Paüls to Caro – Right Tough It Wa! (second blog today)

During the night the sickness came back over me, and as the day arrived I had slept fitfully. Couple pain with Gary’s snoring then one doesn’t sleep overmuch. It’s like Gary is fighting a bear. He roars and rolls strange vowels.

After Gary fighting many bears, and considerable pain to myself, I gave up on sleep. We slipped up to a cafe cum mini supermarket that made unlovable sandwiches and we ate half of what they produced for us.

Then we took off, inadequately fuelled.

It took us a while to find the way into the mountains. It wasn’t easy and it was the steepest and longest climb we had done on all our trips.

The horizons multiplied as we climbed and we climbed, oh how we climbed, we climbed and we climbed, to take Tiger Mountain. Thanks Brian.

It took us three hours to climb to the top. The paths were poor and the signage was rubbish. I downloaded my GPX track from a website set up by a Yankee boy called Frank Revelo, who has walked extensively in Spain. We sometimes check that we’re keeping en route with Frank. He walked the whole of the GR7. I messaged him on his website to thank him for inspiring me to walk the full length of Spain. Never answered me. American. Not like my mate Will Lovell. He’s a good lad.

On this occasion, as yesterday, Frank didn’t follow the GR7. Can’t blame him. It’s not easy to follow. But that knackered the Garmin. No signal for the iPad and the paper maps were not great. Gary didn’t have a clue either. Jesus! I may as well have come walking with a chimp. At least chimps are bright enough not to support Leeds sodding United.

However, Gary is a gracious lad who fetches beers when I’m blogging, whereas chimps only fetch Typhoo tea. He’s a trekking keeper.

We asked an old man in an olive grove the best route but I couldn’t understand what he said, albeit enthusiastically, and then his teeth fell out.

At the end of the climb there is usually a good view lighting the way forward. This one didn’t disappoint.

We were gasping when we got there, but the sense of elation on reaching the summit was well earned.

Then we dropped down over the far side, buzzing because we’d broken its back. And then we bumped into a weirdo and his dog. You don’t see anyone up here on these tracks. Unless they’re weird. Like me and Gazebo.

Told us that we had covered five miles, and that we had a further eleven miles to go to Caro, which he estimated would take us five to six hours. We treated this information with the contempt that it didn’t deserve. What does he know, silly old flag? Lots.

This was long and hard, up and down and in my mountains’ chambers.

It was clear after four hours of slog that we were behind again on this one. How come I can’t estimate completion times on walks like this?

Underfoot the path was full of pebbles and, on occasions, boulders. It hurts the soles of your feet after a while. However, Gary and I are from Yorkshire. Leaving aside Scotland, we are the hardiest folk in the British Isles, which puts us among the hardiest folk in the Western world, so we stepped forward bravely and strongly.

And finally found our Refugi just before darkness fell.

Maria Jose, the excellent manager, cooked us great food and looked after us well.

Night night.