Refugio de Colomers – Espot

A morning with Annie was a morning getting up long before sunrise. We extracted ourselves from the overfilled bunk room, tiptoed down the stairs and shook ourselves awake in the hallway with a basket of empty carbs left by the refuge staff (who in fairness had left a cute note wishing us a happy hike). A cold wind was blowing outside the refugio. I stuffed a whole muffin in my mouth, let Annie take a hideous picture of me with chipmunk cheeks, and we were off. As usual, we were the only two people braving the wild at this hour. The blue predawn light wasn’t enough to go without headlamps, and we picked our way on the fresh morning trail carefully. I nearly stepped on a salamander who had made use of the scant traffic on the trails to shortcut down to the lake. Wind whipped our hair around wildly as we made our way across yet another dam. A last look back at Colomers, perched unusually high on the lakeshore as the water was over 3m lower than in usual years.

The morning was quiet as pale grey light seeped onto the world. We walked together, passing occasional groups of cows which we gave a wide berth. We came around a bend and saw a massive pair of them occupying the whole trail. Fine, there was room for us to circumnavigate them up a hillside to our right. We inched our way up the hill while keeping a stern eye on the cows throughout. They stared intently back. A milk chocolate brown one seemed especially intrigued and took two steps towards us.

-        “Shit! Gogogogogo!” (ever seen that scene in Thelma and Louise when they’ve robbed the gas station? “DRIIIIIVE LOUIIIISE!!”)

We heaved ourselves back down the path and sped off. Looking over our shoulder, the cow was striding confidently fast after us and started mooing manically. We were both freaking out and sped up until we were almost running to try and shake it off, to no avail. It followed and followed, keeping almost exactly the same pace as us so we couldn’t really outrun it, all the while mooing like crazy. It definitely wasn’t our sweet scent that attracted it, so we could only assume it had a case of genuine Mad Cow’s Disease. As the day dawned with scattered clouds, pretty green lakes, and lush mountainside, all we could focus on was keeping up the pace and not get eaten. The pathetic race continued for several kilometres as we inched ahead of our pursuer. Only when the trail climbed steeply up the day’s enormous col did we finally shake it off. The cow stood at the bottom of the incline, still mooing for all it was worth. What in the bejeezes was wrong with the herbivores around here?

Coming up on the col revealed the most spectacular vista ahead, even wilder than what we left behind. A grassy flat gave way to an incredible row of rugged peaks and a brilliant blue morning. A faint whinny from a free-roaming horse echoed between the mountaintops. This was a photo spot for the history books. We ran back and forth between the little cairn and my tripod until we got the perfect shot. Powerful silhouettes and hair blowing in the wind, we truly did look like the I’m-a-goddamn-Amazonian-queen wilderness machines we felt like. I have no need to hide one of my core motivations for thru-hiking. What you are doing is objectively awesome, and you feel awesome while doing it. No one can deny your extraordinariness in these moments. Maybe that’s narcissism. Look how much we care.  

The long descent from the col was stunning but cold enough for us to don our puffies. Crystal clear pools of water with sandy bottoms on the Sierra-like mountainsides. Eternal views of yet more mountains. A glittering lake with a small rock in the middle, too cold for a real swim but surely I could wade out for a photo? Peeling off my socks, I immediately sank down to my calves in muddy sludge. Yuck! I whined and screeched as I wobbled out to the rock while Annie stood crippled with laughter.

-        “Do you know how to rescue someone from quicksand?!”

-        “No, but I bet all the dead earth material is good for your skin!”

-        “AAARGH that’s really deep muck! The adventures of a husk!”

Two twin peaks, enormous and magnificent in their stature and uniformity, appeared out of the clouds across the valley. I couldn’t imagine a more fitting gentle cruise into town than the 10 km ahead. Annie taught me to lift my legs by my hamstrings, to bounce so lightly that I looked like I was doing a little run down the endless gravel slopes. It worked! Instead of throwing out my legs and bracing with my poles to offload my knees, I was now tip-toeing and felt light with each step. Here was finally a technique which would save me a knee-replacement surgery before the age of 35. Annie ran road marathons back in the US, if anyone could give me advice it was her. I’d never really paid attention to my hiking technique because I was built muscly rather than skinny. I knew I had flat feet and was slightly bow-legged after a decade of horse riding, I rarely stretched and had always figured I wasn’t naturally athletic. This trip was slowly changing that perception.

Mountain slopes gave away to trees. We cruised through the thick pine forest, talking about children and motherhood. Anyone who has been in a room with me for 20 minutes know that I am violently opposed to the idea. There’s just something about the idea of a 4th degree tear that doesn’t have my name written all over it. For a solid ten years I’d stood firm in my decision, facing down countless arguments with family, various sets of in-laws, and every stranger who seemed entitled to an opinion. I had experienced a pregnancy at 24 for a few brief weeks, an abysmal experience which swept away the merest hint of doubt that may have survived my ideological purge. At this point I was completely at peace with my childfree future and rarely thought about it anymore. I enjoyed interacting with older kids in moderation but would never voluntarily hold a baby. Annie on the other hand, seemed up for the challenge. I was fascinated by her thoughts on parenthood as a journey of challenge and exploration, of course with the starting point of her having a trusted and supportive partner who would do his share of the caring work. I have yet to see a man assume a full 50% of the emotional labour of parenthood, but one can hope.

As the pines turned to dry bushes on a sand track on the last two km into Espot, I suddenly felt bone tired. 20 days out here in the Spanish wild. My 64 days on the Te Araroa now suddenly seemed beyond belief. How had I sustained that gusto for so long? Every day out here was stunning, there were never any boring “transport” stretches, and still it got monotonous at times. Although, I suspect my 22 year old head in some key respects was a nicer place to hang out than my 27 year old head. Truthfully, I often felt quite tired of myself. I was tired of having the same thoughts rummage around constantly without reaching new conclusions. Tired of thinking about him. Tired of thinking about my dwindling enthusiasm for my job. Of actively avoiding thinking about lockdown days or my mom’s illness lest I crumple to the ground in a useless heap.

We reached Espot together. A perfect rest day town brimming with visitors and vibrant shop fronts, little market stalls, and a café serving real coffee. We dived into burgers, tapas, salad, and crêpes. Utter heaven. 4G, digital catch-ups with the outside world. We’d booked separate hostels and knew that when lunch ended, so would our joint hike. It started to rain gently as we dragged our feet out of town towards horizontal rest.

We stood wrapped around each other in a fierce hug for a long time. We had only known each other for four days, but it felt like forever. I tried my best to tell Annie how incredible it had been to share the trail for this short while, how infinitely enriched my hike had been by her presence, how happy I was to have found someone who ran at the world in the same way I did. She and Christine had brought the GR11 into focus, everything felt 10x more real with her there.

“You’re one of a kind, Kris. You’re so intuitive, you’re always right about people”, Annie said thickly. I was too full of exercise-induced endorphins to cry, but we were both beaming with emotion as we looked at one another and hugged again. Two husks colliding in the wild. Sometimes when I feel alone, both in my regular London life and in the wild, I imagine the world dotted with little lights belonging to people who know me and care about me. As I walked up the road to my hidden-away guest house accommodation, I added a little light for Chicago.