(A quick note – This is a long one. This was also a really really hard day. I am posting updates several days after the fact though so I promise I am safe and things get brighter, literally and figuratively. Feel free to skip today’s update and look for a happier update tomorrow.)
It has rained all night. And while it’s been lovely to listen to the unceasing rain while snuggled up warm and dry in my nest at Borda, I can’t say that I’m looking forward to the climb today.
The mood in the dorm has further soured this morning. Many of the people who originally intended to walk have now changed their minds and wish to take a cab. The general sense of negativity has become an almost physical presence at this point. There is much talk of washout and mudslides and inescapable blizzards.
The negativity starts working double time on my existing concerns over the weather, but when I look again at the forecast for today, it’s clear that it’s not going to be a walk in the park, but it seems manageable. The temperature will stay around or just above freezing and the worst of the rain isn’t supposed to start until the afternoon, at which point I should be most of the way down the mountain.
I’m trying to project a calm I don’t necessarily feel as I send a quick text to Kris and find that he is still up. We have a quick text chat and I feel validated in my belief in myself and that I’m not a straight up over confident idiot for thinking I could make the climb.
I finish breakfast and take the first of what I’m assuming will be 100 bocadillos along with an apple that I’m savoring for later and an orange juice that I don’t really want (I later discover one of the women I was hiking with opted for a beer instead. Smart woman!) and go to the mud room to grab my pack and boots. Several of the women have now realized that there wasn’t enough space for them to take the cab and that it’s likely possible to find another until late in the afternoon. They have resigned themselves to walk but are in a near panic over it.
The fog and mist are unrelenting as I set out from Borda. The uphill also never ends. I think largely because I can’t see more than 20′ in front of me, I’m really struggling to find a pace that works. I finally resort to an old trick – I set a 10 minute timer on my watch and make a deal with myself that I won’t stop for that 10 minutes. Doesn’t matter how slow or fast I go in that ten minutes, just no stopping. That seems to get me into a bit of a rhythm. I take a 2 minute break, then re-set my timer for 30 minutes, same deal. Somewhere in the middle of that next 30 minutes, I catch up to a knot of people from the albergue. They, too, seem to be struggling with rhythm as I watch them speed off for about 25 feet, then stop trying to catch their breath, then rinse and repeat. By this point, the fog has turned into drizzle and we’re starting to get some wind, so everytime you stop, you get pretty cold.
I chatted with a couple of them on their first stop, but then elected to get back into my pace. For a couple hundred yards, a couple of them would motor past me, then stop, panting, while I trudged past them. After a bit, I could just hear them behind me when the wind blew.
Having finally found a good pace, I started making some progress. I was surprised to see a white van parked on the side of the road. As I rounded its corner, I saw several of the stronger hikers (including beer lady) at the impromptu ‘snack bar.’ A Basque man who I had actually seen in videos about the Napolean route was there for his first day of selling drinks and comidas to pilgrims. He had a pop up shelter that we all huddled under and I treated myself to a hot chocolate and a small (well, 3 Oz…) wedge of a sheep’s milk cheese, that if I understood him correctly he makes himself.
The gentleman has a hand drawn map on the side of his van, and it was good to see that we only had 11k left to go. 1k of climbing, 5k of flat and then 5k of very steep downhill. Three of us started out at roughly the same time, just as the group of start/stoppers/taxi desirers came around the bend. The lady with the beer is from Amsterdam and she took off like a shot and quickly disappeared into the mist. The other lady, an American from Indiana, was a bit ahead of me. Shortly, beer lady pops up on our right, basically from what appears to be the mountain’s edge and says that she’s lost the trail. We do a little rangering and discover that the stream that we’ve been walking alongside is actually the trail, with blazes hidden on little exposed glints of rock. At this point, the three of us stick together for the remainder of the summit.
We have a lovely chat as we walk and even pause to take a few fun pictures when we encounter the snow (laughing that we’ve over reacted because it’s nowhere near the 10-15cm we’ve been warned about!) The stream has intensified and as we cross into Spain, it’s almost impossible to take a dry step. Our spirits are still high though, even as the wind begins to pick up and the sleet starts. We are still climbing up (5k of flat my foot!) and suddenly we break out of the treeline and the wind is HOWLING. Our Dutch friend sees a hut and makes a beeline for it, leaving us in the dust.
I continue to trudge, looking forward to a break in the wind to eat my sandwich and savor my apple. Just as I make it to the hut, the door pops open and the beer lady shouts at me to get inside. The hut is maybe 10′ by 10′. There are already 6 people inside and the interior of the hut is mass confusion. There’s an American woman in tears, and her companion is loudly exclaiming that ‘she’s in real trouble, can anyone help?’ A quick assessment shows that she’s in the early stages of hypothermia. Her campanion is asking if we should strip her to the skin. I say no, but that we need to get her into dry clothes and get her warm. I strip off my wettest layers and wrap her up in a side hug and direct her companion to do the same. I’m trying to get her to focus on her breathing so she’ll hopefully calm down a bit. The Dutch lady pulls out her phone and dials 112 and starts a heated conversation with what sounds like a French emergency crew. Another lady gets on her phone and starts talking to what sounds like the Spanish authorities. Meanwhile, the lady in distress is starting to slow her breathing and I can feel her warming up a smidgen. Her companion, meanwhile says ‘Is there a doctor in the hut?’ and low and behold, in walks a doctor.
He takes a quick assessment and determines that she’s not in real danger, just pretty scared. So he too has her focus on her breathing and asks for a sugary drink. I go to my bag and pull out the orange juice I didn’t want to take that morning and hand it over. Meanwhile, the two ladies on separate phone calls wrap up almost simultaneously stating that an ambulance will be there within the hour. At which point, the lady again bursts into tears. Several of the hikers from Borda show up and by now, my fingers and toes are going numb and I’m starting to shiver. The woman from Amsterdam and I agree that we’ve done all we can, the lady is in good hands, and we’ll soon be jeopardy ourselves if we don’t push on. So, three of us pack up, I layer back up, and out into the screaming wind we head.
We don’t get more than 10 minutes up the trail I think before the ambulance passes us. We’re all relieved to see them respond so quickly. At this point, the beer lady kicks on the afterburners and drops me and the lady from Indiana like 3rd period French. We’re just meters from the top though and althogh the weather is getting worse, you could kind of feel that it would be okay once we got back to the treeline.
The ambulance passes us with the two ladies from California in the back seat and stops for a group of three shortly ahead of us. We soon discover that this is another group from our Albergue. The emergency crew picks up one of the German women from that group and they head down the mountain. Another 20 minutes and we meet a treacherous looking gully that has all of the right trail markings. In all of the excitement and adrenaline two important things happen. 1) shortly after we summit, I realize that I’ve dropped the glove-lets for my hiking sticks meaning they are truly sticks at this point and 2) we’ve missed a critical turn and are now on the forest path, which we learned the night before is the end of many a perigrino’s camino.
We have now fully made the transition from type 2 fun to type three ‘fun’. On the plus side, I’m no longer cold but that’s largely because I’m now sweating bullets. For almost a kilometer, I’m slipping, sliding, walking, falling down a greasy combination of slush, snow, ice, loose stones, and mud and at a 20-25 degree incline, if not more. This was definitely a terrible idea. I still am not sure how I didn’t take a major spill despite a number of close calls. Eventually though I came around a bend and the snow was gone and rain felt almost warm. The pitch of the path evened out to gentle decline and I started cruising on my way.
I start seeing signs for Roncesvalles and I’m enjoying the forest. And then 1.5 kilometers from the albergue, I step on a small branch that immediately rolls out from underneath me. My right foot shoots forward, and my left crumples underneath me. I put out my left hand and immediately feel pebbles bite into my palm. I sit, stunned, for a few minutes and then slowly unpack my leg from underneath me. I’m now sitting in the mud, legs pointed down hill, leaning on my pack like a sort of recliner. And then I start laughing. Make it thru the wind and the rain and the mud and the overall suck to bite it in the warm, safe part of the forest? Screw that!!! A quick scan shows that the only thing that’s really hurt is my palm and maybe my right hip, but nothing that will really stop me. I slowly rise to my feet and finish out the approach to the albergue.
And if you’re still with me this far, I promise I’m almost done. I check in and score a coveted bottom bunk. The albergue is huge, but well designed and very comfortable. I take a stupid hot shower and opt to pay the four euro to have my very wet and extremely muddy clothes laundered by the volunteers. And I get a text from beer lady. She’s at the hotel next door having beers with ‘the guys’. I head over and meet up with the doc, and his friend, and meet several other lovely people. We’re all happy to have made it safely thru the day and to be warm and dry. We also hear from several people at dinner that the Napolean Route was officially closed that morning due to concerns about the conditions. This however continues to be in dispute; I suspect it’s largely rumor.
So kids, not the day I wanted or potentially even needed, but all well that ends well, I think. Weather tomorrow still looks crappy and I don’t have firm plans on where I’m going to stay, which as a planner makes me nervous. But I’m trying to embrace ‘The Way’. Please think some warm, dry thoughts for me and if you happen to see a pair of Leki gloves… Well, let’s hope I get reunited with them!
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