Day 14 July 25 2016 Refuge Jeandel to Lescun
After a hearty dinner, we went to bed pretty early the night before. Brilliant light through the window woke me up early morning. Piercing through the window, there was the most stunning sunrise I have ever seen. Z.Z. was not in the room. I ran outside quickly and ZZ was trying to take some pictures of the sunrise. He told me that he got up before dawn. There, the bright orange ball just emerged out of a wavy sea of clouds. The world, with all its complications, vanished beneath that pure, white sea of cloud. It was dramatic, exciting, nothing more picture-perfect. No photos can ever deliver the feel of that moment. Z.Z. was busy taking pictures. However, the scene was ever changing so fast. It’s beyond description.
After breakfast, we were heading towards Lescun, a “big” town in local standards, about 10 miles away. Elevation changes of the day would be modest, 500 meter gain and 800 meter loss. After a couple of dreary and dark days, it was a whole different world. There was not a trace of the thick fog from the day before. We were eager to embark on the hike.
Once we stepped out of the refuge, we figured out the source of the mysterious children’s voice we heard yesterday. Just below the refuge stood a vast ski complex with hotels and other entertainment facilities. I guess in the summer it turned itself into a sporting resorts of some sort. That was unexpected. I imagined that when I walked down from a place like Jeandel, -a spiritual mountain hut perched on a high cliff-, I would see nothing but undisturbed nature with all of its grandeur intact. Yes, the ski complex looked out of place. Progress is unstoppable, I guess. The locals have to live too; and the mountain is capacious enough to accommodate a few more “residents”. We pressed on.
Five minutes later, the ski complex was out of the view. The trail led us into soaring massifs and precipitous cliffs. Compared to the earlier part of GR10, the geology is quite different for this section of the walk. We had been indulged in the gentle landscape of vivid green mountain slopes and pastoral land. From this point and on, we started to get a feel of the high country of the Pyrenees. The path was meandering through the floor of a amphitheater of granite pillars and majestic peaks. Soil was a precious commodity on the rocky ridges, yet wild flowers were abundant. They squeezed out of the crevices in all shapes and colors. With so much exuberance, we couldn’t help but slow down and admire. Unfortunately, we didn’t know the names of the flowers. We moved slowly along the trail, trying to soak in the grandeur of the majestic mountains as well the delicateness of the wild flowers.
On the way to Lescun
A small section of steep climb got on ZZ’s nerves a bit. It was a narrow path on exposed rocks over the ridge top. But he recovered when we reached the crest. There, the view was memorable. On our right, stood the giant amphitheater of peaks and pinnacles; on our left, was the vast sea of clouds with a few dreamy islands just about to emerge (see picture). We were excited to get a taste of the high country. Then we started the long descent into the valley that houses Lescun. About one third of the way, we came across a farmhouse where we filled up our bottle from an outdoor fountain. It was running all day from melting snow. The water was pure and sweet. Indeed, we could see patches of snow covering the gullies of the high peaks. We were in the heart of the stone amphitheater now as the path wound its way down the mountain. Eventually it led us into the shades of a damp forest. The final section of the walk through the forest could be muddy, so it says in some guide books. Therefore, we opted for a longer but drier paved road. At this point, we didn’t mind walking on the pavement anymore. The forest blocked the view of the mountains; we would rather be on the firm ground and have the mountain view with us. We had enough muddy experience by now.
Lescun is a picturesque town at the foot of magnificent Pic d’Anie (2500 meters, 8200 feet), a tooth shaped mountain. Walking down the road, we had the advantage of bird’s eye view. Almost every house has dark slate roof, a curious contrast from the houses we passed by earlier on our GR10 walk. There, the red tiled roof and white washed sidewalls painted a cheerful outlook. But here every house looked grey from afar. There is no shortage of slates in this mountainous area, so economically slate roof makes sense I guess. But the contrast still stood out when compared to towns like St-Jean-Pied-de-Port. The dark roof, elegant and homogeneous across the town, seemed to embody a different character. Solemnity? Medieval? Maybe. But we were eyeing for a shower and supplies. So we rushed into the town.
