Mount Fourcat? Not arf!

Last Friday, I got a phone call. Yes a pretty unusual event. It was my French family. Did I want to go for a short walk the next day as the weather was going to be good. I can do short walks, and I had enough food in to make myself a picnic, so I said yes. I also have shiny gold walking poles so I am very well equipped.


Saturday at 9:45 am we assembled and after stopping off at the Casino so that they could buy some bread and meat for their picnic, we set off in the direction of Tarrascon. Turning off the main road, we entered hairpin heaven. The single track road wound its way up the mountain and we eventually made it to the parking area. It was full, so we had to park at the side of the road.


The early morning chill had lifted and we set off, rucksacks on backs and me clutching my walking poles. We kicked our way along the crunchy path, beneath trees that had still to lose the last of their now golden leaves, examining the open pine cones scattered all over the path.


Hmmm this is getting a bit steep, I thought. We ploughed on up steep rock strewn, rutted tracks. Youngest child starts to moan. I’m too tired. There are tears. Much cajoling follows. We will soon be able to stop for lunch, its just over the next hill. They just don't make 8 year olds like they used to.


By the time we did stop, all three children were revolting. I had brought along a flask of hot water, and a jar of hot chocolate. This confirmed that I was completely barmy, but I had also brought along extra cups. The three children had a cup each, then two of them had another cup each, so I will never know if hot chocolate is a good thing after a long, hard climb. We all nestled into the undergrowth in a moderate, but not too cold wind.


All too soon it was time to set off again in an upward direction. Below us we could see the towns and villages of the region and the rivers snaking across the landscape. The sun was shining, the snow was glistening on the tops of the neighbouring Pyrenees mountains. As this was a short outing, the top couldn't be be much further?

The children started going on strike by sitting down and not moving. Threats of punishments to come were made while their father strode on in the distance.

I pointed out a patch of snow and interest was rekindled. Suddenly it was no hardship to travel hundreds of yards off-direction to get a closer look.

Eventually a much larger area of snow was found and C and the children stayed behind to “rest” whilst M and I headed for the top.

My legs were not happy and my knees were starting to complain, but M strode on and I followed more slowly in his wake with my now much lighter rucksack on my back.

We saw a shelter built of rocks with plastic sheeting for a roof and a good solid door. A shephard refuge? A mountain shelter? Across the path from that there was a long, low building with a green roof, which had people sitting outside in the sunshine.

We weren’t stopping to investigate. We kept on passing walkers coming downhill. A lady assured us that this was the last slope and then we would be at the top.

I should have taken her name and address. She lied!!!!

About half an hour later we did reach the top. It was bloody windy and we had the place to ourselves. Below us we could see a ski station on the slope of a neighbouring mountain.

We had conquered Mount Foucat! My usual walks have involved a rise in lever of around 300 metres. This walk involved 1000 metres. If only I had been giving this information before starting out......

Photographs were taken and we managed not to get blown off the peak.

Going back down was no fun. Yes, that dot on the left is me on the way down.

The legs and knees were really aching and the loose rocks and the rutted tracks were tiring and potentially dangerous. Interestingly we passed a man coming up accompanied by his dachsund!!???? Perhaps it had been a much taller dog with longer legs when they had set out.

20 minutes rejoined the rest of the family and continued down the mountain. I practiced swearing silently in English and wondering whether if I just sat down and refused to move, a helicopter would come and get me?

Some time later we split up, with the oldest 2 girls taking a path through the wood with their dad, while we took the flatter, but longer road route.

Some time later we spotted shadowy figures in the woods. They emerged carrying large, full, heavy plastic sacks of pine cones. The children like to throw them into the open fire in their living room, but it makes the inside of the chimney become covered in resiney soot.

The father ended up carrying 2 of the sacks, and I finally got landed with the third sack. Children!! No staying power.

Needless to say, it was a quick meal for me and then bed once we got back to town

Setting the pace

It continues to be the season of working longish hours to get work in and around the house completed.
However two weeks ago I took a Sunday off to go on a trip with my adopted French family.
At the end of my road there is a sign which indicates that there is a viewpoint called La tour Laffonte (I may have the spelling wrong). Of course there is no indication of how far away this is located.
We set off in the car, past my house and on up into them thar hills. Of course the road is twisty and turning. No white lines in the middle of the road of course, and just to up the degree of danger the road has been resurfaced by spraying it with tar and then dumping loads of white chippings on top, and presumably rolling them into the tar (but I doubt it). The result is a treacherous road surface covered in loose chippings, but ideal for people seeking the adventure of skidding vehicles or a broken windscreen thanks to the chippings.
We drive slowly and eventually reach our destination 20 minutes later.
What we have is some kind of stone shelter shaped a bit like a small church divided into 2 small rooms. This is a road which is closed to traffic for 4 or 5 months a year due to snowfall. The col de Peguere is at an altitude of 1375 metres.
Round the bend is a semicircular stone table with a ceramic top. This shows / names the outlines of the various Pyrenees Mountains and the locations of the villages.
There are already people clustered within the table’s circumference (I knew those hours of geometry would come in useful one day). They have no intention of moving anytime soon to let others benefit from the information. We will return later.
Our mission today is to climb to a higher location where there are 360 degree views.
We double back and start up a path through trees. Unfortunately the tree cover does not last long and we are soon out in the open at the hottest time of the day. And it is hot!
We set off at a cracking pace, and it is maintained. Surely the high bit in front is where we are headed for. Of course not. And there are many such wished for moments.
I am bathed in sweat by the time we reach our destination 45 minutes later. Cap du Carmil at 1617 metres. All that sweat to gain less than 300 metres in altitude.
On the way up we pass a farmer who is repairing his rickety electrified fence. Usually the hills have cattle and sheep on them. Once the fence is repaired the sheep will return to one side of the hill and the cattle to the other.
We flop down on the grass and take on more water and some food. When I take my little rucksack off, my shirt has turned into a gooey consistency turning the newly found cool breeze into a very uncomfortable icy experience.
On the journey I had been trying to find out if the children played games like
Eye-spy, but they don’t know it. On the hill though, a game which is obviously a family favourite is unveiled. The object is for one person to go behind group and change something about what they are wearing or how they look.
Bearing in mind that we are wearing trousers or shorts, shoes, socks, a top and a hat, with perhaps the odd shoulder bag. The first person to guess what the change is “wins” and it is their turn to be the changee. You might think that this could not last long. Wrong. It continues for a good half an hour, with a wrinkle in a sock here, a strand of hair moved there etc.
In front of us are the Pyrenees with some snow patches still glistening in the sunshine, behind us somewhere is our town. It is rather hazy, but we think that we can make out the castle’s three turrets.
The journey back down to the car takes half the time, and we arrive with no injuries back at the stone map.
After a spell there trying to work out what is where, we cross the road and start up another path towards the tower. Within 5 minutes we arrive at a short stubby tower, a bit like a broch, but without the level of fortification. There is no roof and some of the stonework looks rather precariously balanced.
Just below the tower, hidden in the trees, someone is asleep in a hammock strung between 2 trees. Of course we wake them up with our noise and chatter and then we move on.
When we reach home again, my legs have not lost their jelly-like consistency. I am not as fit as I thought I was, but in my defence I do have a cough that I cannot shake off.
I returned back to my flat and went straight for a recuperative siesta.

19 October 2008 Sunday - The autumn walk

I slept well last night. I look out of the window and in the direction that we are going, a low mist is covering the hills.
Breakfast tool of choice is a bowl. You can have cornflakes or yoghurt, then put tea, coffee or hot chocolate into your bowl and drink that. There is also bread and home made preserves. I try the peach and the prune.
Eventually we set off in convoy. I and another chap stop in Vicdessou (can’t remember the spelling) and get a lift in his lady friend’s car.
Then it is up the hairpin bendy road to Goulier where there is just room for us to park at the end. There are already lots of cars there. The road is wet and it is misty in the hills. I have put on my new walking boots. New as in not used before.
Compared with my new companions I am sadly underequipped. Quiet at the back there!!
The majority have at least one walking pole, many have two. I have none.

We set off walking up the road and most are well wrapped up against the damp, with bobbly hats in place. As we commence our walk upwards towards the ski station (where we will have our barbeque) we break through into sunshine. The autumn scenery is stunning with the trees in a variety of golds, reds, browns, greens etc. There are also the views of the mountains and the small villages nestling in them.
The “easy” climb is tough going, and there is not much talking going on as we pant and wheeze on our way.
After about 2 hours we reach our destination. We are not on top of the world, but we are quite high up.
The ski lift lies silent, its tow bars stored in piles on the ski refuge floor. Someone tells me that these slopes usually have snow in winter, but that because it doesn’t get the sun at that time of year due to its location, it is a very cold ski resort. I say resort, but in this case it means a refuge with a small snack bar (closed at the moment), and a single line ski tow.
Other members of the choir are there already, having driven up to the ski station.
Trestle tables and chairs appear from the refuge. A fire is lit and the aperitif food appears. Olives, dried sausages, nuts, nibbles, breads, etc etc. Do you want to try my home made black wine? Yes. It tastes a bit like sherry.
Once the fire is ready, huge coils of Toulouse sausage, ribs and other meats are cooked. Big pots of salad appear. The two hamburgers that I brought along lie cooked but untouched on the table.
Where is your plate? They ask. Now no-one mentioned the need to bring along a plate or cutlery. Someone lends me a spare plate, and I have a small folding knife/fork/spoon set with me.
I sample other wines and top up with a lot of orange juice. I should not be drinking orange juice, they say.
Then the sweets come out.
Now it is time to sing. I chat to Y who is a retired French lady who taught English.
There is no escape from the singing though, and I have to sing a Scottish song.
The singing goes on for ages, but it is all French songs that I do not know.
It is starting to get chilly by the time we head back down the mountain. It is tough on the old legs and my right boot starts to rub the front of my leg.
Back down at the car park I drink from the prehistoric spring, which still has two large stones standing upright to mark its place. Out come the trays of figs again.
Eventually we get back into our car. “Are you coming to the lac?” I know nothing of the lac. There is a café there and a lake. We are going to the lake because it is too early to go to the house of R in Sigeur. After the lake we go to R’s house to eat the remains of the food but they need time to get it ready.
So I get into JP’s car and off we go even higher this time perhaps. We certainly seem to be high. More hairpin bends and eventually we reach the café, which is closed of course. There is the lake. We wander around a bit. I find two huge mushrooms but my mushroom expert is nowhere to be found, so I leave them.
Next stop the small village of Sigeur. It turns out that the house is the holiday home of the gentlemen I spoke to at Goulier Neige. He lives in the next road to me, speaks English and was stationed at Dalcross and Lossiemouth during the war.
I am given some foiegras to try. I have a glass of orange juice in my hand and am told that it should be accompanied with white wine, not orange juice. But I will be driving, I say.
The night draws in and more food appears on the long table under the loggia. An open fire burns in the outside grate. Given the opportunity, I think that most French people could eat and drink all day. I can see it now.
Jean-Paul, the house is on fire. Quick grab the bread, the sausage and that nice Bordeaux that bought yesterday!

At around 10pm I make my excuses and leave. As we arrived a mobile police patrol stopped one of our number for a chat. He was carrying a box with bottles of wine in it, so I was half expecting them to be waiting further down the windy road to catch the revellers. Fortunately the road was quiet and not even a police patrol was in site.
Reached home with no problems. Well done satnav.
It has been an enjoyable weekend. It is always more difficult when you are not sure what exactly is happening next, but everyone has been very welcoming and friendly. I suspect that there are still a few who I haven’t spoken to, but that is probably because they think that I will not understand what they are saying and vice versa.