We awoke to the horns of a dilemma; Karen was in the grip of some malaise with mild headache, puffy face and red eyes. 'Perhaps we should hang out here for another day?' I suggested. The forecast favoured pressing on that day, but one thing remained sure; once started, we could not afford to rest sick at another location, as we would run out of food, and certainly couldn't afford to carry any in reserve. We were especially conscious of the grand haul over Pic d'Orhy.

  Half an hour and a herb tea passed by, and Karen concluded that she could proceed but pleaded for short days; this followed discussions in which I pushed for a speedier passage involving longer days. The 'suspicous me' now suggested that Karen's illness was merely a trick to ensure she got her own way. Karen_comments In what sense did I have a right to say that my choice and preference was better or even correct? Having started the trek, I wished for us to complete it and knew winter would catch up with us at some point; that was the urgency.

  The packing gathered momentum. This was not a day to be caught out in poor conditions; the knife-edge ridge of the peak would present its assaillants as perfect lightning conductors if a storm arose! We started out steeply through the beech woods, breaking out onto a low ridge just in time for a golden sunrise which insisted upon full attention. The ridge then continued in a sweeping arc, leading us visually and bodily towards the Pic. I was anxious; Karen does not have the best sense of balance, and I feared some crisis on the high steeps. This was one of a number of stages not reccomended for those with full rucsacs, but that is exactly what we had.

  My fears were compounded on arrival at an eroded gully where Karen froze; she must take out her trekking poles to deal with this hazard. Voici! Then, tip-toeing as if on thin ice, she passed with great delicacy; hardly the right course for this horse! The ground was not the most secure, but there was no precipice to fall over and we both had Vibram soles. My concern was that since this terrain slowed her down so much, perhaps more demanding terrain would cause terminal stress and stop her completely. Perhaps I should have held a concession on account of her malaise and anyway, she was coping with it in her own time. That however touched on a related fear, that my speed would now be useless to me in escaping extreme conditions, for I must always wait for Karen. I implored her to try bigger risks in a follow-my-leader style.

  Within an hour we came to a place where the Pic reared massively ahead, and it seemed like a good idea to replenish energy levels. The last ripe bananas had preserved well in our yoghurt pots, and helped the dry white bread go down. Then we stepped out with lighter loads. Not a day for shorts; a cold wind threatened to blow us off the ridge, where cap and gloves became essential. The shoulder narrowed and attained what seemed the steepest gradient possible while retaining a grass covering. Then that ran out and we were left only with limestone rocks of the super knife-edge Zazpigagn which appeared infranchissable. Indeed it was, but a bypass carried us delicately on steep screes by the north flank.

  This was no place to slip, we were reminded as vultures came soaring by; again too early in the day for thermals, they rode ridge-lift, affording us good views as they came up from below. The way continued steeply, with a precipice to the north and we were amazed to encounter horses grazing up there; Voici! perhaps these were the nimble pottoks. Behind me, Karen made slow but steady progress, and my anxiety slowly ebbed; at best there was little I could do for her except to shout encouragment. Karen_comments

  We topped out before midday, but had been beaten there by people arriving from the far side. This was a 'top of the world' position, and we enjoyed an extravagent ½hr taking photos and soaking in the ambience. Voici! Pic d'Orhy is very much a frontier summit; to the north the plains of France, to the south the undulating Spanish plateau, and to the east, the really big Pyrenean mountains. It seemed impossible that over there, the day's high point would commonly be well in excess of present altitude (2017m), but that we would then merely be on a col with the peaks still towering above us. So much still to come! Karen_comments

  The way off the Pic was also intimidating and Karen's progress slow, but it didn't matter so much now; the weather was holding and we were off the top. We passed the road at Port de Larrau (1573m) and continued on a broad grassy ridge with yet more shooting hides at 100m intervals; 'Those poor birds', I fretted. At least the ring ouzels hereabouts were thriving; too small a catch for the hunters attention. Traversing then onto the flanks of Gaztarrigagna we lost height to search out Ref Ardanne, which we at first confused with the shepherd's cabane. We were directed on past their massed flocks to a humble but rustic un-manned shelter with bunk shelves, a table and fireplace; there we settled in for a quiet evening save for bleating of the distant sheep. There was no wood to burn, but it was not so cold; we ate our rations and watched another pair of walkers enter the valley. One of them was limping; could our Swiss friend Madame have made it with such a tender foot?