Pyrenees (v) Port de Ratera

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 (iv) Els Encantats

Presiding over the Sant Maurici lake, this vast two-peaked monolith is omnipresent in local hikes – a yardstick to measure how far you’ve walked and how high you’ve reached.

In the legend of Els Encantats, two hunters were enticed onto the mountain by the biggest chamois they’d ever seen, and then blasted by lightening for daring to mock the good villagers at mass in Sant Maurici’s chapel. Their fossilised remains, two splinters of rock, can be seen between the peaks.

Everywhere there are bleached, twisted wrecks of trees, another reminder of the dangers of lightning. With afternoon storms forecast, I didn’t aim to go far. The day had started misty and still, but seemingly from nowhere, waves of wind began searing through the crags. Suddenly the sky was an electric blue, and my hands were frozen. Clouds were surging past, and over the shoulders of Els Encantats a cumulo-nimbus was rising. Enhancing the vividness of the moment, a stunning tangerine-coloured butterfly was browsing at the shore of the Sant Maurici lake: a Scarce copper (Lycaena virgaureae).

I climbed up to a spot protected from the wind, with the whole majestic block of Els Encantats in view – from the peaks, with the doomed hunters inbetween, to the creamy-white glaciar in its belly button – a vestige of the 400m-deep glacier that once filled the Escrita valley.

I could see silver glitter racing across the Estany de Sant Maurici in the valley bottom, the water a deep turquoise compared to the dark blue of higher lakes, which lack sediments, minerals and algae. I was watching a flock of crossbills prise open pine cones but the sky beyond the great mountain was now the darkest blue – time to go.