I don’t know if I have the right words to offer justice to this morning, and before I do – let me begin by saying that not much sleep was had. At the top of a mountain the evening brings winds that rock a van as if you are on board a ship, that would all be do-able – Ive never had sea sickness, however imagine what wild winds do to cow bells and sheep bells. ALL NIGHT. Ive even named them – clang a clang clang is the most annoying, its just slightly off bead and slightly flat compared to ting a ling and tra la la, they are both bearable and almost sing in the evening breeze. Clang a Clang Clang can naff off, and I hope I never get to meet them again !
So, when I do finally give in to the lack of sleep its 5am, and I look out of the window. And any bell annoyance has left the building. I must be in a dream.
The sun is arriving just to the left of me, its promising yellow hues extending fingers towards the ground. The clouds have descended and lay like a fluffy blanket in the valleys which are all around us – and the landscape…. Oh the landscape.
Do you remember the first moment you tasted your favourite food, or the first kiss you had, or the moment someone held your hand when you needed it the most. Have you stood in a cathedral and heard a choir sing, have you had a hot stone massage that lasted as long as you wanted it to, are you someone that buys art papers just to stroke them…… Do you get the emotion im conveying to you all yet ? As I stepped out of my van at 5am in the morning – the Pyrannes opened up her raw naked being and just said hello.
Grey precipices extend upwards as far as the eye can see, puddles of snow settling in crevices, now and then a tree appears to hang out at an impossible angle and beside it cascades of water hug the cliff face and make their way downwards.
The longer the morning arrives, the lower the clouds descend – until about 10 am they are gone, and one can truly see how high 1700 meters is, and what has replaced the noise of bells, is the braying of the wild ponies and their foals who surround each and any person who happens to be in their path.
About 20 ponies have arrived near us, and with hilarity they use our van and the one next to us as bum scratchers – as the van lifts and descends with each satisfying itch, another pony chooses to poke his head in through our open door. Less in need of food (though of course I gift them an apple, and more seeking for an ear stroke. There is a comfort and wisdom in these creatures – I imagine if you are solo hiking in the mountains, these wise creatures become incredible companions.
We leave our mountain peaks and descend downwards towards Gavernie, and a waterfall that is an anticipated wonder. It isn’t. The pursuit of wonder is an addictive gem is it not. Surrounded by nature that can’t do anything but astound and amaze we still pop ourselves on the road for a hot and sweaty drive towards a tourist filled village. Sign posts tell us the waterfall is 1hour 30 minutes away. It Isnt.
I manage 4/5 of the walk. It is a gruelling hot day, I happen to have been bestowed with a heavesome chest, and the combination of heat and gravel tracked road means my lower back is in agony after an hour. And… if im honest, the dusty road with occasional cheese selling shack is disappointing me. I had imagined more of what I had driven away from. – and therein lies the solution to the problem, I drove away from something to chase an illusion.
Mark and Small leave me to wander slowly back to the car, whilst they trek another 30 minutes and still do not meet the waterfall – that would take at least another hour and they tell me it would have been a rock climb to get there. They take photos, it is supposed to be spectacular. IT isn’t. Well… to be fair to Gavernie waterfall, it probably is wonderful – it is cited in a landscape which is full of wonder – it just isn’t my version of wonder.
My version of wonder lies 15 minutes down the road. We spy a family frolicking in a wild river. Pulling over to a handy dirt track, small and I grab our swimsuits, towels, some water and fruit – and clamber down the bank. What lies in our reach is a cascading, wild and enticing river that is the most incredible blue. Swirls of whirlpools weave their way in amongst tugging currents that rush over slippery rocks. Small and I each wear swimming shoes and I make sure to push my feet into the gravel with each step, I don’t want to fall and begin a slippery slip down these cascades.
What continues is an hour of pure joy with Small. Ive missed him – our children are not ours to keep, they are carriers of our stories and we must let them learn to fly in order THAT they can carry tales from this generation to the next… and yet – I miss him. I miss the moments we played together, i will own, as tiring as it was at the time – I miss being needed. And yet, here we are – he and I, finding that playful rhythm again. I am the water parent, I love getting in anything water related, and I have never been afraid of the cold. Small has always been tiny framed and has watched from the edge as his older brother often joined me in streams, lakes, waterfalls – this past year has seen him hit a speedy growth spurt and he finally has the body muscle to sustain the cold waters. He tackles a whirlpool area that I cant reach – it is delightful to watch him take on the challenge and master it.
We sit on the bank afterwards and enjoy our fruit and water. Mark has tucked a couple of chocolate biscuits in as well, and they are a welcome bit of sweetness in the heat of the day.
I just want to play this evening with colour, I want to let go of expectations and just enjoy what I have. I want to remind myself that the most fun arrives in the journey, and that the more I set myself final goals, the more disappointment has a chance to arrive. Nature has a funny way of being just the right sort of teacher.
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