Crossing over a mountain pass conjures up romance and adventure. I live in the Canadian Prairies, but we are not that far from the Rocky Mountains. There they are, up the road along the Yellowhead Highway. So I am no stranger to mountains, they are sort of our backyard. But, confessions, I get there by car and my mountain walks do not involve hiking over any passes.
Mountains passes are often geographical or political landmarks. Like our Rocky Mountains going west, we cross over the watershed from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from Alberta to British Columbia. This really appeals to my sense of excitement and exploring. And I swear that the vegetation changes to that Pacific rainforest!
The mountain pass at Somport, up from the village of Canfranc where I spent 2 weeks as a hostel volunteer in April, marks the border between France and Spain. At our pilgrim’s hostel, many of the walkers would arrive tired, cold and ready for a shower and rest!
The keeners walked over that pass. The locals, mainly Spanish, caught the bus to the top of the pass and walked down. I am not in any way scorning this method, some of the locals were just taking a week or so of time off and this was an excellent way to make the most of their time. In fact, such a sensible way, I decided to do it too. Bus up to the pass and then hike the path down to the hostel. About 18 km or so.
So early one morning I took the posh and lovely yellow bus that served the valley up to the summit, or Col as they say in French. Previously we had had some rainy days, but the rain had stopped for a couple of days and the sky had cleared. However, as the bus went higher and higher and I was the only passenger left on board, we climbed into the clouds, otherwise known as fog! And what is that? Snow – falling and stuck to the ground.
The bus driver stopped, opened the door, and sang out “Somport”! It was desolate. “Where is the path – dondé es el Camino?” I spluttered. He waved gaily over the road railing towards a cliff; was that a malicious smile?! And off he drove. On one side, the border post – grim and deserted; on the other, what could be a café., totally locked up and blanketed in snow.
A bit, further along, was a gap in the railing and a signpost pointing straight down-mountain. It was really steep and covered in snow. There were some steps. I gingerly went down backwards (a technique I used as a little kid on our steep steps at home). My hands gripping a handrail kindly provided to stop you from falling down the cliff! This was not how I had imagined my descent on this ancient path.
And ancient it was, and as things improved somewhat, I came to historic information plaques and through the snow, I could make out low walls marking the foundation of Santa Christina monastery.
Built-in the 11th century, this was a big set-up where the monks had a hostel and also a hospital for the pilgrims. It became so important that it was considered one of the three great establishments for pilgrims. The others were the monastery on the Saint Bernard pass which led to Rome and the one for pilgrims in Jerusalem. This showed how important this path to Santiago de Compostela was. Centuries later, pilgrims set out from St-Jean-Pied-de-Port, this is the popular route most people take now. I have done it and though there is a tough and long climb over the mountains, it is less steep.
Happy to report that as I got further down the mountain, the snow disappeared and the flowers appeared, even wild daffodils and in Canfranc Estacion, I got a coffee con Leche before the last five kilometres down to Canfrac Pueblo which was my home away from home!