Back to Refugio de Vallferrera- Refuge Baborte.

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Behind the glacier.

I remember taking this video and being acutely aware of the quantum leap between what I wanted to do, and what I could do.  That night I had "hardly slept a wink" Cymbeline Act111 s111 
At 6.30 the next morning though, a little stiff, all ills were forgotten and a 3k walk down the valley as the sun seeped over its edges was the perfect cure. 
Augusti was busy in the kitchen with his Catalan girl Friday, Mar. I ordered a breakfast and immediately regretted it when a saw the plate of plastic wrapped French toast and  plastic tubs of confiture.
The coffee was superb though and the shower superber! It was just a shame Mar was busy in the kitchen. (4 days in the mountains now).
Outside the chair under the shade of a birch tree beckoned.  There I sat watching the comings and goings for four hours, while my clothes dried and my limbs rested. Eight girls from a girls school from Hereford trooped in and set up camp, well kitchen, and chomped their way through an hour, sprinkling their girlish giggles about and slightly disturbing Augusti's equilibrium.

Though this looks like the sun rising that morning  it's actually later that day setting behind me as I rise up to Refuge de Baborte.  I had only wanted to push on in the afternoon and get a head start on tomorrow.  Impossible here though.  The river in the valley floor by the last refugio was at about 1600m,  Balborte was at 2500!  900m over 4k. 2k of which went with the contour just up from the river. Up and up and up through trees and trees and trees.

At last, puffing and panting, I came to this cabana, set on this ledge in the hillside,  I was tempted to stop, but wanted to get the bulk of the climbing out of the way so that I could enjoy mostly going downhill tomorrow. Another hour and I stepped into the sight-line of a beautiful tarn sitting under the muñoa that had the refugio on it.

You can just see it middle-right of the picture. Still an hour away!
It was about half-eight when I got there.  Outside were a Spanish couple chatting, inside two older spanish men were sitting down to eat.  The little table in there was candle lit and food and wine was flowing.  One of them went through an over-elaborate explanation of which beds were free: "this one is free" he said slapping his hand down on a bunk, "this one is not free" etc. quite bizarre I thought.  Perhaps I looked a little Cretinous, I had sure drunk plenty some of that mountain spring water, yes sir, I had!
I set up my little stove outside and boiled my water, and ate my silver bag of stodge and drank my vanilla tea and looked out over the lake in the dying of the light:

Those two 'viejos' (old men) looked like they'd been living there for years.  I asked them before I left in the morning how long they had been living there, "2 nights" they told me.

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