"How the Pyrenees retaught Mike to respect the mountains"

Solo winter adventure
Parc Nacional d'Aiguestortes i Estany de San Maurici
Spanish Pyrenees
December 20-24, 2000

December 20, 2000

My first day of travel trying to get to the Pyrenees has been a somewhat trying one. I'm heading up to the Parc Nacional d'Aiguestortes i Estany de San Maurici in northwest Catalunya, and planning to spend 4 days hiking between huts. The language barrier is proving difficult to overcome. My three years of forgotten Spanish is no longer holding, especially with the Catala dialect even more prevelant as I get away from Barcelona. I had awoken at 0700, take the metro to Barcelona-Sants, and caught an 0806 train to Lleida. It was unfortunately one of the regular lines -- stops every 10 or so minutes (well, it seemed that way, at least). The train was due to arrive at 1212, but at around 1100, the conductor informed us that we would be switching to a bus. So, I rode for a bus for about an hour, and waited in Lleida til 1325, then hopped onto a train for La Pobla de Segur.

The trainride to Pobla was quite beautiful, passing many a verdant field. Unlike farms in the States (I'm recalling flights over the midwest), the fields went up and down hills, cutting into the slopes. You can feel the age of the land -- the the midst of one field I saw a crumbling 2 story (?) tower out of the pages of a fantasy tale, complete with gray fieldstone and arrowslits for windows. I napped...and awoken to the foothills of the Pyrenees. The train chugged along, past aquamarine lakes, sun-dappled cliffs and hills, even old stone buildings now run down, and a pomegranate tree. I just sat in wonderment, as the local Catalunyans watched idly by. I arrived in Pobla around 1600 to a deserted, boarded up train station. no nice oficina de la turista here! I tried pantomining and using very broken Spanish to explain I wanted to get to Espot (where I would begin my hike). I finally found the bus "station" -- a glass enclosed, open air room. Of course, the info/ticket office was closed. It appeared that a bus is arriving at 1830 to Espot (=? Esterri d'Aneu).

The annoying part is just that directions were terrible in my topo/guide. At that bus stop, I found a schedule -- which gave a daily bus from Esterri to/from Barcelona that only took 5 h 20 min...and I'll be traveling almost 12h. Oh well -- part of the adventure. Time to play some solitaire.

I'll give the Spainards efficiency. The bus arrived exactly at 1830, and i jumped on, though not clear what the driver meant when talking about "Espot." 70 km later, he stopped at a road junction, nods to me, "Si, Espot." We grab my bag. It's a road junction. "Espot?" He points to a sign, "Si, Espot. Seis kilometers." The sign actually said 7, not 6, but I shouldered my pack, grabbed my headlamp, and started trudging up the asphalt. Espot, of course, lay over the set of hills the road wound around. Cars started passing, I alternated between my thumb up and just hand out, not knowing correct hitching signs, trying to show my pack and hiking intentions. After 5 passed me while I walked, I started to give up. But, it was a gorgeous night, the Milky Way was so distinct, Orion twinkling just over the large black masses that were hills. And, with blood pumping and temperature only around 40F, I quickly found myself only in t-shirt and fleece. Finally, after about 35 minutes, the eleventh car actually pulled over, and I jumped in. Two 20-something guys from Barcelona. We talked slightly in an English/Spanish mix, and I got into Espot at 2030.

The Park Office opens at 0900, after a good night's sleep, hot meal, and warm shower in the nicest (and cheapest) "pension" I've stayed in yet during my travels, the mountain part of my journey would finally begin.

December 21, 2000

I awoke at 0740, puttered around, and ended up waiting outside the office til somebody answered at 0915. I spoke for a while with the ranger, to somewhat discouraging news. Although my guide book mentions refuges with full food service, and doesn't specify any closing dates -- at least, from what I could understand with my marginal Spanish, which includes the ability to read months and dates -- it turns out all such huts were closed during the winter. The only places available are emergency huts (I had no tent, as traveling for 5.5 weeks mostly in cities in Europe) -- a few pallets to sleep on, a fireplace, and (I asked!) emergency radio. "Is there room?" "Nobody's out there..." The town (and park) were mostly deserted -- not enough snow at low elevations for skiers, not cold enough for ice climbers in the park. Ugh...and I hadn't planned on dinner all 3 nights...only one! "Are there pots...mmm...cocina?" "Nope." Damnit!

After talking for a while, it turned out most of my planned routes were closed in winter...damn guidebook. It seemed like the best bet would be to hike west through the Portarro d'Espot (Espot Pass) and to Refuge de la Centraleta (the unmanned hut immediately (?) after Refugi d'Estany Llong (Llong Lake)). The park ranger suggested rackets (which I figured out meant snowshoes), for we thought there was about 1 m unpacked snow above 2000m. Snow conditions? "No yo se.' We settled on several day hikes from the refuge, but he couldn't tell me anything more about path and snow conditions. I ended up renting snowshoes for 3000 ptas (about $18 - he gave me that same day for free). He thought that without a ride to Sant Maurici, west of Espot, it was too long for one day to get out to Refuge de la Centraleta. When I asked him how long -- 2 hr to Sant Maurici, 2 more to Portarro, 1 more to Estany Llong, then "5 minutes" to my hut. Seemed reasonable to me -- only 5 hours! Not quite, I would find out later...

I actually started hiking at 1030, after grabbing 4 more cans of tuna from the store. I wasn't looking forward to cold dinner 3 nights in a row...but I guess I could just eat my 2 packages of raman raw. I spent about 15 minutes on the road walking west from Espot, and came to the trailhead for Refugi Ernest Mallafre, marked 2 hr away. I arrived at the park gate at 1140 to the telltale signs of horses and the first patches of snow around 1700m, and continued on the trail paralleling the road on the side of a hill. I arrived at a hut before Estany de Sant Maurici (Sant Maurici Lake) at 1220. I switched to plastic boots (new Koflach Arctic Explorers purchased in Barcelona at a great, low Spanish price) although it was a warm 40F, and found 10 minutes later the actual Refugi Ernest Mallafre. I spoke to a park ranger leaning there against his Range Rover, got directions for Portarro (brown blazes, he says) and left that refuge at around 1300. So far, the distances seemed to mimic the first ranger's predictions -- the trail marked 2 hr only took 1:40 hr, even given my heavier pack.

As I began on the trail to Portarro, I soon found that well marked trails were not meant to be. But, all I needed to do was follow the lake, so as my trail disappeared, I started some easy bushwacking around the lake. No brown blazes. Nada. Unfortunately, that would be the last I would see of the trail for quite some time. As I approached the stream that fed the lake, still no trail in sight, and I began bushwhacking over rocks, around and under pines, and frozen and running water. Admittedly, the going was quite slow. At 1500, I had finally gained some altitude, and was rising to about 2100m. Snow was everywhere, some fairly loose powder, so I put on my snowshoes and began moving up west through the notch that formed the pass: sharp cliffs to the north, more gentle slopes to the south. The ground had some talus -- fun scrambling in snowshoes -- and other beautiful hard-packed snow. After about 35 minutes -- including an interested stream crossing (would the snow/ice hold?) and a sketchy 40 degree slope (technical snowshowing!) which brought me up left -- low and behold - the trail! Technical snowshoeing would become a norm during the trip. I thought I would turn around and photograph the pass. As I set my pack down and unzipped the top compartment, reaching for my camera.... "Damn! Damn! Damn!" No camera.

I shuffled through all the pack, with the realization that my camera was gone. Maybe it was at the last place I took a break to put on snowshoes and snack. I dumped my pack, threw on crampons, grabbed my headlamp (just in case), and set back down the pass. Fifteen minutes later, I came to the break spot. "Grrrrr!" Okay, I looked at my watch, the overcast sky, and realization that I still had ways to go, and gave myself another 10 minutes -- at 1600, I would give up. I ran back down my steps, eyes intent, but with the bushwacking, no luck. The last place I remember taking pictures was about 10 minutes from speaking with ranger -- at least an hour back. Realistically, its cord was probably was just sticking out and got yanked during all the bushwacking. Thinking about now, I should have got my pack again and totally retraced steps, spending night at Sant Maurici. For an odd reason, though, it hadn't just occurred to me. Very pissed at both the loss of camera ($$$) and, now, the inability to thereafter take pictures, I trudged back up to my pack, shouldering it by 1625. I kept on going.

By 1700, I realized I had not made the pass as I found my goal was a false "summit." Misjudging distances would come to plague me. The last 100-200m elevation turned into rougher hiking -- a snow climb that, if is were less steep, would have me put on snowshoes. Still, as I got nearer the pass, moving through Coma d' Aiguabella, windswept conditions gave perfect hard-crusted layer, perfect for crampons. I finally made Portarro d'Espot (2424m) at 1730, and saw Estany Llong way down in the now-visible valley. My night's lodging would be just past the lake. The Park Ranger said it was one hour -- it was taking longer than he suggested so far, but I hoped with these same snow conditions to plunge step my way quickly to home that night.

Mimicking my luck from the entire day, the trail eluded my ability to find it. But, the double-humped slope looked reasonable via direct descent -- a bit steep, but the conditions were great -- and I was feeling confident. So, I started on down, plunge-stepping the beautiful soft-yet-crusty snow. I was make great time, when my foot came down...

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!"

and broke through the layer, falling right before a hidden rock (nearly invisible in the dimming light, and surrounded by its natural ring of looser power.) My leg was immobilized up to the knee, but somehow, as my momentum carried my bodyweight over and past my leg, I wrenched my body back, scrambling with my ax in the snow, and kept a very ugly situation from occurring. It scared me for a bit, for I was thinking of the possibilities of a broken leg or wrenched knee, alone out here, with no other hikers to realistically ever be by. The risks of exposure would be quite great. Pyrenees respect lesson #1.

Slowly, and more carefully, I brushed myself off and continued down the slope. At places, it approached 45 degrees, but the conditions (as I became extra vigilant for differing snow patches) yielded few difficulties. I finished the first slope at 1800, and turned on my headlamp as night descended.

Having taken the direct descent, I came out at the "head" of Estany Llong, which was solidly covered by ice and snow. I soon picked up the trail (finding the first "markers" that day -- six inch in diameter poles sticked 1.5 ft above the snow) -- but the markers disappeared after about 200 m, and it grew difficult to make out the lay of the trail in the darkness and with snow, but I persevered...for a while. The trickiest part came when the trail intersected a stream bed, and appeared to stop, for everything below was a sheet of ice and rocks -- looking exactly like a stream. In daylight, I probably could have read the land better, but I found another "way" nearby that appeared much more promising. After a while, something began to feel wrong -- I could hear the rushing of a stream to the left, and the right side of the trail rose up in a hill -- while the trail should have been with the lake on its right, and no hill appeared on my topo. Still, I ignored that warning itch, and finally passed a sign for Refugi d'Estany Llong, thinking I'd make my home -- Refugi de la Centraleta -- fairly soon. Some time passed...and still nothing. Trudging along the trail. Finally, I realized I again was on (what appeared to be) a small lake, just in front of me, a bridge with marker right after it. "At last," I grew excited and rushed forward.

          Portarro  -->
  <--  Estany Redo

So, I did what I should have long before, grabbed my compass, and started navigating in earnest, finally figuring out that the icy washout was actually the proper road. I finally found Refugi de la Centraleta at 2030. For note, it's on a small "island" -- approached by footbridge on either side, as the stream emptying Estany Llong branches. Don't ask me why you should build an emergency hut in such a place...I'm thinking of spring thaws. When I found that somebody had left pots at the shelter, my spirits greatly rose, and after taking a while to light the fireplaces (logs were mostly damp, little tinder), I ate a delicious Liptons pasta-equivalent and heated tuna dinner around 2145. Mmm...oil. After losing my camera and wandering in circles for 2 hours, that made my day.

December 22, 2000

I had set my alarm for 0700, woke to notice that it was still dark then, woke again at 0800 to notice the sky was finally brightening, and actually got up at 0950. Some hard-core alpinist I was! After puttering around the cabin, I chose to hike a route north of the cabin -- to Estany de Contraix (Contraix Lake) at 2571m. It would largely follow the Barranc de Contraix (roughly translated as stream). It's a very pretty path on topo, surrounded in a horse-shoe shaped ring of peaks. The Gran Tuc de Colomars (2936m) to the east, Pic Blanc (2884m) and la Creu de Colomers (2900m) to the north, and Pic de Contraix (2958m) and Pic de Sarrade (2951m) to the west. (I want to note that my 1:25,000 topo doesn't show any routes -- even for summer -- up any expect the western peaks, so I felt perfectly reasonable not attempting them. Yeah, like I even considered that for one moment.)

The 22nd turned out to be my lazy day -- so I want to note that I only planned to reach that lake. The trail left north from my little island home, with a row of those stubby trail markers. Although, after you reached one, it took careful searching to see the next. I actually left the hut around noon, and soon began climbing a reasonably gentle slope. The trail -- even when you are actually on it -- is largely just some arbitrary path, unlike the well demarked one (in the summer, at least, when one can find it), over the portarro. It included some messier clambering over rocks, but remained fairly easy-going. It had been lightly snowing since early that morning, so with the rarely followed trail and a few new inches of powder. My crampons had been balling terribly because of the fresh power and warm temperatures -- hovering just around freezing. Not so great walking on 3-4" elevator shoes, so I donned snowshoes at 1300.

The trail turned from north to northwest, as the jagged "Raspes de Contraix" -- slices of bare cliff outcroppings with hugely vertical snow gullies between them -- lay before me.

The scenery spread out like some fairy-tale winter wonderland before me. Imagine -- fresh, untouched powder covering the ground. Perfect "christmas tree" pines speckled at random throughout the valley, all at differing heights. The rush of a near-freezing mountain stream, cascading over rocks and into pools, and wild peaks rising about you in all directions. And not another human within a day's walk -- the only marks of humanity the gentle hush-hush trail left by your snowshoes. I've never seen any winter scene quite so picture-book perfect before in my life. I was actually quite annoyed that I couldn't capture it on film, but hopefully, the mind's eye can evoke similar imagery. I guess that's why Emily Dickenson once said something like, "A book is like a frigate, to take you to worlds away."

Anyway, by 1400, I hadn't made significant progress to reach the lake before my 1500 turnaround time, and my knee that I fell on the previous day was beginning to twitch when force was applied laterally, so I decided to call it an early day and turn around. Following my broken tail, I retraced steps, removing my snowshoes at 1430 when I approached the rockier hill section, and was back at the refuge by 1510. not a very long hike, but a pretty one nonetheless.

By now, the valley floor held about 3 inches of new powder, and I spent the afternoon wandering around near the hut, writing these notes on scrap paper, building a very makeshift stool from carefully balanced firewood for easier popping, fixing anti-balling "plates" onto my crampons from duct tape, and readying firewood. I had only a scrap or two of damp toilet paper left, so i started building a pile of wood chip for tinder. I hated to use the adze of my new ax for that -- but only choice. The fire actually turned out great, the cabin actually warmed up, and I dined on raman and tuna. Looking over the map, I planned to head south from the hut the next day, heading to the more remote Estany de Dellui, before heading back to Espot the day after.

December 23, 2000

Nature didn't comply very well with my plans. All through the night, the snow continued to fall, still somewhat lightly, but accumulating nonetheless. I remember waking around 0700 --still dark -- to a very loud rumble then a crash!! I first thought avalanche, but then realized it was just pounds and pounds of snow breaking off the roof and hitting the ground, magnified due to proximity.

I wasn't too keen on a long day in such conditions, but after finally going outside at 0915 after re-awakening, I rethought my plans. Everywhere lay around 8-12 inches of fresh powder. I thought of the pass -- a foot or two of fresh, soft snow, resting lightly on top a hard, crusty layer of old icy snow. Couple that with slopes often in the range of 30-45 degrees, and a temperature hovering around freezing. I was thinking greatly increased avalanche danger. I quickly convinced myself to call it a trip, and get out of there a day early. It took a while to repack all my gear and food, and I left the refuge - with neat piles of woodchips and dried firewood at -- 1100. Again, not the earliest day, but it would have to do. Pyrenees respect lesson #3.

By noon, I was making decent progress and rising out of Estany Llong's valley. Following the orienteering fiasco of two days prior, I was being exceedingly cautious of map and compass reading, doing my best to stay on route. By 1300, however, the trail was escaping me -- either the route becomes steeper and hard to read via the land, or it was nigh impossible to follow under the snow, no blazes or markers! While on the descent to enter the valley, I had taken the direct route, but this would not work so well given these conditions. As I hiked up slopes, the snow in front of me would come up to my knees.

The trail went due east as I rose out of the lake's basin, switching back and forth, gaining approximately 200m before turning left and traversing northeast for a bit, somewhat laterally to the slope (50m gain), before finally hitting two sharp switchbacks and twisting into Portarro d'Espot.

As I rose up from the lake, I passed by a sign for Pilde Peixerani, a "colossal" tree even referenced on my topo. It would have been fun to take a quick sidetrip to see what all the hype was about, but the day was already passing, and I needed to move. I continued in a vague easterly direction.

I kept my snowshoes on, and began snow climbing in earnest the early section that meandered due east. In search for the trail, though, I soon found myself on 45-50 degree snowslopes, incredibly slippery, although my ice axe found decent purchase under the two feet of powder. The older icy layer was coming in handy...if I could reach it. I remember some runouts looking oh-so-unfriendly, though, and so began using my other hand to thrust into the snow, to achieve some modicum of a human left-handed self-belay. Missing overmitts (conveniently on order from MH), I donned plastic bags over my fleece mitts brought especially for this purpose. Classic Stephanie-Hong style. I kept on a-climbing, and ascended about another 100m as such, huffing and puffing, yet occasionally glancing back -- a bit fearfully -- at steep snowslopes, short rocky dropoffs, and scraggly coniferous trees below me. A fall would not be fun. Just kept hoping that I could self-arrest given the top layer of powdery snow. Pyrenees respect lesson #4.

Finally topping out over the latest slope, I saw a hut roof off to my right a little ways. I hadn't remembered any refuge on the map there, but I thought I'd see what it was, go inside to rest for a few minutes and have a snack. After a short scramble over a snowy rock field, I found the entrance, locked and boarded, behind a drift of snow. Checking my topo, a small dot marked Cabana del Portarro. I guess even more of an emergency hut than the refuge I had used the past few nights, but not open during the winter. Strange...and, well, a bit useless.

Now with an accurate point of reference, I began my slow ascent/traverse northeast, focusing on the lay-of-the-land, my topo, and my compass, with ever-greater intensity. Still, the path remained mostly unfriendly, and I could never be sure if I was actually on the official route. So, I just kept in the approximate direction, using what appeared to be the easiest path, although "easy" is surely a subjective term. I kept kicking high with my snowshoes, and self-belaying hard. For every two feet forward, I slipped back probably a good foot. I found myself counting in my head and setting goals. Fifty steps before a short pause. One, two, three, four, ... Forty steps before a short pause... That rock over there... Okay, fine, that tree in front of the rock... Damnit, I said that tree!

After a significant expense of energy, I finally climbed into the base of a gentle snow bowl beneath the high pass at 1500. Doing classical switchbacks to climb up the bowl, I ascended its sides, the valley finally stretching well below me. Returning to counting steps in my head, I reached the trail sign for Portarro d'Espot (2424m) by 1545. After a short drink and snack, I recognized I still had a significant amount of ground to cover, and time waits for no man (or woman)! I shouldered my pack, and continued east towards Espot, the descent from the pass before me.

Two mountain streams have their start in the pass, and hug opposite sides of a small ridge that runs directly east down from the pass. (One could consider the eastern pass to be shaped like a W, with high peaks to the north and south, and this smaller ridge in the center.) The trail follows the northern side of this ridge, crosses the northern stream, and then switches back, crossing the southern stream. The trail then ascends slightly the southern slope of the pass's physical boundary, and traverses left, gradually going down and down, til it hooks around Marrades del Port, and follows the southern edge of Estany de Sant Maurici. Easier said than down. I mean, done.

The initial descent of the center ridge was utterly classic. At steeper sections, I began Z-switchbacks; as it shallowed out a bit, I plunged-stepped in direct descent. After losing about 100 ft, I looked back. The afternoon sun was glinting off the snow, highlighting my single line down the slope in crimson fire. It was the only sign of man's touch in the entire snow-blanketed region.

After losing about 100m in elevation, I crossed the northern stream (it was covered with a fairly solid layer of ice, though I could hear the pretty gurgle-gurgle) and saw a tall blazed pole to the south, to mark the proper trail when it switched back. I descended down to it, happy that I remained on route, and continued south, losing altitude.

My topo showed the trail following the stream (Barranc del Portarro) for a little less than half a mile, before splitting into my trail back to Refugi Ernest Mallafre on Estany de Sant Maurici, and crossing the stream to go north towards other mountains, trails, and huts. After the split, instead of following the stream back down to the lake -- a longer way around, and, as I bushwacked that route two days before, a more over-grown route -- the trail rose slightly and traversed around a ridged mountain/hill, marked Marrades del Port.

While I could use the stream to navigate, I was right on, well, what should have been a trail. But the snow had accumulated, and I continued to break trail through the foot-and-a-half deep powder. The trail split, unfortunately, wasn't obvious, so I began to traverse up based on the scenery -- according to my map, to the north, a jagged rasp of exposed rock on the mountain pointed southwest in the direction of the trail. Well, I gave it a try.

What happened before only happened again. I might have been on the trail, but it sure didn't feel like that. It was maybe 1500, only 6 hours of hiking so far, but hard ones -- no stops longer than 5 minutes, slogging in snowshoes up and down in unbroken, flowing new snow, a good 35 pound pack on all day, and physically- and mentally-intensive snow climbing conditions. So I groaned when I found myself again gaining altitude to traverse around the hill, but I kept grunting away my fatigue and kept pulling on my ice ax. Unfortunately, I went up too much.

As I curled around the ridge of Marrades del Port, the lake fell into view. But still too far below. I began scoping out what I hoped was the trail -- down. Ahhh...I saw what appeared to be it beyond the shelter of a large pine. Here's a wide path-like thing...and a 20 ft dropoff onto steep snow gullies after that. Ooops...

I looked around at my snowshoe tracks, which led back and up the way I came. Looking at the dimming sky, I realized I didn't want to continue to lose time. I was tired, I didn't know how much better the backtrack would be, and, let me repeat, I was tired and didn't want to climb back up. Turning left and looking down the slope, I realized that it was *not* an ideal descent. While not a dropoff, a narrow gully ran about 55 degrees between rocky outcroppings. The snow remained loose. My ice axe was virtually useless, as I couldn't get deep enough for anything solid. But, the trees saved me -- very gracefully, I slowly slid down the terrible conditions by tree branch hand-in-hand climbing technique. Very recommendable. I think there's a whole section in "Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills" entitled, "How to use trees to your advantage when the snow sucks and you are a bit scared and a fall could possibly mean your death as nobody is around to save your ass." Pyrenees respect lesson #5.

I only had to descend about 40ft in such conditions before the rocky outcroppings to my right disappeared to a more gentle slope. After climbing and crawling down a pine tree for a few feet (try that in snowshoes and tell me how easy it is!) I was able to switch onto this route, much to my relief.

As the light continued to dim, I knew I wanted to lose elevation, fast. So, I told myself I would just go down til I hit the stream/lake, and not follow any faux-paths, as that is what I had been chasing virtually all day. Only 50 ft lower, I came across the widest, most obvious path I had seen, complete even with vague dimples of old, pre-storm footprints. After looking all day, now I find the trail. The mountains were laughing.

I shrugged and began charging along the easy-going path. The snow was shallowing, the footing firm, and I began to switch on zombie mode. "You put one foot down, in front of the other, you put one foot down, down, down..."

Come 1800, I came across a sign for Refugi Ernest Mallafre and a path going south to Monestero. But, the light was gone, so I slipped on my headlight. "Flash!" Well, there's that bulb. Just when you think you are done...the mountains continued to laugh. Pyrenees respect lesson #6.

With fingers numbed from the cold and a groaning belly, I changed my headlamp bulb, shouldered my increasingly heavy back, and continued on the path, reaching the hut soon after at 1815.

Marks of humanity! Two Germans and a Spaniard were occupying the hut, having x-country skied in part way (4x4ing it the beginning half from Espot.) I was tempted to call it a day, but realized that if I wanted to make that crazy-late 0130 bus from Esterri to Barcelona that night, I should just push on to Espot, have a warm dinner, wash up, and then hike the last 7 km out to the intercity road.

I gave my wisdom of mountain and pass conditions, and was again hiking by 1830 (now sans snowshoes). Instead of taking the trail from Espot as I had coming in, I just stayed on the wide road. I turned off my light, stared at the ground in front of me, and started plodding. There was a decent layer of slush, so I could half-slide each step. After 30 minutes, I zoned out. After an hour -- completely in total zombie mode -- I reach the edge of the park, about half-way to Espot. Another 45 minutes, arriving at 2015, Espot! That last long stretch of boring road, ankles pressing uncomfortably against my mountaineering boots after the long day's hike, is quite forgettable.

A warm meal at the hostel I stayed in, a return of my snowshoes (with a nice 1 day rental refund), a call to home saying I was alive and okay, and I was ready for the final stretch of my journey, starting at 2230.

Now in more comfortable hiking boots, fewer clothes, and the wind on my back, my spirits rose anew. I began a reasonable pace on the road over the hill -- surrounded again by clear Milky Way skies and dark-humped mountains. And now, warm enough and safe enough to better enjoy the conditions. Cars passed me, but I didn't bother flagging any down -- I had plenty of time before the bus was supposed to arrive at 0145 and I had no real desire to just spend it shivering on the side of the highway.

After passing over the hill which separates the main highway and Espot, and descending along the road that twists back and forth as it loses altitude, a car pulled aside for me. I had gone already 5 km of the 7 km, but thought "What the Hell." I jumped in -- the 20-something guy was going to Esterri, so I figured I might wait in the bus terminal there, rather than just on the roadside. Onward ho!

Once we get in the city, he asked where I was staying. I tried explaining taking the bus to Barcelona, but he kept asking where I was staying. Hrm? "Uno y media esta noche." "No, no, mediadia." What? Both the park ranger and his assistant told me at night? And now he says its tomorrow during mid-day. The night bus sounded strange, but they assured me. I know I understood at least that much Spanish. The laughter from the mountains carried over the wind.

I ended up staying the night in Esterri, and bought the guy some coffee at the pension bar.

December 24, 2000

I took the 1330 bus from Esterri d'Aneu all the way back to Barcelona. Although I had a ticket for return train from Pobla, the scheduling was near impossible. Instead of spending another 12 hours trying to get back, the entire bus ride was only about 4:30 or 5 hr. Most of the time, I talked with a sitar-playing, guitar-strumming, mountain-commune living revolutionary anarchist who learned English in India, spent months squatting in different cities, including London, and decried that every so often, police from places like France and Brazil would come and take away his friends from their shared home in the mountains. We munched on my dried fruit and his home-made cookies. And I'm talking home-made: the flour was ground themselves, and the berries picked near their home. Most interesting conversation I had in a long time.

Conclusion

In hindsight, I would not repeat this adventure in the same manner, i.e., alone. It was truly an experience -- with all the beauty and adrenaline of most winter mountaineering experiences. However, the risks were too great, the margin of safety non-existent, and a few calls way too close for comfort. I plan to spend next holiday someplace warm. Like usually, though, I'm sure I'll forget everything but the positive by then and start talking about future possibilities come mid-summer. Youth isn't always wasted on the young, after all.