Spring has stretched out with a lot of snow still in the mountains. The rivers flow downhill and on the slopes there are many waterfalls due to the impetus of the thaw. Heat is coming as we drive up the track that leads to Coll de Ladrones, a centuries-old fortification that I'll talk about in detail later in VaP, because he deserves it and for the sentimental value it has for me.
Once up, shod and boots, we continue walking for a few minutes along the track to a small hydroelectric plant. To the right starts the path that runs through the Channel Izas, the great corridor that connects the valleys of Tena and Aragon and one of the most beautiful and lonely Pyrenees of Huesca. I have made the complete crossing twice, one summer and one in the middle of winter, one in one direction and one in the opposite, from the beautiful town of Tramacastilla de Tena. And in both I have enjoyed that feeling of remoteness with which virgin horizons are blessed.
The effort is soon rewarded by the rushing waterfalls that rush down the rock walls
The landslides in a ravine have destroyed the old path and we have to go back on our steps in search of the beginning of the path, which is perfectly signposted. Progressively gaining height down the wooded slope, always with the tributary river of Aragon on our left, the effort is soon rewarded by the rushing waterfalls that rush down the rock walls; the first of them, on a huge pyramid of dirty snow that balances on the current. As we leave behind the forest the valley opens up in front of us, straddling the stations Astún and Candanchú, behind us, and Formigal, on the other side of the Izas pass, the main unevenness to be faced on the journey between the two slopes.
Fortunately orphan of ski lifts and bollards, Izas is still a place where you can find yourself with silence and solitude. No one is in sight for hundreds of yards as we ride up the canal. Just listen, occasionally, the screech of some clueless marmot, that runs through these meadows of green and water, of stone and snow, and the reckless race of herds of sarrios (pyrenean goats) putting land in the middle with the annoying human presence.
Fortunately orphan of ski lifts and bollards, Izas is still a place where you can find yourself with silence and solitude
The contrast between the south facing slopes, overflowing with water, and those that look north, full of snowfields and ravines with remains of avalanches, is significant. As we go, now on a very comfortable path that overcomes the unevenness with parsimony, we are tripping over tongues of snow that force us to abandon the road to find it again shortly after (the path is, and say, very marked both by stone cairns and by the characteristic red and white markings of the GR-11, the great trans-Pyrenean route). We do not carry walking sticks and they are not needed for now, because the snow is very softened by the sun and it is easy to open a track to cross the snowfields.
We cherish the desire to reach the ibón de Iserías (a sign at the beginning of the road marked three and a half hours of excursion, that seems like an excessive calculation to me), the lagoon at the foot of the peak of La Moleta, that can be climbed both by this route and from the station Canfranc (the ascent by the path that runs parallel to the tracks of the old cart of Ip and the descent through the ibón de Iserías and the Canal de Izas is one of the most rewarding walks I know). But, as we get closer to the Iserías cabin, from where you have to turn right to access the lake (mountain lake), located 2.150 meters, through a narrow ravine, the road is increasingly sprinkled with snow.
A large longitudinal refrigerator, like a clean brushstroke on the mountain, comes between us
When we have the shelter in sight, a large longitudinal refrigerator, like a clean brushstroke on the mountain, comes between us. You have to cross it downhill in the middle of the slope until you can cross the river and reach the cabin without problems, surrounded by meadows without snow, but to avoid a slip we chose to avoid it to the north in search of an alternative step, despite the succession of ravines that cut these slopes. To our right we can already see the circus that protects the Iserías lake, located just 150 meters of unevenness above where we are, rock walls and snow that accentuate the solemnity of this silence that comforts.
We have been walking for almost two hours now and we continue up the grassy slope, no path or anything like it, dodging the snowfield on the right. Before us, two ravines separate us from the meadows through which you reach the cabin. The first seems feasible. The second is guessed much more complicated, because its walls sink as if they were molded by a spatula. It is necessary to assess the risks.
I'm walking on snow that at any moment can crumble from my weight, sinking to the riverbed
I advance a few meters to see the second ravine more closely and find a way to save it. The first is full of snow and I cross it without difficulty, but I realize that the thaw has already done its thing and the water has pierced its insides. That supposes that I am walking on a surface that at any moment can crumble under my weight, sinking to the riverbed. A scare, and a possible sprained ankle, what is better to avoid. The risk, in any case, it is acceptable, but the second ravine, much more abrupt, there is no way to save it. It only remains to continue climbing up the mountain or undo the path to cross the river on the original path.
We enjoy the solitude of Izas, of that immensity where the feeling of the mountain nests
But at a crossroads like this there is always a third way, which is the one that we embrace without discussion. Sitting on a stone and sandwich in hand, we enjoy the solitude of Izas, of the open spaces of this unspoiled place, of that immensity where the feeling of the mountain nests (that have so outstandingly glossed Sebastián Álvaro and Eduardo Martinez de Pison), of the overwhelming loneliness that stirs up the big questions and, also, the great inner voids, those that only go through very occasionally and groping, because neither we know what we can find.
Half an hour later, satiated with peace, we headed the way back. At a very lively pace, In just over an hour we reached the Coll de Ladrones fort. But that's another story that, as i pointed out, requires your space.
