The Big Walk

Running dry – Day 43

Not a good night’s sleep: we hadn’t checked the ground under the tent very well and some rocks seemed to embed themselves in my back during the night. I’m only using a half-length foam pad to sleep on, to save weight, and am already jealous of Helen’s comfy inflatable thermarest pad.

Tracks through the forest begin our day. The forest of Irati is one of the largest in Europe and is very beautiful. Unlike the monotonous monoculture of Britain’s ‘Forest Enterprise’, the forestry operations here are a model of sustainability, with a mix of all kinds of natural species, especially beech and none of the regimented rows of planting – there’s plenty of room for wildlife. Most importantly of all, workers with their chainsaws are carrying out selective felling; there are no ugly clear-cut areas so familiar from home. Over the long term such balanced forestry yields more timber as the soil isn’t stripped of its fertility in a mad rush for immediate maximum yields.

There’s a reservoir here but very little fresh water; we have to fill our bottles from the tiniest of trickling springs before we begin a long climb through the trees – and the heat. Soon I’ve stripped off my t-shirt to get more ventilation but considering the steepness and the temperature I think we’ve done well to break through above the tree-line and arrive at the 1400 metre Paso de las Alforjas col. Here, there’s a great view back over the endless forested hills but more inspiring is the view ahead to the still-distant High Pyrenees – a jagged outline the like of which we’ve not seen before on our journey. We laze in the sunshine at the top of the pass whilst cooking our lunch and drying out the (condensation-soaked) tent. The grass is decorated with hundreds of star-shaped purple merendera –stalkless flowers which grow almost flat to the ground.

We’ve drank all our water and lazed here too long, for as we set off for the long descent we already have thumping headaches. It takes all our concentration to keep to the right line. By the time we reach a beautiful ermita church, still high in the forest, we’re terribly dehydrated and very relieved to find a tap . One more steep descent through the trees and we arrive in Ochagavia.

Ochagavia is a stunning chocolate-box village of whitewashed stone houses, their balconies overflowing with geraniums; narrow, immaculate cobbled streets; a templar church and a crystal-clear river. We can’t appreciate it at the moment though, as we wonder like rabid dogs from one casa rural (Navarrese bed-and-breakfasts) to the next – there may be twenty five of them here but all seem to be full. It’s Friday night and it seems this is the popular retreat for Pamplonians escaping from the continuing chaos of San Fermin. Just as it seems we’ll have to give up we find a lady with a room free. Entering through the high-arched door we’re led into the inner hallway, cobbled in a striking star-shaped design, and up the dark wood staircase into the beautiful family home above. After showering our grime away we collapse on our bed until it’s time to go out for dinner.