'Collect advantage after yesterday's penalty; have a good lie-in!' We were still dozing as 'gaucho' cries of the cattle herders drifted up from the valley below. We rose slowly and shared an apple while regarding the ever-loftier mountains to the east; the bulky Sommet d'Occabe and more distantly the talon of Pic d'Orhy were both visible, both on route over the next three days. It was 11am before we left camp, confident that we had only a short stage to Egergui, but first we were obliged to step aside to let the Urculu horses come by.

  One sleek chestnut pelt complemented by jet black mane and tail; another beige with nut-brown hair, or even sandy golden with blonde hair, and many variants in between. Exuding obvious sex appeal, stallions with rippling muscles lead their harems of mares and foals in wild canters around the Tour d'Urculu, which they had probably completed several times before we broke camp. This unique encounter on the trek begged a vision of a long forgotten epoch before the horse was tamed and subdued, when horse herds roamed autonomous of human mastery.

  Within 3km we were halted again for a proper breakfast; not muesli or porridge as preference would have ruled, but tapioca and prunes. Rather too much like lumpy wallpaper paste and a devil of a job to clean up after, unless mixed 4:1; totally unpalatable without salt! This meal occasioned a quick fret over our needs and dwindling stocks; anything could happen before our next point de ravitaillement and we might be cutting it a bit fine. It wasn't just the food either; available sources would be useless if we ran out of gas. We could attempt to carry more in future but just two days ago we had not well suffered maximally loaded packs; what to do? Refuge meals would help out; perhaps we could benefit from Ref Egergui this very night.

  A track through the wood led us to the Col d'Orgambede (968m) where we had a parting encounter with the Urculu horses gathered around a water hole. Most of the herd were intent on drinking but one frisky colt was splashing and nipping; perhaps he was trying to 'up' his rank, or maybe it was all just horse-play . We struck off onto the short-cropped grassy hills to the east. In this direction a deep valley blocked our passage through to Col d'Erozoaté; the question was, whether to take the re-ascent or circum-navigate? We decided on the latter, believing that a short cut would allow us to miss out the col itself.

  What a marvellous tranquil day in such pleasant but lonely surrounds! Was it something I ate lastnight or the vision of stallions warding their harems? I know not but something stirred my instincts and so I set about convincing Karen; a perfect open-air setting to re-establish our matrimonial bonds! Not a mutually shared view; she never actually said 'No', but that what she wanted was to arrive and set up camp good and early that night. Historically the answer-apparent has in fact been that female decorum does not concur with male boldness (and this, in consideration of a most improbable audience); so alas, we must hide our exploits within walls, shutters and curtains, we must be civilised!

  Shoulders were shrugged and the journey resumed, but I did feel that splitting anti-reaction which would carry me off to the domain of greater control, epitomised by a decade of bachelor living. This trek was very much an experiment, for my wrestle with complexity once relegated emotional needs to basement level, and previous trekking experiences have been very much a solo affair, like the rest of life. Un-reciprocated interest is no new phenomena to deal with, but all is simpler if nothing ventured; easier just to travel at your own pace. Now, I teeter in this brave balancing act which calls for enduring maintenance, give and take. It yields different satisfactions which I would not easily trade, but there will come again that impulse to cut the flesh of comfort down to bare bone, and see what I can do without. The open road might be indulged for a week or even a month, but the vagabond's cloak is too tight for my frame, and that leaves me susceptible to the cold.

  We completed our horse-shoe deviation past the gully head where vultures skimmed in low on a long glide from the south, to puzzle at stunted hawthorns which had been chewed ragged by the beasts. Then to take a big descent steeply towards the river. This part was reminiscent of a Welsh hill farm, complete with its barking dogs in the scruffy farmyard. One of them with mad-glazed eyes and froth-flecked chops came out to challenge, and I remain convinced that had I fled, it would have sunk its teeth into me; a firm rebuke did the trick, but I would have been happier with a big stick in hand!

  Then some road walking, and dissappointment. The refuge at Egergui was boarded up, green shutters closed with no sign of life and no winter quarters. As this was the first refuge on our route, we were a little shaken. Karen mis-trusted my inspection; she slipped off through the nettles and under the barbed wire to see for herself, but it was no use. We could have camped right there, but the sun would soon evidently fall behind high hills, so we moved on northwards; we were not out of energy, but altered expectations were a problem! (In fact the status of this refuge is noted in recent information; Egergui was never a true mountain refuge, but a youth hostel of sorts).

  Higher upstream we found ample grassy spaces in the bounds of a scattered hamlet. A little too close for comfort actually, so I nominated a reluctant Karen to talk to the locals; she would have been keener if she had known which language to address them in. French and Spanish she could cope with, but hardly the ancient Euzkarien! A shouted dialogue brought results in Spanish and we were re-assurred of our choice which would benefit from the late sun. This we enjoyed while preparing rice and mackerel; two big mushrooms made for a valuable supplement. The presence of some cheeky chickens scouting out victuals raised no concern, but the advent of a pair of great sows was much two much. Our gesticulations were eventually noticed from afar by the owners who called their beasts home. Karen_comments

  At last the day cooled, darkness fell, and we settled down for a quiet night. Not so quick; the hens and pigs were in for the night but not the cows. Some of them browsed their way into such proximity that the sound of their snorting and ruminating alone would have kept us from sleep; but that, even without their bells clonking monotonously! 'Just stay cool' I said to Karen, 'they'll get fed up and move on'. We lost a good hours sleep depending on this philosophy, before I ran out of the tent in my undies, brandishing Karen's trekking poles. The poor surprised beasts quickly relocated; they meant no ill, and I felt guilty at intruding into what was surely their territory.