There are landscapes that permeate your life, that soak her with experiences that linger in her memory until they become confused with her. Landscapes of memory, landscape memory, so much of. They are places you never say goodbye to., to which you always return, because somewhere you are scattered pieces of that puzzle that is life, Often the most solid, those foundations on which we manage to continue maintaining, barely, The balance.
If the own sense that intuited Unamuno Malvive away from common sense -ol, a hundred times denied without waiting for any rooster singing, suffocated under appearances and conventions-, Then it is undoubtedly distributed by all those sites that travel our veins. Ordesa, for me, is one of them.
Few things have spoiled the imagination in my childhood than the only name of Monte Lost
Few things have spoiled the imagination in my childhood than the sole name of the Lost Mountain, that I listened to the Ordesa meadow when I asked my father where those mountaineers were going with backpacks on his back, The old Altus. The Goriz shelter, of which snowstrokes and missing mountaineers were told, I always stirred my dreams with the lost as a mountain that honored his name, distant and enigmatic, inaccessible and dark. I was afraid, truth, I imposed respect, But at the same time I wanted to upload it with all my soul. I did it with just twelve years, Making night in Goriz, And then I have repeated another four times, If I remember correctly, All of them going up and down from the lost on the same day.
I have traveled Ordesa on many occasions in the last thirty years through the girdles on both sides of the canyon, For the air Flower girdle And for the Racon, Fear of Pelay, by the path of hunters, for the stalls of Carriata and those of Cotatuero, From Nerín, by Rolando Gap and the Taillón…
Everything begins in that same Ordesa meadow that fed my children's dreams, At the foot of the impressive Mallo Tozal
And everything begins in that same Ordesa meadow that fed my children's dreams, At the foot of the impressive Tozal del Mallo and of the endless rock walls of the Chicken coop. In that same meadow to which I bring my children today, A spring morning that threatens rain, so that Ordesa permeates their lives as it did with mine and illuminates within them that love for the mountains that is born from respect and found in them, even above the reward of beauty, a formidable school of life.
The Arazas River born in the snowy peaks of Perdido, The Soum of Ramond and the Cylinder of Marboré, the Three Sorores (according to legend, three Moorish princesses who fled from the Aljafería Palace in Zaragoza during the Muslim domination towards France and who were surprised by a storm when they were trying to cross the Pyrenees, leaving their bodies covered in snow and rock).
When spring awakens, Ordesa has a special charm, that of the struggle of snow and flowers to dominate the landscape
From up there, Its course rushes into several waterfalls until you reach the Ordesa meadow (The most spectacular, of Cola de Caballo, Above the Bucolic SOASO BLACES), where it already runs in these dates wide and caudaloso. Its shores are traveled in one direction or another and that comfortable walk is a magnificent appetizer, Suitable for all audiences, of the greatness of this national park that its main driver, the French photographer Lucien Briet (1860-1921), defined as "the venerable jungle of the Pyrenees".
Ordesa is spectacular in autumn, When heaven pours on his beech and his infinite stone, About the murmur of water and the story paths, cubes and paint cubes of all colors. An unavoidable appointment, almost a religion. But when spring it clears, The National Park also has a special charm, the one with the struggle of snow and flowers for dominating such an imposing landscape, The one with the threshing of the faint leaves crossed by the light.
Walk, here, It is an obligation, It doesn't matter how old you have
A tour of the parking lot leaves a tour, Conditioned in recent years with explanatory panels, which allows you to know a little better ordea while walking. Because walking, here, It is an obligation, It doesn't matter how old you have. My little daughter, three years old, It is a good proof of this.
Let's walk, as, Towards the river. The snowy walls of the glacier circus appear in the distance until the Hayedo is engulfed once the Arazas crossed by a wooden bridge. To our right emerges majestic the bow of Calcilaruego, The viewpoint par excellence of the Pelay belt. The footsteps creak on the mantle of dried leaves dotted with snow while the silence silences your concerns, So tiny now. The moss -covered branches extend over us as tormented spirits of the forest, further accentuating the magic of the place. A huge fir defeated by nature rests on the ground by putting a smile to this vertical kingdom of infinite trunks.
The moss -covered branches extend over us as tormented spirits of the forest
The walk is brief; The pleasure, immense. Before crossing the river again by another small bridge the walker has before him the glacier walls of the Cotatuero circus, One of the greatest water jumps in the Pyrenees, which divides the chicken coop and the Fraucata. Only quite aerial pegs, won the rock more than a century ago by the blacksmith of the nearby town of Torla, They allow to cross it. I spent them in a descending sense a few years ago, When unconsciousness led you to repeat the sections in search of a good photo, Without repairing that the sweet abyss open under your feet.
It begins to rain and the snow of the summits refulge as the mirror of a shipwrecked that will try to attract our attention in the distance. On the banks of the other shore, In the foothills of one of the most beautiful beech, We return to the meadow after giving up reaching the first waterfall. And, as always that I apartment these paths, I remote from Ordesa, of the blessed orde, overflowing with life.
