PORTRAITURE

Remember, it’s Just a Big Pile of Rocks

 

When it comes to picking an activity for a short vacation, scaling a 10,000-foot summit on a pleasant summer’s day would not be at the top of most people’s to-do lists. Even the fittest person might think twice – but I did not. And that’s coming from someone who for the past ten years has felt that walking on a flat surface for more than 40 minutes qualifies as extreme sport. It was during a recent hiking trip to the French Pyrenees that I was to find out the hard way just how sleeping muscles respond to being shaken awake without warning.

 

The entire chain of the Pyrenees is blessed with natural beauty, so when I recently returned from a prolonged stay in the United States to the country of my birth, I jumped at the first opportunity to revisit that region. My chosen destination – and as it turned out my ultimate testing ground – was the Cirque de Gavarnie, a large rocky amphitheater situated at the border between France and Spain in the Mont Perdu region; a place so spectacular that it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site. I wanted to go back to where I’d been as a child, remembering the joy of hiking a small trail to a most gorgeous lake, at the end of which my efforts were rewarded with a chocolate-and-banana-filled pancake from a local bodega. This early sense of accomplishment after summiting a portion of the mountain filled me with a yearning to relive the excitement yet again. Realizing that what I took for a summit as a four-year-old would be as challenging now as a stroll in the park, I decided to spice up the deal and take on a hike with a much higher level of difficulty; one that rated at least four out of five boot symbols in a hiking magazine. A slope towards a lake would not do; I felt I had graduated to the challenge and accomplishment of tackling a real summit.

 

Fired-up by delusions of my own physical capability, I sought out a mountain guide who could show me exactly how it’s done. A quick Internet search led me to Alban Ligné, a professional mountain climber who had set up shop in the village of Gavarnie at the heart of Le Parc National des Pyrénées. Hiking with Alban for a day would cost me 30 euros – cheap at the price for a professional’s insider knowledge of the mountain. From the list of hikes on his site, I settled upon the Casque du Marboré; the way Alban described this particular spot led me to believe that its ascent would be challenging yet relatively easy – although I was about to learn that my definition of ‘easy’ didn’t match that of my guide. Since there were no boot symbols of any kind next to that hike, I went along with Alban’s depiction. The description of this peak as found on many other Internet sites should have been enough to raise a red flag; but, completely unconcerned about earning the astute-hiker-of-the-year title, I pushed on with my notion that climbing a nearly 10,000 ft summit on one’s first-ever mountain hike in 36 years was something that didn’t require a miracle.

 

Standing at 9862 ft – 3006 meters, the Casque du Marboré represents one of the highest points in the entire Cirque de Gavarnie. It is also one of the classic hikes for several reasons: it is accessible from the Col* des Tentes parking lot; it has some great views of the Cirque and its giant waterfall, the tallest in Europe with a drop of 1387 ft (423 m); and its trail goes through a passage, La Brèche de Roland (9209 ft – 2807 m), that is linked to French history. Legend has it that the hero Roland, nephew of the great Charlemagne, attempted to break his sword ‘Durandal’ on the rock rather than have it fall into the hands of the Saracen army in 788 AD; instead the rock wall split, leaving an incredible slash 130 ft across and 330 ft high (40 by 100 m) in the frontier cliffs between France and Spain.

(* a pass)

 

I arrived in the village of Gèdre – located just a few feet below Gavarnie – by mid-afternoon the day before, just in time to get a glimpse of La Brèche de Roland from my hotel window. Within minutes of my settling in, clouds had completely engulfed that part of the mountain. Just below my window, the front terrace of the hotel restaurant was buzzing with hordes of happy hikers toting the latest cutting-edge backpacks, walking sticks, and state-of-the-art footwear that – like those who wore them – were not on their first hike. In comparison, all my equipment looked like the result of an Elle Woods’ shopping spree: everything matched, from my quick-drying, breathable pants to my backpack and even my socks. My only serious-looking piece of hiking gear was a walking stick bought a few days earlier, more for its too-good-to-pass-up bargain price than any intention of using it. Even with the stick, however, there was no hiding it: compared to that cheerful lot, I looked like an amateur – an inexperienced if stylishly attired amateur. That is when, I believe, I started to perceive the faintest jangling of a warning bell rising from the pit of my stomach into what must have been an already oxygen-deprived brain.

 

At 7:45 am the following day, I drove the short distance from my hotel to the Tourism Office of Gavarnie (4511 ft – 1375 m) where we were supposed to rally at 8 o’clock sharp. Two couples were already waiting: Valerie and Nicolas, and Dominique and Alain. I was the only one going solo. Alban, an attractive thirty-something man who gave the impression that he’d probably never encountered a wilderness-related challenge he couldn’t overcome, arrived shortly afterwards. As soon as the introductions were over, we packed ourselves and our gear into two cars for the 15-minute drive from the village of Gavarnie to the parking lot of the Col des Tentes (7244 ft – 2208 m) about 6 miles – 10 km – away.

 

Accepting a ride with Alban while the couples followed in the other car, I took the opportunity to ask him some questions that had been on my mind since the night before. I wanted to know the primary causes of hiking accidents – my way of fishing for some critical reassurance about what I feared was going to be a challenging day. And while Alban’s answer surprised me, it also confirmed that what I’d learnt of the mountains as a four-year-old – while under the care of my parents holding out a warm, delicious pancake as a carrot – was not going to cut it here. People die in the mountains, and that’s a fact. I had expected him to say that most deaths occur in freezing temperatures at high altitudes in the middle of winter, but I was thoroughly disappointed. It is in the summer, apparently, while exposed to the blazing sun and rapidly changing temperatures during extreme exertion, that death frequently occurs – in the form of a heart attack.

 

“People don’t take mountains for what they are,” Alban pressed on, “a dangerous and unpredictable zone that will test the core of their physical ability. Also people often fall while inching their way across steep rock faces, like the Pas des Isards, by far the most challenging part of our day…” And just like that, although I tuned out whatever else Alban had to say about the day that was about to unfold, I realized that the easy hike I’d been anticipating was in no way what I should have been preparing for.

 

Duration 0h 20

The hike began easily enough from the free parking lot of the Col des Tentes, a mountain pass near the Spanish frontier, with a short hike along a road no longer in use due to some dramatic rockslides. At the end of that road we turned east (left) onto a well-marked trail towards the Col de Boucharo at 7447 ft – 2270 m, our first planned rest stop of the day. The approachable terrain encouraged amicable chatter among the five of us during the 20 minutes it took to arrive at the Col de Boucharo. Along the way, we got some amazing views of Le Pic du Taillon and other mountains that form a natural border between France and Spain.

 

Duration 1h 30

After a brief pause and a first sip of water, we continued along the last part of the trail on our way to the Refuge* des Sarradets (8487 ft – 2587 m). The terrain remained mostly unchanged until another 45 minutes into our walk, when we had to make our way across la Cascade des Sarradets onto a slightly more difficult part of the route, following the river up between boulders. This section is probably far more intimidating during spring when a lot more water must be flowing from the melting glaciers of the Taillon above. There are chains fixed to the rocks to help you cross – or at least stop you from slipping on the wet rocks – and while this was not the crossing Alban had had in mind, I was able to test right there and then the quick-drying promise of my pants (check). Past the cascade, which Alban called an easy warm-up, we were on our way to the Col des Sarradets (8494 ft – 2589 m) where some spectacular views of the Cirque de Gavarnie and the legendary Grande Cascade awaited.

(* a mountain cabin or resting place)

 

 The easy trail was now getting a little harder as we climbed through a chaotic landscape of rocky terraces. Our gaze left the increasingly stunning scenic views to focus permanently on our feet. Due to the changing terrain, we now had to negotiate our way around talus slopes with large sandstone blocks interspersed with outcrops of limestone. If the first part of this hike had offered little change in altitude, the climb to the Col was now decidedly steep; as Alban led us along at a steady speed, chatter dwindled to the barest minimum. Barely two hours into our hike, my breathing started to show early signs of trouble. The expected long-term benefit of my early years as a ballet dancer had failed to kick in. It was yet further proof that my delusional mind was in no way a fast fix for the reality of my poor physical condition. As we reached the Col des Sarradets, the refuge stood only a few meters away. We pressed on with the promise of stopping for a while to recoup.

 

The Refuge des Sarradets as we found it that day was a busy place; it seemed that the entire border population of France and Spain had decided to meet at that exact spot. But the crowding didn’t detract from the impressive view of the famous Brèche de Roland, towering some 720 ft above the rocky valley at 9209 ft – 2807 m. We stopped and admired the view of what was to be our first real ascent of the day. The steep hill from the refuge to the Brèche offers a challenging path of rolling rocks zigzagging across a short section of permanent ice patches. As I watched the slow ascending motion of distant hikers on their way up, I knew that the easy part of our hike was now over. What lay ahead was a serious climb.

 

Duration 0h 45

After a few minutes catching our breath, we refilled our water bottles from the freshwater spigot installed behind the refuge, and got on our way. Following Alban’s lead, we grabbed our walking sticks (that would prove so useful) and started our way up. My breathing became labored about ten minutes in, which was worrying, since I knew it would be at least another 40 minutes to the Brèche and a further two hours at least to the summit. I remember looking back down at the refuge, longing for some shade from the blazing sun. All I could hear was my pounding heart as all conversation ground to a halt. At least one other member of our group (whose name I will withhold here) was not faring much better, and I shamelessly took some small comfort in that. Trailing at the back of the pack, our tired steps became our entire existence as we fought to keep our balance over the unstable rubble that slid beneath our feet. We made it to the top of the Brèche in 45 grueling minutes, and after just a brief stop, continued on to our left towards the Casque du Marboré, our final destination.

 

Duration 0h 30

The Casque du Marboré forms the eastern part of the Brèche; it is accessible by passing through to the Spanish side and following a path that runs hard left, close to a rock wall. As the path started to descend slightly, there seemed to be sheer cliffs above us, making it hard to believe that there is a route through this part of the mountain. Within minutes, the path became extremely narrow with a huge drop beneath, where a hazardously hung steel cable provided some moral support. That difficult section is called Pas des Isards. Alban’s ‘what’s the big deal?’ attitude gave us the illusion that this passage was less treacherous than it looked, and we all made it across without any trouble. On the other side, our group continued along a path that hugs the mountain wall until it reaches a natural saddle called le Col des Isards (9019 ft – 2749 m). At the end of the wall, we took a left turn and began to climb, following a path to a wide terrace on the southern slopes of the Tour du Marboré, pushing through until we reached a sort of chimney between the Tour and the Casque, our final destination. We then turned left and started to scramble over a rough terrain of jumbled rocks and boulders that led to the top.

 

Duration 1h 00

Although the rocks and boulders were easy enough to climb over, the slope was as steep as a cliff, and my legs began to burn after about ten minutes. With each step the temperature seemed to drop a degree or two. After almost an hour of climbing higher and higher, my heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to keel over. That’s when it happened: about 660 ft (200 m) from the summit, and for the first time that day, I wanted to give up. I could see the end but my legs would not move; besides, my breathing was getting really bad, and I could hear a repeating soundtrack of Alban’s earlier description of the greatest cause of fatalities among naïve hikers. I glanced up and saw Alban looking at me with an encouraging smile. To my mortification, I responded with a look of unmistakable defeat. I had nothing left; I was spent. The beast had gotten the better of me and I was paying for my delusional arrogance.

 

Just as I thought the party was over, and was about ready to throw away my now useless walking stick, I heard someone approaching from behind, which annoyed me slightly. The idea that I would yet again have to maneuver my un-maneuverable legs over another of those unmanageable rocks to let this hiker pass, yet another obstacle between me and this unreachable summit, was not particularly welcome at this point. I turned slightly to face the enemy, and noticed that the older gentleman standing behind me was also blocking my passage down. Sensing what I was about to do, he told me then and there that he would not let me go back down, and that giving up so close to the top was not an option. I couldn’t believe it. I took a good look at him, sizing him up, knowing perfectly well that I could not fight my way past this guy as I had no strength left – although believe me the idea crossed my mind. If he wanted to lead the way up he would have to make his way around me, as I would not move. I waved him past, and as my madness subsided and I summoned the courage to follow him and carry on, I became committed to the battle for the summit. Rock after rock, nothing could stand between me and the peak, as I reminded myself of the words of David Breashears*: “Don't forget it's really just a big pile of rocks”. From this point on it was no longer just an ordinary climb. The Marboré had become more than a mountain; it had become a turning point in my attitude towards life.

(* American mountaineer and filmmaker)

 

When I finally made it to the top, I was greeted by my smiling and, dare I say, ragged and tired-looking companions – with the exception of Alban, who I suspect could have climbed another summit without any effect on his physical state, even on one leg. I thanked the older gentleman, who looked very pleased with himself, and I felt, for the first time in my life, like one of those first-time travelers who can’t help but applaud when their plane hits the tarmac. Standing at the top truly felt like a victory. And while looking at the stupendous view, I breathed in a brief moment of exaltation followed by the shocking realization of what I had just done, and the knowledge that whatever I had encountered during the four-hour ascent I would have to go through again on my way down.

 

It was well past 6 pm when, exhilarated but spent, we finally reached our vehicles at the parking lot of the Col des Tentes. Surprisingly, at that late hour, some people were just starting their ascent towards the Refuge des Sarradets for an overnight stay, and probably a very early start towards one of those magnificent peaks we had just left behind. When all was said and done, what we had accomplished as a group was much more than just a rewarding hike. We had seen sights that only a handful of people get to see, and which we could have never have seen without Alban’s reassuring guidance; a guidance that throughout that day had provided a fantastic sense of security for all of us, enabling us to push ourselves as far as we did and to exceed what we thought were our most far-fetched goals.

 

Isabelle Assante

© 2009

 

Contacts:

 

Alban Ligné : www.rando-gavarnie.fr

Parc National des Pyrénées : www.parc-pyrenees.com

Gavarnie Office of Tourism www.gavarnie.com