There will be sunshine after rain ... At this point of the trek, we were past the worst of the weather; we never again walked through the miserable conditions experienced during the previous stage. We yet had to tread much snow underfoot, brace ourselves against gale-force winds, and endure some rain, but were never again forced to retreat. Today travelling east, we were to leave behind the last 3000m peak; Pic d'Estats (3143m) was the objective of the prattling poker-dice players who departed early, well stocked with generous provisions. They would need plenty of energy to mount the 1200m to the summit, and keep up the flow of banter!

  The sunshine didn't return first thing in that stage though, the front had left opaque sheets of high-level cloud, so when we got walking at 8:30am it was dull. We barely shared a word with other refuge visitors; this had not been a friendly encounter and we were glad to move on. Yellow spot balisage assisted us in our eastwards progress and we rose by gentle gradients on a grassy hillside before meeting the snowline at 2400m. On the west side of the port, the snow was crisp and firm, forcing us to detour steeper gradients and stamp hard into the shallower ones; snow on the east side was softer but often patchy and hence avoidable. Karen_comments

  I waited for Karen at the Port de Bouet (2509m); Voici! we had been at odds that morning and preferred to keep our own space at such times. The port was however our appointed breakfast spot and meals generally united us; it had to be thus, for we each carried different components of the foodstock. We were saved any contention during the meal; its not so easy to dispute with a full mouth!

  The outlook down the upper Soulcem valley with its broad pistes was not particularly inspiring, but had we known what to look for, the valley offers un-paralleled prehistoric richness; it is a veritable museum of famous orrhys, shepherds cabins and countersunk dwellings. Several regions of the chain present distinct structure styles; the toues south of Bagnerre de Bigorre, the cuyalas of the Bearn, the olhas in the Basque country, and the chozas in Aragon. Here in the Mounicou valley, some of the most elaborate orrhys comprise a central chamber with smaller units set around. The styles of all regions comprise a roof structure without wood, and capped with sod; a cliff sometimes provides a ready-made rear wall. It was on the approach to Ref Mariailles that I became better acquinted with the an orrhy, on the flanks of Canigou.

  The way led down past lakes, Etang de Souceranne where we dropped below the snow-line and Lac de Médécourbe nestling beneath its like-named peak of 2914m; then to arrive at the piste via a 'trod', steep and devious at times. There at the piste the high-level cloud finally thinned out, so we paused to celebrate the return of the sun. I commenced the stage with damp socks and boots, and though they had already dried some, this halt completed the process as I exposed them to direct sunlight. The switchbacks of the broad piste then helped us to gain height before a sentier once again led through craggy outcrops up to Port del Rat (2540m). Another halt en-route enabled me to dry out my Thermarest; normality returned bit by bit.

  On approaching the Port del Rat we heard children in joyous mood, and saw them with parents, playing in the snow. These were casual walkers and we knew again that we must be nearing a thoroughfare. The view down onto the ski-station with tow systems and access roads confirmed this; barely 200m below us, folks were pottering around on Sunday outings. For a couple of kilometres, our petite sentier deferred joining these mere tourists; then we very much wished for their company, preferably in the comfort of a car, 'Please!' We had no intention of walking down the boring tarmac highway, four lanes wide; there was actually a footpath in the axe of the valley, but with cranes and concrete formworks it looked more like a chantier than a sentier.

  The traffic was not frequent, and we cut watchfully past several switchbacks before a beat-up old blue Renault4 pulled up for us. I recalled seeing this earlier, the slouched passenger pulling the door to, after it had burst open at speed. Now, our closer encounter told me that at least one of them was recovering from 'the night before'. Their car was not in remarkably better shape, and definitely not recovering! The brakes screached frightfully approaching every bend while the suspension creaked and groaned. Our benefactors had little wish to converse, but seemed to confirm that good weather was forecast, before depositing us by the side-road signed for Sorteny.

  The lift was especially welcome as we were missing out the suggested destination of El Serrat and thus extending the stage a little. We had good supplies on-board, and there seemed little point in losing precious height to call at the village. A little further, we left the tarmac once more, passing cars parked up by the visitors centre. This facility was notable among recent stages; along with the superior signing, it was evidence that the Andorran walker is better cared for. We nevertheless found ourselves bush-wacking within the hour, but I humbly take the blame; I was trying to outwit an over-stated switchback!

  The way led to a another small carpark with its set of green wheely bins, from where we could see the refuge, only 100m distant. We arrived there before 5:30pm, fulfilling long pursued desire to bask in the evening sun at day's end. That we did after a quick inspection of the facilities. The building was created and maintained jointly for hikers and shepherds. Basic but well maintained, it is one of about 30 non-guarded refuges in Andorra; it comprised: metal-grille bunkbeds (but no mattresses), a huge fireplace, metal table and chairs, and a composting toilet. So, it could not easily succumb to vandalism, but was spoiled a little by the accumulation of litter, even though the bins awaited just 100m downhill.

  We envisaged a cold night in this building and did consider camping outside, but there was little flat ground; the pastures around about did not seem so attractive, being dominated by cow-pats and the beast which had produced them. So after our humble pasta cook-up, we settled into the bunks, which did not of course allow us to share body warmth. I later awoke and sacrificed a thermal fleece from my pillow; it did much better service around my chest, but I was still unable to maintain toasty warmth, and slept fitfully.