For some years I couldn’t take holidays in the summer as I was too busy guiding other people’s trips. I missed the Alps so went looking for a place where I could do similar things but in the Spring. The Pyrenees were one such place. Actually I wish I had discovered them earlier, as the central section is a scrambler’s heaven. They are far less developed than the Alps and have a much wilder feel, my early 80’s self would have had a field day.
Dorothy Pilley’s “Climbing Days” describes an Easter visit back in the 1920s and much of what she writes is still true. Stunning rock peaks still overlook beautiful unfrequented valleys and modern ski and tourism developments are well-separated. Even the honeypots aren’t busy by the standards of Chamonix or Zermatt. Gavarnie is well known for its amazing icefalls and is busy (though much less so than in summer, when one guidebook describes the route to the cirque as “just follow the trail of donkey crap”). Ski mountaineering is popular too, but hardly anyone seems to take advantage of the spectacular PD/AD mixed mountaineering. That's what I planned to do.
Cirque de Gavarnie
It didn’t seem like a good idea the first day, carrying far too much food up a steep untracked slope of thigh deep snow after a 19 hour bus journey. I was heading for the Sarradets Hut above Gavarnie and trying to keep ahead of a large party of Austrians, as I had an idea that the hut would be nearly full, it being Good Friday. This proved to be the case, and several of the Austrians had to sleep on the wet floor. Only part of the hut was open, deep in snow so that it was reached by climbing through an upstairs window, and it was packed with 40-odd French, Spanish & Austrian ski-mountaineers.
Sarradets, Cirque de Gavarnie
The hut was in cloud the next morning, so nearly everybody stayed in bed. At 6.30 four Catalans and I decided that it didn't look too bad and headed up reasonably frozen snow to the Breche de Roland. This spectacular gash looms over the hut, a giant doorway cut through the 300 foot wall of limestone which tops the frontier ridge. Here the Catalans set off to ski back down, but the weather felt like it might clear and it wasn’t any worse than an average Scottish winter day so I carried on. Footprints slanted down a shelf into Spain, overhung by the summit cliffs, but where they headed off towards the Goriz Hut I left them to climb a couple of small gullies onto the Tour de Marboré. Mist still hid the 5000 foot drop into the Gavarnie cirque, but there were odd glimpses of blue sky above as I ambled happily along the easy ridge on crisp snow. After a brief diversion to avoid the battleship bow of L'Epaule I came out into bright sunshine on the Pic de la Cascade, and my hunch about the weather had paid off. A sea of mist lapped against the walls of the Cirque, while small rags of cloud drifted across the icy plateau to the south. There still wasn't a soul to be seen as I made my way over a string of minor summits to the Pic de Marboré (3248m) and a stunning view. The mist-filled valleys and cloud sea falling away steeply to the north contrasted sharply with the endless bare rocky walls running off into the distant haze of Spain.
The Gavarnie skyline. Breche de Roland is central, and I traversed the skyline left wards from there (avoiding the vertical bits🙂)
By the time that I reached the well-named Cilindro (3335m) I could see people emerging from the Goriz Hut and heading up towards Monte Perdido, the highest peak in the area at 3355m. Vertical cliffs barred my direct route off Cilindro, but a little casting about located a feasible route, and a rapid glissade led to the foot of Perdido. Tracks led up a steep slanting shelf to the ridge, making things easy, so I soon joined three Basques on the top. Back down at the foot of the shelf a complicated route contoured back to the Breche de Roland, winding along icy terraces and round vertical scarps holding back tiny frozen lakes. The mist kept the snow well frozen and drifting patches of it gave everything an otherwordly feel – a memorable afternoon.
The next day gave a gentle cruise over Le Taillon and the little thumb of Pico Blanco. I would have spent longer if I'd realised how quick the descent would be. Better frozen snow allowed long glissades, so that it only took an hour and a quarter, as opposed to five hours on the way up. Another two hours took me up the Ossoue Valley to a comfortable bivouac by the Dam, just below the snowline. The afternoon was spent lazing in the sunshine enjoying the view of the Vignemale (3258m).
Vignemale from Lac d' Ossue bivvy. The gorge ahead is the obvious avalanche trap.
The gorge beyond the lake looked exposed to avalanches, so I had an alpine start and daylight saw me cramponning happily up perfect snow onto the Vignemale Glacier. The classic view of the Vignemale is of a trio of pointed rock peaks capping a huge North Face, but behind this a narrow ridge curves round to enclose the largest glacier in the Pyrenees (although that isn't saying much!). The ridge provides two miles of snow aretes and scrambling, with the outside face dropping 5000 feet to the Ara Valley - not as steep as the North Face but quite impressive all the same. There are no real difficulties but most of it’s fairly narrow. I had the whole mountain completely to myself.
Pic de Clot de la Hount on Vignemale summit ridge
I had planned to follow the ridge southwards over the Tapou peaks, but one look at the first descent changed my mind. It was probably only V Diff or so, but extremely loose, steep and poised above a gulp-inducing drop. I carried on around the rim of the glacier instead and returned the way I came, hurrying through the gorge in a few minutes. This was just as well, as a large avalanche fell into it just as I left - a few stray blocks chased me down the slope. Then it was back to the bivouac for an afternoon of sunbathing and scrambling on the limestone cliffs above the lake.
I was getting spoiled by the excellent weather, and the next day it decided to show its teeth a little. I was scrambling over a couple of 9000 foot peaks east of the Vignemale - narrow rocky crests with gendarmes, loose in places, but neither difficult nor serious. The cloud was coming in slowly, and I decided to cross a third peak to reach an easier descent. The storm caught me on the summit ridge, and the ferocity of the initial gusts was quite a shock. I struggled over the summit, hanging on grimly to anything available and bailed out down steep snowslopes on the more sheltered flank. Things were much quieter lower down, but a rapid retreat to the fleshpots still seemed sensible. By the time I got down to Gavarnie it was snowing heavily, and for the next two days my only exercise was a brief foray up to the Cirque during a lull to gawp at the 1000 foot icefalls.
Gavarnie icefalls
By the Saturday morning it had cleared, leaving me with just enough time for a quick visit to the nearby Neouvielle Range. Packing up the tent was hellish. The sun hadn't reached the valley and pegs had to be excavated from snowdrifts and then hacked out with an ice axe. The morning "bus" (a four seater taxi) took me down to Gèdre, where the snow had already started to melt and a very helpful girl in the Tourist Office agreed to store my gear for me for a couple of days while I went up the hill.
It was only four miles up the pretty Campbieil Valley to the Cabane du Sausset, but the deep snow made it hard work. Nobody had been up the valley since the storm, and the summer settlement at the top was deserted. After five hours I reached the hut to find that someone had left the door open and it was half full of snow. I cleared it out and was enjoying a brew in the sunshine when three skiers arrived, making for a crowded night.
Cabane de Sausset
I planned to climb Pic Long (3192m) but the normal route via the saddle of the Hourquette de Badet struck me as likely to avalanche, so I headed up the south-west arete of Pic Maou first. I knew nothing about this, but it looked feasible and out of avalanche danger. I had hoped that the wind would have cleared most of the snow from it but in that I was frustrated. Huge billows of snow coated everything, and progress was maddeningly slow. Some consolation was provided by the sunrise on the Gavarnie peaks, strung out above a sea of cloud. They seemed like old friends by now.
As the ridge steepened more rock was exposed, which made things easier, but a scary moment was provided by a saddle between two pinnacles. I could see that one side was a cornice, and could see the avalanche cracks starting on the other, but I was by now committed and had to walk a heart-in-mouth tightrope between the two.
More wading, shovelling and scrambling led me up to the top of Pic Maou - except that it wasn't! A 30 foot wall of what looked like biscuit barred me from the real summit. I bridged up a shallow groove between slightly more solid chunks, testing every hold and throwing away two in three. Then came another surprise, as even on the main ridge the snow was thigh deep. A few hundred yards convinced me that I wouldn't get to Pic Long by nightfall so I bailed out. It took an hour to descend 600 feet of deep snow, at times being reduced to headfirst plunges to make a few yards.
Pic Long from Pic de Campbieil. Pic Maou is the small summit on the left, and you can see my descent trench!
At the bottom I got a nice surprise for once, as the north-west side of Pic de Campbieil (3172m) was still in shadow and frozen hard. Crampons on and I was soon up on its broad summit ridge, gazing at giant cornices on the other side.
Cornice on Pic de Campbieil
I still didn't fancy the Hourquette de Badet, so scrambled down the rocky Lentilla Arete, which was fairly clear of snow. A mixture of tiptoeing down delicate slabs and descending steep juggy walls above a huge drop led down to the snowfields, and only the trudge out remained. Now for the beach in Biarritz and some warmth!
Pic Pointu, Val d' Ossue
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