Unfinished business

You may remember back in September a blog post called “Back with a bit of a travelogue” where I promised a number of future offerings or as I called them in the blog post things to “look out for ~ lof’s!”?  Well this is one of them!

I’m going to take you back to the Costa Brava in early spring sunshine in March of this year, when Fergus (the dog in case you’ve missed that event!) was a mere 7 months old and I had just turned 58 and was realising that as the days and weeks went past, Fergus was not only growing rapidly and getting bigger than his puppy paws would have led us to believe, but he was also needing an increasing amount of exercise, increasing at a similarly alarming rate to his size!  This unfortunately coincided with me having a few problems with my legs and feet, nothing serious just a combination of lack of decent length walks and not getting any younger.  I know that 58 isn’t that old, but as I read somewhere the other day, you know that you’re not getting any younger, when you can’t stand up quietly, and I certainly seemed to have got to the early groaning stage.  Since realising this I now, not always very successfully, try to jump up effortlessly and above all quietly, after all as they say, you’re as old as you feel.

But, more seriously, I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to give Fergus enough exercise as he certainly had more energy than me.  Fortunately, he runs like the wind and can even on the dullest of days still find a shadow to chase, thinking it’s another dog that wants to play, and regularly covers several times more than I do on our twice daily walks.

Well, north of the caravan site we were staying at, was a large expanse of relatively flat, just slightly undulating landscape, backed in the far distance by the peaks of the eastern Pyrenees still snow covered at this early part of the year.  Then, tantalisingly in the middle distance was a small rocky ridge, rising to a castle topped peak in the middle, a veritable mini-mountain rising steeply from the surrounding plain just begging to be climbed.  At the foot of the mountain closest to our campsite, was a small town the environs of which could be seen climbing tentatively up the lower slopes, before the landscape became too steep and too rough for development to creep any further, and it was the roads that similarly crept part way up the mountainside that finally persuaded me that a good walk, up part of the mountain – perhaps to the saddle that dipped between the castle topped peak and the next peak – ought at least to be attempted, despite my slightly dodgy legs and the dogs still developing legs!  So off we set in the car across the plain and after a couple of wrong turns managed to find somewhere to park, just below the now rather daunting-looking climb to the saddle, having got this close the scale of the climb had become all too apparent.  A surprisingly flat path headed away from the car park, but all too quickly started zigzagging up the rapidly increasing slope, before getting to the rather alarming looking final near vertical scramble up to the saddle, but having come this far we had to at least try to get some of the way and gain enough height to enjoy the view spread out below.  Armed with camera, water, some sustenance for us both and I have to admit, at least on my part, something of a faint heart we hit the trail and quickly reached the zigzags and gained height at an amazing rate, it felt great to be in “them there hills” again and experience once more the speed with which you can find yourself ascending a mountain, with the landscape quickly dropping away below your feet.

It was very hot and I started worrying about whether I had enough water for the both of us, but Fergus seemed less concerned darting in and out of the scrubby undergrowth without a care in the world, until a group of young hippies came towards us with a number of large dogs, one particularly snarling and fearsome looking, causing Fergus to now worry and hide behind me with an almost audible “Daddy, save me!”  But as with all such dogs they quickly came to heel and we were once more able to concentrate on the climb and reaching the saddle, on which there appeared to be some sort of monument or large waymark, which as we passed the second small bothy like building and got to the final ascent, it became apparent it was a cross, hopefully not commemorating the demise of the last “mad dog and Englishman” who had ventured out in the mid afternoon sun and tried to climb the mountain.

Amazingly, despite the heat and thankful that we weren’t the only ones making the climb, we were still going well and half way up the final scramble, got in conversation, in French, with a Spanish couple who lived in the town below, who were bemoaning the economic situation in Spain and wondering, somewhat tongue in cheek, whether I thought they could get a job in England, and could maybe even help a little to get them on the employment ladder!  They realised then that as I actually lived in France, the best laid plans were somewhat thwarted and we parted with a laugh and a cheery “au revoir, bon après midi, bon continuation ....” as now seems to be the norm, certainly in France – none of this quick bye, a wave of the hand and off you stride.

Still chuckling about the earlier informal job interview, we were suddenly there at the saddle, standing next to the cross, with the rest of the mountain still towering above us:

We then exchanged something of a meaningful glance at each other, Fergus and I that is, and perhaps both feeling better than we had anticipated, mutually decided to go for the top, even though it was obvious that after a short grassy slope, the path then zigzagged its way through a barren rock field!  The going wasn’t easy, particularly on two feet, and it was apparent a number of times that tender age wasn’t holding Fergus back, and several times he stopped a level or two above me as if to say, come on what’s holding you up!

We then had another conversation with a French couple, this time in English, who were on the way down and did what people the world over do in situations like this; they lied and said not much further now!  And, funnily enough on the way down I did the self same thing to another couple puffing their way up through the rough boulder field!!  But eventually, and after quite a bit further, we crested the top, admired the view, read a plaque about the unfinished castle at the top, inside of which we found a shady spot to sit and rest contemplating, for me at least, the effect that the descent might have on my knees, but above all we both had that real sense of achievement, of actually standing on top of this little part of the world.  A first for Fergus, doesn’t he look proud, and proof perhaps for me that there were still mountains to be climbed!

We made it down, quite uneventfully, and both arrived back at the caravan, babbling excitedly – we made it, we did it, we climbed a mountain!!  Maybe the castle on the top is unfinished, but perhaps not my “climbing” days, maybe I can give the dog a run for his money – I must point out  with this last statement that euphoria was slightly clouding my judgement, as confirmed earlier today, when Fergus put up a hare and gave it quite a run for its money!  Indeed, at one point I had visions of hare on the menu tomorrow!!

And, whilst thinking of tomorrow, more importantly the next day, although not quite as raring to go as Fergus, I was fit and well enough for the hill behind the campsite, well it was merely a blip in comparison with the previous day, but it still felt good, and below, the view from the previous day’s summit, is one of the reasons why it would be a shame not to climb the odd mountain or two in the future and if the going gets too tough, Fergus is now big and strong enough to pull me up some of the way!!