Refuge de O’redon to Vielle Aure

A steep climb right out of the gate took us back to GR10 at Col d’Estoudou. The green ridge was draped in crystal-like morning dew. An elusive, hazy mixture of cloud, rain and golden light enveloped the col. Though breathing heavily, we felt like walking in dreams. Within an hour, we would lose all the elevation gained to arrive at Lac de l’Oule, the largest and the most beautiful lake surpassing all the other ones we encountered the day before. It is a perfect spot for picnic lunch, as long as you don’t mind a few bovine companions.

Not surprisingly, we need to climb again from the low-lying lake. GR10 took us back up the ridge that parallels the lakeside, revealing the unobstructed view of the blue gem. We noticed the ski lift at the far end of the lake. That’s where the labyrinth of piste starts. Before we could see the whole thing, GR10 took us back into the woods, deliberately blocking it off. Though uphill, the trail is rather mild and straightforward. Couple of turns later, we walked into the vast, rolling pastoral land, except, no animals. The land has been refitted for the ski industry. The area boasts one of the largest winter wonderland in the Pyrenees. The gentle slopes look rather friendly to me. But would it offer all the thrills to the adventure seekers? Nevertheless, in the quietness of June, the solitary land rests.

I hobbled past Col de Portet, the last high point on the day’s undulating walk. Z.Z. was a superhero, taking over much of my load. Trailing behind me, he took loads of video of me limping along the tiny path buried in the green background. Gradually ski piste faded away, the cows reappeared and the path got muddier. The rain was playful. It held off when I thought the downpour was imminent but came down hard when I was tempted to take off the gears. The pastoral land extends far and beyond. Gradually we could see outlines of a few towns. Curiously, one of the them seems be the village in the air, as it perches on the opposite ridge at the same elevation of about 1800 meters. It appears to be built with industrial purposes in mind. A few steps further, we saw skeletons of old mining machinery and abandoned huts in the fields. Apparently, the mountain has been left alone since long ago. Nevertheless, the sprawling towns in the valley far below look prosperous.

We were alarmed when we came across a sign saying “Patou trail” with a picture of a man running away from a patou. From the sign, a narrow path runs along the edge of the pasture. I let out a sigh of relief when we made the safe passage. Looking down, the towns did not seem that far away. Little did I realize we had yet to start the most grueling, knee-crushing descent of the last 700 meters. At least, that was how we felt. Guess what, it was another tightly winding switchback in a dark, damp beech forest.

I tried to come up with some smart reflection to mark the grand finale of our trek. But I gave in to exhaustion at the end. I laughed, at my knee and my posture. Rain poured down. We walked as fast as we could towards shower, dinner, and hotel Aurelia.

This concludes our third trip to the GR10, the hardest one so far. We learned more about ourselves on this trip: our wants and our limits. On the train and at Toulouse airport, I started to research the next leg of GR10, with that magnificent patou’s fierce bark lingering in my ear…