Monday 11th September - Last (but not least!)
This was to be our last days flying, and the most awesome of the entire expedition. Best climb rates, worst collapses, biggest height gains, longest duration, longest distance, and definitely most stoking terrain. For me it went like this...
The walk up La Raca, nearly 1000 metres of it, was surprisingly pleasant because it was fairly gradual, and mainly in pine forest. As usual, 11:15 and the birds were thermalling on the South facing spur, encouraging us that both the day and the choice of site were good. An emergency poo on the way up to rid myself of the last of the previous evening's excesses, then onto the cluttered spire of the ridge, with its' deep red rocky cliffs facing into the sun, unfortunately the only good take-off was facing into the valley wind round the corner, so we concocted a plan to launch into wind then scuttle round the corner into the lee-side to try and catch the thermals on the cliff and spurs. Then, if we failed, glide on into the valley where the ridge slowly came round in as increasingly windward and sunward curve. We ate a peaceful lunch; cheese, chorizo and Bimbo (bread). But the anxiety was also there, and as the sun came through a patch of high cloud from the approaching low pressure and into a clear period, we busied ourselves preparing to launch.
Anabatic flow increased steadily up the face, at once pressurising an earlier launch but a more dangerous track through the lee side of the mountain.
The approaching high cloud made the decision obvious, and I was off. A clean launch then straight round the corner. The turbulence was almost immediate, and combined with strong sink had me seriously worried for a moment. But there was no option but to fly on in the hope of better air, sinking like a brick towards the gully below. Then the sink slowed and bang, I was into bullets of broken, turbulent lift punching up from the cliffs below. I radio'd Simon to warn him of the turbulence, but he was already rounding the corner behind me. Up to ridge height it was a scratch, but then the thermal grew and, signalled by a pale coloured hawk, I found a good core and climbed steadily. Still this was some of the roughest air I had ever encountered and most of my concentration was on keeping the wing above me. As I reached 2500m, I saw that Simon was scratching determinedly on the ridge below. I willed him to get up. Then he caught a good climb, and soon we were both in the same thermal and climbing to altitudes which just opened up the options.
It was a great moment, and we instantly abandoned the plan to follow the ridge and instead made a direct crossing to the bigger massif to the South. The air was good on the crossing and soon we were closing in on the ridge line, heading further in towards the bigger peak until everything seemed to be going up. A series of strong climbs topped us up at around 3300 metres, nearing cloud base, and the most incredible views of Pic du Midi, and the mountains stretching into the distance. But there was trouble in front. Our obvious route has a big dark cloud mass growing over it and, worried that it might develop into a storm, we opted to go North East towards safer looking sky and a prominent pinnacle of cliffs north of the lakes. It was a huge glide in which we made absolutely no distance from the coast, and when we arrived it all looked quite hopeless. The cliffs were just going into shadow from our building storm cloud, and I thought we might soon be down. But we worked the cliffs patiently for about 40 minutes, waiting for the sun to come through and start to re-heat them. Eventually it worked and we got a moderate climb. As it topped out we decided to head across the valley and see how far along the reservoir we could get. Perhaps we might make the far side and a climb in the sun.
We were expecting a valley wind, but to start with the air was good and we made good progress. It did hit us eventually, but we had enough height to get round the cusp and onto the sunny face. Now the fun really started. The next half an hour was a tense battle with head winds and turbulence, as I gradually sidled along above the dam with just enough height to maintain. Simon, unbeknown to me, was having a battle of his own having taken a climb which drifted him back behind me.
Eventually, though, my forward speed improved as I rounded a spur and found more cross-wind. The air was buoyant everywhere and I flew towards a climbing vulture and promptly hit the strongest, most turbulent climb of my life (14m/s up on my vario). Simon followed in and within minutes we were back at high peak level. Then on again towards a valley heading SE that I thought looked landable, and might take us over into the next range. On the one hand I was getting ambitious, but on the other I was feeling the effected of the adrenaline, and the tiring stress of flying the wing in such strong conditions. We hit an unexpected headwind, and Simon sensibly warned me that we were making the wrong decision and we turned out again to land on a flat terrace with a hut alone in a gorge. A fantastic flight that took us 141kms from our first GPS reading near Irun, and had me babbling into the night (helped by some of the ironically named Soberano).
[Simon]
The early start put me in a positive frame of mind. We were about to climb to what looked to be a perfect take-off and our level of fitness meant that even the walk would be enjoyable. We looked at the insect life and watched for the first thermalling vultures as the path zigzagged ever upward through the pine forest. Eventually the now familiar red conglomerate emerged as we neared the top.
The take-off options on the preferred SE face were non-existent. In rotor at the cliff edge? No thanks! We settled for the W facing grassy slope aware that our timing would be critical - late enough for the first anabatic flow up that side, but not so late that that we couldn't work the SE & S'ly slopes in our intended direction of travel. Every day a new site and a new site assessment. In the event a light but consistent W'ly drift was setting in and we hurriedly finished lunch and began launch preparations, fearful that any delay would make getting away problematic, if not dangerous.
Our easiest launch yet in the now steady breeze. Tim was off first and I followed within a few seconds. Off launch I paused, foolishly, in one of those patches of air that you think may be going up, but more height lost than gained. I rounded the corner and popped over another heart-stoppingly sheer cliff. Instant 4-digit ground clearance. Tim was ahead just approaching a sunny spine, and a lot lower. My vario sustained 6 metres down much longer than I would have liked. No matter. Tim was now climbing quickly and all I had to do was get there. But distances are sometimes deceptive, and still my sink alarms drones. Then the lift is not where I expect it to be. Damn! I widen the search and find it a little more consistent further on, close to the top of a rusty old ski lift. Strange the images that stick in the mind when your days' happiness depends on that first climb out. I struggled while Tim dwindled into the azure. With patience, however, I was able to climb over the spine and be boosted upwards by the converging lift. The thermal matured, my breathing slowed and I was able to relax. This had been worth the effort. Small but beautifully formed and smooth all the way round.
Tim joined me when we were about the same height and we eked out the last few blobs at the inversion, and then put plan B into effect. A glide to the SE to 2700m peaks instead of having to work the long way round the cirque at 2000m. The bowl facing us produced no lift. Still too far out of sun I suspect. This was wilder territory. At least a days walk out in any direction. We pressed on down the chain and the air became rougher once more. Tim stopped to test an outlier but I pressed on towards what I thought was the source of the baby cu ahead. Thermal triggers sometimes work on a much larger scale than you give them credit form especially in this kind of topography, or so my overworked brain was trying to tell me. Bingo. My Renschler's audio kicked up an octave (as it does at more than 5 metres up), and so the fight begins once again. This one really is a fight. 70% effort keeping the glider overhead and 30% staying in that part of the sky that is going up. The wind noise in the lines surged from silence to howling but, despite all the activity, no tucks, just a rustle or two. I marvelled at Pic du Midi d'Ossau just to our north. 500 metres higher than anything near it and mysteriously black from all angles even in direct sunlight. Probably a volcanic plug, Tim later said. It had been in sight for days and now, for it to be this close was awe inspiring.
Though still not at base we were now topping out at 3300m and we would need that height given the decision we now faced. A shorter glide on a track SE but straight under a large cu that was threatening to over-develop, or a longer (but safer) glide to the South or North West to avoid it. We chose NW towards a jagged limestone cliff that had been in the sun for a while. The 15 minute glide was, true to Murphy's Law, just long enough for the shadow of the building cloud to reach the cliff just before we got there. Typical. Survival now meant adaptation and without realising it we switched to very British style of flying, in complete contrast to the last outrageous climb. 40 minutes of so working weak lift from the residual warmth of the rocky faces. Exploring the entire area for the best patches of air. Not saying much. Planning, plotting, scheming. Formulating options and discarding them. Pyrenean ski resorts can be soulless places out of season. Formigal, from our vantage point, appeared to be no exception.
Then the sun began to break through in patches and the game was on once again. As had often happened on this expedition, Tim and I began to climb out at pretty much the same rate, but in different, adjacent cores. We took it as high as it would go and set off on a glide SE towards West facing slopes at the head of a series of 3 dams. This area was exciting, with high landing options and low bomb-outs around the town of Sallent de Gallego and a possible feed into 3500m peaks at the start of the Odessa National Park.
The glide began well enough but as our altitude wound off the valley wind verturiing through the gap began to bite and our forward speed slowed, sometimes to a crawl. I edged a little closer to our intercept point, ever hopeful of an early breakthrough from sink into lift. A small patch of neutrality was followed by some of the roughest air I have ever flown in. The valley wind mixed the massive surges of heated air flowing up a 500m shale and grass bowl into a shear layer that took some nerve to work. Tim did the sensible thing and set off along the ridge away from the venturi effect. I, greedy for more height, stayed to work a couple of stronger blobs and my reward was a full front tuck that was as sudden as it was complete. I lost sight of my glider as it disappeared behind me, then resorted to instinct to prevent a cascade. Hands up, then damp the dive as it came back into view and away we swooped. Exhilarating stuff, in hindsight perhaps. I radio'd Tim with news of the show he'd missed, and then set off in pursuit.
I needn't have worried about height as the whole range was going up. A straight line glide for 5 minutes in solid 4-6 up saw us back on level with the high peaks as we reached the other end. Rough air still required active flying. Tim was once again climbing at a ridiculous rate, with the vultures, up ahead and as we soared upwards we considered the next glide. In doing so I moved out a little from the main core for a bit of a break, not being used to flying so actively for so long.
We set off for a high valley climbing away from Panticosa, another ski resort, towards the North/South facing Sierra de Tendenera. One side being into sun and once again with good high altitude landing options. Over the terrain towards which we were now drifting a substantial southerly flow now headed us and we started to sink into the lee side, me being the worst affected as I had started the glide lower in an effort to catch up. I wasn't happy but I turned in a few turbulent patches of air in the hope of salvation. In the end, discretion being the better park of valour, I radiod Tim and we turned away to land next to a refugio on abandoned terracing, baking in the sun, and dotted with old rose bushes. A comic finale to a lively afternoon saw Tim and I spending the best part of an hour picking my lines out of a particularly large and thorny one!
We were very happy. We had done it. 'Real' mountain flying that is, with much that it is capable of throwing at you. And we hadn't just survived, we had come out of it thirsting for more. However, a passing Spanish couple told us that storms were forecast for the next two days which, if true, meant that we had just one more flying day ahead of us. Worse, the next leg would take us into a seriously remote area committing us to several days before the next route homewards. We stayed put for the night, just in case the weather stayed kind to us, but, with the sound of thunder rumbling around the peaks, we decided to head for home in the morning and promised to return next year to continue where we left off.
Pyrenees 2000
(c) Simon Headford and Tim Guilford, October 2000
