We had originally planned to take one rest day per week, so the additional half day in Gavarnie was a bonus, which along with its well stocked superette left us well charged in every sense. Karen_comments We left the gite d'étape late to benefit from last shopping and mailing; the village was a lot more sedate at this time of the day. No tourists yet, just traders setting out their wares, and horsemen feeding their mules. After some deliberation over route finding, we were soon ascending steeply on the zig-zags of the cool west valley flank, where icy runnels lingered on the shadowy path.

  After ½hr of warming effort, a clearing in the pine trees led to a landing and a view, Gavarnie was already far beneath. We stripped a layer and sipped from water bottles as a Pic Noir called distantly to its mate. More effort took us clear of the forest, into emerald pastures overlooked by Ref Espeguettes, which turned out to be further away than it looked. It had not been a logical place for a stopover, but I would reccomend it for scenic potential, with great views towards the Cirque and Vignemale. We were denied inspection; a notice on the door informed of the warden's absence. There would be bed spaces that night and he would return from shopping at 5pm.

  The path led past a milling flock of sheep, and a calcerous gully full of the purple monkshood flowers; these framed the view towards the Cirque handsomely, with Le Casque and the famous Breche de Roland conspicuous. Voici! Then it was nose to the grindstone again as the switchbacks climbed out. Breakfast at the hourquette was the current motivation, but we would need water which diminished in availability with height. Karen, ever the more cautious of us voted to carry some up, but I betted on a shadowy gully yielding some. On arrival I found that the water was frozen. Karen was vindicated and now had ample time to steal a march on me as I searched down the stream; a seepage there mustered 1l in a slow 10min. 'Still better than packing it up here', I muttered to justify the trouble.

  Hourquette d'Alans (2430m) was not technically demanding but impressive, giving a better perspective on the views, Vignemale now dominant on the horizon. Voici! To the north, blackened quartzite reared in a series of precarious overhangs towards Piméné summit. To the south, fleshy limestone screes led towards the Pic Rouge de Pailla, whose bulk obscured the Grand Astazou (3071m) on the main ridge, and even the third highest peak of the chain, Monte Perdido (3355m) just south of the frontier in Spain. A slight but cold breeze funnelled through the gap, and we were sorry to abandon this fine position in order to seek a better breakfast spot. 200m down on the east side we found it, a grassy step complete with back-rest; from there the way ahead down the pastoral Estaubé valley was in full view.

  The cirque of this new valley was rather humbler than that of Gavarnie, but it sported its own cascade beneath the upper frosted tiers, tumbling down to water the sturdy tan cows which grazed around the stream's meanders. We enjoyed a favorite museli 'bowl' while disputing tomorrow's route choice. Ironically, there was nothing to dispute prior to Karen's 'purchase for security', the guidebook, which now presented us with a previously un-known alternative via the Col de Munia in the Cirque de Troumouse. Véron's tempting description was 'one of the best stages in the whole HRP', but it came with warning of the need for good weather. The crux of the route was identification of Les deux Soeurs, but if they were in cloud we could be lost again. Karen defended the conservative option as ever, but she now held an ace card over me; her knee. This could easily develop a fresh sensitivity ... (at whim!?).

  A campagnol made a brief appearance as we resumed the route; we had often wondered which creature made its burrow right by the path, perhaps in the hope of retrieving morsels dropped by randonneurs. People passed as we marched the green valley northwards to Lac Gloriettes, even a couple with a baby. This was mild pleasant terrain which did not occasion any worry; pleasant for a change. Rowans and rosehips brightened the stony shores of the lake, which turned out to be a reservoir with its dam, framed by dark cliffs. So many more folk in this area indicated proximity to road access; perhaps we could hitch a lift to Héas? Our ethics wavered once more on approaching tarmac. A raccourci across rocky slabs held off the inevitable, before acceptance of the trudge and we ceased to care; what we really wanted was to arrive and set up camp while we still had the sun. Karen_comments

  A certain establishment in this valley was reputed for its crêpes, with which we were keen to supplement our fayre. Héas turned out to be a humble hamlet, scattered along the quiet route sans issue, and we had no trouble finding the campsite. Indeed, the sun was still on the sward as we raced to get our tent out, for all of about 5min before cold shadows invavded! Our hostess had already warned us, 'I hope you have good duvets, there was ice on the chickens' water this morning'.

  She had not been so helpful when we first enquired, concerning tarif; 'You need not pay anything, just whatever you think its worth' was her disarming response. This set us speculating and disputing all evening; I compared it to the humbler sites without showers which might go at 5 Euros, while Karen argued for a more generous 8 Euros. It certainly was true that the tent pegs penetrated the stony ground no more than 3cm, but on the other hand, we discovered our freedom to make use of a grand salle a manger which would ease the logisitics of meal preparation. At any event, we decided we could at least reward our hostess (and thereby treat ourselves in the process!) by ordering the vaunted crêpes.

  So, having pitched, inflated Thermarests, and arranged our goods, we entered the hall, which was astonishing for such an out of the way location. We dutifully ordered pots of peppermint tisane and 12 crêpes, abandoning the usual rule to ask 'at what cost?' Our hostess had worked her strategy well! She was in fact excellent company to us, conversing intelligibly as we first prepared and ate our own food. Her father had been a mountain guide and as a girl, she had followed him everywhere. 'Yes', she knew the Cirque de Troumouse, and 'yes', the route could be difficult in poor visibility. The great dining hall had been built in the days before Gavarnie had stolen popularity from its sister valley; then, it had served well on occasions when visitors arrived by the coach-load.

  Finally, it was time for the pancakes, which were small, but neatly folded. Our request for a little jam (or even honey) was met with some hurt indignation; 'No', she had only sugar. They were at any rate, fresh and tasty; then it was time to pay up. My argument for the lower site fee then softened the price of the refreshments which seemed rather expensive; 4 Euros 60 cents for tea, and 12 Euros for the crêpes! This encounter reminded me of a certain egg-spense back in Lescun meted out by another crafty old woman of the Pyrenees. The charge was felt more keenly as we settled into our cold tent; though we had gained food for our money here, the charge was more than that paid back in Gavarnie, where we had proper beds in a warm room!