I suspect he has just as little idea about this mountain range as I did not long ago, after all, you hardly ever read about it. Magazines fill their pages with stories about the usual suspects, but this region has always been the underdog in Europe. Few people know that the Pyrenees had a record winter this season with snow depths of up to 10 meters. Reason enough for us to take a closer look. Philipp sits next to me at the breakfast table and sings "Sweet Child of Mine" while sipping his coffee from time to time. Breeding earwigs is one of his Special Abilities and my defenses are weak. To distract myself, I allude to something he told us a few days ago and think I'm pretty clever: "Why is the movie 'Hangover' actually called 'Very Bad Trip' in French? They could just use a French title if they have to change the name, couldn't they? " "Yes, but that doesn't sound international enough," says Philipp, who understands the nature of the French better than anyone else I know thanks to his French studies (that's another of his special abilities). "The title is supposed to sound cool. But they don't understand 'Hangover', so they think 'Overhanging? Huh?' and then they don't go in. But 'Very Bad Trip' is relatively easy to understand, even for someone who doesn't actually speak English. Hence the name change". I pretend I don't have a Guns 'n' Roses earworm and watch Gabriel finish his second bowl of Kaba. Wow. Did I drink that much chocolate milk when I was 18? I can't remember. Far too long ago. Instead, the cold that has been slowing me down so much over the last few days is finally subsiding and the fever is going down. My ribs still hurt with every cough and sneeze, but the sun is shining and we only have two days left before we head back to Germany. The weather and the time pressure make me feel good, and for the first time in days I'm really motivated to ski again.
Today's destination: the Pic de l'homme Mort behind the Formiguères ski resort, followed by a descent through the Vallée de la Galbe and then an ascent back to the parking lot. Philipp and Gabriel had already completed the same route a few days earlier, in the best powder and sunshine, together with a local, while I was sick in bed. The photos they brought back looked great, a worthwhile destination. But what has actually happened so far?
27.02.13
I don't know how you see it, but a 2.10 m long ski coffin has very clear advantages and disadvantages in my eyes. You can easily fit pretty much everything you want to take with you, but the transportation from this ship... Unbelievable! Fortunately, the box can be folded (once you have the skis out), so that the rental Polo that they give us at the airport in Barcelona has enough space for 3 people including luggage. When we arrive in Les Angles, I can watch Philipp with a cold and a thick head as he decides to give up smoking. He rolls one last cigarette and then burns everything he has left in the fireplace. The week starts really promisingly.
28.02.13 - sick...
Philipp and Gabriel buy a day pass for the Les Angles area while I stay at home sick in the best weather: drinking tea and coughing stuff up. In the evening, I'm told that the day was great and Philipp tells me several times how much he'd like to smoke now. He also sprained his foot in a fight with a tree. I'm just a little envious.
01.03.13 - Fresh snow...
It's snowing. The night has brought us 20 cm of fresh snow and we decide to drive to Formiguères. Less than 200 m from the front door, I have the first winter accident of my life when I slide into the front of an oncoming Frenchman in a 180° bend at walking pace. And now the big difference between the French and the Germans becomes apparent: the driver remains calm, looks at his front end and asks what it looks like here. "C'est bon" we say after a thorough examination, whereupon the matter is simply settled for him. He wishes us a nice day and he is gone. Unbelievable. Then we quickly put on the snow chains and pretend nothing ever happened. You have to be lucky...
On arriving in Formiguères, the lift tickets consist of stickers and metal hangers and I am completely at a loss as to how to attach them to my jacket. Fortunately, Gabriel has the perfect plan and expertly sticks them to my backpack. It would be an impertinence if I had to think for myself as a photographer. The ski resort is almost completely below the tree line: fir and pine trees alternate with laurel bushes, and you almost feel like you're on the coast of southern France. Without the sea, but with mountains and snow - of course. We're glad that it's not too crowded despite the French winter vacations, and we have a lot of fun skiing through the forest until the moment when the guy in front of me is knocked off the platter lift. A chain of unfortunate circumstances (which I really had nothing to do with, I swear!) leads to an extremely painful crash that brutally hits my left ribs. I sincerely hope for bruising.
02.03.13 - Tour to Puigmal d'Err
View out of the window: Bluebird. I feel rather average. The cold in combination with the (hopefully) bruised ribs is playing me hard. Every cough hurts like hell, and I can cough really well at the moment. Today we're heading for the area around Puigmal d'Err, which at 2913 m is one of the highest peaks in the Pyrenees. When we arrive at the parking lot at eight o'clock, after an hour's drive, we can hardly believe that it snowed so much yesterday. Here, on the Spanish border, a strong wind blows, which usually chases the snow clouds away as quickly as they arrive.
We take two lifts that take us up to 2600 m and ski another 100 vertical meters to the end of the last lift, which is closed today. From here, there's no point in leaving the skis on: All the peaks have been blown down and there is hardly any snow left on the ridges. We strap the poles to our backpacks and set off. Exposed slate scree and a stormy south wind force us to walk carefully and slow down - which is actually fine with me, because the few hundred meters of altitude we have to cover to Puigmal d'Err are sapping all my strength. Of course, I blame everything on the cold and my ribs and Philipp and Gabriel kindly do me the favor of pretending to believe me. Real friends.
From Puigmal d'Err, you can see the peaks of Montserrat rising out of the haze, but my condition no longer allows me to feel elation at the good view. I mechanically press the shutter release on the camera and feel nothing. I drag myself the rest of the way to Puigmal de Segre before I can feel something like anticipation again for the first time. Departure. At last! The snow cover has been firned up and in some places you can make out individual slabs of ice. However, the slope is always good for long, wide turns and the speed brings my half-dead body back to life. Awesome!
Back in the area, we treat ourselves to something to eat and, out of solidarity, I order a pilsner like the other two. Which reminds me immediately after the first sip why I never actually order pilsner. I just don't like the stuff. A complete bad buy. Philipp kindly takes pity on the drink and casually mentions that he'd like to have a smoke now. On the way home, we make a detour to the thermal baths, which are unfortunately bursting at the seams due to the French winter vacations. To make matters worse, I begin to realize that the exertion of the day has probably not been particularly beneficial to my recovery. Clever foresight is definitely not one of my Special Abilities.
03.03.13 - totally sick...
Worst day so far: sunshine, still usable fresh snow if you know where to go and I'm so sick that nothing works. Mr. Cold is a really ungrateful guy. Gabriel and Philipp go touring with a Frenchman today while I lie in bed swearing under my breath. I sleep through half the day and spend the other half lying on the couch drinking tea. When the two of them come back, I see the photos they've taken and almost burst with envy. What the hell was I thinking getting sick?
04.03.13 - Powder gone...
The day's rest has done me good and I want to go skiing. Unfortunately, there's hardly anything left of the powder that Philipp and Gabriel had yesterday. Strong sunlight throughout the day and the strong wind have done all the work.
However, the sun is shining today too, the warmth is firing up the frozen snow cover and we are having fun in the backyard of Les Angles. Ideal for getting back on the steamboat. The view is beautiful and on the other side of the valley, the Cambre d'Aze beckons with its incredibly photogenic north side, criss-crossed by five steep couloirs. Unfortunately, it is out of the question due to the delicate avalanche situation, but I decide here and now that it will definitely end up on my (not yet very extensive, but constantly growing) to-do list. A real beauty.
05.03.13 - Rain...
Oh joy: it's raining.
06.03.13 - even more rain
It's still raining. To fill the day with something meaningful and distract Philipp from his sad non-smoking existence, we drive to Fontrabiouse and visit the stalactite caves discovered there in 1962. Downday therapy. But the weather is supposed to get better again...
07.03.13 - continued
I grab the metal end piece of my skins around my tail and squint against the already scorching sun. The weather is actually much better than the last few days. I prepare myself inwardly for sunburn and strap on my skis. Philipp is in conversation with a middle-aged to older female ski tourer, who asks him with interest what kind of strange skis he is wearing on his soft boots. "C'est un splitboard" he replies in (to my ears) accent-free French. The lady frowns and looks at him scrutinizingly: "Splitboard?" A short pause follows until her expression finally brightens and realization shines in her eyes: "Aaaaaaah! Split! C'est anglais pour demi!" (Translation: "That's the English word for half") - touring here is almost exclusively restricted to the 50+ generation and that naturally brings with it another language barrier when it comes to English. The young French seem to prefer to spend their time in the snowpark rather than on tour. That's fine by us... When we finally reach the eastern flank of the Pic de l'homme Mort, despite the absurd "We were off Madagascar"-earworm (thanks, Philipp), my photographer's heart leaps for joy: The sun is in a favorable position, cloud formations drift along against a blue sky, the rugged north face of the Pic de la Grande Porteille provides alpine flair in the background and the face promises a fast descent. The ascent finally takes place individually, because even if we think we can assess the conditions quite well and are very early, we don't quite trust it. Gabriel is the first to go and takes big swings down the flank while my camera's shutter clicks. A quick check of the images confirms what I had hoped for: the shot I came here for today is in the can.
Anything that comes next is a bonus! Of course, Philipp and I don't miss out on the fun and climb up one after the other. Unfortunately, the snow on the subsequent 10-kilometre descent through the Vallée de la Galbe becomes extremely heavy in the lower half and I hear the phrase "Man Robert, you should have been there 4 days ago. It was ALL POWDER here " thanks for reminding me. I had almost forgotten...
08.03.13 - last day, last tour
Last day, sunshine and the destination is (once again) Formiguères. The lift staff greet us and joke about whether we know everything back there by now. Fortunately, the Camporells lake district offers enough destinations to still be interesting even after significantly more days than we've spent here
.
On arrival at the Refuge des Camporells, we consult with the hut warden before crossing the frozen lakes and the surrounding gentle hills in the direction of Petit Peric. Once we reach the foot of its long, broad southern flank, there is not a breath of wind. We take off everything that could possibly keep us warm and begin the ascent, which I remember as the most unpleasant: Blazing sun, no wind and a flank that looks the same everywhere. God, how I hate ski tours... Gabriel is of course already waiting when Philipp and I finally reach the top, panting, sweating and swearing. To avoid having to experience this more often and to be faster in future, I decide to drink two bowls of Kaba every morning from now on. Obviously there must be something to it! As the east-facing Coulouir is not our cup of tea, we descend via the same slope as the ascent. Given the exposure and time of day, the conditions here are perfect for spring, which we really enjoy once again. After all, this is the last real descent before we head back to Germany.
We treat ourselves to a cold drink in the Refuge des Camporells, have a chat with the hut warden and then set off on the final ascent that will take us back to the ski resort. Our thoughts revolve around the last few days and the many peaks and descents we have seen in that time, the to-do list that is getting longer and longer and the English word for demi. From somewhere I can hear Philipp quietly singing "Mr.Brownstone" and I wonder if he would sing fewer songs about drug addiction if he were still a smoker. It's funny how confidently he gets all these melodies into my head. Oh well. Guns n' Roses after all. Could have been another one of those sea shanties...
