Aguas Tuertas – Refugio de Lizara

Brrrr! I questioned all my life choices when the alarm pierced through the muffle of my earplugs. Damn what a cold night! I was completely wrapped in my mummy bag and puffy, fleece headband, long johns (which weren’t the fashionable item they used to be after a Harvey Weinstein moth had eaten the entire crotch area). I tentatively reached out an arm to feel the insides of the tent. Not a drop of condensation! Victory! I heard the guys shuffle around in their tents, and we all slowly emerged into the pink dawn. Time for a leisurely brekkie and most important of all: covfefe. That was an adulthood milestone if there ever was one: before my MA I’d been one of those sassy beans who derived moral superiority from only needing one coffee per week. On the Te Araroa I had a total of two coffees, both after the 900 km mark. That was utterly out of the question now. I poured two packets of frothy cappuccino powder into my red mug to enjoy with my last instant noodles. Two curious cows strayed a tad too close to my $650 tent, but after years of working with horses I chased them away without a second thought.

We were treated to a dreamy grass trail right off the bat. The entire valley floor was ours, the vast expanse of it stretching several kilometres ahead, culminating in a giant mountain crest in a rainbow of green and silver. A herd of free-roaming horses and foals grazed eagerly in the bright morning air. The sun was rising, bringing with it instant heat. How I loved starting the day on a long flat. It’s the best way to warm up your legs and head – starting on a climb always made my calves too tight. Today’s elevation profile looked like a staircase leading up in three stages before plummeting down to the refugio at the end of the day. We had two cols to traverse and there was little water. In fact, we made a most unwelcome discovery at the first water source: a dead cow which of course had chosen the previously pristine river as its final resting place. Asshole move. No filling up there then.

We climbed up through the blissful shade to Escalé pass. At 1635 m we were starting to gain some real altitude. White granite peaks shot up around us like teeth and the lush green valley stretched out below us. The path curled around the rocky ground, up up up. I dug my poles in and heaved myself at the incline. After two years of mostly sitting on my ass in front of a screen, I was more than a little smug in realising I was considerably faster than both Max and Jake. I let myself increase the gap between us, which made me the first to spot three Ibexes – mountain deer – that sprinted up the almost vertical mountain ahead, seemingly unbound by gravity.

We neared the entrance to a glacial valley, and each step got heavier as hunger bit. I only had half a bag of salted almonds left, and precious little water before the next source. On the final set of switchbacks, we met a couple with two identical border collies on short leashes. While I am fundamentally against bringing dogs out here in the heat of the day, they were incredibly cute. Thankful for an excuse to stop, I petted them tiredly, one velvety collie chin in each hand. The heat was frying our brains at this point, and we had to sit down and take precious sips of our limited water. I sank down to lie on top of my pack for a couple of minutes before making the final push to see…

A sight like no other. The valley of the Sarrios was one of the most stunning views I’ve ever beheld in my six years of thru-hiking. A perfectly carved round bowl with a completely flat grass bed circled by looming mountain walls. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. That something so pristine could exist at this altitude was almost beyond comprehension. Most other landscapes at 2000 m were completely arid, but Sarrios was as taken straight out of a dream. I skipped around like a puppy, yelping “look at it! Guys, look at it!” while Max and Jake laughed and craned their necks back to take in the full vista. Camping up here would have been absolutely freezing, but I couldn’t help wanting to stay there all day – some spots are simply too perfect to leave behind and must be drunk in for an eternity. But eternities required food, which I was painfully aware that I no longer had. Even in my regular life I am a bottomless pit, an unhinged dessert hunter. Out here, hunger wasn’t just irritating, I felt like I might actually die after running on empty for half a day.

A small climb out of the regal valley bowl took us over Toronez d'as Cabretas col (1.910m), and we sat down for a last snack before the long descent to Refugio de Lizara. There go the last almonds. Death was surely near. As I licked the salty inside of the empty almond bag, it dawned on me that you actually needed a hella lot more than determination and grit to complete a thru-hike and have it be meaningful. Physical fitness just isn’t enough. You need an innate drive and an enthusiasm for absurdity which would see you through the ridiculous situations you will inevitably find yourself in. Such as being stuck in the middle of a mountain range with no food and hotspot-covered feet in 30-degree heat. I dragged myself back onto the path and stumbled after Max, trying not to think of my favourite ramen place in Piccadilly Circus.

I interrogated Max on his political leanings all the way down the seemingly endless descent from the col. Hundreds of altitude metres we had gained so valiantly fell away, the temperature seemingly rising with every five minutes. As long as someone kept talking I could just about block out the hollow feeling of my stomach eating itself. The boys too were grumpy in the heat. They had enough food but had heavier packs, and they did not enjoy the downhills. Max mooed ferociously at the cows on the path, sending them scattering down the hillside. We found water at last. And way down there in the dusty valley lay a large stone hut – the refugio! We abandoned all conversation as we sped down to what MUST be salvation. I almost drooled thinking of ice cream. Please, dear universe, let there be food! We slipped and slid down the last steep stretch of trail before we were in the courtyard and dumped our packs on the scorched ground.

I stumbled up the steps and into the dimly lit dining room. Oh glory! Those were Kit Kats behind the bar counter! Biscuits! Energy bars! And oh my god, a full menu of delicious REAL food. I almost melted into a pool of teary relief reading it. Eggs, pork loin, mixed salad, chocolate pudding. Salvation in the form of a laminated sheet of paper. We went to town on that menu, iced tea for me and beer for the boys, two courses each. We almost tore apart the breadbasket waiting for the steamy mains. What a gold mine this place was. This was also extremely encouraging for the road ahead – if all the refugios were like this, we would want for nothing. I walked over to the notice board to read the night’s weather forecast. Thunderstorms. Oh boy. The guidebook had mentioned that they could be “terrific”, but none of us were particularly inclined to trust Brian anymore. Tomorrow was all exposed peaks, and the lure of more food was too good to pass up. €38 later we were set up with dorm beds, a three-course dinner, and breakfast. The merry receptionist who checked us in held up my passport and exclaimed “Muy bonita!”. She was trying to be nice, but you know you look like shit when someone compliments your passport photo.

I undid my braid, looked in the mirror and shuddered, before hopping into a glorious shower. Max was back up the hill hunting for phone signal to call his girlfriend, while Jake and I marinated in the evening sun on the benches outside. Lizara was an oasis. But I could still feel it. That nagging discomfort when there was nothing left to do but sit with the stillness. There had been too much stillness, I needed noise. I looked up at the massive peaks towering above us. It was clear that I still had a way to go, metaphorically and otherwise.