We awoke to an overcast sky and the gusts of a chill wind; no rain now, but it had tried during the night and we feared more, the atmospheric pressure had fallen yet again. I put off arising thinking of those damp boots, but rallied by 8am as Karen threatened to beat me to it. Just a few minutes walk brought us out by the lake and the Grand Chalet; a rather ugly square-cut building, its five stories enough to offer lodgings to hordes in the season. It stood vacant now, and the only life near the dam was the grazing horses. The long cold walk across the dam added nothing to my enthusiasm, and it was too cold even to stop and stare at the crossbills which boldly ornamented the firs, in plain view.

  On the east side of the dam, we found a French-speaking human, who offered neither warmth nor food. It was not his job to do this, and he was otherwise unhelpful when we asked about the weather forecast. A little further, we discovered small but secure winter quarters out the back of the Barrage Bouillouses refuge. We could have had a cosy fire here lastnight, had we known, but then we would have missed our moonlight blessing. 'But why not make good use of the refuge now?' Karen asked. We settled in for an early breakfast, but couldn't justify building a fire; we must substitute by wrapping legs in the grey army blankets which sadly could do nothing for my feet.

  It was 11am by the time we resumed the route and we were in danger of frittering away another short day. After 200m a bridge invited us to escape the tarmac; a bridge crossing a most significant river, the Tet, which flows from the Bouillouses dam. This is the first river of the trek to flow northwards into France and then turn east towards the Mediterranean. Within 10km of here, the Aude also rises to collect its tributaries eastwards. Right there stomping my cold feet on the bridge, I remained unsure of this Mediterranean connection; perhaps it would materialise soon enough.

  The route passing wooded lakes was tranquil; just the right sort of environment for teeming wildlife but we saw little, rather hearing it escape just ahead of our footsteps; even the trilling titmice stayed out of view in the tree-tops. A few willows contrasted yellow foliage with the ubiquitous pines around the reedy lake shore. I crept up to each new lake with binoculars ready, Estanys Reco, LLarg, Negre and Pradelle, to ask myself the same question each time; 'but where are all the ducks?' Only stillness. Then the stage lost credit as we joined the GR10; a broad stony track, shut in by the plantation, occasionally crossing a ski piste. At least on a stage like this, it was easy for us to match guidebook timings and the tedium would soon pass.

  In the short term, the threatening drizzle did nothing to help, and I trudged on with cold hands; even my feet still failed to warm up. Karen was ahead of me yet again; it must have been something other than the vitamin C which she had now shared with me. She was getting fitter and tougher, while I was getting softer; how my shoulders ached! What I needed after yesterday's epic was a rest day; 'perhaps we should take one at Eyne', I suggested. Karen thought not; she had some notion that we might again be trapped in by a snowfall, and wished us on to a speedy finish. The weather forecast must decide for us, we agreed.

  Emerging from the trees, we looked out over the southbound streams which join the Segre; along with the Tet, this river breaks the continuity of the chain in these parts with a wide valley. Road-signs pointed out the presence of ski towns with proud futuristic titles: Pyrénées 2000, SuperBolquére, and across the valley, Eyne 2600. We were not interested in these silent ghettos and turned away towards the humble Bolquére where we hoped to re-supply. No luck; not 'out of season' on this occasion, but 'out of working hours'; lunchbreak right through till 4pm! Our next mission was to find a phone booth. A cold wind rattled the door as I stood to attention in the cramped space while Karen decoded a meteo message. I couldn't blame her for needing a second try, using up valuable phonecard units; its hard enough to understand the lingo face to face. She replaced the reciever.
  'Well?' I prompted.
  'I'm still not certain but I think ...', not a good start 'that today's front will pass, then we have three or four days of good weather before terrible storms ...'
  'Really?' I was suspicious; she'd no doubt fixed it to suit her own designs! It was too much of a coincidence that we had just four days trekking to get past the next range.

  Whatever, it changed nothing for our immediate needs, and unthinkable to hang around in the cold, so we walked out to the main road at Col de la Perche (1581m) and stuck our thumbs out. The first car stopped for us, the two young chaps were going right through Saillagouse, and yes, there was a shop and a bakery there. One of them had been cycling on Skye, and the other had been to London. They dropped us near the tourist information office, and we expressed profound gratitude. We were still early for opening hours here, a good excuse to indulge in another tisane de menthe in a warm bar. The pastries looked tempting but would they satisfy? Outside the rain had started, the heavy drenching kind.

  We raced between the cashpoint, the bakers, and the grocery store before making phone calls and visiting the tourist information office. The latter confirmed Karen's earlier translation from the meteo call and confounded my suspicions. We booked a night at Ref Mariailles next to Pic de Canigou but had less luck with the Mines Batére gite d'étape where a young woman responded to Karen's requests. 'Yes, we have room but can't supply any meals'.
  'That's fine, we'll just have two beds then, thanks'
  'Actually, the weather forecast for the next five days is very poor, el roto ...'
  'Thankyou, but we've already checked the weather, and we're coming!'
  'Actually, I've just checked the books and we expect a large party for three nights over the wkd. so can't take any bookings ...' This conversation didn't quite gel; no matter we would just have to camp. It made no difference to our food logisitics anyway, but what was el roto ?

  Back on the road, we stuck our thumbs out pessimistically, hitching luck couldn't visit us twice in one day could it? Besides, we weren't just heading back along the main road now; no, we must brave the rain and tarmac soon. It wasn't the first car which stopped this time, but the wait was well re-paid; the woman knew the proprietor of the gite we were headed for and deviated to drop us right outside the front door! She explained her interest in our trek, having done much walking in the mountains herself. 'Thankyou Ma'am'.

  I had had doubts about the gite's value at 13 Euros per head, but as we settled in to its homely and tasteful furnishings, my pessimism was once again proven misplaced. A large bedroom with double bed (and sheets!), an en-suite bathroom with copious hot water and a large common living room with an open hearth, all assured the worth of our pennies. As the building was set on slopes open to the west, there was a scenic outlook back to the mountains; the village church was set on a terrace a little below the level of our bedroom window, from where the twin apex design tower was in view. For once, we were early enough in the day to make good use of the gite's comforts; damp boots came off and feet finally warmed up in fetching logs for the fire. The blaze would help us dry boots and socks out; hopefully not too un-sociable an act for other guests! Karen_comments

  They were a French couple with babe and a German couple who had just come from the Med. These last gave us a compelling report of the weather experienced just the day before; t-shirt weather outside at 9pm in Prades. 'Great news, we'll be glad to have some of that!' We exchanged further news of refuges and gites while relaxing by the fire. The proprietor's black and ginger cats joined us in the lounge too; they might not notice the characterful creaking floor-boards or oak beams. They might make use of the antique rocking-chair, but these apart they did certainly appreciate gazing into the reddening embers on the hearth, just as we did.