Refugio de Conangles – Refugio de Colomers, via Refugio de Restanca

I was right. Those three young bucks were indeed snorers. As well as go-to-bed-laters and make-a-ruckus-while-doing so’ers. Annie spent the entire night hissing at them in fury every time they so much as grunted. I got such a kick out of her rage at snorers. Finally here was another woman who deliberately took up space and bent the world to her will. I had found a kindred spirit. We had set our alarms to 05.30 and tiptoed outside with our headlamps on, deliberately ignoring Ashir’s stony stare. I scooped up the last of Christine’s cashew butter with my dry baguette. We were off into the darkness. Now, I’d never actually night-hiked before (what’s the point of thru-hiking if you can’t see anything?). The forest was pitch black and dead quiet until a we heard a sudden crack and rustle of leaves – way too noisy to be a small animal. I froze in instinctive fear while Annie let out a huge “BOO!” which would save scared the living daylights out of a wild boar/bear/rapist.

The faintest of grey light illuminated the outlines of the valley floor we crossed before heading into the woods where the trail would take us back into the mountains. I still had to squint to make out the rocks littering the path. We crossed a first river, a second. A pale dawn rose as we climbed up, up. But no sunlight. It was hidden behind a huge purple veil hovering over the mountains we had crossed yesterday. Annie took off like a torpedo. I fought to speed up, but by legs felt leaden and sluggish. Was it my period? The early start? I dragged myself up never-ending switchbacks as faint swirls of mist slipped around me. I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t see Annie anywhere above me, and every time I glanced back, the wall of cloud moved closer. That was a storm if I ever saw one. The entire stretch that day was above treeline, there was no shelter except Refugio de la Restanca halfway. I heaved myself upwards at seemingly half my usual pace onto the col leading into the high mountains.

I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t seem to get enough air, black specks dotted my vision, my pulse roared in my ears. Behind me, the great purple wall of clouds loomed closer. Jagged mountain peaks pierced the clouds ahead like canine teeth. A steel blue lake appeared among the rocks, but there was no movement anywhere as I frantically scanned the landscape ahead. I screamed at the top of my lungs into the void.

 “ANNIIIIIIEEEEEE!”

Nothing. My scream was instantly engulfed by the fog. The lake was eerie and beautiful, but all I could think of was racing away from the storm. I nearly ran alongside the lakeshore on the rocky path. Suddenly, as if a switch had been flicked, the heavy cloud curtain lifted and sunlight pierced through. I nearly sank to my knees. The weather up here could clearly kill you both literally and figuratively. I stumbled onwards with my gaze downwards as I crossed soaked grass down into the next shallow valley. The vistas were breath-taking as usual, but my only goal was the refuge where I could only assume Annie would be waiting. Hours trailed by. I mechanically climbed through thickets of wild raspberries and over boulders.

Finally, coming over a last little height, I could see a mountain bowl, with the refuge nestled into the hillside almost indistinguishable from the surrounding rock. A long concrete dam led me to the stony walls of Refucio de la Restanca, where a yellow supply helicopter was just taking off. Annie was sitting on a bench and immediately jumped up when she saw me. The lack of storm and my haggard expression probably alerted her to the need for some TLC asap. I needed oreos and an actual breakfast right this instant, and sank down in a heap on the helipad.

Annie fluttered around me, promising that we would walk together to the next refuge as the weather was looking much better. A rugged trail runner sat down beside us on the helipad. Completely oblivious to the fact that we clearly didn’t speak a word of Spanish, he chatted away happily about his morning while we stared blankly. This is what the wild will do to you. I chomped through what felt like my 200th bocadillo and stroked the lazy black dog which had followed my sandwich out of the refugio. As for hut warden score, they didn’t let me into the toilets despite me clearly communicating that I needed to change my pad. Was it our proximity to France that made hospitality staff so formidably inhospitable? I had to crouch down behind what I can only describe as an insufficient rock, praying the chatty trail runner wasn’t about to round the corner.

Time for stretch 2/2. We climbed up from Restanca on a bright path, enjoying wildflowers, and views of the glimmering dam and Lac de Mar. This was the glory stretch of the day. We climbed up the first of two cols, I felt a million times better and drank in the stunning views of bright green grass and silver stone. The area between the cols was heavenly flat and dotted by two little greenstone lakes.

We climbed the second col, relishing the highpoint of the day. When suddenly, a sound like an arrow being shot from a bow whooshed above us. I heard Annie gasp and looked up to see the black outline of an extremely rare lammengreier, the enormous Catalonian culture whose wingspan can reach 2.5 metres. Several of them had flocked around the Coret de Oelhacrestada where we’d just come from. What a treat! We floated onwards down into another gorgeous mountain valley to our final destination – still above treeline.

Refugio de Colomers was absolutely packed. Hikers spilled out of the hut in every direction, gathering in a clump on the front porch where tried squeezing into a corner to make an afternoon coffee. I took what I thought was a sporty-looking selfie, only to see that I had enormous circles under my eyes. Dear lord. The sun disappeared behind clouds, and it instantly grew cold. Changing out of my shorts and into my long johns, my stomach lurched as a saw a huge gash right in the butt of my precious hiking shorts. My mind instantly relayed the loud tearing sound I’d heard when the three of us had lunch two days before. “ANNIE!” I gasped. “My shorts have a massive hole in the ass! Why didn’t you tell me?” Annie stared blankly back and stammered “I… thought you knew and didn’t mind…”. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I just stretched in front of that family over there!” In the end, we both went with laughter. What next?! All the rain that was promised eventually came down in the space of 10 minutes accompanied by some half-hearted thunderclaps. I meticulously repaired my shorts with dental floss, my uneven stitches forming a huge white L. #hikertrashvogue

Camping was illegal, and the skies still looked dodgy. The price of our peace of mind came in at a whopping €58, an unacceptable price for the hideously designed dorm rooms, which consisted of seven half-sized mattresses jammed next to each other over two bunks. That left us and 12 possible snorers. We sank down on the bed in hysterics at the absurdity of our situation. We’d just paid a small fortune for significantly worse conditions than our tents would have provided. On top of that, dinner was an unbearable four hours away. We lay on our backs looking up at the underside of the top bunk, discussing our imminent deaths from starvation, shrieking every time any part of our bodies accidentally touched the mattresses. “Two empty husks”, Annie exclaimed dramatically. “Dying on the vine.”