Could I first reassure all our regular readers, Barbara, Susan and the mysterious person from Carterton, Oxfordshire, that we were not lost in the wilderness for all this time; this was in fact the week of our annual outing to Mosset in the south of France. Unfortunately we travelled on Wednesdays hence the absence of reports for the last three weeks. And we travelled at an unearthly hour, 6:30 leaving Prestwick. For people of our vintage this was a bit of a scunner, having to rise in the middle of the night to be at the airport in time. On the plus side, it did allow some of us some time on the other side of the channel to investigate parts of the area we hadn’t seen before.
We flew in to Carcassonne and hired cars at the airport there. It was here that the party split into two – the shoppers shot off down the main drag to Perpignan and the supermarket at Prades while those who had not seen the medieval walled city of Carcassonne did the tourist bit before ambling over to Limaux for lunch and over the Col De Jau to the village. The tourist sarrived as the shoppers were half way through their second??? glass of the day. The tourists felt obliged to join them.
Dinner was followed by a few red wines, quiet conversation and a gradual drifting off to bed at an early hour to make up for the lack of sleep this morning.
Thursday 30 September The High Pastures of the Pic de Roussillon
There is a walk starting from the village that we have done every year we have come here and every year we have lost the path and ended up scrambling over boulders or through stunted thorn bushes and prickly sea hollies. Ouch! This year we were determined to get it right. Anyway, this would give Allan, making his maiden visit to the area, a chance to see what the walking would be like.
Barely had we left the village when we found the horse. It was wandering up the road having clearly broken its tether and made an escape for the day. It was a friendly beast and responded to our attention. But we didn’t quite know what to do with it so we left it to its own devices. It wandered on up the road into the village; we wandered down the road to find the path that would take us up to the high pastures.
The September sun was hot – we were a month earlier on our visit this year – and it was a relief to get into the shade of the stunted oak wood that clothes the slope on this side of the valley. It was cooler but by no means cool and the sweat flowed freely as we climbed gradually through the wood. But the advantage of the dry mountain air was that this evaporated easily and it was no particular discomfort even though it flowed freely.
Somewhere on this section Robert’s artistic flair came to the surface. He found a boulder beside an exposed lump of rock and proceeded to make an installation. ‘Boulder on Rock’ should be an inspiration to all who come this way, until somebody knocks it over. It was good that Robert’s muse struck here for it gave us an opportunity for a breather before tackling the steeper bit of the climb.
Our next rest came at the spot we call Colchicum Corner. We always stop here for coffee and there was no reason we shouldn’t do so today for the sun was hot and Colchicum Corner is just clear of the trees and offers superb views of the Castellaine and Tet Valleys as well as the higher Pyrenees to the east. We sat down, took in the view, pointed out landmarks to Allan and looked for the colchicums that normally flower in profusion here. There were none. Perhaps we were too early in the year for the yellow flowered erygiums still held colour and the trees were still green. But there were no colchicums. What there were though were flies, hundreds of flies. Buzzing flies. Tickling flies. Bloody annoying flies. We sat as long as the flies allowed us but eventually they drove us on. This must have been our shortest stop at Colchicum Corner in all the years we have come here.
We found the path no bother this year, the path that took us round the hillside to the old ruins. Johnny reminded us that this was where we were joined by the two dogs last year. But there were no dogs this year. Not even flies. We walked on feeling somewhat deprived.
There came a bifurcation in the path. Whilst some would have preferred to take the broader path to the right, Robert insisted, with all the self belief of the experienced mountain man, that we take the narrower slightly overgrown path to the left. This self belief was justified when the path broadened out and rejoined the one we had left barely ten minutes before. We had simply taken a short cut over instead of round a slight rise. Now our main path took us in a direct route to the track that skirts Le Pic de Roussillon.
Lunch called and we settled down to a lunch of French bread, paté, camembert, jambon and tomatoes.
The track we followed after lunch was of the forest road type. This crosses the high pasture and skirts the low peak of Roussillon barely a hundred metres to our right and not quite seventy metres above us. Yet in the five years we have come this way, we have never climbed to the top of this peak. This year Rex was keen for the top. Jimmy was keen to join him but the rest of us had had enough climbing for the day and were happy to keep to the road so the party split – the two mountaineers set off through the stunted shrubbery and the rest continued over the high pasture.
Twenty metres through the shrubbery the peak-baggers found a path that contoured gently up towards the Le Pic. The path didn’t quite make the top but a short amble over springy turf saw the pair at the weather station that marks the summit with little extra effort. They were rewarded by a quite remarkable view to the east, over the lower country towards the Mediterranean.
Meanwhile the roadsters had made good progress along the track admiring the views westward towards the Col de Jau and the higher Pyrenees. Below lay the farm which usually has horses in the surrounding field. But today there were no horses. Nor were there any when we came down to the lower farm. There was a suspicion that they were already on somebody’s plate.
The trees before the lower farm was where we were joined by the two peak-baggers and the group stayed as one for the rest of the walk.
The afternoon sun was hot and we were quite happy to stop at our usual rocky outcrop and laze for a while. Then we continued the descent leaving the road occasionally to cut corners and came down to the television mast above the village. While some kept to the road from here, the more foolhardy took the steeper, more direct route to the village, coming down the rough path through jaggy, scratchy scrub.
This is a superb walk and was made even more so today by the presence of so many butterflies of so many different species. And the mysterious beetle-like insect with the long ting-like tail. Then there were the two birds – large pale grey falcons which the birders decided might be Gyr Falcons. The nature lovers were in their element today.
Friday 1 October A short coastal walk – Banyuls-sur-Mer to Collioure
Davie had the perfect antidote for the long walk of yesterday; he would take us down to the coast for a short, easy coastal walk. We were all quite happy to have an easy day and when the morning light showed an overcast sky and wet roads, we quickly agreed to his suggestion.
The logistics of the linear walk were overcome by driving to Banyuls, dropping passengers, driving back to Collioure, leaving one car there and driving back to the start of the walk. Well done, the organisers.
The wee shingly beach that we started from was at the end of an enclosed bay. While we could see the path rise slightly round the headland to the north, this gave us no indication of the up and down nature of the walk to come so we set off along the shingle with thoughts of an easy day ahead.
Rex had other ideas. Whether it was something he had for breakfast or something he thought he might have for lunch, we don’t know. But he set off up that path like an Olympic sprinter leaving the rest trailing behind with tongues hanging out. Every time the tail-enders caught sight of him, he was off again. This set the tone for the walk – heaven help those who stopped for any reason.
If the pace was fast, the terrain didn’t help. It was not the easy walk Davie suggested. Sure, there was a path, a dry path and well gravelled but the nature of the coast here is such that wee gravel-beached coves are separated by high scrubby headlands. We climbed round the first headland only to see the path rise even higher to a point well above sea level. Then it dropped quite dramatically onto a beach of another wee bay. Then it climbed. Then it dropped. Then it ...........
By the time we had climbed to the top of the umpteenth headland we could see the lighthouse of Cap Bear standing high above the Med. ‘An ideal place for lunch’, said Davie. So down we went again, back down to sea level and another wee beach with houses then up we came again, up to the lighthouse of Cap Bear We sat down on the walls of a German gun emplacement from the last war and had a well deserved lunch. And the sun came out.
After lunch, Rex had recovered his sanity, the up and down part of the walk was behind us and the going was now on tarmac; the walking was much easier. We blethered our way down the road towards Port Vendres. That’s when Ian and Ronnie were discovered missing. They had stopped to examine one of the German gun posts and were left behind, even at our new slow pace. We stopped to wait for them to catch up. They were seen on a path below our road heading down towards the sea. ‘That’s no’ where they want to go. That path rins oot at a cliff’, said Robert and hailed the wayward two. They retraced their steps and eventually joined us where we waited at a bend in the road overlooking Port Vendres.
We stopped again, this time it was beside a frame showing one of the views that Charles Rennie Mackintosh painted during his time here. We were now on the Rennie Mackintosh trail. Some debate ensued as to whether there were two towers guarding the port entrance in Macintosh’s time or did he move the single one from the other side of the bay to balance his picture. The debate remains undecided.
Port Vendres is the commercial port of the three towns we would visit today. The commercial port is to the south of the bay and the marina full of yachts to the north. It was in a cafe overlooking the marina that we stopped for coffee.
Davie had a plan. We would now climb high above the town to an old fort on the hill and then drop down into Collioure. With the coffee coursing through the veins, we accepted his suggestion. But the caffeine hit didn’t last too long and by the time we had climbed steeply to the top of the town and found the track to the fort, the coffee had worn off. Another track looked as though it would take us down directly to Collioure and, much to Davie’s disgust, we turned down this. It took us to the road between the two town and we stuck to this to come down into Collioure from the south.
This was a harder ‘easy coastal walk’ than we expected but it was another good one.
That night we were joined by Colin, a friend of Ronnie. He brought with him sausages, sparkling wine and a selection of moothies (harmonicas for the ill informed). The wine flowed freely and the moothies did their job. ‘The nicht drave on wi’ sangs and clatter’ and a thoroughly enjoyable evening was had.
Saturday 2 October Castellane Valley Walk – A Local Walk Due to Overindulgence Last Night
The morning dawned dreich with an overcast sky and a clag dropping from the Canigou. A thick haar rolled up the valley of the Castellane. After our jollities last night and the approaching clag, it was decided that we would definitely have an easy walk today.
We left the house and walked down the east side of the valley and into the fog that would stay with us for the day. This fog would hide any distant prospects indeed block any views beyond a couple of hundred metres. The only things to lighten the day and relive hangovers was the blethers of the Ooters, the ‘cracking’ of jays in the oak wood and the occasional views of the birds flitting from tree to tree. After a while we left tarmac and took a path rising gradually to the old ruined fort above the gorge of the Castellane..
Normally from here there is a superb view of the gorge of the Castellane and the spa of Molitg Le Bains but the fog did its best to hide this and it was only a shadow of the view that we had today. But we spent some time there anyway, some just to enjoy the experience and some to recover from the excess of last night.
We dropped off the heights of the fort and into the gorge then climbed through the grounds of the spa to the road for Molitg Village. At the same cafe as last year, we stopped for a refreshing (and recuperative) beer.
From Molitg we followed the ‘canal’ back to Mosset. The fog was still down when we came back to the house.
Sunday 3 October Les Trois Etoiles from Col de Mantet
A much brighter day dawned brighter in more than one sense of the word. The sun shone on the Canigou and the prospect of a superb day lifted the spirits. Colin was for the Canigou and while this was tempting for more than one of us, it was only Ronnie who joined him, the rest of us accepting Robert’s suggestion of an ‘easy’ hill walk.
The last time we were on the Col de Mantet the sky was overcast and the wind fierce and biting cold. (We didn’t know it at the time but it was bringing the first snows of the winter with it.) Today was a complete and pleasant contrast. The sun shone and the air was still and warm. Even before we had left the col, the nature lovers were in raptures. A Griffin Vulture came in sight, wings outstretched to catch the thermals. This was then attacked by a reddish brown falcon – a Lanner Falcon according to the birders. If this was what today’s walk had to offer then we looked forward to it with relish.
The walking was just as easy as Robert said it would be. The path skirted the hillside, climbing gradually. As the stunted scrubby woodland gave way we had views to the north and east. At one point we looked down on the narrow, twisting, winding road that climbed from the valley at Vernet le Bain to our col at around 1750m (5690ft). Most of the time we looked across the valley to the wooded slopes beyond for more distant prospects were as yet hidden by the ridges of our present mountain. A profusion of wildflowers, some still holding colour, decked each side of the path and multi-coloured butterflies flitted among them seeking out remaining nectar. Dozens more of the mysterious beetle-like creature we saw on Roussillon crawled on the path as it wound its way across and upward. This was a very pleasant part of the walk
The path rose slightly and topped out on to a grassy plateau. Now the views really did open out for us. To the south lay the peaks beyond the col; to the east a high pasture resembling the Roussillon one ran northward; and in the north, the high peak of the Canigou rose into the clear blue of the sky. Superb. A few minutes were spent on this plateau taking photographs and generally absorbing the scenery. Jimmy produced his binoculars and we had a closer look at the Canigou. We looked for Ronnie and Colin but, though a few figures could be seen walking round a sort of circular structure on top but no way could they be identified at this distance even with Jimmy’s binoculars.
The path crossed the plateau and rose fairly steeply. But it was a short steep and we topped out at Les Trois Etoiles almost before we knew it.
The place was busy for it was Sunday and a pleasant Sunday forbye. Apart from the young children with their parents who followed us up, there were on the top two families with young children and a group of five adults. Fortunately the top was fairly broad and grassy and there was room to accommodate the hoards. We lay on the short grass and had a long lunch and another look at the Canigou. Down in the valley something red caught the attention. The binoculars showed this to be l’Abbaye St. Martin du Canigou perched on its crag with a tower showing to its left.
Another vulture soared on the thermals thirty metres to our left. Jimmy’s binoculars did the rounds as the bird drifted over our heads and hung effortlessly on the slightest updraft. Then it drifted away and the time came for us to do likewise. But not before we had the official summit photo. The young mother of one of the families obliged us in this, accepting camera after camera. Then, when all cameras had done the rounds we thanked the young woman and started off down the hill.
The walk downhill was every bit as pleasant as the walk uphill. Down to the high plateau we came, stopping very briefly, then on to the narrow mountainside path. Half way down the path we met the horses. A team of four horses was being led by two gypsy-looking men and an equally gypsy-looking woman. The leader of the three asked us where our women were. We feel sure that if we had had women with us he would have made an offer to buy them from us such was his look. However, we had no women and that ended the conversation. We took our several ways, they, upward to les Etoiles and we, downward to the col.
This was another super walk. Well done to Robert for suggesting it. In our opinion Les Trois Etoiles is a five star walk.
Monday 4 October Cascade des Anglais
Old bodies were getting tired. After four days hard walking and copious amounts of red wine old bodies were getting tired. So when Bob suggested another easy gorge walk to a waterfall there were no complaints despite the sun of the morning and the clear air. So we motored to Vernet les Bains and the start of the walk to the Cascade des Anglais.
By its very nature this walk would be devoid of any distant prospects but dramatic rock clefts and high crags would surely make up for this. However, just as we started the walk, we entered a wood and we would be in this for the entire walk. There would be no views of clefts or crags, then. Yet the woodland was delightful with the warm sun shining through the foliage and sparkling on the waters of the burn. The path would follow the burn, rising gently, until we met the falls. There were some glimpses of dramatic rocks rising above us but mainly the interest was in the wood. We ambled up through the wood with the path.
There are two falls. The first took us by surprise. The path came round a rocky outcrop onto a swinging bridge. It was not until we were on the bridge and looked left that we saw the waterfall, not particularly high – twenty feet or so – but dropping like a flow of long hair into the pool below. This is the Cascade St Vincent.
The second, Cascade des Anglais lies some half kilometre further upstream. The path comes into a rock-walled basin with the water falling into the far end, higher than the first and just as spectacular. We stayed there for a wee while scrambling on the rocks, exploring the falls or trying to capture the prize-winning photos. Then we made our way back down the burn side path to Vernet. Enough had been enough for the day.
It was lunchtime when we arrived back in Vernet and, after an unexpected tour of the village streets we found a pavement cafe where we lunched on pizza and beer.
Supplies were running low back at the house so the shoppers were delegated to replenish them and shot off to Super-U. The rest came back to the Têt valley at Villefranche de Conflent. Since neither Colin nor Ian had seen the old walled town, this is where we headed, wandering round the streets and tourist shops. Colin managed to pick up a souvenir for his daughter before taking his leave of us. He headed to Mont Louis and we back to Mosset.
Tuesday 5 October Prades Market/ l’Abbaye St. Martin de Canigou
Tuesday is market day in Prades and we have among us some who enjoy such things. Since this was to be our last day we conceded to their request. This was to be a morning for them followed by a short but steep afternoon walk to l’Abbaye St. Martin de Canigou for the others.
Even for those allergic to such things (it brings them out in a bout of apathy) French markets are an experience. Prades market is no exception with stalls occupying the main square and stretching down all the side streets selling anything from flowers to cheese to clothes to sausages to books and DVDs. It took us a full three quarters of an hour to walk through the stalls from the outskirts of the town to the main square, three quarters of an hour of walking in the sun through the buzz of the market. We were badly in need of refreshment when we reached the cafe in the main square so we sat there and took coffee while watching southern France go about its business.
After coffee we drove through Vernet Les Bains to the village of Casteil. Here we found the steep concrete road that would lift us some thousand feet above the village to the monastery of St. Martin of the Canigu. The climb was hot and we were somewhat relieved when Davie stopped at an outcrop of rock. We followed him as he climbed rock and were rewarded with a superb view down the valley to the hills on the far side of the Tet. The village of Casteil lay below us and the town of Vernet Les Bains lay further down the valley. In the other direction we could see the tower that we saw on Trois Etoile standing high above the other side of the deep valley.
A little further up we came to a chapel of ease beside the road. Some of us would have liked to examine this but lunch was calling and the speedsters were into full stride. We followed on.
We climbed behind the monastery to look down on its red roof. Here we settled down to our now usual lunch of bread, paté, jambon and cheese. And as we sat we were joined by an American couple with a large Bernese Mountain dog. They were from California but had lived in London for a few years. They had first flown to Germany and bought an Audi which they were to drive this through the south of France for three month before it was shipped to California for them. They were taking a long way home from London via the south of France. Wow, what it’s like to have money.
The view from our lunch stop was awe-inspiring. Below sat the monastery perched on its rock above the wooded valley. On the other side of the valley was the tower that we could see from Les Trois Etoiles on Sunday. Behind this rose the high peaks. We were able to pick out Les Trois Etoiles, our highest point of this week. To our right across the gorge a wall of rock rose vertically for a few hundred feet and behind us the gorge ran on deep into the massif that is the Canigu. This is a fabulous place for lunch and we enjoyed being there again.
After lunch the party split into those who would like a steep wooded descent and those who would walk back down the road. Your scribe was in the latter.
We wandered down the road, examined the chapel of ease and passed the viewpoint rocks. This is where Ronnie met an old acquaintance, well somebody he met on the Canigu on Sunday. She was a New Zealander who had cycled with her other half to the high refuge of the Canigu and then walked to the summit. She was walking today but her other half was still cycling. We met him further down.
And it was further down that we saw the birds. Despite protestations, Jimmy was encouraged to view them through his binoculars. So to please Johnny he removed his specs, laid them down and looked for the birds through the binoculars. Then we walked on. We were nearly back at the cars when Jimmy realized that his specs weren’t on his face. He had left them half-way up the mountain. Off he set in search of the missing specs. No luck. He returned empty-handed. Ronnie, ever the helpful Ronnie, said that he would return with Jimmy to look for them. This time they were successful, finding the specs where they had been placed on the wall. Now Jimmy can see again. But has finding his specs this time improved his memory? Watch this space.
Both groups were re-united before the specs searchers returned and as one large group we drove back to Mosset.
That evening we decided the Mosset Trophy. For the second year on the trot it was decided on the Boules and for the second year running it was Ian who emerged triumphant. Well done to the victor.
Wednesday 6 October. Home
The alarm rang at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night; an alarm that was set because we had an early shift this morning. We were to be back in Carcassonne for the ten thirty flight to Prestwick. Somehow we managed it and we will surely recover our missed sleep before Christmas.
This was another successful venture into this wee corner of the world. Thanks should go to Robert for the use of his house again. And thanks to all who made it such a memorable week.
We flew in to Carcassonne and hired cars at the airport there. It was here that the party split into two – the shoppers shot off down the main drag to Perpignan and the supermarket at Prades while those who had not seen the medieval walled city of Carcassonne did the tourist bit before ambling over to Limaux for lunch and over the Col De Jau to the village. The tourist sarrived as the shoppers were half way through their second??? glass of the day. The tourists felt obliged to join them.
Dinner was followed by a few red wines, quiet conversation and a gradual drifting off to bed at an early hour to make up for the lack of sleep this morning.
Thursday 30 September The High Pastures of the Pic de Roussillon
There is a walk starting from the village that we have done every year we have come here and every year we have lost the path and ended up scrambling over boulders or through stunted thorn bushes and prickly sea hollies. Ouch! This year we were determined to get it right. Anyway, this would give Allan, making his maiden visit to the area, a chance to see what the walking would be like.
Barely had we left the village when we found the horse. It was wandering up the road having clearly broken its tether and made an escape for the day. It was a friendly beast and responded to our attention. But we didn’t quite know what to do with it so we left it to its own devices. It wandered on up the road into the village; we wandered down the road to find the path that would take us up to the high pastures.
The September sun was hot – we were a month earlier on our visit this year – and it was a relief to get into the shade of the stunted oak wood that clothes the slope on this side of the valley. It was cooler but by no means cool and the sweat flowed freely as we climbed gradually through the wood. But the advantage of the dry mountain air was that this evaporated easily and it was no particular discomfort even though it flowed freely.
Somewhere on this section Robert’s artistic flair came to the surface. He found a boulder beside an exposed lump of rock and proceeded to make an installation. ‘Boulder on Rock’ should be an inspiration to all who come this way, until somebody knocks it over. It was good that Robert’s muse struck here for it gave us an opportunity for a breather before tackling the steeper bit of the climb.
Our next rest came at the spot we call Colchicum Corner. We always stop here for coffee and there was no reason we shouldn’t do so today for the sun was hot and Colchicum Corner is just clear of the trees and offers superb views of the Castellaine and Tet Valleys as well as the higher Pyrenees to the east. We sat down, took in the view, pointed out landmarks to Allan and looked for the colchicums that normally flower in profusion here. There were none. Perhaps we were too early in the year for the yellow flowered erygiums still held colour and the trees were still green. But there were no colchicums. What there were though were flies, hundreds of flies. Buzzing flies. Tickling flies. Bloody annoying flies. We sat as long as the flies allowed us but eventually they drove us on. This must have been our shortest stop at Colchicum Corner in all the years we have come here.
We found the path no bother this year, the path that took us round the hillside to the old ruins. Johnny reminded us that this was where we were joined by the two dogs last year. But there were no dogs this year. Not even flies. We walked on feeling somewhat deprived.
There came a bifurcation in the path. Whilst some would have preferred to take the broader path to the right, Robert insisted, with all the self belief of the experienced mountain man, that we take the narrower slightly overgrown path to the left. This self belief was justified when the path broadened out and rejoined the one we had left barely ten minutes before. We had simply taken a short cut over instead of round a slight rise. Now our main path took us in a direct route to the track that skirts Le Pic de Roussillon.
Lunch called and we settled down to a lunch of French bread, paté, camembert, jambon and tomatoes.
The track we followed after lunch was of the forest road type. This crosses the high pasture and skirts the low peak of Roussillon barely a hundred metres to our right and not quite seventy metres above us. Yet in the five years we have come this way, we have never climbed to the top of this peak. This year Rex was keen for the top. Jimmy was keen to join him but the rest of us had had enough climbing for the day and were happy to keep to the road so the party split – the two mountaineers set off through the stunted shrubbery and the rest continued over the high pasture.
Twenty metres through the shrubbery the peak-baggers found a path that contoured gently up towards the Le Pic. The path didn’t quite make the top but a short amble over springy turf saw the pair at the weather station that marks the summit with little extra effort. They were rewarded by a quite remarkable view to the east, over the lower country towards the Mediterranean.
Meanwhile the roadsters had made good progress along the track admiring the views westward towards the Col de Jau and the higher Pyrenees. Below lay the farm which usually has horses in the surrounding field. But today there were no horses. Nor were there any when we came down to the lower farm. There was a suspicion that they were already on somebody’s plate.
The trees before the lower farm was where we were joined by the two peak-baggers and the group stayed as one for the rest of the walk.
The afternoon sun was hot and we were quite happy to stop at our usual rocky outcrop and laze for a while. Then we continued the descent leaving the road occasionally to cut corners and came down to the television mast above the village. While some kept to the road from here, the more foolhardy took the steeper, more direct route to the village, coming down the rough path through jaggy, scratchy scrub.
This is a superb walk and was made even more so today by the presence of so many butterflies of so many different species. And the mysterious beetle-like insect with the long ting-like tail. Then there were the two birds – large pale grey falcons which the birders decided might be Gyr Falcons. The nature lovers were in their element today.
Friday 1 October A short coastal walk – Banyuls-sur-Mer to Collioure
Davie had the perfect antidote for the long walk of yesterday; he would take us down to the coast for a short, easy coastal walk. We were all quite happy to have an easy day and when the morning light showed an overcast sky and wet roads, we quickly agreed to his suggestion.
The logistics of the linear walk were overcome by driving to Banyuls, dropping passengers, driving back to Collioure, leaving one car there and driving back to the start of the walk. Well done, the organisers.
The wee shingly beach that we started from was at the end of an enclosed bay. While we could see the path rise slightly round the headland to the north, this gave us no indication of the up and down nature of the walk to come so we set off along the shingle with thoughts of an easy day ahead.
Rex had other ideas. Whether it was something he had for breakfast or something he thought he might have for lunch, we don’t know. But he set off up that path like an Olympic sprinter leaving the rest trailing behind with tongues hanging out. Every time the tail-enders caught sight of him, he was off again. This set the tone for the walk – heaven help those who stopped for any reason.
If the pace was fast, the terrain didn’t help. It was not the easy walk Davie suggested. Sure, there was a path, a dry path and well gravelled but the nature of the coast here is such that wee gravel-beached coves are separated by high scrubby headlands. We climbed round the first headland only to see the path rise even higher to a point well above sea level. Then it dropped quite dramatically onto a beach of another wee bay. Then it climbed. Then it dropped. Then it ...........
By the time we had climbed to the top of the umpteenth headland we could see the lighthouse of Cap Bear standing high above the Med. ‘An ideal place for lunch’, said Davie. So down we went again, back down to sea level and another wee beach with houses then up we came again, up to the lighthouse of Cap Bear We sat down on the walls of a German gun emplacement from the last war and had a well deserved lunch. And the sun came out.
After lunch, Rex had recovered his sanity, the up and down part of the walk was behind us and the going was now on tarmac; the walking was much easier. We blethered our way down the road towards Port Vendres. That’s when Ian and Ronnie were discovered missing. They had stopped to examine one of the German gun posts and were left behind, even at our new slow pace. We stopped to wait for them to catch up. They were seen on a path below our road heading down towards the sea. ‘That’s no’ where they want to go. That path rins oot at a cliff’, said Robert and hailed the wayward two. They retraced their steps and eventually joined us where we waited at a bend in the road overlooking Port Vendres.
We stopped again, this time it was beside a frame showing one of the views that Charles Rennie Mackintosh painted during his time here. We were now on the Rennie Mackintosh trail. Some debate ensued as to whether there were two towers guarding the port entrance in Macintosh’s time or did he move the single one from the other side of the bay to balance his picture. The debate remains undecided.
Port Vendres is the commercial port of the three towns we would visit today. The commercial port is to the south of the bay and the marina full of yachts to the north. It was in a cafe overlooking the marina that we stopped for coffee.
Davie had a plan. We would now climb high above the town to an old fort on the hill and then drop down into Collioure. With the coffee coursing through the veins, we accepted his suggestion. But the caffeine hit didn’t last too long and by the time we had climbed steeply to the top of the town and found the track to the fort, the coffee had worn off. Another track looked as though it would take us down directly to Collioure and, much to Davie’s disgust, we turned down this. It took us to the road between the two town and we stuck to this to come down into Collioure from the south.
This was a harder ‘easy coastal walk’ than we expected but it was another good one.
That night we were joined by Colin, a friend of Ronnie. He brought with him sausages, sparkling wine and a selection of moothies (harmonicas for the ill informed). The wine flowed freely and the moothies did their job. ‘The nicht drave on wi’ sangs and clatter’ and a thoroughly enjoyable evening was had.
Saturday 2 October Castellane Valley Walk – A Local Walk Due to Overindulgence Last Night
The morning dawned dreich with an overcast sky and a clag dropping from the Canigou. A thick haar rolled up the valley of the Castellane. After our jollities last night and the approaching clag, it was decided that we would definitely have an easy walk today.
We left the house and walked down the east side of the valley and into the fog that would stay with us for the day. This fog would hide any distant prospects indeed block any views beyond a couple of hundred metres. The only things to lighten the day and relive hangovers was the blethers of the Ooters, the ‘cracking’ of jays in the oak wood and the occasional views of the birds flitting from tree to tree. After a while we left tarmac and took a path rising gradually to the old ruined fort above the gorge of the Castellane..
Normally from here there is a superb view of the gorge of the Castellane and the spa of Molitg Le Bains but the fog did its best to hide this and it was only a shadow of the view that we had today. But we spent some time there anyway, some just to enjoy the experience and some to recover from the excess of last night.
We dropped off the heights of the fort and into the gorge then climbed through the grounds of the spa to the road for Molitg Village. At the same cafe as last year, we stopped for a refreshing (and recuperative) beer.
From Molitg we followed the ‘canal’ back to Mosset. The fog was still down when we came back to the house.
Sunday 3 October Les Trois Etoiles from Col de Mantet
A much brighter day dawned brighter in more than one sense of the word. The sun shone on the Canigou and the prospect of a superb day lifted the spirits. Colin was for the Canigou and while this was tempting for more than one of us, it was only Ronnie who joined him, the rest of us accepting Robert’s suggestion of an ‘easy’ hill walk.
The last time we were on the Col de Mantet the sky was overcast and the wind fierce and biting cold. (We didn’t know it at the time but it was bringing the first snows of the winter with it.) Today was a complete and pleasant contrast. The sun shone and the air was still and warm. Even before we had left the col, the nature lovers were in raptures. A Griffin Vulture came in sight, wings outstretched to catch the thermals. This was then attacked by a reddish brown falcon – a Lanner Falcon according to the birders. If this was what today’s walk had to offer then we looked forward to it with relish.
The walking was just as easy as Robert said it would be. The path skirted the hillside, climbing gradually. As the stunted scrubby woodland gave way we had views to the north and east. At one point we looked down on the narrow, twisting, winding road that climbed from the valley at Vernet le Bain to our col at around 1750m (5690ft). Most of the time we looked across the valley to the wooded slopes beyond for more distant prospects were as yet hidden by the ridges of our present mountain. A profusion of wildflowers, some still holding colour, decked each side of the path and multi-coloured butterflies flitted among them seeking out remaining nectar. Dozens more of the mysterious beetle-like creature we saw on Roussillon crawled on the path as it wound its way across and upward. This was a very pleasant part of the walk
The path rose slightly and topped out on to a grassy plateau. Now the views really did open out for us. To the south lay the peaks beyond the col; to the east a high pasture resembling the Roussillon one ran northward; and in the north, the high peak of the Canigou rose into the clear blue of the sky. Superb. A few minutes were spent on this plateau taking photographs and generally absorbing the scenery. Jimmy produced his binoculars and we had a closer look at the Canigou. We looked for Ronnie and Colin but, though a few figures could be seen walking round a sort of circular structure on top but no way could they be identified at this distance even with Jimmy’s binoculars.
The path crossed the plateau and rose fairly steeply. But it was a short steep and we topped out at Les Trois Etoiles almost before we knew it.
The place was busy for it was Sunday and a pleasant Sunday forbye. Apart from the young children with their parents who followed us up, there were on the top two families with young children and a group of five adults. Fortunately the top was fairly broad and grassy and there was room to accommodate the hoards. We lay on the short grass and had a long lunch and another look at the Canigou. Down in the valley something red caught the attention. The binoculars showed this to be l’Abbaye St. Martin du Canigou perched on its crag with a tower showing to its left.
Another vulture soared on the thermals thirty metres to our left. Jimmy’s binoculars did the rounds as the bird drifted over our heads and hung effortlessly on the slightest updraft. Then it drifted away and the time came for us to do likewise. But not before we had the official summit photo. The young mother of one of the families obliged us in this, accepting camera after camera. Then, when all cameras had done the rounds we thanked the young woman and started off down the hill.
The walk downhill was every bit as pleasant as the walk uphill. Down to the high plateau we came, stopping very briefly, then on to the narrow mountainside path. Half way down the path we met the horses. A team of four horses was being led by two gypsy-looking men and an equally gypsy-looking woman. The leader of the three asked us where our women were. We feel sure that if we had had women with us he would have made an offer to buy them from us such was his look. However, we had no women and that ended the conversation. We took our several ways, they, upward to les Etoiles and we, downward to the col.
This was another super walk. Well done to Robert for suggesting it. In our opinion Les Trois Etoiles is a five star walk.
Monday 4 October Cascade des Anglais
Old bodies were getting tired. After four days hard walking and copious amounts of red wine old bodies were getting tired. So when Bob suggested another easy gorge walk to a waterfall there were no complaints despite the sun of the morning and the clear air. So we motored to Vernet les Bains and the start of the walk to the Cascade des Anglais.
By its very nature this walk would be devoid of any distant prospects but dramatic rock clefts and high crags would surely make up for this. However, just as we started the walk, we entered a wood and we would be in this for the entire walk. There would be no views of clefts or crags, then. Yet the woodland was delightful with the warm sun shining through the foliage and sparkling on the waters of the burn. The path would follow the burn, rising gently, until we met the falls. There were some glimpses of dramatic rocks rising above us but mainly the interest was in the wood. We ambled up through the wood with the path.
There are two falls. The first took us by surprise. The path came round a rocky outcrop onto a swinging bridge. It was not until we were on the bridge and looked left that we saw the waterfall, not particularly high – twenty feet or so – but dropping like a flow of long hair into the pool below. This is the Cascade St Vincent.
The second, Cascade des Anglais lies some half kilometre further upstream. The path comes into a rock-walled basin with the water falling into the far end, higher than the first and just as spectacular. We stayed there for a wee while scrambling on the rocks, exploring the falls or trying to capture the prize-winning photos. Then we made our way back down the burn side path to Vernet. Enough had been enough for the day.
It was lunchtime when we arrived back in Vernet and, after an unexpected tour of the village streets we found a pavement cafe where we lunched on pizza and beer.
Supplies were running low back at the house so the shoppers were delegated to replenish them and shot off to Super-U. The rest came back to the Têt valley at Villefranche de Conflent. Since neither Colin nor Ian had seen the old walled town, this is where we headed, wandering round the streets and tourist shops. Colin managed to pick up a souvenir for his daughter before taking his leave of us. He headed to Mont Louis and we back to Mosset.
Tuesday 5 October Prades Market/ l’Abbaye St. Martin de Canigou
Tuesday is market day in Prades and we have among us some who enjoy such things. Since this was to be our last day we conceded to their request. This was to be a morning for them followed by a short but steep afternoon walk to l’Abbaye St. Martin de Canigou for the others.
Even for those allergic to such things (it brings them out in a bout of apathy) French markets are an experience. Prades market is no exception with stalls occupying the main square and stretching down all the side streets selling anything from flowers to cheese to clothes to sausages to books and DVDs. It took us a full three quarters of an hour to walk through the stalls from the outskirts of the town to the main square, three quarters of an hour of walking in the sun through the buzz of the market. We were badly in need of refreshment when we reached the cafe in the main square so we sat there and took coffee while watching southern France go about its business.
After coffee we drove through Vernet Les Bains to the village of Casteil. Here we found the steep concrete road that would lift us some thousand feet above the village to the monastery of St. Martin of the Canigu. The climb was hot and we were somewhat relieved when Davie stopped at an outcrop of rock. We followed him as he climbed rock and were rewarded with a superb view down the valley to the hills on the far side of the Tet. The village of Casteil lay below us and the town of Vernet Les Bains lay further down the valley. In the other direction we could see the tower that we saw on Trois Etoile standing high above the other side of the deep valley.
A little further up we came to a chapel of ease beside the road. Some of us would have liked to examine this but lunch was calling and the speedsters were into full stride. We followed on.
We climbed behind the monastery to look down on its red roof. Here we settled down to our now usual lunch of bread, paté, jambon and cheese. And as we sat we were joined by an American couple with a large Bernese Mountain dog. They were from California but had lived in London for a few years. They had first flown to Germany and bought an Audi which they were to drive this through the south of France for three month before it was shipped to California for them. They were taking a long way home from London via the south of France. Wow, what it’s like to have money.
The view from our lunch stop was awe-inspiring. Below sat the monastery perched on its rock above the wooded valley. On the other side of the valley was the tower that we could see from Les Trois Etoiles on Sunday. Behind this rose the high peaks. We were able to pick out Les Trois Etoiles, our highest point of this week. To our right across the gorge a wall of rock rose vertically for a few hundred feet and behind us the gorge ran on deep into the massif that is the Canigu. This is a fabulous place for lunch and we enjoyed being there again.
After lunch the party split into those who would like a steep wooded descent and those who would walk back down the road. Your scribe was in the latter.
We wandered down the road, examined the chapel of ease and passed the viewpoint rocks. This is where Ronnie met an old acquaintance, well somebody he met on the Canigu on Sunday. She was a New Zealander who had cycled with her other half to the high refuge of the Canigu and then walked to the summit. She was walking today but her other half was still cycling. We met him further down.
And it was further down that we saw the birds. Despite protestations, Jimmy was encouraged to view them through his binoculars. So to please Johnny he removed his specs, laid them down and looked for the birds through the binoculars. Then we walked on. We were nearly back at the cars when Jimmy realized that his specs weren’t on his face. He had left them half-way up the mountain. Off he set in search of the missing specs. No luck. He returned empty-handed. Ronnie, ever the helpful Ronnie, said that he would return with Jimmy to look for them. This time they were successful, finding the specs where they had been placed on the wall. Now Jimmy can see again. But has finding his specs this time improved his memory? Watch this space.
Both groups were re-united before the specs searchers returned and as one large group we drove back to Mosset.
That evening we decided the Mosset Trophy. For the second year on the trot it was decided on the Boules and for the second year running it was Ian who emerged triumphant. Well done to the victor.
Wednesday 6 October. Home
The alarm rang at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night; an alarm that was set because we had an early shift this morning. We were to be back in Carcassonne for the ten thirty flight to Prestwick. Somehow we managed it and we will surely recover our missed sleep before Christmas.
This was another successful venture into this wee corner of the world. Thanks should go to Robert for the use of his house again. And thanks to all who made it such a memorable week.
2 comments:
Good to hear what you got up to.
BTW I think Visitor from Carterton may be me. Not sure why computer thinks that. Trying to sort it!
I think the big dug was a Bernese Mountain Dog
Post a Comment