‘I am a mountain lover because my body is at its best in the rarer air of the heights and communicates its elation to the mind.’ – Nan Shepherd, The Living Mountain.
Careful planning went into our Sunday tour of Les Lacs d’Ayous and several website searches had deemed it a great choice for trekkers with dogs. It soon became apparent, though, as we pulled into the starting car park at 9:30am below Lac de Bious Artigues and began to see bold ‘no dogs’ signage, that we were shouldering the Pyrenees National Park where dogs are indeed prohibited. The route we were planning was supposed to be on the regional park side thus allowing dogs. A little confused but sure of our research, we loaded our day packs with water, mandarins, bananas, and dog treats, locked the car and started out on 15-kilometer, five-and-a-half-hour circuit. The cloud were parting and the forecast was for a cracker spring day.
An easy twenty minutes up to Lac de Bious Artigues at 1422 metres, an artificial lake fed by the Gave de Bious and the streams of Mondeilhs, Aas de Bielle and Aule, where the walk truly begins. Here, the surrounding mountains and wooded edges reflect sharply in the striking green water. The adjacent carpark and small camping ground make for a popular site, and we passed a few eager campers tossing their fishing lines in. From the lake, there are many routes into the mountains, and we found ours well signed. The track continued to the left of the lake and into a forest of leafy conifers, weaving uphill gently past gushing streams and ancient rock formations. The trees, covered in new growth at this time of the year, make for a pleasantly cool stroll through the lush forest.
We came to a fork in the path at the magnificent Vallee de Bisous, sun rays piercing through and illuminating the grasses and wildflowers. A small footbridge offered a left-veering route over a fast-flowing stream and through the valley peppered with dignified snow-capped peaks in the distance. But this route would also take us through the heart of the Pyrenees National Park, and a prominent ‘dogs prohibited’ sign on the other side of the bridge forced us to reconsider. Disappointed - the verdant valley was incredibly luring – we accepted the necessity to adapt our route and took the right-hand path at the fork, which led us up a narrow, forested ascent. The kids chattering non-stop, a half hour later we arrived at our first break spot, a picturesque grassy plateau dotted with stones and daffodils. During the summer, you can expect to see horses, donkeys and sheep grazing these pastures, and we spotted a shepherd’s pastoral hut not yet open for the season. Towards the northeast lie the Pic de Ger (2613m) with Pic Lavigne (2018m) in the foreground. Our bellies satisfied with a small snack of mandarins and sips of water, we continued through a small section of spiny forest where many trees were lacking new leaf growth. Underfoot, we crunched onwards through the duff.
Daffodils covered the gasses to our left at the next opening giving way to views of the valley and snowcapped rocky peaks on the other side. I wanted to stop here to take in the remarkable 360-degree panorama, momentarily reflecting on the wise words of Nan Shepherd in her classic book The Living Mountain: ‘For attentive observation the body must be still.’ But thick clouds passing low overhead threatened otherwise pleasant skies and we had to continue our ascent through thick patches of dirt-stained snow to arrived at Lac Roumassot at 1845 meters.
Being the beginning of the spring walking season, we were not the only mountain lovers out enjoying the warmer weather. Lac Roumassot’s glacial waters provide a good habitat for fish and catch-and-release fishing is permitted here. There were families picnicking along the banks, trying their luck at a catch. A group of men packing down their camp site from the night before had tossed a net into the water, their Border Collie playing around the shallows beside it (perhaps discouraging the fish?). Sage noticed the dog and trotted off to sniff out a hello before returning to us with satisfied eyes then jumping in the water herself. Remy and I were pleased to see another dog on the trek as we were still not entirely confident about the rules. It would be a spectacular sight waking up in a tent lakeside to view the fringing snow-capped peaks. We made a note to come back here and camp overnight another time.
From here, the trek becomes more challenging. The path climbs towards the northwest, where a torrent coming from Lac du Miey has formed a mesmerizing waterfall to the left of the rocky ascent. Once up the short climb the snow patches are more profound, winter not having quite left the higher altitudes. We reach Lake Miey (1914m) and I am startled at the formations of the snow on the far bank, the mountain looked like it’s wearing a white pleated skirt. We lake was partly frozen, and our path wound on through wet snow, not great news for Ryder and Remy who lack good trekking shoes. Sage, not yet accustomed to snow, couldn’t help herself and began rolling around in the brown slush. I leashed her to traverse the more difficult section across the frozen plain, not trusting the snowpack after seeing gaping holes higher up the slope to our right. Luckily my boots – designed with snow grip soles - are half decent because with her excitement she pulled me like a sled down towards Le Grand Lac Gentau where we arrived in a flash at 1947 meters. As we approached the lake we bumped into a man unimpressed to find us on the trail with a dog, and though we debated that we were still in the regional park, he wasn’t satisfied and left a lingering feeling of doubt in my belly after he pressed on. Had we misunderstood the rules?
We choose a small grassy spot on the higher banks of the lake just before the Ayous Refuge hut and sat down for more snacks and water. Nearby, another group with a dog eased my nerves. The wind started picking up and the thick clouds seemed to have followed us so we decided it would be wise to keep our rest short considering we’d failed to pack warmer layers. But the clouds abruptly parted, giving us a good 30 minutes of rest and a chance to focus our views on the huge frozen lake that looked quite like an interpretation of the moon’s surface. Snow melts from just above the lake had begun to trickle downhill, forming a meter-wide snake of flowing water that fed the torrent we had passed earlier. We sat on rocks to save our bums from the spikey growth of alpine grass, birds tweeted and darted behind us.
If we wanted, we could have added another two hours and hiked the Pic D’Ayous, but we had already ruled this before departing considering it was my first walk back in the mountains since having uterine artery embolization surgery a month ago. Ryder had also discovered a hole in his shoe and another in his sock, exposing his big toe to the melting snow, and began to complain that he couldn’t feel it anymore. I was sure he was dramatizing the situation as I had only an hour prior recounted a story of an accomplished female climber who had recently suffered severe frostbite in Alaska.
Another patch of thick clouds approached so we pushed on to continue the circuit. Trudging through more slushy brown snow, there it was, the dreaded ‘no dogs’ sign to indicate that the next section of the path indeed crossed through National Park. No wonder the guy we’d seen earlier wanted to scold us. If we turned back here, three hours into what was marked as a five-and-a-half-hour trek, we would not be breaking the rules as we were still in the regional park. And so, we made the tough but noble decision to turn back. We all prefer circuit routes so as not to go up and down the same paths, but now we were trekking with our beloved Sage we would have to adapt from time to time. It’s not the fine that worried us but the meaning behind the rules – to protect endangered wildlife.
Sage and I lead the descent back through the slippery snow where Nan Shepherd crept into my thoughts again: ‘Yet often the mountain gives itself most completely when I have no destination, when I reach nowhere in particular, but have gone out merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend with no intention but to be with him.’
We flew back down past the prominent lakes and I was struck by how the landscape speaks to me differently from new angles, the gift of opposing views. The daffodils did not depart in our short absence and with the sun bursting down into the valley on our descent we decided to pause for a lie down amongst the wildflowers back at the fork where we’d been hours earlier. By now we had passed more walkers with dogs and stopped to talk to a man from the Bearn with an infectious smile accompanied by his wife and their four-year-old Border Collie. It seemed he was laxer on the dog rules, and I suspect he’d planned to walk wherever he pleased.
Back in the carpark, we did what all trekkers seem to do when they reach their finish point: kicked off our shoes. A joyful basking under the sun for another thirty minutes completed our day out in the mountains. From here we drove the 20 minutes down to the village of Laruns for our ritual post-trek beers (Remy and I), Orangina (Ryder and Hunter) and a well-earned cat nap for Sage who had probably traveled five times the distance of the rest of us from her constant short sprints up and down the path. Crepes were served up at Crêperie Fleur de Sel, a good spot for a light feed if you come out of the mountains between the usual kitchen hours as we always seem to do. Then it was back in the car for the two (plus) hours of driving back home. Another fantastic trek - though a little more populated than expected - offering a variety of landscapes with only a medium level of difficulty due to the presence of snow.
