It was like a re-run of our day out of Benasque, but having been discouraged by lack of benefit from an early start there, our whole schedule today slipped; we could not have cut it finer ... We just had to do a few things in Esterri, routine shopping, but also a few telephone calls; Ref Certascan was closed except winter quarters, and the gite at Marc-Mounicou was open but unable to provide any food. We also 'checked in' with our families. By the time we stood to hitch on the roadside it was 10:30am! Karen_comments

  Part of the strategy worked, because we caught a lift with the first vehicle which passed, barely giving me time to scrump a bunch of grapes from a roadside garden. Our driver was bound for Isil but we needed to get to Alos de Isil. Karen installed herself in the front and gabbled away in Spanish, hoping all the while that a small rapport would lead to the driver dropping us further up the road. Karen_comments But no, he dropped us politely at Isil and we then wasted 20min waiting for another lift. I would have waited longer, but Karen's impatience was a benefit to us on this occasion, for no other vehicle ever passed as we marched on to Alos.

  It was then so late that we were ready for breakfast; we ate this sitting on a bridge with a great view up to the village and its church. Somebody hadn't made a very good choice with the breakfast cereal which was way too sugary, but we enjoyed it with bananas and yoghurt. It was only after eating a good plateful that I discovered that the yellow leaved Prunus trees were full of ripe little plums, no grubs and quite delicious. I gorged myself on these leaving Karen at the mercy of a rugged old man from the village who popped up from nowhere as soon as she was left alone. Karen_comments

  At 12:40pm we finally set out on the days trek, with me hobbling; the corn on my right foot had worsened. A neat logpile in the village took my attention, then the poplars, willow, ash and especially maples of the stream-side were a pleasant distraction in autumn garb. We arrived at the passarelle which crosses the mighty Noguera Pallaresa to follow its tributary, the Barranco Comamala up an exceedingly steep and obscure side valley. The track on the far side, broad initially, rose to the level of some barns and then deserted us. We resorted to bashing steeply through the wood until the discovery of a definite sentier overhung by hazels and hawthorns. Occasionally it would break out into a clearing before narrowing once more and diving into the greeny gloom of the trees.

  It was somewhere here that the flies discovered us. The track had, I think, seen passage of domestic beasts which had generously left copious amounts of crottin for the flies' attention. Attractive as that was, it was obviously no match for the fresh sweat we generated, and so we each collected a buzzing cloud which grew all the time. It was barely tolerable in the woods, but became infernal on leaving the trees where the sun's heat conspired with the plaguing insects. This then was a frame to the day's notoriety.

  With a clearer outlook, we now attempted to discover the route ahead; it was plain enough initially following the main valley, but then we had to gain another side-valley and disagreement between map and guide stalled us. The guide stated that the path would lie on the right bank of the cascade (looking downstream), but a diagram agreed with the map, showing it on the left side. On the ground, we saw a path which agreed with the text, and followed it uncertainly, wondering if there really would be a lacquet above and a way on. Fortunately, the lacquet arrived bang on cue at 2070m and we were re-assured.

  What the compass told us was not so re-assuring; it pointed up a steep groove between crags, filled with boulder screes. 'Wow! Is this really the correct way?' It was a most unlikely looking exit, and left us wondering why the main valley couldn't have led somewhere useful. We set to, creating our own zig-zags back and forth across the slopes, passing the two faux cols at their appointed altitude. It was hard work but we did it in the prescribed 1+½hr to arrive at the very sharply defined and narrow goulet of Col de la Cornella (2485m). One mercy at least; the flies quit with the cool of this altitude!

  After replacing a few warm layers of clothing we started on the tricky little descent which soon petered out into the screes; a trace of passage led us past the lonely Lacs Tartera where all was still save for the odd pipit. En-route to the next col, we encountered some ancient yellow balisage which was not entirely helpful, appearing infrequently. The ground was very steep and broken, with 'catwalk' traverses which eventually led us to the Col de Curios (2428m). This afforded fine views down to the Laguna de Calberante, but I was then alarmed to realise we were not to descend from this col. A higher Col de Calberante at 2610m awaited us; 'more climbing!'

  The description all fitted OK, but it was getting late and the grand mystery tour was wearing a bit thin; should we look for a campsite now? We soon found good pitches next to the Lac supérieur de Calberante (2490m), but decided to press on. An isard flock dispersed as we followed the rake across a low craggy flank; this led us to our last col and high point of the day at the dusky hour of 7pm, the valley on the far side was in total shade. Beneath us was the large Estany Major surrounded by the rock of its bowl and natural dam, excepting of course where the outlet had found a weakness.

  An hourquette in the steep crest led us down to this lake, which we traveresed to the north before coming out onto the dam; here we gained a good view of three more lakes and the tiny silvery refuge. Voici! Did ever 200m of descent take so long, and what a shame we had so little time to enjoy it; for the sandstone rock here was a delightful marmalade orange, handsomely striated and sculpted with cream laminations! Many route variants led deviously through a maze of glacial domes and bulges cut by fissures and ravines. Temptation would have had us descend to keep company with the lakes, but the best path stayed high till the very last; when, having passed the lakes we looked right down onto the refuge.

  Even then, the path-finding did not ease, remaining devious. I remember a particular well-worn corner which led us to a slanting foot traverse, well lubricated by a seepage; it was also made harder by the weight of our packs pulling us off backwards. The very last obstacle was the outlet from the last lake, which had cut a deep groove into the rock; here we had to climb down and straddle across to gain the far bank, which arose in similar rounded tiers to finally gain the refuge.

  It was approx 8pm and quite gloomy as we entered the refuge, solidly built and fastened down with steel cables. We first opened a heavy steel door and then an inner wooden door to reveal the furnishings; narrow bunks stacked four high, a work surface, and a table with stools. Best of all, it had been soaking in the sun all day and remained warm; what a welcome at the end of another trying day! We soon discovered candles and had hot food in preparation. Karen_comments

  Having eaten and written diaries, we speculated on the following stage, and reflected on the day just gone. Despite the evidence of (scant) passage throughout this day, it had a real wilderness feel to it. Totally different to that of the Isil stage which was nearer the tree-line, this was a convoluted passage through cliffs, lakes and screes which felt austere as well as lonely. For the second day running, we met no-one else en-route. Outside, the wind was rising, accompanied by a 5mB drop in atmospheric pressure; tomorrow might bring poorer weather, but for now we enjoyed the security within that cosy cabin, knowing that it had been built to withstand any storm.