This morning, tucked away in the warm fug of the dormitory, we could not possibly have known it was so cold outside. As anticipated, we had not slept soundly as folk fidgeted or snored, so we enjoyed a lie-in, knowing we had an easy day ahead. Karen_comments It was 9am before we peered out at the hoary rocks and icicles which informed us that the temperatures everywhere were falling, and that winter hastened on its way. Thermals, hat and gloves were the order of the day.

  Before leaving, we enjoyed hot tisanes in the snug dining room, watching folk who had already set out for the Brèche; Karen_comments this impressionante gash (at 2807m) in the 100m narrow frontier ridge can be seen from afar. Legend has it that Roland, nephew of Charlemagne created it in trying to destroy his magic sword Durandal. Sadly, it was lost in cloud as we departed the refuge, past the cheeky alpine accentors waiting for a hand-out. No-one else took our trail, perhaps suspicious that the rocks below would also be icy. Fortunately, the morning sun did get through to our descent route, or it would have been folly to pursue it; this route down the west side of the Cirque de Gavarnie Voici! presents more contiguous scrambling than any other stage of the trek. Nothing difficult for the climber, you understand, but tricky for the walker; insecure pea-gravel on slabby footholds.

  The route demanded concentration and time passed quickly in this manner. About halfway down, we paused to gaze at the cirque, which presents a monster limestone and granite sandwich, 1800m tall. It was topped by the rimy 3000m peaks of Le Casque and Pic du Marboré while the lower tiers presented the cascade which plummets 400m to its base. From the point where the fall issued, its downward course was at intervals arrested by gusts of wind. The peeping sun back-lit this veil of spray, casting a myriad sparkles whose cursory lives were fated to cease in the sombre depths where winter sun could never penetrate. That was where we were headed, giving reason to pause a while longer. I tried to imagine what the cascade looked like in winter; could there really be an ice climb the whole height of that fall?

  Time did not pass so quickly on the way into Gavarnie, milling with 1001 tourists on the main track; it wasn't just the company, but the icy north wind which chilled; we would have done well to keep our cags on. After just a few hours from the refuge, we arrived in Gavarnie, with its fairground stall presentation of fun and gimmicks; very commercial. We were more interested in basic goods and went in search of a bakery, but were surprised to be informed that there wasn't one; the village's business belies its apparent size, and the small residential population cannot support one. We must use the one superette for all grocery shopping, after its lunch break closure.

  We set off on the accommodation search, to find that as ever, our afternoon off could not be used efficiently because the proprietors were absent from our chosen hostel, the gite d'etape Le Gypaète. Too bad, time to do a bit of shopping; Karen would guard our bags while I returned to browse and await the superette. I discovered the swish visitor centre, the outdoor equipment shops, and the tabac cum librairie where I bought some cards. Finally the superette re-opened and I bought fruit, yoghourt, and the first museli available in two weeks! After rushing back to Karen at the hostel, we ate far too much comme d'habitude perpetuating the boom and bust cycle of indulgence. If only we could have stored food as the camels do ...

  The proprietors still had not arrived and other guests informed us they were out wood-cutting, so we left our bags tucked away in a corner, and returned to the leisure shops. There we bought a new gas cylinder, and warm woolly socks. I had always considered that only wimps used bedsocks, but after the cold night below Vignemale I decided a pair would be invaluable and dedicated my new red ones to that function. Another significant acquisition was a copy of the 11th edition HRP guide by Georges Véron. The extra weight seemed onerous to me (300g!), but Karen quickly volunteered to carry it. She was hoping it might steer us away from the sort of adventures encountered on the previous day's stage. We doubted our capacity to interpret the French, but certainly learned a lot through its use.

  It was time to try the gite again, but before returning, we stopped to translate the up-to-date weather forecast posted in the village, the best we had access to since the trek began. It said that the good weather would hold and that temperatures should rise during the next five days. 'Wow!' At the gite we were finally admitted to our quarters, a small room with ensuite bathroom. I welcomed the shower, more for warmth than hygiene. Among the diverse ambient environs of the trek, a hot shower presented itself as a point of security which was hard to leave; its a bit like reaching a good 'jug' on a cliff face, with thin moves all about. I tarried there until Karen complained that the whole bedroom was steaming up, then we whiled away most of the evening by the log stove in the dining room, watching other folk eat until our appetites eventually returned. Our choice provided many of the favorite things we'd been missing for all of the last five days, which isn't to say we hadn't enjoyed our trek food; things had moved on from the experiments with tapioca!