When Mountain Forecasts Get It Wrong and Gas Stoves Quit
Three day mountain trek turns chaotic when weather forecasts promise light drizzle but deliver thunderstorms and hail. A hiking adventure, pink camouflage tents, no coffee and running for the car.
We Had a Plan (It Didn’t Work Out)
We had a plan involving a 3-day, 2-night trek into the mountains southwest of the spectacular spire of the Pic du Midi d’Ossau, a rather good-looking peak. We’d been at its feet the week before on a day hike to Refuge Pombie. During that ascent, we’d admired the beautiful, quiet terrain to our left forming the border between France and Spain. It looked peaceful and serene. It was, with the benefit of hindsight, a trap lying in wait.
Deliberating over a map, I had concluded that heading west from Col de Portalet, south of the Pic, would lead us into an interesting area of mountains, ridges, and lakes with many camping options. There was no real target, we’d leave the specifics in the lap of the gods. Bold strategy. This turned out to be both correct and utterly meaningless.
Before setting off, we consulted five major weather websites including WindGuru, AEMET, and Mountain Forecast. They all agreed: generally fine, clouds building in the afternoon, chance of some light precipitation (~0.5–1ml/hr), and just maybe some localised thunderstorms. We told ourselves we could cope, packed our bags, and proceeded as though meteorology is an exact science.
We started early, parking in France just below the border at Col de Portalet. Everyone else was aiming for the popular Refuge Pombie, so we had the accompanying valley to ourselves. Morning sunlight cast soft rays and sharp shadows on green grasses approaching the Col de Houer (2,250m). Sounds of running water, occasional marmot chirps, and the constant crowing of Red-billed and Alpine choughs accompanied us. It was a serene and beautiful journey up towards the mountain ridge with the spectacular bulk of the Pic du Midi d’Ossau to our right. We were enjoying ourselves, taking our time, photographing or simply sitting around and taking in the atmosphere.
Starting point
below the Col de Portalet
Slopes leading up to
the Col du Houer
Crossing
snow slopes, Pic du Midi d’Ossau behind
Crossing Col de Houer, snow appeared around the lonely Lac de Houer. Plenty of camping opportunities here, but it was still early, so we pressed on toward Col d’Astu. Feeling good, we bypassed the ridge line to the east, traversing to the border pass of Col des Moines. I’d have loved to continue to Lac Bersau, but clouds were beginning to build. By then, we’d already had a cracking day. The inviting Spanish lake of Ibon de Escalar sat to our left, so we dropped down to camp there for the night.
The border at the Col des
Moines
Kiersten arriving
at the Ibon de Escalar
The infamous pink tent!
So far, all had gone well. But like most things mountain-related, once conditions begin deteriorating, they really do go belly-up. First casualty: the gas. Despite temperatures comfortably exceeding 15°C, the stove refused to ignite. No coffee. No soup. No evening meal. Excellent. The prospect of forcing even more energy bars down our necks for the next two days suddenly lost its appeal.
And those clouds that were “building”? Well, they’d built. And built some more. They were now dark, threatening, and clearly had designs on ruining our evening. Another couple at the far side of the lake pitched their tent, and despite it not yet being 7pm, we took their cue and followed suit. Smart move. As soon as we erected our “camouflaged,” inconspicuous bright pink tent, which stood out like a sore thumb among the grey rocks, raindrops began falling. Nature appreciated irony that day.
We huddled together as peals of thunder rolled across the mountainside. Rain intensified, and minutes later we were trapped in a full-blown lightning and thunderstorm. Inside the tent lit up with each flash; thunder reverberated like someone banging pots behind the walls. Rain turned to hail, drumming incessantly on the tent fabric. A lovely lullaby.
This wasn’t exactly the “light precipitation and just maybe some localised thunderstorms” we’d been promised. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you view sudden terror, we happened to be positioned above a Spanish winter ski resort, so internet reception existed. Naturally, this confirmed we were smack-dab in the centre of a massive storm system. Yes, we were already aware of that, thank you very much. The storm raged for two hours. Nearby towns reported 30ml of rain per hour. Eventually it dissipated enough for us to settle down to a coffee-less, soup-less, entirely tasteless dinner consisting solely of energy bars. Delicious.
Screenshot taken at the height of the storm. Guess where we
are?
Next morning, we rose, packed swiftly, and started up toward Col d’Audas. I’d harboured this fanciful notion of tackling the high-level ridge bordering Ibon de Escalar. Twenty minutes in, it became clear the route ahead would involve hands-on-rock scrambling. Reminded me of parts of the Skye Ridge, except we weren’t equipped for such endeavours. Our gear included relatively bulky packs, large cameras, and absolutely no safety rope. Back to the lake we went. Pride doesn’t keep you alive.
Early morning
arrivals at the Ibon de Escalar
Arrival at the Col
d’Audas
At the lake, we checked the weather again. Basically identical message: “light precipitation and just maybe some localised thunderstorms.” Well, the clouds were already building and it wasn’t yet midday. We weren’t prepared for another stormy, foodless night outdoors. So we ignored the forecast and elected to evacuate. Taking the quicker route back via Col d’Astu through Ibon de Truchas (spoiler: never saw a trout!), we hurriedly recrossed Col de Houer and hurtled down the grassy slopes toward the car, leaving other hapless hikers in our wake. Olympic sprinters, we are not, but fast downhill trotters we were becoming.
The impressive Pic du
Midi d’Ossau
Traversing back to the
Col du Houer
Just one kilometre from the car, we felt the first raindrops and heard distant thunder. Nearly running at this point, we reached the welcome sanctuary of the vehicle, slightly wet but not soaked through. Upon arriving back at our Panticosa accommodation, the storm resumed full force, because of course it did.
“Light precipitation and just maybe some localised thunderstorms.” Oh yeah, definitely.