Monte S Lorenzo – An artificial mountain with weather

Already we were pinning for a new challenge, a new mountain. What did Rioja have to offer? Well as it turns out, not a lot.

In UK standard it stands high at 2,271m, and at that, it is 800m taller than Ben Nevis and it is the tallest mountain in the region. But…it has been blighted by ski tourism. The afternoon before we attempted this monster we went to have a look.

We had anticipated maybe spending the night in her shadow, but what we found was so uninspiring that we retreated back to the village of Ezcaray. The problem was what we encountered; a large car park, a ski station, closed for the season, a ski lift, also closed and no Wi-Fi signal. No opportunity to download and print a route, no opportunity to check the weather conditions…We retreated.

The next morning we again began the long drive into the mountains. This is the other problem with ski resorts…they build infrastructure. Infrastructure that get you high into the mountains. Too high. The car park is at 1,560m, which only leaves you a measly 700m to climb, where is the fun in that. Well, you could start further down, but it is a bit false, especially when they have gone to all that trouble of building a road.

On the way, however, we encountered something new, exciting and challenging. We encountered winter. Winter in the form of snow, all be it small little patches in the road, which could have been lethal, covered in all those autumn leaves! Dora coped well and got to the car park safely. The mountain was also dusted in the white stuff. Perhaps this was going to be more interesting than expected.

We began the walk. A walk up the ski slopes. Ski slopes are like golf courses, wrecking the natural terrain with their monoculture. Whatever the season, they impact the landscape negatively. Big sweeping paths with avenues of steel rods that would pump out artificial snow during the season. Fences that were now redundant, but would protect over ambitious teenagers from snowboarding off a mountainside at the right time of year.

Desperate to get away from the monotony of the blue run we headed off-piste, directly upwards, slightly more interesting. The suggested path from wikirutas we were keen to improve on. The majority of which seemed to be up roads. Our approach was to have a look and create our own path up the mountain.

We continued up through the melee of ski paraphernalia; snow canons, chairlifts, self service restaurants and protective barriers. We even found an artificial lake further up, presumably to feed all of those canons, so they could produce snow when the Spanish weather wouldn’t oblige. It was obliging now.

We eventually got to the end of the top most lift. Another couple approached from a different direction and took shelter by the lift. The wind was beginning to blow. Were they continuing upwards? We carried on in their direction, only to find that she was relieving herself in the wintery conditions, embarrassing. We continued upwards, they didn’t.

The summit was no longer visible. Earlier you could just make it out, now it was covered in dense cloud.

Our route was up a ridge, quite steep, into the cloud. The wind continued to nag at us.

The path was fairly easy to follow. Footprints in the snow, occasionally disappearing as they ventured across scree and rock, only to reappear.

The wind was now unpleasant. At least it wasn’t gusty. Gusty can be scary, lifting you off your feet. This was consistent, consistently unpleasant.

It whipped across the face making the nose run, around the glasses, making the eyes water, and down the back of the neck, we began to shiver. We stopped. Should we continue? How far was the top? We have got this far, it can’t be too much further. We pulled our jackets up around us and continued deeper into the cloud. There wasn’t going to be a view from this summit!

Out of the gloom appeared a statue. A statue of the virgin Mary, just what we wanted to see! Next to it was a summit cairn, we had reached the top. A broad flat summit, not very interesting. The wind continued to blow. There was no view. There was no reason to stay. A Photograph. We left.

Not the way we had come. Straight across the other side. Maybe here they would be some respite from the wind. There was. It was an easy walk down. The snow, slightly soft, easy on the knees, quick. Soon, out of the gloom, in and out, hazy. Another ski-lift. What would be, in a few months time, civilisation. For us, it meant back to an obvious path, a ski run.

The snow was a little more serious here. Almost enough to ski on. Folded crests and valleys, pretty, curvaceous shapes, formed by natural elements. Firm enough to walk on and not sink into. In the middle the track a mountain bike. Some crazy fool had dragged it up to the top to ride it down through the snow. Other crazy fools followed its meandering path down the mountainside, back towards the car park.

The ski run dramatically changed direction. It went back on itself falling steeply down the mountain before regaining a more diagonal path across the mountain slope, more gentle. The corner would see a carnage of less proficient skiers, unable to cope with the sudden realignment, bodies would lie scattered across the slope or maybe they would just continue straight. We did. We wanted to leave the oppression of the run.

We had seen a new ridge, a new summit, this time in sun. It was lower and a simple climb, but we would get a view. We had the time, the last peak had only taken two hours to get to the top. We got to the saddle between the two peaks. The wind began to blow again. As we started the climb up the ridge it was grabbing angrily at us, this time from the front, before it had been from the side.

That had been bearable, this was not. We ploughed on. Before we had headed into the gloom, this time we could see our goal, it was a long way off. It was worse. It was too much. We turned and headed back towards Dora, off-piste all the way. Our lunch, forgotten in our rucksacks would be eaten in the shelter of Dora  back in the car park.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GDR