Nearby, a small yellow Citroen pulled up, jiggled itself into a too-small rock-bound gap to the accompaniment of a satisfying crunch and the instant aroma of escaping petrol. The driver leapt from his car, fortunately facing back down to the valley, watched the evaporating trail of diesel as it ran down the road. He gazed longingly at the clear blue sky, stared again at his car, looked up at the sky, kicked the car and then pulled a rucksack onto his back and honoured me with a perfect ‘What-the-hell’ Gallic shrug: there was a garage and mechanic down in Gavarnie and only gravity would be needed to get there.
He was half way up the mountain when next we saw him; not a care in the world. Quoi de mieux?
From the Col du Boucharro a gently rising path slices across the north face of Le Taillon, views of more distant Pyrenean peaks improving with every step.
Finally, we reached the cascade that flows from and beneath the Taillon glacier, which at this hour of the day was still satisfyingly firm, but demanding of caution – just in case. then we were through a gap in a low ridge, and gazing across to the splendidly set Refuge de Sarradets. Within minutes, itseems, we skipped across a few precarious snow slopes and perched outside the refuge in the company of far more bodies than could comfortably be accommodated in the refuge without extensive physical contact all round.
Above us lay a vast snow slope rising to the Brèche de Roland, a great tooth-gap in the wall above.
The gap is a natural formation, at 2804 metres, and directly on the Franco-Spanish border – for the next hour we would be in Spain. According to legend, Roland, nephew of Charlemagne, commanded the rearguard following Charlemagne’s defeat at the Battle of Roncesvalles in August 778. An ancient poem, The Song of Roland, tells how the rearguard was attacked by Saracens, and when all was lost, Roland, mortally wounded, tried to break his magical sword, Durandal, by striking it on a rock. The sword remained unbroken, but the rock was split asunder, providing what today is the Brèche de Roland, although I’m inclined to the view that there may have been a modicum of artistic or alcoholic license in the birth of that particular tale.