With the prospect of a short day ahead we allowed oursleves a lie in; by the end of which it was late enough to justify an extravagent breakfast which would make shoulder loading more tolerable in view of the wet tent; this held an accumulated ½kg of water after the night's rain. The wet vegetation at our feet did nothing to help loading up, and it was 11am before we got under way.

  Steep grassy tracks conducted us through the dripping bracken, and mist blocked the view. Muffled silence, clearing with the arrival of the sun which raised insect activity to its normal ambient hum, with whispering breezes as the first thermals stirred. 100m above our campsite, we found a flatter site next to a barn where Karen got an unexpected rest; the map was missing and I must backtrack to find it. A local man passed by and reminded us we were still in Spain with his greeting 'Buenos dias, buenos estas'.

  It was all hard work for some distance initially as we gained height on Otxasko, the shoulder to Sorolar peak; both part of the Burga mountain. The reprieve finally came at 800m as we crossed a fence onto a level path which entered a delightful coppice of slender beech trees. Here it was cool and the grey dappled trunks created a frieze of infinite depth in the dim light. Out of view overhead, a buzzard miewed, and cattle bells tinkled. The snap of brittle wood underfoot alarmed me; I felt that I should pass unseen and unheard, a tresspaser in a world apart.

  We finally broke clear to blink in the bright sunlight; it was then possible to study and distinguish the features of the route ahead. We must pass to the north of the hill Mizpirako Kaskoa and traverse the broad shoulder of Urruska mountain, before slipping back over the frontier northeast of Elokadi. Getting under way, some useful purple balisage marked the trail, but to where would it lead us? Being deep in the woods now, we had lost any vantage point, even in the clearings where bracken had been harvested. It had been built into rounded stacks, compressed around a sharpened stake, and Karen knew why; "its a 'dynamic accumulator', useful both as a mulching material and for animal bedding", she informed me crisply.

  An opening ahead revealed green fields around the casa rurale of Urruska; what an emerald hide-away! After only a few hours in the wilds, it was suddenly comforting to find a pocket of civilisation, and to study the order apparent in the potager and flower beds. From there a well appointed track led us out to the col Berdaritz Lepoa (685m) and fine views down into the valley of Les Aldudes with its pleated russet hills reminiscent of Shropshire's Long Mynd; Voici! Voici! we halted to enjoy this prospect and study the route down. Karen_comments


  It was here that I severed 'relations' with a certain curious fly; it had kept company benignly for so long, that I nicknamed it the Companion Fly, but it did raise a suspicion by always preferring to station itself on bare skin! Having gained my trust, this ked finally lost title and reputation after a stinging bite which revealed its true nature. We might have sat there longer, but the sting was a prompt which got us to our feet, joined with the prospect of rain; the ominous clouds were growing creamy cauliflower tops well into the stratosphere.

  Long slanting paths helped us loose 250m, finally passing through more woods before exiting onto a steep tarmac road right by the village. Only 4:30pm, we were early, but this advantage was set to nought by our tedious accomodation search; all proprietors absent until 6pm. In the village center, a hotel presented itself with hopeful tarif and menu, but we were told that the huge building was not presently staffed. 50m up the road a man leaning out of his house window spoke to us; 'You can use that field by the shop and garage; there is a washroom in the side of the building. Alternately, there is a Youth Hostel 200m along the road'. Karen peeked into the toilet facility to shake her head; 'No showers in there!'

  All a bit vague and tiresome searching around with a heavy sac cutting into your shoulders! We were further discouraged to be informed that the village shop would not open until tomorrow afternoon and that in fact this pattern was general to all of France. No Monday shopping added a new worrying factor to reckon into our logistics. All was not against us however, for our tramp through to the YHA brought hope; pinned to the hostel door was a note telling us to make phone contact, and a rendez-vous was subsequently fixed.

  As we dallied in desultory frame on the village road with not a soul in sight, our attention was taken by a distant but growing noise. A demonstration of Basque separatists perhaps or a car trailing its exhaust on the tarmac? No, a herd of lumbering buff-white cows, each with its own clonging bell suspended from broad wooden thong. We were not alone in taking interest as the quiet street houses now released their occupants to stare with us at the ponderous procession. No speed limit necessary for this traffic, and no atmospheric pollution either!

  About then, the storm caught up with us, and we retreated to shelter under church eaves in the square as the heavens opened. After 6pm we hurried through the rain for the Youth hostel rendez-vous which was encouraging. The young female warden was keen to try out her English, and showed us round the premises which seemed very well furnished, though oriented towards group use. No member's kitchen available, no prepared meals and no on-site shop. We pushed our way past interminable sprung fire doors which groaned like pining dogs, in order to check the dormitories and make sure there really were hot showers; done.

  We had always said that if we could just get to this rest point then confidence might be established, and having arrived, we reviewed our progress to date. Both of us had learned critical adjustments to boot lacing and rucsac harness which had improved comfort. My feet were sore but tolerable, shoulders aching. Karen was tired but in relaxed frame, evidenced by her 'tee-hee' laughter and snorting chuckle. Neither of us had any gripping ailments, and with the rest day ahead, it was a time for optomism; 4 days done, 39 to go!