenean picnic of bread, cheese, cured meat, fruit and madeleines. We watched the lizards scooting around and talked about what we had done already and what we still had to do. We mistakenly believed that all the hard work was done!
La Breche de Roland
We could see La Breche de Roland from our lunch spot. We had vaguely entertained an idea that we might climb up towards it to find Casteret’s ice cave, but 4 hours into our adventure and not even halfway, we decided that it probably wasn’t on the cards! Norbert Castert and his wife Elizabeth, are a couple of my heroes – intrepid cavers and adventurers and they also played a huge part in the French resistance and the safe guiding of refugees across the border between France and Spain. La Breche de Roland is an impressive natural gap in the rock and is a key route between France and Spain.
It proved to be a bit of a guiding star as we made our way across the limestone pavement, as we knew that the path went close to it. Now that we had gained most of the height, we had assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that the path would be more straightforward and we would make faster progress. Haha! Although it was a main route, it was just that – a route and not a path. We have been lulled into false securities by the New Zealand mountain paths, which are clearly marked, and we had forgotten all that we had previously learned about European mountain paths! There was a plethora of cairns dotted all over the pavement, which helped in some way, but really, we just followed the map and the visual signals, such as keeping to the left of a hill we had identified and La Breche de Roland. The route took us down into the deep grikes, along them and then back up onto the pavement. We knew, from looking at the map, that we needed to traverse a sort of hanging boggy valley, turn right and then into another before carrying on to the hut.
We were mightily glad that it was a clear day – not sure how we would have coped in low cloud and limited visibility. There were a few people around too, doing much the same as us – wandering around the pavement looking for the way on. Eventually, we made it to the boggy flat valley. Woohoo! A bit of level ground, soft underfoot and easy to walk on! At some point just after lunch, I had gone over on my left ankle, righted myself, but fallen heavily on my right leg, twisting my knee as I fell. I lay there like a beached whale, (or maybe a turtle!) pack on my back, unable to get up until Nigel came to help. By now, over 6 hours in, my knee was starting to complain a bit.
My elation at flat, easy walking (I even ran for a bit!) was short-lived as we approached the end of the valley. There was a cliff to climb to get out! This had not been documented in any of the reports we had read! No clavijas to help us. A veritable wall to climb with no support. We watched as others made (struggled) their way up the different routes. A French couple we had overtaken sat there too. The lady was anxious. So were we! Her husband told her she had to do it or she would have to go back the way they had come!
I have to confess that I was seriously concerned at this point. We were tired, and this was an unexpected challenge that our heads weren’t prepared for. I went first this time – not sure why! There were two possible routes – one went into a chimney, the other on a sort of arete. I knew from climbing in the past that chimneys can offer false security, but I really wasn’t up for the exposure that the arete offered. I opted for the chimney and nearly regretted it when my backpack wedged in as I tried to move upwards on a precarious foothold. I breathed deeply and told myself I had to move, or my leg would go into mega shakes, and I would be done for! A little shimmy and a re-adjustment of my pack. Phew! Up and then onto the ledge and safety! From above, I was able to offer encouraging suggestions for Nigel of where to put his feet and handholds, not that he seeemd to take any notice. To be fair, in a situation like that, you just have to do your own thing!
The next 5km was interminable. Mentally, we were a bit over it by now. However, the scenery was still amazing, and the ‘wow’ factor was as wow as ever. Our excitement as we came across caves brought back feelings of old exploring limestone landscapes. We were in a little group of couples in the same headspace as us, leapfrogging each other as our energy ebbed and flowed, exchanging comments about the scenery, the route, how far we thought it was, were we even on the right path?
Looking ahead at one point, the whole landscape seemed to be moving. When we looked closer, it was! A flock of sheep were making their way across the col between two hills.
Marmots scurried across the limestone pavement, disappearing down holes – strange wee things they are – to me they look like a cross between a guinea pig and a dachshund!
We trudged on, not on the simple path the map seemed to suggest but up and down the troughs and peaks of a limestone landscape. We saw the hut in the distance and headed towards it for a while, but then it vanished as we wound our way up and down, round and about, navigating little climbs which seemed to take us away from our goal.
By now, we were tired, mentally and physically, but the environment was still amazing, wow factor! And then, all of a sudden, we saw the hut again! Within striking distance! We (well, I!) could ‘smell the hay’ as it were, and I had a new burst of energy which propelled me on.
We had made it! 11 hours after setting off. 19km (on Nigel’s watch, 17km on mine – we’ll go with his!) And there was beer! Never has a beer tasted so good!
