The Giant Wall Clock

Six of the morning, the alarm clock of mobile phone voice is irritating and I turn it off to swipes. The silence take over every corner of the dark refuge. My sleeping bag creaks with every move and almost looks like the final fireworks of a fireworks show. So much noise makes, or is my impression? I repto outside my bubble of warmth and pick up the room in a few minutes. A quick glance beyond the window me reveals… Nothing. The night is closed and I don’t distinguish any form beyond the darkness. At least it seems that it has stopped raining.

Under the stairs up to the free, where last night kitchen I left my stuff, and below me an envelope in the aluminium Cup coffee.I open a packet of cookies and chew them without starving, almost with the same disdain with which yesterday rumiaban the cows that removed me not the eye of up when I crossed the clearing of the waterfall d’Espigantosa. My gaze is lost in the cosmic infinity of the kitchen, stuck at an undetermined point. Sitting in a Chair and sheltered with my jacket, my cold hands wrapped hot cup and the steam that emanates fleet up to my rosto and it brings back the smell of roasted coffee. It is a great way to start the day, I think. Silence is surprising. How much calm.

I leave Angel Orús mountaineer, dressed in warm clothes and boots hitting the ground with determination. My way toward the trail and read a caption that estimates in four hours and fourth top of Posets, 3369 meters of altitude. The headlamp is focusing on the winding path, that starts strong, everything must be said. I immediately reach the level of snow and start jogging on the cool white. He continued as the sky begins to lighten. Eastward the sky burns in an explosion of red. I don’t know what Massif is the one that remains in force to the rising sun, but is beautiful. The way I located to a fork, where I stop to read the map and discover that I am at the intersection of Gorgues Llardaneta. Virgin snow covers everything and prevents me to distinguish the layout of the path. A handful of lazy clouds crowded at the top, in the dimensions most high, to the West, holding firmly on the tops of Pavots, swords and The Llardaneta Tuca, three all a thousand; and also to the North, just above the Sierra de Llardana. I have to go the right route, that’s for sure, so I decide and proceed in that direction. Here begins the first mistake of the day.

I open trail and cross a bridge of metal twisted by the force of some old avalanche.My footprints are engraved on its smooth surface as the Sun is by lift and boot shines to the velvety forms of new snow. A generous layer of white sugar covers every inch of monte and adheres in an extraordinary way to the North walls of thepeaks of the Forcau. The landscape is postcard, postcard of the good. Everything is for me, everything is opened before my eyes. The Sun takes the colors and the clouds are finally removed after having been releasing its White treasure for nearly three days. Waiting for the anticyclone was worth, the mountain rewards my perseverance. Now the valley belongs to me, and I belong you to it. Way with energy, motivated, opening a deeper trace, directly to the North. I suspect that the route will not here. I think that maybe they’re just my imaginations. Some giron cloud hides the form of Valley floor. This confuses me. I don’t consult the map.This is my second mistake.

I proceed towards the mountain range which rises before me and rodeo, once again, on the right. Beginning to gain altitude at high speed. The Sun has definitely overcome the night and shines with shyness, but more and stronger every minute that passes. I protect my eyes with dark glasses and would like to remove some warm clothes. I admire the White Mountains, the loneliness that surrounds me. The rivers run between white cliffs, the snow melts in the Sun and freezes in the shade. I can feel it.

Rodeo almost vertical wall that I have forward and proceed with the ascension. An area of ripples, it exceeded of climbing and low, making me gasp. I start to seriously believe that I have made a wrong route. I stop at the top of a mound, at more than two thousand six hundred meters of altitude, and I take the map. How does possible have front all this amount of mountain lakes? I try to find me in the plane while I chew some sausage and cheese. Blasphemous. I’m definitely wrong. At the time of the fork I have not chosen the right path, but that I have directly gone to the right, no trap or carton, outside any path. Any disseminated landmark has fueled my slip and has made me think that it was not going so badly. The Virgin snow covering the original path, and I to my free will. Result? Misplaced. The Posets got it in front, see it on the map and also with my own eyes.There are no clouds that out of the way. See it high and clear. Too high, and too light. Here I can not keep; they are almost insurmountable wall nine hundred meters. The ibon Turmaof Ferradura, of les Alforches and all the Plan d’ is Ibons not give me walking a new mistake. I know where I am, and I am away from my course. I have spent much time and energy on this path, retrace all could take hours, so I decide to tackle and go directly to the Sierra de Llardana, now on my back. I see a passage between the Tuca Baixa and The high Tuca. UF, is a prodigious sierra, a burst of rock nevada sharp forms. Put me there only…Well, I’m going to try it. My way thither, happy; the Col does not seem so inaccessible. Do I need to say it? This is my third mistake of the day.

I climb climbing between treacherous cliffs and while later I landed on the top edge of the crest of Llardana, well below theTuca Baixa, where you really wanted to go. Although I have clear, desperately seeking a path of continuity. Here at you can get more different models and styles. This way? No do over there? Impossible. Perhaps if…? «Let» me I say. I assume the reality. I’m on the edge of a very dangerous edge of nevada, nobody knows that I’m just here, and the vacuum opens up hundreds of meters to half step away. Any slip could be fatal, and already have a few on my record of the day. Little colmatada snow is not sound, and the rock under it is highly slippery. Down, boy, you’ve already done what he could on this Ridge, continue forward is foolish. It turns out that after all the Hill it was inaccessible.

I destrepo with caution the ridge to the North and try to lose the minimum altitude as possible before my master re-entry in the right Valley. I have lost more than three hours hanging around, and have yet to reach the Summit Ridge Road that is presented already Yes, clear my mind and my orientation. I try to prevent is melle morals and I eat the beauty of the place, but I especially rejoice me thinking how lucky I have been to the tastes first-person Sun after the Pack of snow left by the cold drop. Each step is worth.

I look at the clock, I still have time to touch top, although the Sun anneal snow and it swallowed my boots to each tread. Leggings can play its role without blemish and keep moisture away from my feet. Sierra de Llardana rodeo by the South, as it should have done from the beginning, and I way by the Canal Fonda towards the pass of the tooth.

After a long time of fight tooth and nail against the deep snow, it is hard to recognize, but I’m beginning to think that today I deprive of the Summit of thePosets. Panting hard. The sky glows with a bright blue and the snow is pure, clear. I go back to the channel and spending my energies in the fight all-out book against the slope. The walls to my around are prey for the increase in temperature and are releasing small wisps of ice pending roll down or sink into the bed soft and moist.The world seems to RID in furrows of water. Me too. Sudo considerably.

The Hill of the tooth is present all the time, undaunted, beyond up to tresmil meters.It seems that much to rise, even though walk, much to advance, not approaching me the least. There is always, at the same distance. Exasperating. I stop to catch the breath on two occasions. The landscape captivates me. I move once again. Finally, after an eternity making collection of patience and pulling of tenacity and kidneys, reached the Hill of the tooth, 3,010 metres above sea level. I feel the snow, or rather let myself fall, suffocated, and drink plenty of water.

Northward slope climbs Posets back directly to its top, almost four hundred meters higher up. Just an hour I separated from the long-awaited Summit. Rechino teeth. I don’t want to go forward, or will be late, but something inside me tells me that you try, to do so, to continue. What should I do?

To the South, a few hundred meters, a gorgeous, slender and tapered tower rises: The tooth of Llardana, with its 3.094 metersabove sea level. It’s a show.

The mountains that surround me, the glacial Cirque between Posets with swords, this tooth of Llardana white cleaving the sky with its arrogant beauty dress… Recovery effort breathing so that the landscape take it me again. Really I am here watching all this? It is not the land of men, this is a scenario of legend, a land of giants, and I am a dwarf, a negligible Walker which is step to try to carry the story and the experience of heaven and its forms. There is most praiseworthy task a? Is there more impossible task?

I will not go up to the top of the Posets. I think that Posets does not want that nobody today climb to its top. So maybe you have saved cloud heights during the morning, hiding me the right path, preventing me from that I found on the map, disorienting me on purpose. The mountain is capricious, who am I to question it? I only have a pair of legs to move me, nothing more. Posets has the rest.