I arose once during the night gone, cursing a necessity to leave my cosy pit. Outside the air was cool but the wind had dropped and I traded annoyance for the peace of the inky lakes and the beauty of the starry heavens watching over all. I could not see Ursa Major, but Orion, Casseiopea and Taurus were all present against the backcloth of the Milky Way. Nothing threatened that peace; no sound of traffic or even plane, no glow of reflected streetlamps and no yowling tomcat or barking dog. I stared, wondered, and was absorbed, accepted by the Great Unconscious; for just a little while, I was ...

  With no shops or telephones to distract us today, we were up for a serene sunrise which revealed the cresent of Lac de Llavera below; Voici! the refuge bathed in its weak rosy glow, which lent a tint of optimism to the day's start. Voici! Very distantly however, a line of billowing blue-grey clouds signalled an advancing front; would this disrupt our schedule? Cairns to the north led us astray initially but then we re-read Véron which was concise; descent to the Lake Llavera. Definite passage there, and a sharp rocky switchback which had us scrambling across tricky ice flows; red balisage consistently led us down, now back to the southeast, following the Torrent del Bedo. It flowed in runnels carved from the same striated rock we had travelled yesterday; a feast for the eyes.

  The way soon descended into mixed woodlands presenting an autumnal spectrum, silver birch, hazel, maples, mountain ash and pines; could we ever tire of this? A breakfast spot pulled us over, and there we sat, surrounded by sun, light and colour to enjoy our biscuits, figs and nuts. The audible spectrum was also colourful with the twittering of little birds; tits, finches, and the goldcrest. Back on the track, we soon gained the passarelle at 1690m where the Rio Tavascan joins; there, the valley broadens and turns with a wider track.

  That wide track however, we were soon to leave, and the guide admonished us not to miss the ancien sentier. That found, we marched on keenly but were brought to a halt within 5min; a substantial new fence denied access, made with new birch logs and barbed wire. This was no casual sham built to contain a nervous cow, it was designed to bar human intruders; 'What to do?' Others had faced this dilemma and a deviation uphill looked promising, but skirting along by the fence we found no weakness and the path petered out. With some mis-givings, we climbed the fence and continued nervously; that was the sort of fence one associates with snapping dogs and loaded shotguns. It was otherwise a lovely ancient path which proved to be the correct choice as it brought us to Noarre. We approached this hamlet ready with humble apologies and explanations; 'No, we haven't damaged your fence at all ...' but not a soul stirred in that lovely hamlet, surrounded by its terraced birch meadows. Voici! Not a soul to either challenge us or pass the time of day with.

  'Uphill again, back into low gear'. Karen walked ahead and I fixed on her heels; 'If only she could walk a little quicker!' I mused. We followed more red balisage which drew us in toward a cascading river, then climbing next to and crossing it. Somewhere en-route a rather brash green balisage took over; it first appeared with the name Certasacan splashed on a rock, so we were convinced it was genuine. Later however, it led us to the day's second dilemma. After leaving the tree-line, we approached a cascade where the markers led up steeply on the LHS, in agreement with the map but contradicting Véron.

  We decided to stick with the balisage , if that were possible. The steep scramble was far from obvious and we lost and re-gained the infrequent markers several times, before they led us out on the cliff top giving sheer views back down to the marshy flats at the foot of the cascade. Voici! The markers now led us more reliably on easier terrain to pass by a string of pleasing lacquets, at first amongst the pines but then out in the open where we found ourselves exposed to a strong cool wind; that front is approaching. Leaving the last lake, we ascended a shallow and rather barren ravine which led us to the Col de Certescan (2605m), visible since the last lake. We wondered where Véron's route would have re-joined, as there was no evidence of any other thoroughfare.

  At the col we looked down onto the Lac de Certascan and numerous high ridges beyond; 'Somewhere out there awaits the Port de l'Artigue, I said as I took the binoculars out. It was invariably a useful exercise to study the following stage from a good vantage point; 'Yes, its all there' I exclaimed.
  'What's all there ?' Karen demanded.
  'The port and Les trois Brèches on the frontier ridge; we have to leave the three brèches to the left and will then find the port a bit further on! Perhaps we should just continue today to be sure we cross, we could always camp just on the far side'.
  This suggestion fell on deaf ears. The crux of the matter was that we had to cross this port in order to reach the agreed rendez-vous with Karen's parents, and the weather front was building. We were early in passage that day, but were moderately tired and it didn't really seem reasonable to continue into tomorrow's stage. I noted distinctly, a dread premonition that we would be denied access; 'no port stands open forever'.

  We set off down the steep brèche; as usual on steeper ground, I hung around attempting to guide Karen through any difficulties. She followed my advice for a couple of minutes before tiring and flaunting it; 'Very well then, I'll go on ahead if I'm not needed here!' I said and moved on. We did not see each other again until she had caught up with me at the refuge, 45min distant. The difficulties did not continue and the green balisage continued around the big lake, which I did not find especially attractive; it lay in an unsheltered situation and at 2240m was devoid of trees.

  Ref Certascan by contrast presented its interest, though it had none of the quaint character of the compact Enric Pujol. It was built from more traditional materials, with green shutters complementing its whitewashed walls. Its location could not have been better chosen; it was tucked into a ravine, surrounded by small crags and immense boulders which obligingly sheltered it from most winds. I prowled around, getting oriented, discovering the helipad and the path we would need on the morrow. As informed, the main part of the refuge was locked up, but steps at one end of the building led to the open winter quarters on the first floor. This comprised two rooms; a dorm with big bed shelves (plus mattreses and blankets) and a dining cum living room with stainless steel topped tables and benches. Both rooms had mains electricity lighting. Karen_comments

  These furnishings were clean and very practical, probably selected with fire risk in mind. Consideration of comfort however had obviously not been paramount and as the temperatures dropped outside, the metal surfaces sapped body heat efficiently, and that despite all of the dormitory blankets we attempted to cocoon ourselves in. We proclaimed it suitable to be a mortuary and retired early to warm up in our sleeping bags. By midnight the pressure had dropped 9mB and the front had arrived bringing heavy rain; perhaps we were due for a lie-in?