Pyrenees (v) Port de Ratera

Written by Lucy Brzoska

It was cold at nearly 2,600m, but there were plenty of grassy hollows and boulders to shelter from the wind. The Port de Ratera was created when ice overflowed from the Ratera basin into the Saboredo. This colossal polishing has created a natural resting place, appreciated by walkers, whether approaching via the scree slopes from the Refugio d’Amitges, or climbing up from Val d’Aran.

The route from the Sant Maurici lake, the GR 11, rises in a series of giant steps, a typical pattern of glacial erosion in hard granitic rock. For the walker this translates as tough slogs interspersed with welcome respites.

On one of these pauses, among still water and scattered rocks, a herd of chamois (Rupicapra pyrenaica) were foraging, a group of females and young. Separated from the rest, one of the adults came bounding past, hooves thudding as it circled the valley.

The renewed silence was broken by a piercing whistle, as if a referee had just stopped play. The first time I ever heard a marmot’s warning call, I was sure it was a bird. One tone warns of raptors and another of danger on the ground. The Pyrenean marmots didn’t survive the last ice age, but were re-introduced in 1948, and have been burrowing there extensively ever since. They are Europe’s largest and perhaps shaggiest rodents, preferring to stay underground on hot days, as well as hibernating throughout winter. This upright marmot was on lookout duty.

Black redstarts were ubiquitous at all levels, from the streets of Espot to the top of the pass. They’re also a familiar sight at sea level, visiting Barcelona in winter. Other birds I saw that day were rock bunting, wheatear and alpine accentor, and a solitary mallard in the Estanyet de Port de Ratera.

Near the pass I found Globe-headed rampion (Phyteuma hemisphaericum), which grows in the highest reaches of the park, up to 3,000m, thriving in thin sandy soils. Starry saxifrage (Saxifraga stellaris) was in flower by a stream.

Another resilient high altitude species is the Mountain pine (Pinus uncinata). One grows near the pass, braced against the prevailing north-west wind. Another, on the south side of Els Encantats at 2,700m, is a candidate for the highest tree of Spain. Bark blending into stone, they are capable of growing out of a fissured rock.

Pyrenees (iii): Two-legged and hoofless

Written by Lucy Brzoska

On my second attempt to walk to the Port de Ratera, I took the GR 11, which goes directly there and beyond. It takes you round the Estany (lake) de Ratera, with its marshy grass and hairy Bog cotton (eriophorum angustifolium).

Further up, the path narrows, and you reach the Estany de les Obagues de Ratera (the Lake on the dark side of the Ratera). Red and white poles stop you getting lost, so the map could’ve stayed folded, but once open, a tempting alternative materialised, leading away from the GR 11 up to some tiny lakes. The contrast with the previous day was brutal. The way was marked by cairns, to guide you over an avalanche of rocks. Going became a little easier as the path crept along a narrow strip of grass skirting a vertical wall. There were traces of chamois everywhere. What took me half an hour of awkward balancing they could skip across in 3 minutes. There was no sign of any lakes.

I reached an outcrop of Mountain pines (Pinus uncinata) and sat in their shade, as if for protection. Unsoftened by vegetation or water, this was the harsh side of the mountains. The dead silence was broken by the cawing of a raven. Back at the Estany de Obagues de Ratera, I noticed a round white spot in a crevice: a dipper (Cinclus cinclus). Scouting around the streams I found some late pink and white orchids (see discussion on forum). There were also Field gentians (Gentianella campestris), discrete but welcome flowers at the end of summer. Small details, but very reassuring after the stark wilderness higher up.

This time I kept to the GR 11, but in the other direction. Instead of taking one of the jeep taxis that wait on the hour at the Sant Maurici lake, I walked back to Espot. The path follows the sunny side of the Escrita river, through meadows and tunnels of hazlenut trees. The dark side is covered by a thick mass of uniform fir forest haunted by capercaillies. The setting sun escaped from the clouds, lighting up the valley and the leaf flurries shed by silver birches. Long shadows were cast eastwards towards the mountains of Andorra.

Pyrenees (i) Espot – stone, slate and wood

Written by Lucy Brzoska

There’s an air of expectation about the village of Espot. Hikers are shouldering their packs. The main drag is lined with jeep taxis, ready to run people as far as the Sant Maurici lake. No sooner had I arrived, I was longing to be off, up the long Escrita valley, to the lakes and high peaks.

For Espot is essentially a place for practicalities, somewhere to find food and a bed: a good base for exploring the Aigüestortes and Sant Maurici National Park. It was only after three days, when a storm chased me down early from the heights, that I went to look around.

The river Escrita runs west to east and divides the village into Espot Solau (sunny) and Espot Obago (shady). The Solau is the flatter side- it’s where the wealthier villagers established their homes in the past. There’s the usual smattering of cranes as apartments go up. A new complex advertises “the privilege of living in the Solau”. You too can have your place in the sun.

But there’s still a meadow, recently mowed, and the old slate roofs have rustied over with a moss that glows mustard yellow in the sun.

Over on the shady side, the houses shelter close together on steep and narrow streets. Cats slip through gaps under wooden doors. Near the top, sheep were bleating inside a barn. Stone, slate and wood, and the occasional boulder, are the building materials.

After the downpour, children, supervised by their grandmothers, were back out playing, and birds had resumed their activities. In Espot Solau, there was a constant traffic of swallows flying in and out of a half-restored barn. A bunch of young Crag martins (Ptyonoprogne rupestris) perched on the end of a wooden beam.

They exercised their wings, took short flights and begged – off each other as much as their parents.