Via Podiensis: Crossing the Pyrénées

21 September 2023 Thom Pilgrim Reports, Via Podiensis

A wistful sort of melancholy filled me as I passed out of the gates of Saint-Jean last night after dinner. I touched the stones of the Spanish Gate wondering when I would see the town again. As I climbed the Camino route up the hill to my rooms, my head was suddenly filled with the medieval pilgrim song that we had song so often in France:

Ultreïa! Ultreïa!
Et Suseia!
Deus adjuva nos.

This morning, I was packed by six, but I didn’t want to leave before first light so enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. I left at about 7:30 AM. I had a Proclaimers song stuck in my head, perhaps predictably.

It was pretty much all uphill all day.

The weather was a pleasant 75°, though they were saying rain was possible in the pass. Already I could see groups of pilgrims ahead of me and behind me. A very different walk, for sure, but it felt good to be underway once more.

It was a roadwalking, of course, I passed houses and fields with some spectacular views of the surrounding hills. Clouds in the west reflecting the sunrise were a vibrant pink.

And so. Many. Pilgrims.

This particular pass over the Pyrénées has been in use for thousands of years. Periodically, it’s renamed for whatever army used it to invade most recently, in one direction or the other. Currently, it is named after Napoleon.

Pretty soon, we were entering long, deep switchbacks, and the whole of the valley below yawned out behind us.

I passed the tiny Village of Hontto just before 8:30. Not too long after this, the Camino transitioned off the road and onto a dirt path. And still, we climbed. If anything, it was steeper now. Somewhere in this stretch I saw my first painted yellow arrow.

The camino re-joined the road about 8:45, and I had already seen three pilgrims give up and turn back. One of them was raving in French about it being impossible. The other two explaining to a friend, “we agreed before we started that this would be a nice easy trip. We will take the bus to Roncesvalles.”

While the hike up the pass is clearly not impossible, neither is it a “nice easy trip”.

And still we climbed. By this point, the view of the houses and villages below looked like something you would typically see out of an airplane making a long approach for landing.

A strong wind kicked in just after 9 AM, accompanied by a sharp drop in temperature, and I had to put on my fleece. I also started walking a little closer to the inside of the road, away from the ledge.

At about 9:10 AM, I arrived at Refuge Orrison, the last stop in France. It’s about a third of the way, and past the steepest part of today’s walk. For many people, this will end their first day, and they will take the rest of the pass tomorrow. I popped in for second breakfast, café au lait and a croissant. I figured it was an appropriate way to bid France adieu.

I also took the opportunity for a wardrobe change, swapping out the fleece for long sleeves and a windbreaker/rain shell.

By about 9:35 AM, I was back on the trail. Just 17 km to go. Over a mountain pass. Still, it was a roadwalking, so how steep could it be?

For a while, indeed, the uphill was gentle. But then we came to a twisty bit of steep. The wind was howling at this point. The sheep looked like they were clinging to the hillside for dear life. I don’t know how they do it.

And why does it always have to be a headwind? My progress slowed to a crawl. The wind only got worse when we got above the tree line, where flocks of sheep were joined by herds of horses grazing.

At one point the wind suddenly stopped for a moment, and I had to catch myself from falling forward onto my face.

The higher the Camino, the more unpredictable the wind. It came in gusts strong enough to cause missteps. Poor Dobbles the penguin kept getting blown around on his tether, at one point just swinging around at a 90° angle to the ground. I unclipped him and stowed him in the pack. For a while I was walking with a lady from Saint Louis named Tara.

Just before 11, the rain started. It was wasn’t much initially, but it was cold and moving at a speed that it stung when it hit bare skin.

Still, we climbed.

The skies opened up, and the full force of the mountain storm was upon us. I had outpaced Tara at this point, but she would catch up before the end.

The temperature continued to drop, and I put my gloves on.

I started walking with a Newfoundlander named Stephanie, and we kept up a conversation, which always helps the walk in adversity.

Battling the cold winds and driving rain of the mountain storm, we eventually got past the exposed ridges and onto a slightly more sheltered path of loose rock and mud.

Every time the path would return to an exposed ridge, the wind would return.

And still we climbed.

The final exposed ridge was so physically demanding that we ducked into an emergency shelter, only to discover that it was filled with pilgrims.

We stayed a couple of minutes before pushing on. There were trees about a hundred meters ahead, and we figured that it would be much more tolerable once we reached them.

And it was. The wind died away to nothing, leaving us only the cold, rain, and mud to deal with.

Finally, we began to descend through the misty forests of Navarra, and at some point we crossed into Spain.

The forest was misty and beautiful, and very unlike the forests before. After some time walking through these magical woods, there was a relatively quick, but steep descent through mud and loose rocks.

When we got to the bottom, there was a flat path leading to a road. This is where Tara caught up with us.

And then we could see the great monastery of Roncesvalles.

The three of us walked in together through the pouring rain, soaked to the bone.

So soaked, in fact, that my pilgrim credential containment system failed for the first time in ten years, and it was completely soaked through. The ink on many of the stamps had run, or just plain disappeared. I was incredibly saddened by this.

Also, at some point I lost one of my gloves.

I’ve showered, and I’m at least feeling warm again. Once I get this posted, I’ll head over to the monastic church.

Dinner is at 7, followed by Mass.