There had to be a small disadvantage in having such interest in the outlook from our room; the village bells caused me to surface in the early morning, then drew me to the window. Perhaps our day should begin with this reveille? A weather check would decide; I looked out and saw the rime of frost and the mist which hung, thick and frozen. At the least, a delay would be beneficial in allowing the sunlight to get round to this west-facing slope and disperse it. The bells hushed after seven chimes, and I decided in agreement with them, the prospect of setting out was no longer a-peeling; perhaps Karen would even re-consider a rest day? I returned to bed.

  When I next awoke, Karen was up bright-eyed and bushy tailed, and busy packing; she urged me into action. Going to the window, she looked out just as the clock chimed 8am, and declared in agreement with the bells, 'The front has cleared and I think its quite a-peeling out there! Had I dreamed or was this deja-vu? It didn't really matter, as I could see how determined she was. I arose to deal with more corny problems, the tough skin of my battered feet. When were they going to get a proper rest? Perhaps she would allow us to rest in Amelie-les-Bains. Incidentally speaking of feet, problems with cold extremities had returned during the night, and the major draw-back to our luxury gite was, like my feet laid bare; the bed was 15cm too short for my frame!

  We relinquished comfort yet again to leave vapour trails in the frosty air. A short ascent out of the village gave us views back west. In the foreground, the broad valley slept on in sombre hue; the sky glowed a darkling azure and sandwiched in between, the mountain ranges stretched from west to north, illumined by a rosy sunrise. Voici! Somewhere in there was Mt Carlit; how could it not stand out from the rest, and how could we have left it so small on the horizon after just two day's walking? We picked up a sentier forestiére which led us into the shady woods, soon to discover the sprinkling of fresh snow.

  The snow revealed bootprints and our otherwise unseen 'fellows' on the route, the isards. The bootprints were fresh since the snow quit falling yesterday; why so many people out early in the day? The way continued through autumnal birches and rowans, mixed in with the firs which overshadowed the river in this classic well defined valley. Then the path broke free of the trees, first on the north bank, then on our south bank, and we mounted rocky steps where the valley kinked a little. The bootprint stampers and their fellows became apparent, returning one by one from a military exercise; army cadets or civilian reserves perhaps.

  The snow cover was more comprehensive here, but never too deep; not a problem so far, but ice-flows forced short detours. Ahead, we studiously awaited 'the last stream', being conscious of the extended forth-coming ridge walk without access to water. We identified it with aid from the altimeter, there to replenish our gourds and drink what we could before cold-aches in the throat obstructed swallowing. Then we struck off on a more southerly course to gain the ridge, with steeper and firmer un-avoidable snowfields to negotiate. Voici! At about 2400m the ice-axes came out once more to earn their passage and though we never used them either in anger or for labourious step-cutting, we would not have been happy without them this day.

  Col de Nuria (2683m) established us on the great ridge where we met sun and a stiff breeze. What a pleasure! it reminded me of a good winter outing in the English Lake district or Scotland, but on a grander scale; Pic d'Eyne (2786m) and Pic de Noufonts (2861m) passed pleasurably. We would have tramped virgin snow except for the passage of a fox which had gone before; what would it hunt at this altitude, or was it out for the walk like us? Perhaps it was pursuing the ptasty ptarmigan which had also left their prints. Astonishing to behold were the flocks of finches which arose and wheeled in formation before re-settling, to vanish into the rock-flecked snowfields when their wings folded. As they arose well ahead of our advance, I at first thought they were chaffinches, but it is the snowfinch which is denizen to the alpine level.

  Our proposed breakfast spot was in view, the stone-built abri at Col de Noufonts. Not that we wished to use the building itself, it was merely a stagepost to anchor upon. Inspection of it brought me into the full fury of a biting gale; a tiny door opened into this dingy 'coldbox', convincing me there was no comfort here, inside or out. I backed off, leaning into the blow and grabbing to tighten my collar as a flurry of icy spindrift discovered a breach in my defence. Karen was saved advancing further and we found calmer air below the col where we ate our bread, yoghurt and bananas to fuel onward progress. It was almost warm in the sun and the view was great, but sitting comfortably was out of the question. Heat loss from haunches was consistent and might alone have been tolerable, but the meal was hurried to a conclusion by the swirling rotors which projected icy spicules to a capricious routine.

  While eating, we heard voices and were amazed to see a couple top the col and approach the abri. Not that we considered ourselves to be the only ones worthy to share the mountains, but these folks had no hat or gloves, and generally appeared to be only slightly better dressed than tourists. They disputed something in Catalan, probably, which one of them had forgotten to pack the hats! 'They will soon be beaten back off the tops' I commented to Karen. We were both to be further astonished when they turned up at the refuge that evening, 1hr after our arrival; perhaps we were over-dressed!?

  The ridge led on in traverse Voici! of Fossa del Gegant (2801m) and Pics de la Vaca (2820m+), often on virgin snow, sometimes rocky; the parent limestone in this massif made for totally different scenery to the granite around Bouillouses. The summits often presented an iron cross, or humbler irons, piquets and poteaux, remnants from frontier fences. There was just a hint that the snow might actually be thinning, but this squeaky-dry mantle was a pleasure to walk upon; our feet stayed warm and dry. The superb views continued, Voici! snow capped peaks and deep corries to the north, while to the south, blue-grey layered horizons stretched deep into Spain. The sky was clear save for thinning frontal cloud; only the biting wind marred a little, but it was far from touching core temperatures, and added colour to our cheeks.

  As remote as we were from any media presentation, it was surprising to encounter a small 'commercial break' on the mountain 'screen'. Some amusing publicity for the Ref Comadevaca suggested keenness, or even desperation on the part of the warden. The freshly red painted writing made good use of a prominent boulder to state phone No. and arrows to point direction. 'Turn now for good food ...' it said, but no tarif was stated. As we had no mobile with which to investigate and in any case a schedule to keep, we did not bend to the invitation, and wondered how many folk (without mobile), would lose 800m altitude to visit this impromptu destination; it might turn out to be a rip off?!

  Soon after this, the balisage departed the ridge at Col de Tirapitz (2781m) and led us through the last snow-fields; 'Yes, they are definitely thinning out now ...'. Thinning but still icy. A very tall stranger had kindly left prints which had me lunging to profit from their widely spaced security, but Karen had to work even harder. I turned round distantly in time to see her leaping and slipping, in an act any circus would have been proud to present! 100m lower, we stopped by a stream to drink and put the axes away, their essential service over.

  Ahead, an obvious col beckoned to the south of the notable peak Gra de Fajol, but the balisage ascended northwards to gain Col de la Marana (2532m). From there we looked down on the tow systems of Vallter 2000 which crossed close to the refuge. We descended and crossed the piste, arriving to enjoy just 15min in the sun before it dissappeared behind Gra de Fajol. Ref Ulldeter was closed as expected, but the basement provided winter quarters; six bunk places (12 at a push!), a stone work surface, seats and a rusty 'turbo' wood-burning stove.

  I embarked contentedly on a wood-collecting mission which kept me warm for a good hour. Fallen wood was long since taken by other collectors, so I must snap dead but resilient branches from their resisting trunks; this was not without hazard. The trees were situated on steep slopes which I found myself rolling down on a few occasions as the trees took reprisal! The fire lighting process proved to be less entertaining with only scraps of card-board and pine-cones to start. It was hindered and complicated due to the stove design; how to access and light the fire after building the structure in this 'top-loader'? The lesson in frustration did produce one sure moral; short-cuts are not productive!

  Finally dampness was overcome and the kindling was rapidly consumed to send flames and smoke shooting up the chimney. As the outlet pipe exited up through the refuge above, I suddenly became concerned that the heat and fumes were being channeled correctly. Karen was mobilised and quickly reported that the only smoke to be seen outside was issuing from a chimney. 'Phew!' We kept that fire going right through till 10pm, and then there still remained a stack of wood for the next lucky visitors. Though the stove was designed in itself for efficiency its deployment had limits, for it emitted smoke as well as heat into the room. This demanded we open a door or window, which effectively cleared the air but stole our heat too!

  Our simple pasta and sardines slipped down quickly and we settled to dispute the route variants over the Canigou massif; this time, it was the old HRP guide which got us into trouble. An obvious shapely ridge stretching eastwards straightened out the wiggly GR10 which passed on the lower slopes. 'Go for interest!' I re-voiced my motto; Karen was suspicious.
  'What makes you think this ridge will go? she asked.
  'It was written up in the old HRP guide, I noted it ...'
  'Then why isn't it presented in the new guide?'
  'Hmm, I really don't know, but it can't be any harder than Carlit and you did so well on that!
  'Well I don't wish to repeat that experience, thankyou'.
  'Lets just see how it looks on the day, its unlikely to be snowy anyhow'.
  We retired to our bunks; there remained another full day to continue the discussion and that before we even set foot on the mountain. Karen_comments