Plano de La Rinconada – Refugio de Respomuso, via Sallent de Gallego

The night passed with faraway flashes but no thunder to accompany them, meaning (according to Dr Google) that it was too far away. No condensation thanks to the breeze. I groggily made coffee in the vestibule while equally slit-eyed Max and Jake chewed their brekkies mechanically. We had clearly come too late to enjoy the July dry spell. The August storms were on. From now on we’d have to be much more careful about camps, staying below the treeline or sleeping at refugios when we couldn’t. We packed up the thunder camp and set off deeper into the green valley through dew-wet grass.

The arms of the river split and sprouted inwards through the valley floor until we hit a corry so steep between a mountain crest and a peak it looked like a dead end. Our path twisted upwards in steep switchbacks with small rivulets of water trickling down everywhere after last night’s rains. Wildflowers of all kinds sprouted alongside the path, and I relished the frisky morning as we climbed up into the sunrise. Was still (smugly) faster than the boys. The incline eased out to reveal a dune-y mountain plateau of soft grass. And…

A vast meadow of grazing horses and cows encircled by mountains beneath a cloudless sky. Between the green and the blue lay the glittering Anayet Lake (2.225m), faint ripples of a morning breeze caressing its surface. The peak of Midi d’Ossau sprung up to our left and the loveliest view stretched out ahead. We gasped in unison and threw down our packs. “Second breakfast time!” WHO could ever see such a place and not want to stay forever?

I could have stayed up there forever to watch the mares with their foals saunter around. On the way down from the plateau towards infrastructure-land, we passed countless day hikers, including an entire school. They were delighted to use their English words to wish us a good morning (hold on to that language enthusiasm, kids… your country needs you). I was high on the beauty of the lush scenery and bounded down the soft grassy slopes along the river. Just as I reached the flat and could no longer see the boys behind me, I caught up with a couple too pale and leggy to be Spanish. Robin and Jasper were Dutch. They had great chat, lots of enthusiasm, juicy knowledge of gear, and had heard of the Te Araroa. Tarmac road miles flew by in the spirit of fresh acquaintance. They were also weary of storms after a near-miss in the Alps. But they were fun and intelligent, and I lamented their leisurely pace as I knew it disqualified them from being my long-term tramily. Outside the village of Formigal I let them drift ahead while I sat on a roadblock to allow Max and Jake to catch up. After nearly 30 minutes of chomping down my umpteenth bocadillo in the searing lunch heat they finally trudged into the car park.

The dry dirt path down into the town of Sallent de Gallego was a race against the oncoming siesta. The town was brimming with vibrant hustle and tourists gathering for a music festival, colourful flags slapped in the breeze as we searched for a free table along the riverside cafes. I ached to think how much elevation we had lost and would have to regain having made it all the way to the bottom of the valley alongside the glistening turquoise lake. Sallent was easily the best town so far. I ordered two iced teas at the café counter and the waitress gave me two glasses – clearly she didn’t clock that both were for me. We raided the supermarket and sat marinating in the 4G signal until the skies clouded over with that afternoon’s storm. Our destination was still over three hours away. Refugio de Respomuso was the definition of stunning, nestled into the mountainside overlooking a beautiful lake. It’s the first photo that comes up when you google the GR11. The storm made me uneasy about camping above treeline again, but hopefully it would all pass on our way back into the mountains.

On the endless gravel roads through the forests and back into wilderness I was absolutely dying for good conversation and grilled Max on his family and relationships. Jake had seemingly clocked out despite my efforts to include him, and it was starting to grind at me. Talking to Max was interesting – he was the same age as I had been when I hiked the West Highland Way. He was in such a good place for being 21, although he probably couldn’t appreciate it from his current viewpoint. It’s like Wendy says to Peter Pan:

“There is so much more…” – What?! What else is there?! – “…I don’t know. I suppose you find out when you grow up.”

And you do. Mostly that things are very complicated and nothing is linear and sometimes you will be happy and sometimes sad and there’s no “in the end” and you will never have it all figured out.

Thunder and gentle rain rolled ahead as we climbed the rocky path along the deep canyon wall, up, up. The skies went from angry to optimistic. By the time we reached La Sarra reservoir and Arriel Lake, the boys had decided to camp along the northern shore while I headed to the refuge. Being on my own again felt quite right. Seeing the refuge in the splendid afternoon light made every toil worth it.

Respomuso was full. Seeing the amount of rowdy families in there I didn’t hesitate to stride back out. Despite the massive “NO ACAMPAR” sign, the warden told me that camping was in fact possible, and sure enough, I looked out to see many a tent perched high on the cliff shores of Arriel Lake. A group of young men sitting by the porch smiled at me. Alas, no social interaction for the wicked. I picked my way steeply down towards the countless beautiful outcrops among the trees. And there it was: a perfect spot of soft grass encircled by stones, right by a fir grove crowned by an ethereal, real-sized bonsai tree.

The mountain massif lay spread in its incredible beauty in front of me. It was meant to be. I was struck by a burst of energy and ran through the grove, bounded up to the bonsai and was splashed by the liquid gold sunset. It was so pretty I squealed and laughed out loud. I ran back to grab my cooking gear and set the quinoa to boil under the bonsai while I took in the 360 view of absolute splendour.

This was the thru-hiking life I had missed and dreamt of. The magic of a sunset camp, feeling so light despite the insanely long day, being a part of everything. I recognised this place – I had been here before, so to speak. Somewhere down the heartline lay memories like these, and future ones yet to be made.

In the camp spot next to me, three girls were setting up two tents and brushing their teeth in the twilight glow of their headlamps. They looked just slightly older than me (but who could really tell at this point), and I felt a small pang of envy. I loved adventuring by myself, but I also didn’t have any female friends of the required calibre who would enjoy this type of trip. If I was to bring someone they would need to be equally capable and not a liability. I set up camp in the alpenglow as the four of us went to our separate beds. I didn’t know it then, but our paths would cross again more than once, not least when I really needed them.