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!
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!
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