Pete’s overnight ride idea remains a dream, as the weather gods demand a change of plan.
Words & Photography Pete Scullion
In stark contrast to the bright white limestone towers of the surrounding giants, Sierra Negra is a slowly crumbling sierra of dark metamorphic rock. It lies just south of the Pyrenees’ tallest peak, Aneto, at a cool 3,404m (11,168ft), and, compared to its surrounds, is fairly unknown. Despite having some unique topography, people have been drawn away from Sierra Negra to the 3,000m plus peaks in the area. There’s plenty to go at for those who do visit. The dark, mineral-laden rock leaches under heavy rain and the thin mat of vegetation above the treeline is akin to Iceland’s highlands in summer. A full rainbow spectrum of colours comes out in daylight.
After dinner mint sauce
Why are we here though? Well, I’m no stranger to a dawn raid, sunset mission, staying out late to enjoy the stars wheeling overhead, or slapping the lights on the bike for a scuttle around the trails in the dark. I’d been scheming to put all of these things together into a night ride that would up the ante somewhat. In fact, all of the antes would be upped if I had my way.
Almost from the moment I started taking photos of the stars, I had a photo in my head that I wanted to achieve, and every time I tried to capture it, the odds were against me. More often than not, either the lay of the land wasn’t quite right or, because I’m based in Scotland, the sky would never be as clear as the forecast indicated. Getting that photo meant getting the ride idea out of my head and into reality. The original vision was to go for a refuge to refuge ride, or bothy to bothy, but to leave after dinner – not stay the night. The entirety of the trip would happen under the cover of darkness, giving the maximum opportunity to ride under a starry sky stretching from horizon to horizon in all directions.
Just like all good ideas, having a catalyst helps them become reality, and Basque-based Scot Doug McDonald was the perfect material. The moment I mentioned my plan to him, he uttered two words: “Sierra Negra.” The more I learned about this spot from Doug, the more it sounded like the perfect place to make this happen, and it made me realise just how much of the Pyrenees Doug knows like the back of his hand.
The plan then was relatively simple. Drive to Benasque late afternoon, pedal up the mountain, and ride through the night in a large loop around the sierra. We’d have our pick of various refuges in the area to start and finish at.
Wise cows
Through the week the heat had been building and there hadn’t been the slightest whiff of a cloud, even on the higher tops. Almost as if by clockwork, in the afternoon as we roll into Benasque the sky is looking increasingly angry. Hemmed in by the Posets Massif in the west, darkening clouds are beginning to accumulate on the summits. Our plan changes rapidly to one of two options. It’s unlikely we’ll get our overnighter at this rate. Either we’ll have to ride through a thunderstorm to get onto the sierra or get caught in it while we’re out. Neither are options we’re keen to explore.
As we sit in the van minding our own business, passing time and fuelling up, one cow passes, and then slowly but surely more cows pour off the mountain heading for the cover of the trees. There are no farmers or livestock guardian dogs that we can see. “What’s the rush?”, we think to ourselves…
Almost as soon as we ponder that thought, the sky is lit by a brilliant flash followed by what sounds like the heavens tearing apart. The cows, it seems, are a pretty good measure of incoming thunder and lightning. As I run from the back of the van to the front after getting into my riding kit, a hailstone hits so hard it feels like it’s trying to bore its way into my skull.
We rapidly reassess the options. It really all depends on when the storm passes. If it’s done by 7.30pm, we can head onto the mountain, catch sunset, and with any luck, be out until sunrise. A cursory glance at the satellite weather shows this storm isn’t going anywhere quickly. We’d had no intention of sleeping in the van, so all we’ve got is a loose assortment of bike covers and rugs to use as rudimentary bedding. Can we try to snatch five hours sleep before crossing the sierra for sunrise…? Almost simultaneously hot and cold, it seems like sleep won’t happen for me, but as our alarms ring, the drool welded to my face indicates that I did indeed drop off at some point.
As we slowly come to life, it’s almost immediately obvious that Doug has nailed the location in terms of dark sky. Benasque is not a huge place and is already hidden beyond the ridges that plummet off the mountain tops here. Beyond the trees that hug the hill, towering stars seem to go on forever. A blue meteor races across the heavens and I take this as a good sign for what’s to come. The Perseid meteor shower is starting to get into the swing of things, so with any luck, fragments of Comet Swift-Tuttle will be clipping the outer atmosphere at just shy of 60km/s.
Don’t miss the sun
Almost as soon as we start to move, the stars become the least of my concerns. We’re navigating cattle mostly asleep on the open hill – presumably the ones that didn’t wander lower during the storm. We pick our way through the rain ruts that the path on the lower slopes has become, only the massive black outline of the higher sierra above offers any real indication of where we’re headed.
Leaden legs don’t help keep the cadence up and this is purely a walkers’ path, so the going is slow. Straight up the fall line we only stop to cut steep switchbacks where the bedrock juts out of the gravel. Sunrise is now the objective so we need to keep moving and gain as much height as possible. There’s simply nothing worse than getting up this early to miss the sun coming over the horizon.
After what seems like an age of getting going, stalling out, cursing tight calves and watching Doug slowly increase the wind between us, the ground levelled out mercifully. I remember being quite happy that we’d got here so fast, only for Doug to disabuse me of that notion as he points to the silhouette of the ridge above. I knew it was too easy…
With that, we make a long diagonal traverse across the scree, the path almost entirely obliterated by the rain ruts that show just how heavy the rain was during that storm. We make it up in places as we go, and it gets pretty dicey on slick bedrock just before we make the ridge proper.
From here, the already enormous sky fans out in all directions. Both ends of the Milky Way are visible and it doesn’t quite seem real to begin with. The silence is almost deafening. We soon get moving again, slowly but surely making our way ever higher towards the high point of our ride. Here, the going is much easier. The ground isn’t quite as steep and the broad ridge doesn’t narrow until the tops. We pass two glassy lakes that are so still the stars seem to be frozen on the surface. I could have sat and watched the stars wheel overhead here for whatever remained of the darkness. I’m not sure Doug felt the same way.
We regain the ridge, wary that there’s a fair old lack of anything off to our right-hand side, but the path here is well worn and all we need to do is keep climbing. Despite the sierra lacking any of the taller peaks of the neighbouring mountains, there’s still plenty of up and down to go. Every time we top out, Doug suggests a better vantage point. I guess we’ve come this far…
As we get our fill of the stars, the sky begins to pale and we can pick out the keener of the hikers across the valley making their dawn ascents of Aneto, their lights almost the only thing we can see snaking up the sheer southern face of the mountain. It’s here that Doug proves, much like in the van a few hours earlier, that he can, and will, sleep anywhere. As I do my level best to keep my butt off the cold, wet rock beneath me, Doug’s chat fizzles out and before long, he’s started snoring. Unbelievable. That’s definitely a life skill.
With the sky starting to turn orange along the horizon, I do my best to wake Doug gently so that we don’t miss half of the reason we’re here. With the tallest peak in the Pyrenees between us and the sun, it takes a while for daylight to get to us, but when it does, the dark, wet rock is bathed in magical dawn light. Sunrise here is almost as good as sitting under a sea of stars, and now we can make out our surroundings, it’s every bit as amazing as I’d imagined on the pedal up here.
Eyeballs out, eyelids on matchsticks
The beauty of being this high, some 2,550m above the drink, is the sheer quantity of descent we’ll now get to enjoy: a fast blast down what in the daylight is a large mountain bowl surrounded by a ridge that links various minor summits. We waste no time speeding through the dawn air back to a small saddle, the climb out of which helps get the blood moving after having sat waiting for the sun.
We’re joined by a small herd of wild horses for a short while as we crack on and get off the next top, and I think horse beats bike here as these majestic animals make light work of showing us what real speed is. A fast, rocky blast along the ridge top where brakes aren’t really a consideration. We’ve got so much real estate to work with, if it all goes wrong, there’s room enough to ride it out.
The climb might seem to go on forever, but we’re back at the two lakes again before we know it. A long shallow climb away from them starts the lollipop segment of the route and leads us onto the big descent to finish. In between that climb and the big descent are myriad small, punchy climbs and short, sharp downs that test my brain to the max. A few ropey hours of sleep at the tail end of a massive week in the mountains has left me feeling like the plug in the back of my head has come a wee bit loose.
The sky has gone from inky darkness to full bluebird, and the vultures that have been everywhere so far this week and even the previous evening are nowhere to be seen. The sky is empty and it seems like we’re the only people awake other than those across the valley on Aneto. A few distant chamois are the only signs of life.
With Aneto’s bright white flanks at our backs, we start the fast plunge back to the valley. Sweeping turns have been lovingly carved into the scree here by some industrious mountain bikers and it’s here where the lack of sleep really starts to catch up with me. For all the perfection of the trail ahead, I’m finding myself catching rut edges and riding like… well… a cow.
Vulture food
It’s not long before we’re dealing with a herd of cattle and the way they’ve churned the scree up under heavy hooves. I’m not sure any suspension settings will work here. Just hold on and get your weight back. Soon the thin grass reappears and the dwarf pines show that the tree line is imminent.
After dodging many cowpats, we find out why the sky was so clear of raptors earlier on. One of the cows succumbed to the elements in the night and there are a fair few griffon vultures tearing into the carcass. The way I feel, I don’t think I’m far off being easy pickings for these mighty birds.
With a long night on the mountain behind us, the chat isn’t exactly world-class. Both of us are eyeing some sleep as soon as we’re able, but my lord those stars and that sunrise were worth every penny. We’ll be back to complete the full overnighter without the lightning show.