9th August - GR-11 Journal Entry

Pyrenees proper…

A sore head after Kevin dragged us into town for more Cayones + music! Packed up after another stormy night (luckily I had remembered to bring in the washing). Leaving Ochagavia, on pistas past a massive pile of collective town furniture and some BIG limestone crags, we wandered up and through endless forest (biting flies never materialised Lucia, but thanks for the warning). We wound up to a ridge path where we were greeted with our first glimpse of the Pyrenees proper – towering Limestone crags in great columns stood proud and orange against a battered sky, yes I thought, it begins…the ridge followed the edge of a tree-line up and over a col to the valley which housed Isaba.

Upon reaching Isaba we found the finest wee family run Panadaria in the region – hand made Pizza and cake to the sounds of Dylon, then coffee and soon some showers and slumber. The town is small but friendly (no replacement gas tho, supplies running low), but we found great lodgings in Hostal Lolo (rm 101!) Bought some nice fresh Pan to have with the Marmite I was lumbering around since Irun during tomorrow’s 1000m ascent up the W side of Pena Ezcaurri (2047m), which would be our highest point so far! I took a stroll just out of the village as the sun set and gazed up at the rock faces enclosing the neighbouring valley system. How big they seem compared to the hills of Scotland, even to the NF of the Ben, I wanted so much to get out climbing. I found it hard to contain my excitement and found a small boulder to climb on to try and unwind a bit. Back at the Hostal Tom had Jakified the room nicely!

8th August - GR-11 Journal entry

Sink holes…

Awoken in the night by annoying Seville couple who scratched and snored for what was left of the night on our shaky platform (Kevin had a bunk downstairs), they had left the door open and then re-lit the fire to smoke us out our beds! As dawn arrived I peeped out of the hole and saw a sunrise so spectacular it made up for lack of sleep! We set off SW as usual up-hill (Tom had to run back to the Refuge for his jacket he left swinging on a peg – everything now smelt of fire!) through mud up to our knees, toward the Abode ridge. The ridge itself was cloaked in a settled mist, although it was pegged with brilliant wee wooden markers up and across its length, past what were described in the guide as sink holes. Massive craters of sunken earth rimmed by sharp crags and dotted with bones and other fragments. A sharp right turn and descent took us to the Sanctuary, and chorizo stop, where a choir were practising for a baptism, and a man was knelt preying by his Honda car! We took the steep road down past alters into picturesque Ochtavia – purchased provisions + San Miguel from decent Granny shop and made our way past the 10th century chapel to the campsite at the edge of town (we were going to push on the 10km to the next Refugio to continue the theme, but we would have needed extra water and had already bought beer E1.25 a litre – we couldn’t resist that). Washing socks and pitching beneath trees we settled in to camping life once again. The routine of setting out my gear in the usual spots in the tent was like returning to a familiar room in a house, something I’ll always take away from this voyage. Tom dropped the bombshell that the solar cable was missing! After camp grub (I preferred to cook my own food as I wanted to save money) we met up with Kev and 2 x Basque guys and we all had a Canyones in the local bar and watched a strange village festival unfurl with a rock band and dancing!

7th August - GR-11 journal entry

A motorway where the path was….

7am start and wet as before we ascended toward the ornate village of Roncesvalles, on our way to Fabrica. Left turns and rights (took wrong turn and missed a few vital markers) then had coffee at ‘always closed’ bar (thanks Lucia)! The quint religious sprawl of Ronce moved quickly as we tried to locate the original path past the youth hostel (which was sadly no more). Some police cordon tape barred the way but we hopped over and through a wood to reach the motorway where the path used to be! Beyond this was our route to the collado de Leopoeder (1445m) following the Puerto de Ibaneta river to Fabrica, and higher still to pass by Urkulu. We moved quickly up a steep pista, Tom charging ahead like a fully charged Polish steam-engine, past the chapel and awkwardly we left the original GR-11 for a new improved version (these regional updates to the original way were to prove very confusing, often scrubbing out markings of the original GR route which made me feel a bit angry at the lack of respect for those that had gone this back in the day, this updating was the result of land disputes concerning grazing and tourism traffic). More faint markings on birch trunks – after chatting with an old gran recorido farmer we boldly set-out to cross a steep shoulder of hills on the fringes of the Irati forest. Down we went through slippery, muddy animal tracks in search of the painted tree until we had lost the way. After a tussle descent through prickly heath we found the old path (never did find that painted tree Lucia?) and a short-lived chorizo break in a scary wood, we continued our descent through more intense, oar-shaped forest – our shoes completely sodden, our legs scratched from massive over-grown thistles (I stepped on a foot sized slug also, woops) but relieved to be back on route, following markers, to the huge man-made lake below. A fine 8km stroll by its side on limey gravel took us to the next Refugio, a fine wee bothy with fire and a sleeping platform in the roof next to the river. After drying socks and insoles on the fire, and collecting water that had tadpoles in it for tea, in strolled English Kevin – a 50-something walker from Leeds who had waked also all the way from Irun behind us, in our shadows! We decided to help each other out on the next day’s section navigating through a tricky ridge line across the headland toward Irati, in true GR-11 spirit (the book had said thick fog would make finding the right ridge line difficult – we would see Lucia, mud was bad enough). After smoking out the hut we let the fire die out and sleep take us off. I unrolled and blew up my mat, its case now lying in tatters by my feet and positioned myself away from the obvious hole in the platform floor, although this made for a handy way to spy on any front door traffic through the night!

6th August - GR-11 journal entry

Electric scaryland…

At 9pm last night the clouds rolled together, the birds flew high and stopped chatting…then it hit us! The worst electrical storm I have ever endured on this Earth, let alone beneath nylon. Crack from above the amphitheatre of our once sheltered corrie, the land was gone and replaced by maelstrom, giant hail stones the size of ping-pong balls pelted us, I kept shouting for Tom, he spilt his dinner while tying his front porch down at speed. At 11pm silence fell and it seemed that the worst had moved on – zap and thunder shook me as the Earth vibrated once again, sitting fully clothed in my wet weather gear ready at any moment to make for one of the WW2 bunkers that littered the hillside below us. I poked my head out during a relatively calm-ish moment to assess the damage – made a quick dash to re-peg the sides of the Voyager, it had held well but we were both ‘well shook up’!
12pm came and a re-match in the skies, I feared for my walking pole stuck firm in the earth outside (not so bright as I recall the nightmare)! Crack, snap, zapp went the blasts every 10s or so – we were in the eye of it now. 2am and this passed again – Tom commented later how he had seen the clouds moving innocently together after dinner, and they met right above our heads! No Bivi for him that night. We awoke early and exchanged battle stories – I have never felt so isolated, but it made us more confident in both our gear and ourselves as survivors! GR-11 really throws the punches, but then you get the dawn and the sun-rise above perfectly diffused sky…
In the aftermath we made our way through thick fog (M I C K E Y Mouse…)and eventual sunshine to Burguete. Feeling good we pushed on into Day 5 territory and found refuge in a Navarrian walker’s refugio – 2 floors and loads of room all to ourselves! This made up for last night’s hell, well actually spaghetti and warm dry sleep did…until a Catalan couple entered dripping after the on/off rainfall, scared by the lurking bull outside to camp, we accommodated and they got the fire going. 10hrs of sleep in safety followed…

5th August - GR-11 Journal entry

A pipe too far...

We had slept in till 8am (I slept badly due to noise), today we leave town for the leafy woodlands and sloping ridge lines that make up most of Navarra, toward Puerto Urkiaga. After much re-packing and organising of kit, I decided to donate my wet weather salopettes (Gore-tex), my climbing shoes (rubber) and first-aid kit (mostly liquids) to a local hobo we met raking about the bins off the main square. I had to do something about the pack weight – finally it feels acceptable at around 17kg. A joyful day ensued through open grasslands and sunny (35deg again) open spaces filled with lush sunken tree cover and broken schist crags. After a shade stop beneath a wiry birch and some water a pack of wild horses appeared and Tom petted the youngest horse on the head (this was a special moment as they had always been spooked in previous encounters – these were truly friendly beasts). Passing through the col and parking area at Urkiaga, some 25km in, I heard Operatic voices coming from ahead. Some Spanish hikers enjoying a mid-week amble and exercising more than legs and arms! A broken pipe at the pre-des camp spot meant a 2km hike to the next possible location - a locked hunter’s cabin, and a pleasant camp site under a tree perched 2000m up against the shoulder of a rising corrie. A temperamental spout ensured dinner and next days drinking water was now sorted (water supplies had been diminishing since we left Irun, spending at least an hour each day re-hydrating and on the hunt for a quality source). Jose Gonzales beneath the tree, pasta + veg from a packet and another stunning panorama of Spanish rural quality ensued – I love this place!

4th August (sorry internet been down so apologies for lack of ramblings of late, I blame the cows)!

Visitors in the night...

Awoke at 12pm to fireworks outside my tent door (bit much for our first proper camp on the route)! Monday night and the folk of Vera like to party - guess Tom was right in his prediction that nobody in fact in all of Spain has a real job! 6am alarm goes off, I can hear nylon being packed at speed which is re-assuring as Tom's tent has survived another night, as has himself. Curious sheep, probably scared from the village fiesta had taken shelter next to Tom's wee house - only to be shooed away by Shepard Tom during the night. I heard nothing! We stepped outside our tents to find islands perched above a great blanket of cloud. The inversion had sprung up post-fireworks and was spectacular, we ate, rolled up mats and headed off into the mist (SWest of course - imagine a scene from any classic Vietnam movie where the 2 abandoned soldiers are trying to find their lost plane or something, yeh...) Nav proved hard compounded by fog, and the guide sometimes disagreed with the Prames' map direction? I wore sandals today as Tom had given me confidence with his use of these intricate foot items in previous outings through woodland, first time extreme sandals! About 20k in after some refreshing water-point action (scared 2 Germans by being semi-naked washing clothes and drying tents from this mornings precipitation) I smelled something obnoxious coming from Tom's behind rear area. The stove hadn't been disconnected from the canister and was leaving a flammable trail behind tom as he innocently strolled on, infecting the woodland with butane! We quickly vowed that it was worth the effort to carry this precious item in bits from now on! 28k in and tired we slogged it to the final water point - were a pack of wild horses and some American tourists (surprisingly the only ones I met on this trip!) were dining on fine wines and grass. As we descended at great speed into Elizondo, I was bloody knackered, hungry and well, finished. A knock (well several - it was siesta time 2 - 5pm) on the Hiker's Hostal door and no answer. We plodded into town and into the arms of the local serviceria and I had the best coke ever served to human lips (Tom had iced coffee which he spilt all over the table - I donated a sock to mop it up and the shame!) After food and drink therapy we sauntered into the main road and to the nicer looking Hostal Liz (E58 for a shared room). Showers and baths and towels...BLISS! Its only been 2 days and I feel done in, my feet are aching and shoulders blistered. Back in the serviceria I consumed lomo (pork) + eggs + frites, load up on carbs for day 3 of GR-11 grande tour. Tomorrow we make for Urkiaga, where there is nothing so we better take provisions (we start thinking about basic and luxury items - I have to do something about my pack weight). Upon our return local kids are jumping from the bridge into the wide river-bed beneath the town. Looked like fun but a bed and four walls seemed like the best place to end this day. Our kit Jaked out on the floor we settled in and I washed everything I owned.

3rd August - GR-11 Journal entry

Aff we go...a game of red+white stripes

...I'm trying to sleep. The German family complete with washing line were playing ball games till midnight by my head. 6am rise after a decent salty-air sleep. Pans and stove produce instant espresso's...Tom comes round after crawling from his 1-man (literally that big) tent, it's ends sagging in the coastal breeze. Bad pegging here, lets move on. 6:30am - Camping Higuer security tells us E10.40 (human+tent) each? We don't argue and pay the man, starting GR-11 past the first red+white marker minus E5.20 but full of joy in our English speaking hearts (Cabo Higuer strikes me as a once contemplative writers paradise for quiet thoughts and a good place to start any adventure - reminded me of Tangier). It's hard to comprehend this journey, bit like monopoly when you've got too many property's, I'm looking forward to leaving this town and ascending into the Basque woodland. Paul Lucia, the writer of our somewhat loose-with-the-truth Cicerone guide (we rip each day's pages out and I stuff them into my left pocket, the map+compass in the right) has a lot to answer for as we get lost leaving the campsite! Walking, rather strolling proudly, into town we purchased coffee, pico sandwiches from a local bar. Then fresh cheeses + pan (bread), chorizo, fruit and juicy tomatoes (the Spanish tend to use tomato instead of butter on bread - I was instantly a fan), leaving the streets for our route proper by 10am (I was navigating naturally!) The first parallel red+white stripe on a sad looking lamp-post signalled the end of town (and delightful convenience) and the start of hills...incidentally a steep pista to a farm full of cows and dogs! We walked on through green + brown woodland, up+down, east then west, always trending SW as we would for the next 43 days, to the fringes of one district Basque and into another Navarra (excellent markings and secret ETA bases everywhere). Crossing a dam at halfway we wandered into San Anton for iced coffee and fresh toe plasters. My 6pound fifty t-shirt (white) was bearing up well to the now 35degree heat, Tom's trespass boots were being exchanged for 'extreme sandals'! The terrain was mostly broken paths and uphill so we made slow progress, our packs extremely heavy and burying daggers into our scrawny shoulders (my pack is almost unbearable, almost toppling over when I hawl it back onto my body after water breaks, I must persevere as it now contains all but essentials) I forgot to mention the Tesco bag full of instant porridge and cappuccinos we left back at Higuer. Should have posted it to the halfway station! Onto Vera de Bidasoa (I think of this Vera, where does she live, how great to own all this fine land). We stop in town and enquire at Hostal Eurankia - no room but too posh for us Jakies on tour! So after fruit juices we embark boldly onto the first section of the next day in true GR-11 spirit (stupidity). Now 35km into the route - put that in your book Lucia! So finally here we are camped high on the other side of Vera, with a 360degree panorama of the Atlantic through to the distant lowlands of Pyrenees. Pico Pena Aio and beyond set-out before us like my laminated rough guide map (bit shit but gave me an overall picture of the country). Had to dump some more gear by the water point above town - down went my shampoo, spare hat and I gave Tom my solar charger (felt bit bad but I was almost crippled by today). Fresh from head dipping we pitched next to a shepards hut high on the rim of a bracken field. Shepards pie in a bag + released from bag weight I drifted hazily off into a Spanish dream.

2nd August - GR-11 Journal entry...

The Beginning or the End (you decide)

Our Arrival to the start of GR-11 has been somewhat compromised by the Spanish transport system and it's associated ticket-buying laws. After a comfortable yet noise-filled night on Ali's sofa (my monster rucksack propping up my feet as the rest of me squished onto an ikea 2-seater), the balcony door open to all of Barcelona's wildness and some very angry mosquitos, and the screaming, and the recycling-smashy-smashy-men...Anyway, I snatched a few hours and my eyes suffered on the the metro to Sants train station where we arrived at 6:15am, 15min early. The man behind the glass, and the mustache, told us promptly of a "full train to Irun" situation - this was largely un-planned for on our part. However, all was not lost, much rubbing of foreheads and as we raised our heads and hopes for the same train, but in a different carriage that would disconnect in Bilbao, 125 km west of Irun, but close enough! 6hrs and 1 bag pistachios later (we discussed changing carriages but arrest and jail seemed too crushing so early on in the trip). Bilbao seemed well laid out but wasn't working for us, the Circenia didn't go to Irun or even close, so off by a silent taxi (the man said not a word to us) to the Bus station, where a machine told us nothing (bad interface), then a Guardia Civil (with mustache) told us about a bus at 17:30pm...YES!!! 2 cheese + ham (+ beer) toasties from a Spanish Greg's later, we were sleep riding toward the seaside resort of Irun, toward Cabo Higuer, the true and spiritual start of the GR-11 at the Atlantic sea (I've got a golden ticket)! Not even bad Opera singing bus drivers, hippy spanish pop-up tent swathing youngsters, nor a badly dubbed Bruce Willis 'Hole nine yards' film on a 9" screen could dampen my spirits. Tom slept, he seemed content in the knowledge of our finding the right bus and securing passage to the starting line, dreaming of vast meadows and dewy ambles in un-trodden forests. We finally pulled into Irun station and threw bags over shoulders at 19:30pm - having now traveled across Spain and to the side a little. 8km later we found the unassuming and heavily guarded campsite, slogging through the sprawling touristic nightmare that is coastal Irun (first sighting of a kebab shop), perched atop the baron rocky outcrop of Faro Higuer (nice lighthouse and abandoned villa which I may return to when I retire). The nice pregnant camping lady told us E5.20 for human and tent. A strange system which we nodded and bleated 'Si Bali' too with unrepentant regularity at most campsites from now on. No problemo, loads of room on the terraces down by the crashing shoreline, once in my new shiny tent I felt like I was pitched underwater, rolling around in a nylon galley. We snuggled in next to well equipped Germans and some other Spanish holidaymakers. I blew up the mattress, made a brew then closed my eyes..."I won, I won..."

GR-11 Journal updates

This is my journal for GR-11 trip which Tom Wotan Suski and I did over 44 days in August and September 2009. I hope you'll enjoy my whitterings each day? As these posts are back-dated I will try and do one each day for the 44 days we were on the route over the next 44 days...I'm going out on Saturday so might miss that one but you get me jist! ta very muchos saludos!