May 3
May 3rd
Mont d'Olmes
The snowy peaks called me up today. At 3 o'clock, I walked up to a peak of 1950 meters and looked down at the ski slopes and across at the flat clouds at my eye level. Before me across a valley were Pyrenees Mountains of France as well as possibly Spain and/or Andorra. It took only an hour and half from the American Village camp site including several breaks as I would sit on my coat and catch my breathe. After the first half hour, I took off my coat for I worked up enough body heat and I was walking in 5 degree celcius weather. At the base of the ski slopes and the snowy mountain, the snow was thin, icy, and easy to walk over. Sometimes I would hit an icy patch and I would walk goose-toed (is that the right term?) with my heels in to give me better traction. Half way up, the snow got thicker. My bad planning and lack of proper materials resulted in me soon wearing wet jeans over thermals and thick socks. The quickly melting snow on the top wetted my legs but never to the point of being too cold. I always kept moving.
At times, I took a break to make a snow angel or a 'Jeff was here' etch in the thick snow. I would stop and listen and only hear the wind coming from the bottom of the slope, birds in bare trees to the west, and the quiet drip of snow melting off of the rocky formation also to the west and combining with more water to make the stream flowing fast down the mountain.
I would talk to myself without fear of odd looks of strangers or whatever. I talked for motivation or to be funny. I said once, as the peak approached, ''alright Jeff you're almost there and then you're hoo-whoa-ome free.'' I whoaed because I had taken another step with my right, put it down in the shin-deep snow and lifted my left foor only to almost fall backwards.
Staring down, lifting foot after foot, on inclines occasionaly using my gloved hands as well, I saw a tiny bug crawling on the top of the snow.
Once, I saw a curious bush over to my left so I wanted to go over and see it. As I drew near, my left leg fell to where the snow was up to my thighs. I calmly kicked the snow away from over my left with my right. But then I stepped with my right and sunk in again. ''Away from me treacherous plant!'' I cried as I rolled away back to my up-hill path.
I was following a previous hiker's footsteps, who obviously had carried skies to the top where I was going. He had had gigantic snowboots on and my shoes fell through the melting snow where his stayed above the compact snow. His ski tracks wound down from the 'Pic du Han' my destination. I'm guessing 'Pic' means 'Peak' so it means Peak of Han or maybe Han's Peak.
I thought about settling and going up one of the rock formations to the West, that is my right while climbing, my left when facing the start of my journey. But when near the top, snow up to my legs, I stared down at those rock formations, stared out at the green plains that bow before the majestic mountains I stood on. But I was vrey curious about the view from the crack in the mountain range I was headed for. I was not headed for the highest peak in view of the AmVil camp site; I was headed for the smallest. Pic du Han was right beside where I went. I suppose I did not even reach that. I eventually arrived at the spot where two peaks converged and made a small pass, where the ski lift stopped.
I stood and looked out across the Pyrenees. I was surprised to see a tiny village at the bottom of the mountains on this side. The mountain range stretched from the left to the right as far as I could see- which wasn't much for the sli slope mountains curved slightly but I know they could have gone as far as I could see if I could have seen them.
The trip down the mountain slope was faster. I tried to slide down on a taped up plastic bag that kids were using last week... but it did not work exactly as I hoped. I was too heavy up here in the thick snow. Down at the bottom, it worked perfectly. Up here, my velocity moved me down a steep sloop but it quickly brought a tiny little avalanche ahead of me. My body pushed the snow ahead of me which continued on after I stopped. I stopped but the snow continued some forty feet down the steep slope before it died out. I smiled a giddy mischievious smile and said ' I doubt they (the ski resort owners) would appreciate me continueing like this.' Walking down proved easier so I started jogging. Stopping resulted in me sliding which was great fun so I had a brilliant idea. I tried to stand on my folded up plastic bag/sled like a snowboard but almost faceplanted. When I reached the icy path where I had to goose-toe it up, I put the plastic bag/sled down and slid down a great distance successfully.
From there, it was an easy walk back. I picked up the note I left explaining that I had taken a walk up the mountain and instructions to send in the Marines if I did not return by the tile it was dark. I then went up to my hotel room and enjoyed a nice hot shower.
Mont d'Olmes
The snowy peaks called me up today. At 3 o'clock, I walked up to a peak of 1950 meters and looked down at the ski slopes and across at the flat clouds at my eye level. Before me across a valley were Pyrenees Mountains of France as well as possibly Spain and/or Andorra. It took only an hour and half from the American Village camp site including several breaks as I would sit on my coat and catch my breathe. After the first half hour, I took off my coat for I worked up enough body heat and I was walking in 5 degree celcius weather. At the base of the ski slopes and the snowy mountain, the snow was thin, icy, and easy to walk over. Sometimes I would hit an icy patch and I would walk goose-toed (is that the right term?) with my heels in to give me better traction. Half way up, the snow got thicker. My bad planning and lack of proper materials resulted in me soon wearing wet jeans over thermals and thick socks. The quickly melting snow on the top wetted my legs but never to the point of being too cold. I always kept moving.
At times, I took a break to make a snow angel or a 'Jeff was here' etch in the thick snow. I would stop and listen and only hear the wind coming from the bottom of the slope, birds in bare trees to the west, and the quiet drip of snow melting off of the rocky formation also to the west and combining with more water to make the stream flowing fast down the mountain.
I would talk to myself without fear of odd looks of strangers or whatever. I talked for motivation or to be funny. I said once, as the peak approached, ''alright Jeff you're almost there and then you're hoo-whoa-ome free.'' I whoaed because I had taken another step with my right, put it down in the shin-deep snow and lifted my left foor only to almost fall backwards.
Staring down, lifting foot after foot, on inclines occasionaly using my gloved hands as well, I saw a tiny bug crawling on the top of the snow.
Once, I saw a curious bush over to my left so I wanted to go over and see it. As I drew near, my left leg fell to where the snow was up to my thighs. I calmly kicked the snow away from over my left with my right. But then I stepped with my right and sunk in again. ''Away from me treacherous plant!'' I cried as I rolled away back to my up-hill path.
I was following a previous hiker's footsteps, who obviously had carried skies to the top where I was going. He had had gigantic snowboots on and my shoes fell through the melting snow where his stayed above the compact snow. His ski tracks wound down from the 'Pic du Han' my destination. I'm guessing 'Pic' means 'Peak' so it means Peak of Han or maybe Han's Peak.
I thought about settling and going up one of the rock formations to the West, that is my right while climbing, my left when facing the start of my journey. But when near the top, snow up to my legs, I stared down at those rock formations, stared out at the green plains that bow before the majestic mountains I stood on. But I was vrey curious about the view from the crack in the mountain range I was headed for. I was not headed for the highest peak in view of the AmVil camp site; I was headed for the smallest. Pic du Han was right beside where I went. I suppose I did not even reach that. I eventually arrived at the spot where two peaks converged and made a small pass, where the ski lift stopped.
I stood and looked out across the Pyrenees. I was surprised to see a tiny village at the bottom of the mountains on this side. The mountain range stretched from the left to the right as far as I could see- which wasn't much for the sli slope mountains curved slightly but I know they could have gone as far as I could see if I could have seen them.
The trip down the mountain slope was faster. I tried to slide down on a taped up plastic bag that kids were using last week... but it did not work exactly as I hoped. I was too heavy up here in the thick snow. Down at the bottom, it worked perfectly. Up here, my velocity moved me down a steep sloop but it quickly brought a tiny little avalanche ahead of me. My body pushed the snow ahead of me which continued on after I stopped. I stopped but the snow continued some forty feet down the steep slope before it died out. I smiled a giddy mischievious smile and said ' I doubt they (the ski resort owners) would appreciate me continueing like this.' Walking down proved easier so I started jogging. Stopping resulted in me sliding which was great fun so I had a brilliant idea. I tried to stand on my folded up plastic bag/sled like a snowboard but almost faceplanted. When I reached the icy path where I had to goose-toe it up, I put the plastic bag/sled down and slid down a great distance successfully.
From there, it was an easy walk back. I picked up the note I left explaining that I had taken a walk up the mountain and instructions to send in the Marines if I did not return by the tile it was dark. I then went up to my hotel room and enjoyed a nice hot shower.
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