Davie, Robert and the rest have prevailed upon the writer to scribble a few words of description of the Mosset trip this year. This is not such an easy task for an abundance of good food, convivial company and more than a little red wine has dulled the memory of the scribe to the extent that many things will be left out of his report. (The sigh of relief as you read this is nearly audible in Cumnock). If you feel you can add to the tale, feel free.
Good food there was in plenty thanks to our blue ribbon chefs. Johnny's soup, Rex's chicken with pesto and Robert's sausages provided sustenance for seven hungry walkers. Alan's pork and bean casserole will long be remembered for quantity as well as quality. We certainly did not starve, as the bathroom scales will testify.
Compliments must also go to the dishwashers, those unsung heroes of the kitchen, who ensured that the cooks had clean utensils with which to work and clean crockery on which to serve. We feel sure their wrinkly, waterlogged hands will recover in time.
As usual, the company was good. The conversation was the usual mix of deep philosophical debate interspersed with witty banter, each taking his turn to be the butt of some comment or other. Rex shall forever be called Bluey.
A recurring theme of the banter was Jimmy’s snoring. To be fair to him, he had a throat infection and couldn’t breathe properly. But this didn’t help a light sleeper like Davie, who by the second night of sleep deprivation wandered about in a zombie-like state mumbling things about snorting and grunting. Eventually, he took to sleeping in the cellar. Both he and Jimmy got a decent night’s sleep after that for there was nobody to wake Jimmy to tell him he was snoring. It didn’t stop the comments though.
Yet, neither Jimmy’s sore throat nor Davie’s lack of sleep prevented them from walking, which was the main purpose of the visit.
The scribbler will now attempt to describe what can be remembered of the walks.
Good food there was in plenty thanks to our blue ribbon chefs. Johnny's soup, Rex's chicken with pesto and Robert's sausages provided sustenance for seven hungry walkers. Alan's pork and bean casserole will long be remembered for quantity as well as quality. We certainly did not starve, as the bathroom scales will testify.
Compliments must also go to the dishwashers, those unsung heroes of the kitchen, who ensured that the cooks had clean utensils with which to work and clean crockery on which to serve. We feel sure their wrinkly, waterlogged hands will recover in time.
As usual, the company was good. The conversation was the usual mix of deep philosophical debate interspersed with witty banter, each taking his turn to be the butt of some comment or other. Rex shall forever be called Bluey.
A recurring theme of the banter was Jimmy’s snoring. To be fair to him, he had a throat infection and couldn’t breathe properly. But this didn’t help a light sleeper like Davie, who by the second night of sleep deprivation wandered about in a zombie-like state mumbling things about snorting and grunting. Eventually, he took to sleeping in the cellar. Both he and Jimmy got a decent night’s sleep after that for there was nobody to wake Jimmy to tell him he was snoring. It didn’t stop the comments though.
Yet, neither Jimmy’s sore throat nor Davie’s lack of sleep prevented them from walking, which was the main purpose of the visit.
The scribbler will now attempt to describe what can be remembered of the walks.
1 Friday 14th Molitg les Bains to Les Plains
A thrilling visit to SuperU (Oh, joy unconfined!) to stock up on supplies took up the morning. The cooks obviously took to heart Napoleon's adage that an army marches on its stomach and proceeded to buy up the stock of the supermarket. Sufficient supplies were laid in to survive a prolonged siege, including a ten litre box of vin rouge. Though why we needed so many tomatoes is beyond the comprehension of us mere dishwashers.
By the rime we unpacked and stored all the provisions it was lunchtime and we settled down for the first of a series of excellent meals. After lunch, we were left with only a few hours of afternoon daylight for our walk. So, it was to be a short stroll today.
Our transport (Two Ford Focuses hired from Girona airport) took us down the valley to Molitg les Bains and up to the old village that Robert called ‘High’ Molitg where we parked in a small car park. A walk through the village, snapping pictures as we went, took us out into pastures that were still dry from the summer, on a path that slanted gently upwards. This gave us great views over the village and the gorge of the Castellane but these vanished as the path slanted into a wood of birch and scrub oak.
The colour of the wood was superb; reds, oranges, yellows, browns and still some greens provided an enchanting part of the walk. And the trees gave shade from the sun that shone through the colours and dappled the woodland floor. Cameras were used frequently. (Cameras were always to be ‘used frequently’ as the week progressed. It will be interesting to see six sets of the same pictures [Davie didn’t have a camera] when they are shown later.)
Then the wood gave way to open hillside and we found ourselves on the high hill pasture known as Les Plains. We were now high above the valley of la Tet, looking over Prades to the snow-capped peaks of Le massif du Canigou. Magnificent! We spent some time following the path over Les Plains, looking down on the Tet valley and Prades, and trying to catch the scene with the cameras. (Told you!) Then the path dropped and we found ourselves back in the scrubby wood.
A few hundred metres of sun dappled wood saw us back onto the lower pastures and back to the village.
A short walk but a superb introduction to the week.
A thrilling visit to SuperU (Oh, joy unconfined!) to stock up on supplies took up the morning. The cooks obviously took to heart Napoleon's adage that an army marches on its stomach and proceeded to buy up the stock of the supermarket. Sufficient supplies were laid in to survive a prolonged siege, including a ten litre box of vin rouge. Though why we needed so many tomatoes is beyond the comprehension of us mere dishwashers.
By the rime we unpacked and stored all the provisions it was lunchtime and we settled down for the first of a series of excellent meals. After lunch, we were left with only a few hours of afternoon daylight for our walk. So, it was to be a short stroll today.
Our transport (Two Ford Focuses hired from Girona airport) took us down the valley to Molitg les Bains and up to the old village that Robert called ‘High’ Molitg where we parked in a small car park. A walk through the village, snapping pictures as we went, took us out into pastures that were still dry from the summer, on a path that slanted gently upwards. This gave us great views over the village and the gorge of the Castellane but these vanished as the path slanted into a wood of birch and scrub oak.
The colour of the wood was superb; reds, oranges, yellows, browns and still some greens provided an enchanting part of the walk. And the trees gave shade from the sun that shone through the colours and dappled the woodland floor. Cameras were used frequently. (Cameras were always to be ‘used frequently’ as the week progressed. It will be interesting to see six sets of the same pictures [Davie didn’t have a camera] when they are shown later.)
Then the wood gave way to open hillside and we found ourselves on the high hill pasture known as Les Plains. We were now high above the valley of la Tet, looking over Prades to the snow-capped peaks of Le massif du Canigou. Magnificent! We spent some time following the path over Les Plains, looking down on the Tet valley and Prades, and trying to catch the scene with the cameras. (Told you!) Then the path dropped and we found ourselves back in the scrubby wood.
A few hundred metres of sun dappled wood saw us back onto the lower pastures and back to the village.
A short walk but a superb introduction to the week.
2 Saturday 15 The high pasture of the Pic del Roussillou
This is a walk we have done twice before and twice we’ve lost the way. We felt that we should do it again until we get it right and felt confident that this was the year. Anyway, it’s a super walk and worth doing as many times as we fancy. Bluey made the sandwiches and we set off walking from Mosset.
It looked like we had lost the start of the walk when we climbed through what seemed like gardens. Yet, the path continued to climb through these and in the right direction, so we climbed with it. We found a broader path that we recognised from last year and were now confident in our direction. This path was still narrow and we were reduced to single file as we climbed through the scrubby vegetation high above Mosset with superb views of the Castellanne and Tet valleys. Johnny complimented Jimmyfor setting a good pace at the front as the path climbed through the scrub of the hillside and into a wood of birch and oak.
This wood was a pleasure. The yellowing leaves still hung on the trees and cast a warm glow to the dappled shade. We came to the point of Robert’s famous painting of the Ooters’ first visit where time was spent while we recreated, and again and again recreated, the image for the camera boys. At last, they were satisfied and we moved on.
The wood gave way to open pasture with stunted shrubbery. On a grassy area, where the wild colchicums opened their flowers to the late autumn sun, we sat down for coffee. It was to be a long coffee break for we were sheltered from the cold wind that blew off the snow of the mountains and we had a magnificent view before us. We lazed and took our time about lazing.
After coffee, we wandered up the, now gentle, grassy slope completely confident in our direction for we had come this way before. A path was found and followed. After a bit, though, this path appeared to go away from where we wanted to be, and it began to drop. Jimmy went out as scout and confirmed the path was heading down towards Eus. We were lost again. Did we panic? Did we heck. We retraced our steps and found a marker indicating a path through the shrubbery. This was our path and we were now confident in our direction. (The scribbler has lost count of the number of times we have been confident in our direction today.)
This certainly was our path and it took us alongside a shallow valley to the old ruin we reached on our last visit. We knew where we were going now. We were confident. The path we followed past the ruin began to drop away from where we wanted to be and we were no longer confident. This time Davie confirmed that we were lost again. We retraced our steps. Once again, the real path was found hidden in the scrubby vegetation. This certainly was our path for we could now see the ‘road’ in front of us, and the path joining it.
Robert, being Robert, took the high path for he thought it might cut a corner. We, being we, followed him. The path disappeared again and we found ourselves climbing through the scrub. Again! This is the third year we have done this on this walk and we are getting to know the buckthorn and juniper and brambles quite well now and, as Davie pointed out, at least this year we had long-legged trousers on. However, by stumbling through scrub and climbing a grassy slope, we found the ‘road’ crossing the high pastures.
We were now on top of the broad ridge close to the top of the Pic del Roussillou and the views were splendid in almost all directions. To the west and south the vista was as it had been all day but now the landscape opened to the east as well and gave great views down the valley of the Tet to the coast at Perpignan.
The cold wind could be felt now for there was nothing between us and the snow-covered high peaks it blew over. Lunch was calling but we had to find shelter from the biting wind. When we found a stone-built hut, the troglodytes amongst us climbed into it for lunch. The surface dwellers preferred to find the shelter of a crag with views to the open air. We dined in two separate groups some hundred metres apart.
The peece-maker was complimented for the quality of his work. We think we will let him make the peeces again.
After the peece, we continued to follow the road over the Pic del Roussillou, striding out through the scrub and high pasture to keep the heat against the cool wind. The views were superb with the snow-capped peaks to the north, west and south and the sea some thirty kilometres away in the east. And all under a clear blue sky. This was a thoroughly
enjoyable part of the walk.
Then the road dropped into a valley and we lost the wind. We halted and lay in the sun for a while soaking up the warming rays. Occasions for doing this have been few this year so we enjoyed every minute of it. And we lay and we lay. Eventually, forcing ourselves to action, we moved on.
We followed the road down into the scrub and woodland of the main valley. Davie’s knee complained on the down slope so, taking pity on the soul, it was a slow, easy descent that was made to the village via the television mast. We hoped his knee would recover for the morning for Robert had plans.
Another thoroughly enjoyable walk but the feeling was that we aught to do it again until we get it right. Right?
This is a walk we have done twice before and twice we’ve lost the way. We felt that we should do it again until we get it right and felt confident that this was the year. Anyway, it’s a super walk and worth doing as many times as we fancy. Bluey made the sandwiches and we set off walking from Mosset.
It looked like we had lost the start of the walk when we climbed through what seemed like gardens. Yet, the path continued to climb through these and in the right direction, so we climbed with it. We found a broader path that we recognised from last year and were now confident in our direction. This path was still narrow and we were reduced to single file as we climbed through the scrubby vegetation high above Mosset with superb views of the Castellanne and Tet valleys. Johnny complimented Jimmyfor setting a good pace at the front as the path climbed through the scrub of the hillside and into a wood of birch and oak.
This wood was a pleasure. The yellowing leaves still hung on the trees and cast a warm glow to the dappled shade. We came to the point of Robert’s famous painting of the Ooters’ first visit where time was spent while we recreated, and again and again recreated, the image for the camera boys. At last, they were satisfied and we moved on.
The wood gave way to open pasture with stunted shrubbery. On a grassy area, where the wild colchicums opened their flowers to the late autumn sun, we sat down for coffee. It was to be a long coffee break for we were sheltered from the cold wind that blew off the snow of the mountains and we had a magnificent view before us. We lazed and took our time about lazing.
After coffee, we wandered up the, now gentle, grassy slope completely confident in our direction for we had come this way before. A path was found and followed. After a bit, though, this path appeared to go away from where we wanted to be, and it began to drop. Jimmy went out as scout and confirmed the path was heading down towards Eus. We were lost again. Did we panic? Did we heck. We retraced our steps and found a marker indicating a path through the shrubbery. This was our path and we were now confident in our direction. (The scribbler has lost count of the number of times we have been confident in our direction today.)
This certainly was our path and it took us alongside a shallow valley to the old ruin we reached on our last visit. We knew where we were going now. We were confident. The path we followed past the ruin began to drop away from where we wanted to be and we were no longer confident. This time Davie confirmed that we were lost again. We retraced our steps. Once again, the real path was found hidden in the scrubby vegetation. This certainly was our path for we could now see the ‘road’ in front of us, and the path joining it.
Robert, being Robert, took the high path for he thought it might cut a corner. We, being we, followed him. The path disappeared again and we found ourselves climbing through the scrub. Again! This is the third year we have done this on this walk and we are getting to know the buckthorn and juniper and brambles quite well now and, as Davie pointed out, at least this year we had long-legged trousers on. However, by stumbling through scrub and climbing a grassy slope, we found the ‘road’ crossing the high pastures.
We were now on top of the broad ridge close to the top of the Pic del Roussillou and the views were splendid in almost all directions. To the west and south the vista was as it had been all day but now the landscape opened to the east as well and gave great views down the valley of the Tet to the coast at Perpignan.
The cold wind could be felt now for there was nothing between us and the snow-covered high peaks it blew over. Lunch was calling but we had to find shelter from the biting wind. When we found a stone-built hut, the troglodytes amongst us climbed into it for lunch. The surface dwellers preferred to find the shelter of a crag with views to the open air. We dined in two separate groups some hundred metres apart.
The peece-maker was complimented for the quality of his work. We think we will let him make the peeces again.
After the peece, we continued to follow the road over the Pic del Roussillou, striding out through the scrub and high pasture to keep the heat against the cool wind. The views were superb with the snow-capped peaks to the north, west and south and the sea some thirty kilometres away in the east. And all under a clear blue sky. This was a thoroughly
enjoyable part of the walk.Then the road dropped into a valley and we lost the wind. We halted and lay in the sun for a while soaking up the warming rays. Occasions for doing this have been few this year so we enjoyed every minute of it. And we lay and we lay. Eventually, forcing ourselves to action, we moved on.
We followed the road down into the scrub and woodland of the main valley. Davie’s knee complained on the down slope so, taking pity on the soul, it was a slow, easy descent that was made to the village via the television mast. We hoped his knee would recover for the morning for Robert had plans.
Another thoroughly enjoyable walk but the feeling was that we aught to do it again until we get it right. Right?
3 Sunday 16 Snow at La Coumasse
Robert knew the very place for an easy two hour walk today. It was an hour’s drive away but it was an easy walk in splendid mountain scenery. In summer a bus takes you from the lower car park to the hotel at le Lac de Bouillouses but Robert felt sure we would be able to drive up to the hotel car park and have an easy, two hour walk. Who were we to argue with one who knows these things?
The peece-maker did his thing with baguette, pate, cheese and tomato and we set off. An hour later we parked in the lower car park for there was a barrier across the hotel road.
Snow and ice lay at the side of the car park yet the sun was warm and the sky was blue. No wind could be felt today for we were on the south side of the mountain and it was a perfect day for a short walk. But did we get our short walk? Did we heck. We had the four kilometres of icy tarmac to negotiate before we started our walk.
The road climbed but the walking was easy and the pace brisk. Too brisk for Jimmy who fell back. Then he was joined by Alan and Davie. The four kilometres were covered in two groups, the fast to the front and the three to the rear. We came together at the bus shelter at the hotel for coffee.
Robert was right about the scenery. When we left the shelter and came to the top of a dam, there was a winter wonderland of snow covered peaks, olive-green tree-clad lower slopes, blue sky and the deep blue water of le Lac de Bouillouses. Cameras clicked and many photos were taken. (The scribbler wonders if they will all be the same or will somebody have something unique?)
Now we were able to start our short walk. We found a path through the trees and followed it upward. Even in the forest, the snow covered the path and made it difficult to find in places. Then, as the path rose higher and the trees thinned out, the path was lost under a deep covering of snow. Sometimes new snow lay over old, frozen stuff and the walking was good. Sometimes we came into fresh, powdery snow and sunk to the knee or deeper. This was hard going and sapped the energy. Yet, we had faith in the leader to get us to our destination. He followed the footprints that went before us. And we followed him.
Get us there he did. The slope eased into what we would describe a large corrie in the Pic Carlet. And in the corrie was a lake, a frozen lake, La Coumasse, surrounded by snow-covered peaks and ridges, hollows and hillocks and evergreen conifers - a perfect Christmas card scene.
Robert remembered a refuge somewhere around here and we went in search of it. It was not at the lakeside as he suspected so we retraced the footprints through the knee-deep powdery deep snow. It was found further round the lake and we stopped inside for lunch.
Our compliments to Bluey for le baguette.
We were now approximately a third of the way round the lake walk and time was wearing on. Knowing that we had the road to walk down, and inclined to the side of caution, we decided to cut the walk short and return by the way we had come. It had already been a great day so why spoils it by making life difficult for ourselves?
After lunch, we set off back the way we had come. Well, we would have gone back the way we had come but the snow-shoe tracks we were following decided to return by a different way. When these tracks left the main path we couldn’t say for we were well down by the time we realised that they had. Still we followed them. They took us down into a burn valley and some really deep snow. We stumbled and slid through this stuff until the tracks took us on
to the open hillside and we realised where we were.
A flag-pole near the hotel showed us that it was now a relatively easy slope back up to the dam we had crossed earlier. We didn’t spend any time at the dam for the wind could be felt again, a strong wind and cold. We walked across the dam and took the road down the valley.
A steady amble for some and a sprint for others took us back down the four kilometres of road to the cars.
We were happy with our short walk today, especially as Robert said the walk with the village tomorrow would be long. We believed him.
4 Monday 17 Spain - El Convento de San Quirze de Colera
The Mosset village walking group were going out today and Robert thought it a good idea if we went with them. They were for an area around Collioure and an early start was to be made so, at five to eight, we met them in the village, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Even Davie had lost his Zombie-like demeanour after a good night's sleep in his cellar.
This was Monday, the shop had no bread. Neither had we. Neither had the villagers. No matter, for we could stop on the way and get bread if we took the fillings with us. We left sometime after eight, after some discussion about where to stop for bread and whether the wind would be too strong for it was blowing stronger this morning than it had done since we arrived. We stopped in Marquixanes. The bread shop was shut. We motored on.
A stop was made above Collioure to meet with others and to discus the weather. It was felt that the wind would be too strong for the high-level walk planned so an alternative was chosen. But first we needed bread and headed for the supermarket in Collioure. Oh, bliss!
Another drive took us over the Col de Banyuls into Spain. We stooped on a high grassy plain near an abandoned hacienda. It was now eleven o’clock and, three hours after meeting in Mosset, we started walking. We took to a dirt road through the pasture and up into the scrubby heather.
With one exception, we were to keep to this road for the day. It took us up the side of the valley heading for a high col and, as it did so, it took us in to the wind. The one exception to the road came twenty minutes into the walk. We left the road and followed a well worn path to a holy spring. We were told that nobody knows how the water comes to this spring, but we could see the pipe leading into it from the back. The sceptics amongst us voiced their opinion.
We waited at the spring for everybody to gather and then continued the climb back to the road - we had just cut a corner of it. It climbed yet and brought us onto the col and into the full strength of the wind. A correct decision was made to abandon the high ridge walk planned for even at this comparatively low point we could barely stand against the wind. We sat down in what shelter could be found and waited for the slow again.
High on our right was a man with a rifle, a hunter. More of them could be seen spaced out down the valley side on the left. We were told that wild boar was the prey for these hills abounded with the beasts. Yet, for all the time we were in the area, we never heard a shot. Lucky pigs, today. Still, we were advised to keep to the road in case somebody got trigger-happy or mistook us for pigs.
From high on the valley side, we could see the monastery of St Quirze nestling in the hollow but we had a fair distance to go yet, according to our guide. It wasn’t so long for us though, and twenty minutes later, we were finding a windless spot behind the monastery wall for lunch. The peece-maker did us proud with his usual selection of baguette fillings. (It now became clear to the dishwashers why there was need for all those tomatoes.) We dined well again.
Yes, we dined well but not, it would appear, as well as our French friends who continued to eat well after we were finished. We left them to enjoy their long French lunch and started back up the road towards the col.
Back at the col, the hunters had given up. But not so the wind. If anything this had strengthened to a severe gale and we shuddered to think what it might have been like on the high ridge that was the planned walk of the day. Or, perhaps the shuddering was against the blustering wind, which threatened to blow us off the hill and back down to the monastery. It was fierce in the face but we leant into it and drove forward off the top of the col.
Yet, we made it from the col back to the relative calm of the scrubby hillside and down to the cars, barely half an hour away.
The day was yet young and a visit to Collioure was proposed, just to let Paul see the place. The proposal was accepted unanimously for this is a bonnie part of the world and a visit here is welcome at any time. We wandered around the old town and out to the breakwater. Waves, driven by the wind, crashed against the rocks throwing white spray into the air against the blue of the sea and sky. Cameras were in overdrive trying to catch the action. But, the sun was dropping, casting long shadows and the visit only lasted an hour or so before we had to climb back into the cars and head for home.
We must be getting fitter for today’s long walk didn’t seem nearly as long as yesterday’s short one.
5 Tuesday 18 Market, log cutting and a sair back
(followed by an afternoon walk)
Tuesday in Prades is market day. Those with inclinations towards such things decided this was a 'must visit' while those with more sense opted to stay at home and split logs for the fire.
The market was its usual mix of cheese stalls, meat stalls, clothes stalls and folk selling cheap tools. But the free food samples went down well with our gourmets. Alan looked for the woman with the big melons but she wasn't there so he had to content himself with preparing a different starter for the evening meal. Rex bought the 'doughsticks' - sugar-coated, deep-fried doughnut mix in sticks. He bought another other bag for those left at home. An hour or so of wandering around was enough for some and the market group returned home.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Jimmy, Johnny and Robert had reduced the two cubic metres of tree trunks to fire sized logs and were content with a job well done. With only the last one or two left to split, the worn disc in Jimmy's back slipped. OOOOOOhh! Ya B*******! Jimmy was reduced to a posture resembling a half shut knife for the rest of the stay. The poor soul had to take it easy so went and sat down on the balcony where he could gaffer the others.
The market group arrived as the sweeping up was being done.
The peece-maker was excused today for we were lunching in the house before an afternoon walk. Yet, his expertise was needed when it came to laying out the baguette fillings. We almost forgot the tomatoes!
Six of us took the walk in the afternoon leaving Jimmy prone in front of the fire. The survivors followed the watercourse from Mosset to Molitg, a walk which afforded some fine glimpses of wildlife - deer were spotted and there was an abundance of jays to be seen. After some nimble criss-crossing of the water we entered Molitg.
We had the choice of a sunny or a shady route down to Molitg-les-Bains, and in keeping with our collective nature we chose the sunny one. Davie and Paul stopped to look at the menu outside the Chateau de Riell, and at 25 euros for a plate of soup decided it wasn't for them. Having stopped they were, of course, all alone. On reaching the main road there was no sign of the others. They chose to turn left ('right' in Rex's case) but soon realised that they were on a false trail. Returning to Molitg-les-Bains the rest of the group were found in the tourist information centre, chatting up the attractive assistant and pretending to be interested in her brochures.
Down they all went to the river in the attractive grounds of the spa and then on to the only climb of the day, to the ruins commanding a fine panoramic view of the area. Having rested and surveyed the scene we headed down to Campome.
At this point Davie chose to walk back to Mosset whilst the rest walked on to the car which had been strategically placed for the return. As we overtook Davie in the car, all windows were wound down and words of encouragement were called out to him.
He must have misheard us since, on his return, he muttered something about the disgraceful behaviour of so-called professional gentlemen.
Oh yes, and Jimmy was still prone in front of the fire when we returned. He was promptly moved out of the way so that we could all get a heat. (Paul)
Robert knew the very place for an easy two hour walk today. It was an hour’s drive away but it was an easy walk in splendid mountain scenery. In summer a bus takes you from the lower car park to the hotel at le Lac de Bouillouses but Robert felt sure we would be able to drive up to the hotel car park and have an easy, two hour walk. Who were we to argue with one who knows these things?
The peece-maker did his thing with baguette, pate, cheese and tomato and we set off. An hour later we parked in the lower car park for there was a barrier across the hotel road.
Snow and ice lay at the side of the car park yet the sun was warm and the sky was blue. No wind could be felt today for we were on the south side of the mountain and it was a perfect day for a short walk. But did we get our short walk? Did we heck. We had the four kilometres of icy tarmac to negotiate before we started our walk.
The road climbed but the walking was easy and the pace brisk. Too brisk for Jimmy who fell back. Then he was joined by Alan and Davie. The four kilometres were covered in two groups, the fast to the front and the three to the rear. We came together at the bus shelter at the hotel for coffee.
Robert was right about the scenery. When we left the shelter and came to the top of a dam, there was a winter wonderland of snow covered peaks, olive-green tree-clad lower slopes, blue sky and the deep blue water of le Lac de Bouillouses. Cameras clicked and many photos were taken. (The scribbler wonders if they will all be the same or will somebody have something unique?)
Now we were able to start our short walk. We found a path through the trees and followed it upward. Even in the forest, the snow covered the path and made it difficult to find in places. Then, as the path rose higher and the trees thinned out, the path was lost under a deep covering of snow. Sometimes new snow lay over old, frozen stuff and the walking was good. Sometimes we came into fresh, powdery snow and sunk to the knee or deeper. This was hard going and sapped the energy. Yet, we had faith in the leader to get us to our destination. He followed the footprints that went before us. And we followed him.
Get us there he did. The slope eased into what we would describe a large corrie in the Pic Carlet. And in the corrie was a lake, a frozen lake, La Coumasse, surrounded by snow-covered peaks and ridges, hollows and hillocks and evergreen conifers - a perfect Christmas card scene.
Robert remembered a refuge somewhere around here and we went in search of it. It was not at the lakeside as he suspected so we retraced the footprints through the knee-deep powdery deep snow. It was found further round the lake and we stopped inside for lunch.
Our compliments to Bluey for le baguette.
We were now approximately a third of the way round the lake walk and time was wearing on. Knowing that we had the road to walk down, and inclined to the side of caution, we decided to cut the walk short and return by the way we had come. It had already been a great day so why spoils it by making life difficult for ourselves?
After lunch, we set off back the way we had come. Well, we would have gone back the way we had come but the snow-shoe tracks we were following decided to return by a different way. When these tracks left the main path we couldn’t say for we were well down by the time we realised that they had. Still we followed them. They took us down into a burn valley and some really deep snow. We stumbled and slid through this stuff until the tracks took us on
to the open hillside and we realised where we were.A flag-pole near the hotel showed us that it was now a relatively easy slope back up to the dam we had crossed earlier. We didn’t spend any time at the dam for the wind could be felt again, a strong wind and cold. We walked across the dam and took the road down the valley.
A steady amble for some and a sprint for others took us back down the four kilometres of road to the cars.
We were happy with our short walk today, especially as Robert said the walk with the village tomorrow would be long. We believed him.
4 Monday 17 Spain - El Convento de San Quirze de Colera
The Mosset village walking group were going out today and Robert thought it a good idea if we went with them. They were for an area around Collioure and an early start was to be made so, at five to eight, we met them in the village, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Even Davie had lost his Zombie-like demeanour after a good night's sleep in his cellar.
This was Monday, the shop had no bread. Neither had we. Neither had the villagers. No matter, for we could stop on the way and get bread if we took the fillings with us. We left sometime after eight, after some discussion about where to stop for bread and whether the wind would be too strong for it was blowing stronger this morning than it had done since we arrived. We stopped in Marquixanes. The bread shop was shut. We motored on.
A stop was made above Collioure to meet with others and to discus the weather. It was felt that the wind would be too strong for the high-level walk planned so an alternative was chosen. But first we needed bread and headed for the supermarket in Collioure. Oh, bliss!
Another drive took us over the Col de Banyuls into Spain. We stooped on a high grassy plain near an abandoned hacienda. It was now eleven o’clock and, three hours after meeting in Mosset, we started walking. We took to a dirt road through the pasture and up into the scrubby heather.
With one exception, we were to keep to this road for the day. It took us up the side of the valley heading for a high col and, as it did so, it took us in to the wind. The one exception to the road came twenty minutes into the walk. We left the road and followed a well worn path to a holy spring. We were told that nobody knows how the water comes to this spring, but we could see the pipe leading into it from the back. The sceptics amongst us voiced their opinion.
We waited at the spring for everybody to gather and then continued the climb back to the road - we had just cut a corner of it. It climbed yet and brought us onto the col and into the full strength of the wind. A correct decision was made to abandon the high ridge walk planned for even at this comparatively low point we could barely stand against the wind. We sat down in what shelter could be found and waited for the slow again.
High on our right was a man with a rifle, a hunter. More of them could be seen spaced out down the valley side on the left. We were told that wild boar was the prey for these hills abounded with the beasts. Yet, for all the time we were in the area, we never heard a shot. Lucky pigs, today. Still, we were advised to keep to the road in case somebody got trigger-happy or mistook us for pigs.
From high on the valley side, we could see the monastery of St Quirze nestling in the hollow but we had a fair distance to go yet, according to our guide. It wasn’t so long for us though, and twenty minutes later, we were finding a windless spot behind the monastery wall for lunch. The peece-maker did us proud with his usual selection of baguette fillings. (It now became clear to the dishwashers why there was need for all those tomatoes.) We dined well again.
Yes, we dined well but not, it would appear, as well as our French friends who continued to eat well after we were finished. We left them to enjoy their long French lunch and started back up the road towards the col.
Back at the col, the hunters had given up. But not so the wind. If anything this had strengthened to a severe gale and we shuddered to think what it might have been like on the high ridge that was the planned walk of the day. Or, perhaps the shuddering was against the blustering wind, which threatened to blow us off the hill and back down to the monastery. It was fierce in the face but we leant into it and drove forward off the top of the col.
Yet, we made it from the col back to the relative calm of the scrubby hillside and down to the cars, barely half an hour away.
The day was yet young and a visit to Collioure was proposed, just to let Paul see the place. The proposal was accepted unanimously for this is a bonnie part of the world and a visit here is welcome at any time. We wandered around the old town and out to the breakwater. Waves, driven by the wind, crashed against the rocks throwing white spray into the air against the blue of the sea and sky. Cameras were in overdrive trying to catch the action. But, the sun was dropping, casting long shadows and the visit only lasted an hour or so before we had to climb back into the cars and head for home.
We must be getting fitter for today’s long walk didn’t seem nearly as long as yesterday’s short one.
5 Tuesday 18 Market, log cutting and a sair back
(followed by an afternoon walk)
Tuesday in Prades is market day. Those with inclinations towards such things decided this was a 'must visit' while those with more sense opted to stay at home and split logs for the fire.
The market was its usual mix of cheese stalls, meat stalls, clothes stalls and folk selling cheap tools. But the free food samples went down well with our gourmets. Alan looked for the woman with the big melons but she wasn't there so he had to content himself with preparing a different starter for the evening meal. Rex bought the 'doughsticks' - sugar-coated, deep-fried doughnut mix in sticks. He bought another other bag for those left at home. An hour or so of wandering around was enough for some and the market group returned home.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Jimmy, Johnny and Robert had reduced the two cubic metres of tree trunks to fire sized logs and were content with a job well done. With only the last one or two left to split, the worn disc in Jimmy's back slipped. OOOOOOhh! Ya B*******! Jimmy was reduced to a posture resembling a half shut knife for the rest of the stay. The poor soul had to take it easy so went and sat down on the balcony where he could gaffer the others.
The market group arrived as the sweeping up was being done.
The peece-maker was excused today for we were lunching in the house before an afternoon walk. Yet, his expertise was needed when it came to laying out the baguette fillings. We almost forgot the tomatoes!
Six of us took the walk in the afternoon leaving Jimmy prone in front of the fire. The survivors followed the watercourse from Mosset to Molitg, a walk which afforded some fine glimpses of wildlife - deer were spotted and there was an abundance of jays to be seen. After some nimble criss-crossing of the water we entered Molitg.
We had the choice of a sunny or a shady route down to Molitg-les-Bains, and in keeping with our collective nature we chose the sunny one. Davie and Paul stopped to look at the menu outside the Chateau de Riell, and at 25 euros for a plate of soup decided it wasn't for them. Having stopped they were, of course, all alone. On reaching the main road there was no sign of the others. They chose to turn left ('right' in Rex's case) but soon realised that they were on a false trail. Returning to Molitg-les-Bains the rest of the group were found in the tourist information centre, chatting up the attractive assistant and pretending to be interested in her brochures.
Down they all went to the river in the attractive grounds of the spa and then on to the only climb of the day, to the ruins commanding a fine panoramic view of the area. Having rested and surveyed the scene we headed down to Campome.At this point Davie chose to walk back to Mosset whilst the rest walked on to the car which had been strategically placed for the return. As we overtook Davie in the car, all windows were wound down and words of encouragement were called out to him.
He must have misheard us since, on his return, he muttered something about the disgraceful behaviour of so-called professional gentlemen.
Oh yes, and Jimmy was still prone in front of the fire when we returned. He was promptly moved out of the way so that we could all get a heat. (Paul)
6 Wednesday 19 The Touristy Bit
Rex was called upon to act as peece-maker again this morning for we were to have another away day. But, unlike the rest of the week, this was to be a touristy day with a short afternoon walk.
We drove to the medieval walled city of Villefranche de Conflent, for a walk around the ancient streets. Though this is our third visit here, it was new territory to Paul. He shared our interest in the place, popping off photos as we walked round. Well, most of us walked round. Jimmy sort of shuffled, doing a fair impression of somebody who has just gone three rounds with Mike Tyson. At least he was with us.
The touristy bit at Villefranche lasted no more than an hour. We returned to our transport and turned southward up a minor valley to the small village of Casteil. We had talked often about l’Abbeye de St Martin du Canigu and now it was time to take Paul to see it for himself. Jimmy remained in the village, the three hundred metres of altitude proving too much for his back, while the rest of us climbed up the steep road towards the monastery. (At this point, the scribe must ask for a description from one who went up the hill, Paul.)
It was steep. Do you want more? - Paul
Well just a little bit more then. It's a long hard slog up to the Abbaye from Casteil - but gluttons for punishment as we were we made a detour to scramble up rocks which afforded a fine view down the valley to Vernet-les-Bains and beyond.
The next excuse for a breather was the unknown beast in the woods. It seemed completely unperturbed by us as we took copious photographs of the creature.
At last we dragged ourselves up to the Abbaye, but if Paul the novice had thought that this was to be the end of the climbing he was soon to discover his mistake. Onward and upward we went - but it was well worth it.
Was there ever such a fine spot for lunch? The view looking down on to the Abbaye surrounded by mountains in all directions really was worth the climb! As we looked down on the Abbaye we could see monks scurrying about the cloisters - naturally, comments were made about the cleanliness of their habits.
We descended on the opposite side of the Abbaye - a much rougher track over boulders and streams which had to be tackled with caution. But we made it! Then we hurried at full speed along the road, concerned as we were for Jimmy.
(OK I made up the last bit.)
Jimmy stayed low and contented himself with a shuffle round the village. When we returned from l’Abbeye, we found him perched on a boulder in the car park finishing his lunch. Yet, even he, who knows this kind of thing, was unable to identify the beast. (We were to be back at the house before somebody found a picture of it in a brochure. It was an Izard (aka Pyrenean chamois (Paul)).
Back together again, and the day being yet young, it was decided to hold the final part of the Mosset Championship, les boules, with much protestation from the injured Jimmy who was defending the title. However, the game was played in Molitg. Johnny triumphed when Alan, with a superb take-out shot on the last end, knocked Robert's lying shot out of the rink, but also knocked the jack over to Johnny's ball to give him the championship. Jimmy hopes he will keep the trophy clean for him for the next time.
By the time the boules was finished the afternoon was wearing on and we made our way home.
Rex was called upon to act as peece-maker again this morning for we were to have another away day. But, unlike the rest of the week, this was to be a touristy day with a short afternoon walk.
We drove to the medieval walled city of Villefranche de Conflent, for a walk around the ancient streets. Though this is our third visit here, it was new territory to Paul. He shared our interest in the place, popping off photos as we walked round. Well, most of us walked round. Jimmy sort of shuffled, doing a fair impression of somebody who has just gone three rounds with Mike Tyson. At least he was with us.
The touristy bit at Villefranche lasted no more than an hour. We returned to our transport and turned southward up a minor valley to the small village of Casteil. We had talked often about l’Abbeye de St Martin du Canigu and now it was time to take Paul to see it for himself. Jimmy remained in the village, the three hundred metres of altitude proving too much for his back, while the rest of us climbed up the steep road towards the monastery. (At this point, the scribe must ask for a description from one who went up the hill, Paul.)
It was steep. Do you want more? - Paul
Well just a little bit more then. It's a long hard slog up to the Abbaye from Casteil - but gluttons for punishment as we were we made a detour to scramble up rocks which afforded a fine view down the valley to Vernet-les-Bains and beyond.
The next excuse for a breather was the unknown beast in the woods. It seemed completely unperturbed by us as we took copious photographs of the creature.
At last we dragged ourselves up to the Abbaye, but if Paul the novice had thought that this was to be the end of the climbing he was soon to discover his mistake. Onward and upward we went - but it was well worth it.
Was there ever such a fine spot for lunch? The view looking down on to the Abbaye surrounded by mountains in all directions really was worth the climb! As we looked down on the Abbaye we could see monks scurrying about the cloisters - naturally, comments were made about the cleanliness of their habits.We descended on the opposite side of the Abbaye - a much rougher track over boulders and streams which had to be tackled with caution. But we made it! Then we hurried at full speed along the road, concerned as we were for Jimmy.
(OK I made up the last bit.)
Jimmy stayed low and contented himself with a shuffle round the village. When we returned from l’Abbeye, we found him perched on a boulder in the car park finishing his lunch. Yet, even he, who knows this kind of thing, was unable to identify the beast. (We were to be back at the house before somebody found a picture of it in a brochure. It was an Izard (aka Pyrenean chamois (Paul)).
Back together again, and the day being yet young, it was decided to hold the final part of the Mosset Championship, les boules, with much protestation from the injured Jimmy who was defending the title. However, the game was played in Molitg. Johnny triumphed when Alan, with a superb take-out shot on the last end, knocked Robert's lying shot out of the rink, but also knocked the jack over to Johnny's ball to give him the championship. Jimmy hopes he will keep the trophy clean for him for the next time.
By the time the boules was finished the afternoon was wearing on and we made our way home.
7 Thursday 20 The great clean-up and homeward bound
The last day of the trip saw the usual flurry of activity on the cleaning front with beds stripped and washed, floors swept ad washed dishes stacked where they should be and the house generally tidied up.
We are becoming so skilled at this clean up now that the whole job took less time than we ettled and we had time to idle away. Some went for a walk through the village and some lazed in the house. It was a long wait. Eventually somebody suggested we move to the airport and this is what we did. Homeward bound, sad to be leaving Mosset for another year.
The last day of the trip saw the usual flurry of activity on the cleaning front with beds stripped and washed, floors swept ad washed dishes stacked where they should be and the house generally tidied up.
We are becoming so skilled at this clean up now that the whole job took less time than we ettled and we had time to idle away. Some went for a walk through the village and some lazed in the house. It was a long wait. Eventually somebody suggested we move to the airport and this is what we did. Homeward bound, sad to be leaving Mosset for another year.
Overall, the holiday was a great success once again. Old ground was re-tramped and new ground discovered by most. The highlight for most was the walk in the snow. For Rex the great thing was not having to put the toilet seat down. For Davie it was a good night's sleep. But, for all it was another thoroughly great experience.
How did our supplies hold out? Well, the boys were in the shop nearly every day and at least one more visit was made to Super U. The ten-litre box of wine died on us early in the week. Son of ten-litre did likewise and grandson of ten-litre was showing signs of failing towards the end of our stay. We suspect evaporation in the dry mountain air.
How did our supplies hold out? Well, the boys were in the shop nearly every day and at least one more visit was made to Super U. The ten-litre box of wine died on us early in the week. Son of ten-litre did likewise and grandson of ten-litre was showing signs of failing towards the end of our stay. We suspect evaporation in the dry mountain air.
Our thanks must go to Robert who not only provided the accommodation, but also booked the flights. Well done Robert and many thanks
No comments:
Post a Comment