Another 3mB drop in the atmospheric pressure heralded poorer weather. It certainly was deteriorating, questioning our daily departure en-route, but the fact was, unless incessant rain or 10m visibility prevailed, we could ill afford to lose time in our race aginst winter onset. Generally, we had no good place to 'hang out' anyway and must go on.
  ... something keeps them moving,
  miles and miles a day,
  for another place that they can stay ...
We were in fact late arising; my body was attempting to claw-back sleep-loss caused by ponderous gastric loading. It was 8:30am before we left.

  After having named an early departure, we were a little embarrassed to find the journalists ahead of us on track, but they were decent enough to let us get ahead. An obvious well-worn path took us up through the ubiquitous pines and granite mamelons into the cloud, which broke a little for us to enjoy breakfast by Lac d'Arratille. There the journalists caught up with us and exchanged photos, promising to make us famous one day 'if we completed!' That was a long way off, and today we had to 'get past Vignemale'; we said this as though it was a great troll guarding the HRP at its foot.

  The trees thinned out as we ascended into a boulder choked ravine, passing the notable Tete d'Ours rock formation to our right. Circumnavigation of a small lake finally brought us out to the first pass, Col de Aratille (2528m) with a view onto cloud-scraping peaks and sweeping screes. Voici! Karen got ahead while I played with the camera, it was usually a pleasant change for her to have me behind. The Spanish section held no real horror but a nearly level traverse led to the usual steepening, towards the return into France at Col des Mulets (2591m). The steep descent on the far side was demanding though, and again, more so for dodgy knees.

  Cloud enveloped us for a while and then after some height loss, we spied the Ref des Oulettes de Gaube, standing on a rock spur at the foot of an expansive level pan, which collected moraine and meltwater from the Vignemale glaciers. The overall colour of the moraine was a fleshy grey, overlayed on the more stable portions with striations of green and burgundy where heather and other vegetation had taken hold. At the near side to our descent, the numerous little stone crescents looked strangely organic, but they were built by human hands to shelter tent pitches.

  Having skirted this wet area, we stepped some stones at the deversoir, to arrive at the refuge. There to find a lively party of a dozen folk seated at a grand table outside, tucking into a veritable feast, with little spared; wine by the bottle, salad, a roast, gateau and the usual trimmings. This was most disconcerting to behold, and we tortured ourselves watching for a while; perhaps they might toss us a morsel? It was also disturbing to arrive at a refuge where some folk were stopping, while we had another section to go, a big climb (500m) up to the hourquette and Ref Baysellance. We delayed, chatting to some Australian folk who expressed concern for our venture. 'Does anyone know where you are?' and 'Will you be warm enough?', both questions eerily topical for the hours and days ahead. We warned them to expect the journalists; 'Just be careful what you say now ...!'

  A notice posted by the track cautioned that Ref Baysellance was out of action whilst under-going repairs; tonight there would be no refuge food to speculate over. I took a last look back at Ref des Oulettes de Gaube, Voici! then the focal point became Vignemale as it appeared mysteriously from its veil of cloud. The mountain aspect to the north comprises a number of huge marble buttresses, between which the glaciers spill to merge once again into frozen turbulence. From time to time the cirque echoed with the reverberations as seracs crumbled and fell; not all of a glacier's movement is in slow-motion! Vignemale hid its secrets once more and we pressed on. Karen_comments

  The final approach to the Hourquette de Ossoue (2734m) was as steep as any and the zig-zags ill-disciplined, or rather the walkers who had abused them. At the crest we turned in the hope of a final revelation from Vignemale; no such luck. A little below and to the east, sun glinted off the striking arched symmetry of the copper domes which provide a roof for Ref Baysellance, then that too disappeared into cloud. We completed the short descent to survey its rocky environs and quickly concluded there was no welcoming pitch here, we must press on; it would be warmer and more sheltered lower down.

  The cloud thickened, accompanied by the dread pitter-patter which was no mere sound-effect; out came the cags. The path through the screes was bordered by inumerable protective rock-crescents, which seemed to occupy every available quasi-flat. This curious phenomena begged a question; was it the evidence of very many people all caught out on the same night, or a few people who at different times had been caught out in bad visibility? Perhaps cresent-building had become a local sport and like cairns, folk just enjoyed making their own. Whatever, none of them sheltered decent turf which we needed for a pitch. Perhaps the Grottes de Bellevue would do?

  We found them adjacent to the path; square-cut openings into dank dripping vaults, strewn with litter. Perhaps they were more salubrious when first carved at the order of Henry Russell in the 19th Century. This eccentric mountain lover certainly wasn't satisfied with them because he went on to build many others, one of which was blasted out just 18m below the summit of 'his' beloved Vignemale. We deemed them unsuitable and moved on; by this time, the augmenting rain was soaking in at neck and ankle, and our need became urgent. Another 200m down the path we found a range of passable spots, but some sloped the wrong way and others were a bit lumpy. Karen begged for me to settle on something; a compromise was reached and we pitched, protected of course, by our own adopted rocky cresecent. Useful for weighting down the tent pegs, at least.

  Our misery was just tolerable while we worked to establish camp, then we dove inside, stripping our wet outers, socks and boots to leave in the porch; but the dampness was pervasive, invading even our sleeping bags. Having recovered warmth a little, we then had the problem of dinner, which demanded cooking; this demanded that I go outside which in turn demanded ... Oh no! I've got to put those sodden boots back on! Procrastination would achieve nothing, especially as it was getting dark. A lull in the rain made this mission just tolerable and I once again released myself from wet boots and entered the clammy warmth. Don't ask why it was me that had to go back out there!

  We eventually settled in for the night, our stomachs filled with a tasty concoction of sardines, rice flour, and wild mushrooms; (believe me, you've just got to get hungry enough ...!). Then we slept, but fitfully; the icy down-draught from Glacier d'Ossoue chilling us until we 'jam-rolled' together for survival. Vignemale was taking its toll alright!