Splendor of the Pyrenees: Part 2 Appendix -hunt for the lost photos

I just realized that I had stored my best photos of the Lescun trips in a separate folder. No wonder I was quite disappointed by how the photos turned out -they were much more grey in general than I recalled.

I won't be telling the same story all over again, but I'll share the better (in my opinion) pictures with you:

Ross examines the rocky water trough (which actually looks more like concrete now that I look at it more closely).

For whom the bell tolls ;)

The academic hikers...

Mountain pastures.

The way kids always draw trees.

The weary traveler Jose.

Professor Sylvie looks just a bite like a school kid.

It really was that steep.

A mountain lunch the French way: some wine and bread.

The Splendor of the Pyrenees: Part 2

The wooded hills of Lescun provided my first glimpse into the splendor of the Pyrenees

My last blog post ended in two rather mild attempts at experiencing the Pyrenees. Apparently one really needs to plan ahead and look for a guide book or a local to help you find a suitable location and check the weather forecast for a sunny day. We had postponed going back to the mountains for a few months, as there was so much else to see around Pau. My next attempt at experiencing the mountains came at the end of June, when Ross, an avid trekker colleague of mine, arranged a trip to Lescun for our work group.

We started our trek surrounded by a thick fog.

The town of Lescun lays 70 km drive (a bit over an hour) from Pau. It is on the western edge of Parc National des Pyrénées and is a popular trekking destination due its high elevation (9oo m) and easy access to the magnificent scenery of the Pyrenees. My colleague Ross had prepared a hike for our team there. As can be expected for such a trip, which had been in planning for a while, it’s bound to be a gamble with regards to the weather. Even though France is quite sunny, the mid-June date coincides with a generally wetter part of the French summer. As luck would have it, we were spared of rain, but we did have bucketfuls of fog and clouds, at least to begin with. This time I didn’t do much preparation for the trip, apart from taking with me something to eat and wearing trainers (sneakers), as Ross promised an easy walk. On a good day the advice might have been sound, but at least after a rainy June, the tracks were in part rather muddy and in some cases even flooded. I probably would have taken my Gore Tex trekking shoes with me, had I actually considered the trip by myself, but in the end I still managed to stay quite dry, so no real harm done anyway.

We parked our cars midway up the ridge of the Lescun peak and started our climb with no real knowledge of what lay ahead. As some of us weren’t accustomed to much physical exercise, our pace was accordingly sluggish. I was just happy about it, as I was free to take as many pictures as I liked, without slowing the retinue down, which is a constant problem for me when I usually travel with people. It’s rather remarkable how the wooded hills were portrayed in much more flattering light in the fog. Oftentimes when one tries to capture the raw beauty of the woods, the surroundings become a distraction –you really can’t see the trees from the wood. There are other tricks as well, with which to separate a small cluster of trees from the surroundings, but a good mist does as good job of it as any.

While we were having our well-deserved lunch break, the sun decided to end its game of hide and seek and gracefully stepped out of hideaway of gradually dissipating clouds. Up to that point we had had to trust Ross’s word that the scenery was worth seeing. As we finally gazed upon the rolling hills, surrounded by the Pyrenees on all sides, we could agree wholeheartedly. Having watched documentaries (such as Food Inc.) of mass scale industrial farming, I was quite convinced that more natural ways of producing our food had gone almost extinct. However the Lescun hills were a happy reminder that not all is lost –the hills were sprinkled with cows grazing the grass in sync with the chime of the large cow-bells around their necks. The chimes were there to help the shepherds find any stray bovines at the end of the day when the cows would be gathered for milking. The path to the pastures is so difficult that anything larger would have to be hauled with a helicopter, which we managed to see. Due the same reason the modest lodgings of the shepherds and the water trough for the cows were made of rocks scattered on the hillside.

When we started our lunch, the hills were still shrouded in mist.

Gradually the clouds started to part and we were able to see the majestic mountains.

Relaxing on a rock bench in front of a rock hut.

Ross confronts the local fauna.

The local fauna enjoying the mountain air.

After filling our bellies everyone was ready head home –this time along a slightly different path. Our trust in Ross knowing the way was unwavering –right until we realized that he had led us astray. Luckily we weren’t too far from our cars and the peak of the Lescun hill was a good landmark for us. The negative thing was that we were already running a bit late and the path didn’t have any marks showing where we were (or where to go). With only a bit of wondering we found ourselves back to the well-beaten path. Unfortunately the route wasn’t easily traversable and we had to jump over a couple of creeks and just and just avoided a nasty plunge in the probably icy waters.

The woods didn't look as ominous anymore when the sun was out.

Our detour took us over some not so mighty creeks.

At the end of the trip the sun was shining from a clear blue sky and we could see the surrounding peaks and the valleys basking in the light. An unobstructed view to the surrounding landscape is seldom seen in Finland, where forests usually block the view, but on a clear day it’s guaranteed on any mountain hike. I had finally had my share of the splendor of the Pyrenees. Now I only had to take Milka to experience it as well.

The Splendor of the Pyrenees: Part 1

I have lived most of my life in Finland, which while not being as flat as the Netherlands, still lacks any considerable mountains. The only hills worthy of mention are in Lapland, a full day's drive away, which means that I'm used to rather more subtle contours of the scenery. However my expectations weren't extremely high, when I moved to the south of France in the spring of 2011, as my perception of the Pyrenees was that is was the homely little brother of the Alps, not really quite worth remarking upon -just a small line in between France and Spain, something to liven up the map a bit.

The Pyrenees as seen in Pau city center. The prominent peak is pic du Midi D'Ossau.

Fortunately I was pleasantly surprised almost immediately upon arriving to Pau, my Hub of existence for the next twelve months. I have to admit that whilst I consider geographically well attuned, I couldn't have placed Pau on the map just five months before arriving. The rather small historical town of Pau lies in the valley of the river Pau, right beside the foothills of the Pyrenees. Even though the town itself looks rather ordinary by French standards (which is to say its town center is rather spectacular and historic from my Finnish point of view), it really stands apart due to the spectacular view of the Pyrenees right at the center of the town. The Pyrenees lie just circa 30 km (ca. 20 miles) south of the town and the highest peaks that mark the border between France and Spain, lie just 50 km south, as the crow flies, or a bit over an hour, as my vehicle of choice lumbers on. The Pyrenees form a saw-toothed ridge that defines the view to the south and the image of which is a regular companion to any tourist brochure to the region. What marks the Pyrenees quite apart from the alps is that being quite a stretch farther south, the climate of the nearby valleys accommodate palm trees and other trappings of the Mediterranean (Actually Pau is a bit closer to the Atlantic).

The Pyrenees could be seen in the distance from our first apartment. Unfortunately the apartment blocks in the foreground didn't improve the view.

From the moment I arrived in Pau, I felt a magnetic pull to the snow-capped mountains. On the many clear days that are so common in the region, you could feel that you could touch the peaks if you just stretched your hand far enough. It didn't take too long for me and my wife, Milka, to prepare some portable lunch and plenty of water and hop into our trusted Suzuki (on a good day) Wagon-R and find a suitable spot to drive to on our GPS and see what would lie ahead of us. The problematic thing about tourism in France is that it is rather self-serving and only (mostly) in French, at least anywhere beyond Paris or Euro Disney. So at first we didn't end up in the most spectacular location, but a ski-resort, which was just ending its season and as the skies were cloudy, we ended up just walking around and taking note that even if it's twenty degrees C in the valley, it is still rather cold in the mountains.

When there's nothing to see in the distance one can always look down to find the most spectacular things.

After a while decided to try again, this time with an American friend of ours, who hadn't had much chance to travel outside Pau, where she was doing a short language course. We had hoped that the weather would improve a bit, but even in the south of France, the mountain weather can play tricks and we were again shrouded by clouds. The place we had stumbled upon was called Lac de Fabrèges. In the relatively short winter season it is one of the (apparently) smaller skiing resort in the Pyrenees, but acts as a hub for outdoor activities during the rest of the year. As is common for France, the place was rather poorly signed and any place beyond the (already snow-free) ski resort seemed to be practical no mans land. Being the fool-hardy people that we were, we decided not to me intimidated by the intense fog and cloud cover and followed a scenic mini-railroad track along the ridge of the mountain despite the warning of locals. It seems that according to the locals it's foolhardy to walk in the mountains on a cloudy day. Whether or not they had any reason to be worried, we did survive the walk. The crowning moment was when we decided to stray off the railroad track and climb a hill marked only with small painted pebbles, which the French apparently consider to be sufficient signposts. The path wound up to the top of the ridge, where the locals had built a viewing platform. Suffice it to say that the view would have been much more spectacular had we been able to see more than a couple of meters beyond us, but we were rather proud of having conquered our first Pyrenean summit. Well the company was good and the home made falafel I had brought along couldn't have tasted better. Almost as if to remind us that the mountains follow their own will, the clouds parted as we descended and we did manage to see the splendor of the Pyrenees, at least for a brief glimpse.

Although we really couldn't see anything, just the fact that you couldn't see anything beyond a couple of meters when your on the ridge of a mountain filled us with awe.

On the way down the clouds parted and we could just about see down to the valley below.

To be continued...