The ascent of Petit Vignemale
The ascent of Petit Vignemale At first I am reluctant to take the teleferique but as it will save us the drudgery of 200 metres of steep ascent with heavy sacks I resolve to compromise my ideals. The short trip up proceeds without mechanical event and after a level walk on a good track we arrive at the small hotellerie situated on the northern shore of Lac de Gaube. We stop here for coffee and gaze at the aqua green waters of the lake, this is a popular spot for day trippers and it can be crowded but we are early and have it to ourselves. The head of the valley is still a cauldron of frothing cloud and only during intermittent clearings do we catch sight of Vignemale and her satellite peaks. They are still about half a day’s walk form here and only partly seen but they leave an impression of seriousness. As the morning progresses the weather improves and our spirits lift with the clouds. A well-trodden path gains height easily as it climbs towards the upper valley beside a sparkling torrent. The pine trees, flowering shrubs and lush verdant vegetation of the lower valley are soon behind us and now we pass through boulder strewn alpine meadows that offer several excellent sites for tomorrow nights wild camp. Camping is something I view with mixed emotions but somehow I always manage to entertain the prospect of it with an air of optimism and given my personal experience this is difficult to understand. Midges and insects in general are something you expect to endure and with a degree of discipline the worst of it can be contained to bouts of minor unpleasantness. A comfortable nights sleep is not something I readily anticipate in a tent and over a prolonged period this can easily become a test of endurance but again temporary insomnia is bearable. Food is perhaps the only thing that improves with time where camping is concerned and this is only because hunger precludes the discerning palate. That only leaves the unexpected and by it’s very nature there is little you can do about that. Vignemale is one of the great peaks of the Pyrenees and when we arrive at the Refuge Oulettes de Gaube situated on the flat glacial plain beneath the mountain, the monolithic grandeur of its north face comes into full and startling view. Soaring rock pillars rise directly from the glacier to the sky and they command the horizon ahead of us. The mountain has four main summits and our objective Petit Vignemale is definitely the least impressive of these. That doesn’t bother me, I want to reach the summit and if getting there proves to be little more than a high mountain walk I’ll be happy enough with that. The afternoon is whiled away lazily basking in the warm sunshine, reading our books and gazing at the view that now dominates our world. This Refuge is much smaller than Wallon and the staff younger and more Bohemian in their outlook. I can’t swear to it but I am sure my nostrils detected the faint aroma of exotic herbs in the air. The liveliest among the current residents are a party of Spanish lads. They have camped at the bivouac area to escape the snoring of the communal dorms and I take this is an ill omen for the coming night. At dinner an older French woman takes a shine to Anna and the two have an involved conversation while her husband and I smile at each other benevolently. The sun goes down quickly and then the bowl of Vignemale's glacial plain is quickly filled with billowing cloud and mist rising from the valleys. Visibility is reduced to a few yards in a matter of minutes and when the party of Spanish dudes head off to their tents I really don’t envy them. The poor bastards could be wandering out there all night if they aren’t careful. The snoring within the claustrophobic confines of our dorm is truly abominable and sleep proves impossible. In the desolate despair of my insomnia I find myself longing for the morning and the quiet privacy of our much-maligned horrendous Hobbit. The minutes seem like hours and the night an eternity. When the first glimmer of dawn filters through the small window I greet it with silent relief and immediately spring into action. The first stage of the route to Petit Vignemale is a steady climb of about 2,000 feet to the Hourquette d’Ossoue. There is a path all the way up and conveniently it begins right outside the door of the refuge. We set off early this time and our mood is determined. At first the path rises in a gentle traverse above the glacial plain of Vignemale and then all too soon for me it begins to zig-zag up the mountainside gaining height quickly. We stop at a junction of trails for a cup of tea and I spot the Spanish lads heading up towards us. One of them has a furry duck strapped to the top of his sack and they look like they’d be fun to be with. Greetings are duly exchanged and I am pleased to see they’re going our way. From here the left-hand path climbs to the Col d’Arraille, while the main one we’re on continues through a region of boulders and glacial debris. We can see the Petit Vignemale directly ahead of us now and to our left a chain of small copper-sulphate blue lacs look inviting in the early morning sunshine. My eyes are being continually drawn to the Vignemale’s grander summits but I know they are beyond my limited ability. The Spanish lads are making quick progress and they drag us on behind them and after a couple of hours we are all on the Hourquette d’Ossoue together. The lads want to know where we come from, one of them has a little English but unfortunately we have no Spanish and our conversation is mostly limited to sign language and broad smiles. We still have a 1000 feet of height gain to reach the summit and I am glad that the four Matadors and their furry toy will be joining us. We follow in their wake happy to let the exuberance of youth lead the way to the summit. The big drops off Petit Vignemale’s North face lurking to our right make the route feel more serious than it is and we give them a wide berth. The ground is scraggy and strewn with stone and this makes for tough going and the altitude is also becoming a real factor now. At a rocky shoulder we had mistakenly taken for the top, we dump our sacks and then contemplate the sting in the tail. Until now the route has been a hands in pocket affair and confidence has reigned supreme. The final section will require an easy scramble on a narrow and exposed ridge. The Spanish lads are already resident on the tiny summit and it looks to be a crowded spot with little room to accommodate us. We make our way towards them exercising great care and with the sweet thrill of certain success and the encouragement of our new friends we easily overcome the airy exposure of this short traverse of the gods and then we are on the summit of Petit Vignemale. The position is dramatic and very exposed. Directly across from us we are confronted by the great buttress of Pointe Chausenque and rising just behind it the main summit of Vignemale itself. The Refuge Oulettes du Gaube is now a tiny distant speck far below us and beyond that a blanket of white cloud covers the rest of France. To the south we have an incredible view of the peaks rising above Garvenie and the rocky cleft of the Breche de Roland is clearly visible in the skyline. Beneath us the white expanse of the glacier d’Ossoue is busy with ant-like parties of climbers heading up on the trade route to the summit of Vignemale. The intrepid matadors ask me to take a photograph of them with their furry duck and I am happy to oblige. Anna is normally content to delegate responsibility for photographic composition to me but now she suddenly suggests I take a picture of her with the boys in the background. For comic effect I should ensure the soft toy is clearly visible. Mountain girl reckons this will make a good picture for my book and she may well be right but is that her only motive? One of the boys has the looks of Antonio Banderas and I can see the attraction myself but should I indulge her fancy? Alas when I compose my shot the cute one is inexplicably hidden behind my central subject. The other three and their duck are nicely framed and Anna does looks suitably triumphant. We make a leisurely descent and even so the early afternoon finds us established at perhaps the ideal camping site. There are no insects, we are close to a babbling stream, the ground is flat and soft and mountains surround us on all sides. From the porch of the horrendous hobbit we have a truly stunning view of Vignemale and although our little mountain is still the least impressive peak in the group, we are buzzing with the high of having just climbed it. ‘What’s on the dinner menu then?’ ‘ Cheesy pasta and stale bread.’ ‘ Is that all we have?’ ‘ Afraid so- we do have Cappuccino though. I found a sachet lurking in the dark depths of my sack.’ ‘ Any tobacco left?’ ‘ Not much down to the last dregs. Think I might try stopping again. Persistence has to pay off in the end.’ ‘ Can’t you wait until the holiday’s over?’ ‘ I guess so.’ The night is cold and the hobbit as cramped as ever but these are minor concerns and our success on the Petit Vignemale, has erased the disappointment of our failure to summit Grande Fache.
Contributed by: David Meldrum
< Back to France page for links to other storiesComments
Join Walking Stories for free to comment on this story. Have an account already? Log in to comment.
