I generally estimate that 5-7 hours of walking time is a lovely day entailing a languid pace, a leisurely lunch break, and ample time for photography. But there is always the issue on a GR that gîtes and refuges are inconveniently spaced necessitating the occasional ‘epic’. Epics are okay if they come later on in the itinerary when the legs are broken in and/or the trail is inclined downwards, but on the final stage of the Ariege it was not only coming at me on Day 2, it was also 23km of 2400m ascent and 1280m descent over five cols. Estimated time at normal pace, with stops, in the heat, with possible afternoon thunderstorms: 12 hours.
A gnawing anxiety got me out of my bed in an old farmhouse in Siguer and on the trail by 6am. The first ascent of 1200m was the worst with cold legs and a 14kg pack including food and water for a long day. Not even the soft alpine grass of the estives could ease the initial fatigue. Losing a clearly defined trail at Pla de Montcamp also slowed things down a bit. My interpretation of the instructions to ‘always follow the spur’ led to being about 90 degrees off course until a swift correction towards Col de Sasc.
The first big knee crushing descent down 600m was through the usual gorse bushes and rocks to reach Cabane Balledreyt. Because of the closing of the Siguer gîte (with the only options being the one farmhouse bed noted above, the very basic free village gîte, or deviation to a village further down the road), and with no supermarché for miles, local walking groups have taken on the task of stocking the cabanes in this section with provisions that hikers can take and then pay back when they get to the next refuge or gîte (or send money online when next on wifi). So it was with joy that, after five hours of walking, I found the cabane well stocked with vanilla and chocolate puddings to go with my boiled eggs and energy bars.
The closing of the Siguer gîte has also affected the number of walkers using this section. Most of the people I’d met in Goulier the day before were taking deviations via car to avoid the distance. But the lack of people over two seasons has meant that the trail is now being reclaimed by nature, disappearing into grass, mud and streams, and the familiar red and white GR signage was wearing away. From Cabane Balledreyt the trail often bore little resemblance to the route description so faith had to be placed in map, compass and a sense of ‘it’s the right general direction’. Tree cover made landmarks harder to see and added to the ever present doubt of ‘when did I last see a ballisage’; a question often spoken out loud to no-one in particular.
After what seemed like an eternity of stumbling downwards through a dappled corridor of rocky trail with a torrent running unseen through chasms first on one side than another, eventually a clearing was found, a forest re-entered, and the path rose again. After 400m of switchbacks, Col de Sirmont held the world for a second in pause position before I was allowed to hurtle once again down into the forest on the other side, along a path still taking shape around the trees and rubble brought down in snow melt and thunderstorms.
Descending further alongside a river, crossing a bridge, passing a helpful trail runner who confirmed directions (one of only two people encountered during the day apart from some bergers in a morning that seemed eons ago), I emerged at a road that helpfully coincided with where I thought I was supposed to be on the map. With 8.5 hours now done, and one final ascent, I stopped to finish off my supplies just as a swarm of biting flies stopped to finish off my legs on the one day I had decided to wear shorts.
I had saved one strategic caffeine gel for this last 800 metres upwards to Plateau de Beille, and also found solace in using my gps to break it into 100m lots, resting on my poles at the end of each section. The road below was the point of rejoining for those who had taken the deviation and I now reconnected with several of the people I had met on the first night in Goulier. We made a caravan over the last hundred metres of ascent, reaching the edge of the plateau just as the rain began to start and stop in short bursts as nature signalled her indecision about just how much more difficult she wanted to make it for us.
The trail soon becomes a piste that made the final kilometre an easy walk to the campsite, where there were dozens of hikers heading back to their cars to drive home after checking out the views, which were superb. There is always a slight disjunction at arriving at a place, a tad tired, dishevelled, smelly and lumpy, to see fashionable day-trippers wandering about in sneakers.
Looking to the north-west I could see most of my route: from Pla de Montcamp, the nearer cols and ridges disappearing into deep valleys. My gps recorded a time of 10.5 hours instead of the 12 predicted, so I may have legged it more than I needed to but I did beat most of the rain. I also noticed my gps categorically telling me my activity had been moderate with no recovery time needed! My legs and upper arms in particular politely declined to pay it any attention and, after eating as much as I possibly could, collapsed into my yurt to recover, dreaming of chocolate pudding and flat, wide open plains.
