Day 3 - Start (well, sort of)

Monday 28th August - Start (well, sort of)

The day dawned a bit brighter and with an Easterly wind. Not that we saw it of course. No early starts for what are fast becoming known to each other as 'the Crap Vol-biv Pilots'. Off to the post office, then the search for maps as we'd left our French ones at home and only had a road map. This time we were lucky and found the Catalan guide to the GR11, complete with detailed topo's, excellent if a little restricted in range. Initial route finding difficulties and a few café stops later, we were climbing up to our first water point at San Marcial where we finally remembered to take a GPS reading. Not long beyond we found an East facing slope with bomb-out and spent a couple of hours contemplating a launch. This really is the dicey bit... How to treat the conditions. It's windy, so really it's a very British choice, but the wind is in the wrong direction for progress along the GR11. So we eventually make what I think was a sensible choice, and walk on. But this isn't without the frustration of realising that across the valley, on the HRP (high altitude trail), is what would probably have made a much better launch mountain. But with such loads and on foot you are soon committed.

Tea in the woods, then on up to the Collado de Erlaitz at 450m where we again searched in vain for a good launch spot for the morning when high pressure had been predicted. But it was all too committing (ie dangerous) or the background wind was too strong. And f***ing power-lines everywhere! So we walked down to the San Anton dam. Lou phoned at the 7pm, 3-day, check-in, and the weather in Britain sounds great... The descent to the dam was an adventure, most notably for the 'sheep-dip traverse'. This is a conduit for water from a lake through a long series of tunnels and ledges down to Irun. And it has a narrow, in places very narrow, retaining wall perched precipitously over a forested plunge into a gorge. It was, for me, a true test of will over vertigo and went on for at least 30 minutes, and pretty much into darkness. Half the time a smaller additional wall on the right half made walking a monstrous balancing act a serious trial and I was reduced to having my right foot on the elevated section like a deformed old man hobbling along. But we made it, and down to the gorge where towards the end erosion of the path left no option but a heather gripping traverse along the road. Camp spot was nice, but very dewy, both outside and inside the bivvy bags, and to make matters worse we'd chosen a spot where the morning sun refused to penetrate as it crept up behind an inclined ridge of crenelated rock, tantalising us by warming the trees immediately behind, but never our dripping gear. Tonka-tonka-tonka of the horses with cow-bells all night.