'Let us at it!' Having once been deprived of this stage, we were keen to get stuck in and complete the triad. However we were 20km down the road at Benasque and had to first hitch a lift in order to begin the stage. For this reason we quit the comfort of the hotel room before 7:30am, and drifted through the empty streets like restless wraiths. Through the plaza pequena and out past the churchyard we made our way beneath the cold lamplight where the alley cats still prowled, to emerge onto the main road. Karen_comments On passing the supermercado the aroma of fresh bread transformed the mood and I was compelled to inspect the stack of boxes and sacks from which it issued; 'Right enough!' the morning's delivery stood un-attended, surely too tempting for a passing dog, and almost too much for an honest soul like me!

  Theory had it that if we were out early enough, the hitch would be easy; within minutes of arrival, the premise seemed sure as cars stopped for us, but they were all turning off for Cerler just ahead. We had not well considered how many people would be travelling up a country road sans issue, and after an hour, were restless indeed. The day would be wasted if we could not arrive at and depart the parking area early enough; we shouldered our packs and set out up the road, thinking it might be better to hitch from the Cerler road junction, but before we got there, a young park warden picked us up. He was going right to the Renclusa parking lot and was pleased to oblige.

  Our saviour chatted about his work, the wildlife around, and the weather; he confirmed that it had snowed at height, though early cloud hid the evidence. We were forced to skirt a fresh rockfall which blocked part of the highway, but this apart, we quickly gained our day's start-point. It was here less than 24hrs previous that we had left Karen's trekking poles, and now held a forlorn hope that they might still be there; 'no chance!' We settled down to our planned consolation, a luxury breakfast which reduced pack weight measurably.

  At 9:30am we finally set off, very late for a BIG stage like this one. The first few kilometres were familiar after yesterday's retreat, so we travelled confidently, soon gaining fresh ground. After getting lost on the stage from Ref Portillon we were anxious to do better today. The first feature to look for was a lake at 2320m; its situation was apparent as we approached, but on cresting a brow, we found only a marshy pan. This caused some dis-quiet and some re-reading of the guide; 'Ahh, un lac étranglé , a strangled lake! Alternatively, perhaps it had been swallowed by the fissured parent limestone in these parts, evidenced also by a natural bridge over the dwindling stream. Just ahead, we forsook the fickle limestone to regain reliable granite.

  A short scramble lifted us out of the narrow ravine, allowing us to traverse on easier ground above the river, to arrive at a real lake, right on cue; then another, and another, each of the Estanys de l'Escaleta confirming our course. At the last lake reached travelling southeast, we paused thoughtfully; this smooth blue pool was set in its granite basin, as a baby in the lap of a craggy grandparent. It signalled an abrupt transformation of terrain; we no longer found our way between the boulders, but took to low angled granite slabs and bulges which led us mostly without use of hands, right up to the col.

  What a pleasure that was! Step after step striding on the secure friction of contiguous clean rock which is usually buried under soil, grass and boulders, or perhaps presented as a cliff; this was 'rock-walking' at its best! Voici! We paused to survey another lake, this one broad and open in its desolate setting; then wandered ad-lib through the boundless mosaic Voici! of ribs and ramps Voici! where only mosses, lichens, Voici! and the hardy ptarmigan survived. This rocky wilderness could support little more.

  It was fortunate that the cloud lifted as the day warmed up, to reveal our col occasionally, and the adjacent peak Tuc Molieres (3010m). It had been a general rule that we would not expend energy on off-route peaks, but this one was so close to the route, and afforded perhaps the last opportunity for us to surpass the 'magic' 3000m level; so Karen was persuaded. As close as it was, the 72m ascent proved to be a bouldery scramble Voici! which took us nearly ½hr, especially in dealing with the patchy fresh snow. The summit rewarded us with a large iron cross to pose next to, but the cloud swirled and thickened, shielding us from the majesty of the imperial Aneto, a bare 4km distant. Karen_comments We were left to contemplate the snow; the first real fall of the season, a harbinger of difficulties to come! At least we were about to get past the great triad.

  Retracing our steps, we descended to the frontier col Coret de Mollieres (2928m) where we had left our packs. Back in Spain from where we had come, the cloud was wispy with patchy sunlight on the ground; looking east into France however, it was thick and grey. No visible landmark to guide us. We scrambled steeply (about 30m) down the valley headwall, and arrived uncertainly in a maze of tortured talus; how to traverse this efficiently? Small cairns beckoned but they seemed to trend too far north, and I was concerned we might end up in the wrong valley (!), so we abandoned them, making our own way. Such different terrain from the west slopes; here no rhythm or continuity could be established. That didn't help us to stay warm either; it was now chilly in the enveloping cloud.

  Inching our way as best it seemed sensible over and through this irregular terrain, we arrived at a point where the cloud broke and looked down on the Estanhols de Mollieres; how re-assuring! Somewhere around, there was stated to be an abri metallique not helpfully evident for anyone who might really need it. Our way continued interminably, out of the boulders and past the level of the four lakes in the upper valley. On reaching a lip, we then looked right down towards the Vielha tunnel, still 700m below; although we were out of the rocks, the ground was terminally steep for the vegetation which barely clung to the eroded earth and shifting shale. The rocks at our feet provided interest, being a mélange issuing from the granite bounding the south side and the limestone cliffs which flanked to the north.

  As we approached the tree-line, we were enthralled by the rich autumn colours displayed in the beechwoods, foliage fading from lime to lemon to copper-bronze reminding us forcibly how the season had advanced. A novel debate sprung up between us. Since we were now past Aneto and with warmer mediterranean influence, perhaps we could expect to walk back into a summer zone where the trees were still green? Karen thought not, so we placed a bet. Past a waterfall, the ground was trampled by many hooves of les troupeaux, and the beech trees thinned out to reveal small lakes Voici! framed with the diversity of colours from maples and rowans. The rich progression through ochre, apricot, rosé, and burgundy sustained enchantment with their hues.

  The tunnel workings made a rather sordid contrast, with spoil heaps of torn sod, earth and rock. We tramped through them and searched out the hostal warden, who granted us permission to camp and took our dinner order. After retracing our steps a little, we found a choice pitch by the river; almost an island. There, we oriented ourselves away from the tunnel workings towards a group of birch whose silver grey trunks rose from amongst the scattering of crispy cornflake leaves. Dinner at the refuge was taken in celebratory mood, but still without wine; freshly cooked vegetables were far superior to 3min noodles, and it was well sufficient. Karen_comments Then we turned in and were lulled to sleep by the stream's water music.