Читать книгу A Walk in the Clouds - Kev Reynolds - Страница 15

4

OUT OF THE SHADOWS INTO THE LIGHT

Previous visits had given a hint that the Pyrenees needed further examination, and I was eager to explore. Money was in short supply, and time had to be carefully balanced; my work as a youth hostel warden precluded any leave in the prime climbing season, so we went when we could and hoped for the best. At home in the early summer of 1973 wild flowers patterned the meadows, but in the Pyrenees winter had not yet run its course.

It had been a long and heavy winter in the mountains, and the beginning of June was too early to be there. Snow still lay deep at low altitudes, while avalanches peeled from slopes exposed to the sun. Keith Sweeting and I were both nervous, but tried to hide those nerves as we ploughed our way up long tongues of stone-pocked snow. Burdened by over-heavy rucksacks, every few paces one or other would break through the crust to wallow in the soft underlay or find boots submerged in a hidden stream. As a consequence our feet were soaked, our legs cold, our lungs raw from exertion. We were not fit.

It was late afternoon before we found the hut. Half-buried by avalanche debris, it took almost an hour to dig our way to the door and force entry. It was like an igloo inside. Snow had come down the chimney and spread across the stone floor, and although it only took four paces to cross the room, each step was deadly. Our shelter was an ice rink. One and a half candles, a damp box of matches, an empty wine bottle and a half packet of rice lay on a shelf beside the chimney breast; there were no mattresses on the bare boards of the two sleeping platforms, but it would be our home for the night.

We cooked and ate outside, sitting on the roof gazing up at the frontier ridge, at scars in the snow where rocks and other debris had scraped evil-looking runnels, wondering how safe it would be to cross that final slope in the morning. It looked prime avalanche terrain, but if we set out early it should be okay. Less than an hour, surely, and we would be on safe ground. ‘Easy,’ said Keith. ‘It’ll be a doddle.’

In the night came a muffled ‘whoompf’ and the door shook. I turned over and went back to sleep, but in the morning we had to climb out of the window as another avalanche (a small one, thankfully) had targeted the hut and blocked the door.

If we could, we would have tiptoed up and across the final snow slope that led to the Port de Venasque, but when you’re wearing big boots and have every­thing you’ll need for two weeks in the mountains on your back – two weeks’ worth of food, fuel for the cooker, climbing gear and tent – tiptoeing is not an option. But we trod as lightly as we could and kept a decent space between us, hearts racing, ears alert for the slightest hint that the slope was about to go. Despite the chill, sweat formed on my brow. My toes and fingers were frozen, but my palms were moist. Keith was uncharacteristically silent.

Deep in shadow I aimed for a narrow V of light that gave the only hint of where the pass should be. I’d read about that slim breach in the rocks, a classic crossing place from France to Spain where the winds howl and neither father waits for son nor son for father. Now we were about to cross it ourselves – if the slope would allow, that is. Each step gave a heartening crunch, but my boots barely dented the surface. Overhead rocks were glazed with ice. It could have been January instead of June, but my confidence grew.

Then the pass was revealed as a shimmer of sunlight glanced across crags that formed its western wall. The slope steepened, I kicked the toes of my boots into the crust, leaned on my axe and heaved myself out of the shadows of France and into the sunlight of Spain. From darkness into light; from winter into summer.

Across the head of the Ésera valley, the Maladeta massif bared its glaciers and snowfields, above one of which rose the pristine Pico de Aneto, highest of all Pyrenean summits. For this very moment I had dreamed all winter long.

At last! The Promised Land.