The weather had been kind to us again; the rain had moderated, lulling us to sleep and was gone when we awoke; a light south wind now blew down the valley and the tent was dry. We set out down the lovely Larribet valley following the meandering stream past pools, and shingles to cross it via a sturdy bridge; the trail was tidy and well managed, and there were no cows or sheep to sully the way. The deep green of the pines contrasted with the ochre-russet of the scattered rowans, more vivid for having the light behind them. So calm, it raised a suspicion; bear country!

  Arriving at the main valley junction we turned south to ascend the river of the long Arrens valley. The water was not always visible, disappearing completely at times under granite boulder-chokes. The valley levelled into the emerald green flats of Labassa where we stopped for breakfast. I selected good boulder seats for us both, but Karen somehow missed my invite and then blamed me when she sat in a puddle; some days thats just how it is! Karen_comments Large isard flocks grazed the valley flanks above us and after resuming course we watched them scatter to escape nimbly over impossibly steep slabs. Their deft footwork gives rise to the colloquial French verb isarder: 'to move with agility'.

  Lac de Rèmoulis looked deep and cold; we declined the dip it offered. Beyond, the well defined path started switching to gain height towards Porte de la Peyre St-Martin (2295m). The zigs and zags had been implemented with a mathematical precision which brought time to a standstill; we walked energetically with an even pace but apart, and it seemed that every time I looked down, Karen was there in just the same place below. Voici!

  Before arriving at the Porte, our route took a sharp left; I pointed Karen up this to walk ahead of me (as I had obviously lost favour) and continued, to gain the Porte in order to see what we had missed in Spain. After crossing the broad col I finally gained a decent view; the trail from Ref Respumoso lay in a wide bare valley stretching up from a lake with a wrecked dam. Voici! Then I saw les troupeaux; scores of colourful cag bearing school-children, all coming my way! Very popular indeed! I snapped a quick photo and turned tail before they arrived.

  I caught Karen up at a bifurcation which presented her with some indecision; just 20min apart and she was already happier to see me! We mounted more steeply now where the final screes and rocks led to yet another altitude record of the trek at Col de Cambalés (2706m). There we took obligatory snaps and surveyed the ravaged wilderness ahead; lakes of all sizes mixed and scattered with moraine and boulders au hasard. Could there be a route through this? Voici! We set out to discover a small but distinct path which wound its way through endless ravines, crags and domes of granite with little vegetation to support just the odd isard or marmot.

  The way led through this interminable but ever-surprising maze on shallow slopes, before a steepening presented views down into the Marcadau valley; then the cloud thickened, bringing light rain. It was cool now, and we hastened through the gnarly pines, to meet more and more people, evidencing the ease of access to this area. The cloud broke up as we approached the valley floor to reveal the red-shutters of the refuge with its companion chapel, Voici! just clear of the trees. Having ordered a demi-menu and made the usual polite enquiries, we found our permitted tent pitch, about 200m away by the river and obscured from the view of refuge visitors by a hummock. There we hastened the chore of setting up camp as rain threatened, finally diving inside to pull sacs in after, as the rain strengthened. Karen_comments

  We should not have been disappointed with the food that night, because the Larribet warden had warned us; 'Aah, you're going on to Wallon? That will be a sad occasion for the food'. It did look better for the meat-eaters who got a tasty sauce to season the pasta. For us though, a small dry omelette and a piece of bread accompanied a rubbery mound of white macaroni. Our demi-menu even included a piece of cheese, so we couldn't complain for lack of calories but we feared the consequences of this low-fibre fayre. The meal could not please us but the company did. All other tables in the busy dining-room held mixed French parties while ours was given over to 'the rest'. Two English couples, a German couple, and a pair of English journalists; our trek recieved a lot of interest and we were much encouraged, especially by the journalists who were walking a section of it.

  Then it was time to quit the sociable security of a solid roof, and head out once more for the tent through a gathering storm. After much skidding and slipping around on muddy paths, we dove into the tent once more with relief. It was sadly short-lived for me though, when I discovered I had left wool cap and camera back in the refuge. The rain did ease a bit for this re-visit but I cursed failing memory while washing the oozing mud from feet and sandals on return. I would be a fair weather camper, sans doute.