As part of a general, 'get more active' regime, Jan and I decided to 'go for a walk'. We intended to join an intrepid band of part time hikers led by Bryan S. This was our first venture and we also decided to take the dogs. We met at Sanilhac at 09.45 with the intention of tackling a 7kms walk through Les Gorges du Gardon. Bloody hell, this wasn't a walk, this was serious mountain climbing, but let me start from the beginning. About 34 of us met as arranged just outside the Mairie in Sanilhac. We took the dogs, because Bryan was taking his, and crossed our fingers that it would go well. This was Minnie's first day out with lots of other people and other dogs. We had no idea how she would behave.
The first part of the walk through vineyards wasn't too bad, but then we slowly started to descend. Now I don't mind walking, but this path was so boulder strewn that all you could do was keep your eyes on the floor to avoid breaking your ankle. I stopped a lot, for breath! Ok, inch by inch we descended to the bottom of the gorge. This was a seriously long way down, not made any easier by the thought that we had to climb back up. "It's a bit of a climb", said an ever helpful Bryan.
When we reached the bottom, the scenery was quite eerie, but beautiful at the same time. You could see the ruined remains of an old mill and the part completed remains of a house half way up the gorge on the other side. All (the five) dogs loved it and Max and Min swam happily in the gently flowing river. The only slight mishap was with Minnie, who found it difficult to climb out of the water onto very slippery rocks. The poor mite tried a couple of times and was obviously getting tired and a bit panicky. She eventually had to be rescued by Bryan who dragged her out when he could get hold of her. Thanks, Bryan.
Whilst we were standing there taking in the scenery, a very nice man called Phillip W introduced himself as a reader of this esteemed journal. He recognised the names Max and Minnie and wondered if he had found the source of all this wonderful knowledge. I nodded shyly and signed an autograph (just kidding), at which point we realised that our trusty lightweight rucksack was falling to bits before our eyes. Phillip very kindly offered to let us include all our bits into his bag and, in a stupid fit of bravado, I offered to carry the lot. Phillip, in a not so stupid fit of bravado, agreed. Nice one, Phillip.
The trip back to the top was nothing short of horrendous. We left base camp, without any Sherpas, and made our first stop at a little chapel, which someone had thoughtfully built, about a quarter way up the cliff. Presumably this is where you make your peace with your maker and write your last will and testament. As I said, very considerate. The next part of the journey involved an unlit 50 metres underground passage through the cliff face. We had been warned to bring torches, but the little pinpricks of light, that Jan and I had brought, were absolutely useless. Someone with a very powerful million candle watt jobby shone their torch in everyone's eyes, which made matters worse. Now you couldn't even see your pin prick of light. Jan and I clung onto each other, at least I think it was Jan, and we stumbled and swore our way to the other end. By now we are about a third of the way up the cliff face.
It's at this point, that we subsequently learnt, that we went wrong. Yours trully had learnt his tracking skills in the SAS (or was it the Girl Guides? - Ed.) , which is just as well, because after we took the wrong path we had to climb up the sheer cliff face on a track that had been abandoned by mountain goats, as far too dangerous. To make matters worse, all the dogs saw fit to keep running backwards and forwards, checking that their masters had not fallen to their deaths. Not only was it necessary to cling to bits of rock face with your finger tips, but the dogs did their best to send you crashing to the valley floor, hundreds of feet below. (Note to lawyer: It was Bryan who suggested bringing the dogs!) Anyway, using my innate (don't you mean insane? - Ed.) sense of direction, where the only direction that you really need is 'up', we literally scrambled up sheer rock faces. We passed the odd mountain goat skeleton, and pushed and hauled the dogs up by their collars. Poor old Min, not only had she nearly drowned, but now she was expected to climb mountains. Watching Max nearly slipping to his death she got a tad nervous. She was not happy.
As we neared the top the 'climbing' got a bit easier and I followed some Neolithic, overgrown tracks until I got to what looked suspiciously like a grave stone. "The poor sod got this far," I thought to myself.
The rest, as they say, was history. After another couple of kilometres, we headed to the nearest bar, used alcohol to calm our shattered nerves and firmly resolved to instruct lawyers if Bryan ever opened his mouth again.
The first part of the walk through vineyards wasn't too bad, but then we slowly started to descend. Now I don't mind walking, but this path was so boulder strewn that all you could do was keep your eyes on the floor to avoid breaking your ankle. I stopped a lot, for breath! Ok, inch by inch we descended to the bottom of the gorge. This was a seriously long way down, not made any easier by the thought that we had to climb back up. "It's a bit of a climb", said an ever helpful Bryan.
When we reached the bottom, the scenery was quite eerie, but beautiful at the same time. You could see the ruined remains of an old mill and the part completed remains of a house half way up the gorge on the other side. All (the five) dogs loved it and Max and Min swam happily in the gently flowing river. The only slight mishap was with Minnie, who found it difficult to climb out of the water onto very slippery rocks. The poor mite tried a couple of times and was obviously getting tired and a bit panicky. She eventually had to be rescued by Bryan who dragged her out when he could get hold of her. Thanks, Bryan.
Whilst we were standing there taking in the scenery, a very nice man called Phillip W introduced himself as a reader of this esteemed journal. He recognised the names Max and Minnie and wondered if he had found the source of all this wonderful knowledge. I nodded shyly and signed an autograph (just kidding), at which point we realised that our trusty lightweight rucksack was falling to bits before our eyes. Phillip very kindly offered to let us include all our bits into his bag and, in a stupid fit of bravado, I offered to carry the lot. Phillip, in a not so stupid fit of bravado, agreed. Nice one, Phillip.
The trip back to the top was nothing short of horrendous. We left base camp, without any Sherpas, and made our first stop at a little chapel, which someone had thoughtfully built, about a quarter way up the cliff. Presumably this is where you make your peace with your maker and write your last will and testament. As I said, very considerate. The next part of the journey involved an unlit 50 metres underground passage through the cliff face. We had been warned to bring torches, but the little pinpricks of light, that Jan and I had brought, were absolutely useless. Someone with a very powerful million candle watt jobby shone their torch in everyone's eyes, which made matters worse. Now you couldn't even see your pin prick of light. Jan and I clung onto each other, at least I think it was Jan, and we stumbled and swore our way to the other end. By now we are about a third of the way up the cliff face.
It's at this point, that we subsequently learnt, that we went wrong. Yours trully had learnt his tracking skills in the SAS (or was it the Girl Guides? - Ed.) , which is just as well, because after we took the wrong path we had to climb up the sheer cliff face on a track that had been abandoned by mountain goats, as far too dangerous. To make matters worse, all the dogs saw fit to keep running backwards and forwards, checking that their masters had not fallen to their deaths. Not only was it necessary to cling to bits of rock face with your finger tips, but the dogs did their best to send you crashing to the valley floor, hundreds of feet below. (Note to lawyer: It was Bryan who suggested bringing the dogs!) Anyway, using my innate (don't you mean insane? - Ed.) sense of direction, where the only direction that you really need is 'up', we literally scrambled up sheer rock faces. We passed the odd mountain goat skeleton, and pushed and hauled the dogs up by their collars. Poor old Min, not only had she nearly drowned, but now she was expected to climb mountains. Watching Max nearly slipping to his death she got a tad nervous. She was not happy.
As we neared the top the 'climbing' got a bit easier and I followed some Neolithic, overgrown tracks until I got to what looked suspiciously like a grave stone. "The poor sod got this far," I thought to myself.
The rest, as they say, was history. After another couple of kilometres, we headed to the nearest bar, used alcohol to calm our shattered nerves and firmly resolved to instruct lawyers if Bryan ever opened his mouth again.
Photos, starting from the top, our first view down into the gorge, the advance party, with the dogs, as they get to the river bank, Phillip and Jan and if you look closely you can see the 'chapel' above Phillip's head and the entrance to the tunnel above and to the right and finally a view down into the gorge taken from the cliff face.
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