Post-expedition report
Descent into the Cares gorge.
The night at Ario passed without incident and dawn brought its chorus of cow bells, birds and Johnson snores. This was to be our final day spent in the Western Massif of the Picos, and I for one was ready for the coming onslaught of luxury items such as running water, clean clothes and the absence of fabada, chorizo and that blue-white cheese which melts all over the place. With the end in sight we ate our muesli, drank our tea and started out from camp with the sun rising above the Central Massif. The day was set to be a huge descent. We were camped at 1400m and were heading down to near enough sea level. The first 3 hours were hard going, with difficult terrain and no discernible path. The line of walkers spread out as the tired ankles and knees started to take their toll.
On the way down we came across a strange and aged goat herd. He only understood German, which did not excuse him for sending half our team back up the hill in search of a non-existent water source. Most amusing for those who did not hike back up a mile only to find that the spring was in fact behind the half-wit's hut.
The descent from here on was headed down a narrow ravine. The path from the top zig- zagged endlessly down into the depths. This was clearly not the sort of place to lose control of a pram. The slippery path, the unrelenting pressure on the knees and the heat were alleviated by the breathtaking views of the opposite side of the gorge which we were heading into. The towering peaks above us, with circling eagles and hazy summer's sky showed the Picos off in all their glory. A short break under a bolder for shade, another hard hour's walk, and we were down at the path to Cain.
It felt slightly surreal to be in contact with normal humans again. We had just battled our way down this impossibly steep gorge wall and now we were faced with day trippers in their 70's, who had easily walked out from Cain. The spectacle of what we had just seen and done was clearly lost on these gaudily dressed tourists with their horrible pink rucksacks and their impractical trainers.
To some, the extra descent to the bottom of the gorge seemed excessive as it was apparent to all of us that we would have to climb out of it again later on. However, the location down by the river was perfect and the next 2 hours were idly spent eating our last supplies, swimming in the unbelievably cold water, attempting to stone Jon and checking out the Spanish girls in their swim suits. The sight of people was strange enough, and the sight of near naked females was almost too much for Matt J and Matt C who were visibly agitated. All that was left was to make the trip back up the gorge to the path and then wend our weary way along the scenic gorge to Cain. This involved several dodgey bridges and tunnels and some uncomfortably fat tourists whom we had to squeeze past, the path being cut out of the rock and boasting a marked absence of hand-rails.
Cain was everything that we had been hoping for. Cain had a bar with tables and sun-shades and packets of crisps and cold, cold beer. Cain was what George had been dreaming of for the past week, two large Cojones and a packet of ready salted, heaven on earth. The bar offered the chance for old debts to be settled and new debts to be started. (and Roger you still owe me £20.)
Finally a quick trip to the campsite, a quick chuck of the Frisbee, hot shower, tired meal, a courvoisier and then bed. A truly excellent finish to the expedition.
Martin
The Journey Home
As we climbed into the minibus and pulled out of Cain to start the first leg of the return journey towards Britain and the civilised life, it was with mixed emotions, relief, awe and sadness. Relief that the gruelling walk was finally over, awe that we had in fact survived and conquered the mountains that were slowly receding through the back window, and sadness that after such impressive sights and feats we were returning to the mundaneness of everyday life.
At that night's campsite full and grateful use was made of the mythical appliances, showers, toilets, even sinks and chairs! A local restaurant was found to supply our food needs and, while a waiter attempted to supply everyone with their order, a Spanish gameshow on the television grew more and more surreal, until human chickens were fighting each other for oversized eggs while a bull tried to gore them.
Next morning the journey started very early, the harmonica of Bob Dylan wailing through the bus and falling upon a pile of comatose heroes, with whom the last four days had finally caught up. At Bilbao, after a walk which rivalled the mountains, we settled on a charming restaurant where the waiter "speak the excellent English", and after that it was time to say goodbye to the two Matts off to the South of Spain.
The journey continued uneventfully through Spain into France. After deciding to stop we cruised up and down trying to find a suitable campsite, and entered a very sinister site peopled by large blue tents whose inhabitants' eyes followed us around in a sinister yet amusing way. Having settled down in a site not noted for its excellent facilities, we ate into the night, accompanied by the sound of French bongos and an account of the exploits of an ancestor of George's, who allowed men in skirts to penetrate his defences and was therefore executed.
The next day we hit the beach of Cap Breton, a thin strip of sand and gravel, which none the less proved an excellent place to rest both our feet and our eyes. Lunch was a large steak each as we tried to replace our lost energy. In the evening, in preparation for tomorrow's long trek, we visited the local seafood restaurant, where the food was delicious.
The last day was not an excellent day. Leaving at the crack of dawn we sped through France like an arrow, but as the day wore on the seats got less and less comfortable and the minibus seamed to shrink. Then there was the boat. The ferry's only bonus was that it was going in the right direction. Unfortunately, it was like a very small and cramped shopping mall. Then it was England and as we looked forward to the comforts of home as opposed to the minibus, the idea of doing it all again next week seemed not so mad after all.
James N
The Food File
Here are three of George's fabulous recipes from the expedition.
Meal 1: TRANGIA TUNA: Feeds 15
Ingredients
- 3 450 g tins of tuna
- 3 450 g cans of tomatoes
- 2 large onions *
- 2 large green peppers *
- 4 cloves of garlic *
- 1.5 kg of pasta (preferably penné)
- 3 chillies or salsa sauce
- 2 bags of picked olives (optional)
*=fry until soft
Instructions
- Add tomatoes and olives and then cook on a low heat for 5 minutes
- Add tuna chunks and finally add seasoning and herbs for a filling dinner.
Giffer rating: ****(very good)
Meal 2: FUNKY FABADA: Feeds 15
Ingredients
- 8 Cans of fabada (basically blood, lard, beans and pork sausages! Probably not available in the UK.)
Instructions
- Put in pan, heat through well and make sure it doesn't get cold.
- Serve with bread.
Giffer rating ***(good but not terrific, in my opinion anyway)
Meal 3: CAMPERS COUSCOUS: feeds 15
Ingredients
- 1½ kg of couscous (very easy to cook)
- 2 large onions *
- 2 red/green peppers *
- 4 cloves of garlic *
- 500 g of bacon* and/or cheese
- 2 bags of olives
- 200 g of feta or goats cheese
- 50 g of mushrooms*
- butter
- vegetable oil
*=Fry until soft
Instructions
- Soak couscous in boiling water on a low heat and stir to prevent burning of couscous. Make sure to add butter and vegetable oil once soft.
- Add fried * to couscous.
Season and add herbs.
Giffer rating: *****(it's the way forward)
All of these outrageously fantastic dishes and more may soon be experienced at George's Bar and Grill, coming to the coast near you. (Job opportunities available for all Picos de Europa expedition members, including some special privileges. Apply NOW!)
Michael
JMDH 14/11/98 - Home; My pics
To some, the extra descent to the bottom of the gorge seemed excessive as it was apparent to all of us that we would have to climb out of it again later on. However, the location down by the river was perfect and the next 2 hours were idly spent eating our last supplies, swimming in the unbelievably cold water, attempting to stone Jon and checking out the Spanish girls in their swim suits. The sight of people was strange enough, and the sight of near naked females was almost too much for Matt J and Matt C who were visibly agitated. All that was left was to make the trip back up the gorge to the path and then wend our weary way along the scenic gorge to Cain. This involved several dodgey bridges and tunnels and some uncomfortably fat tourists whom we had to squeeze past, the path being cut out of the rock and boasting a marked absence of hand-rails.
