Last Days and Final Castles

After a gentle and dry rest day I felt full of beans and made an early start from the gite at Comus after breakfast for what would be a day of two distinct halves; the morning was all down hill, following the base of the Frau Gorge down hill before climbing up to the village of Montsegur and its imposing castle.

Path down into the Frau Gorge.

This was supposed to be one of the highlights of the trip but it was a little bit of an anticlimax. The path quickly led was an undeniable feeling of being in the bottom of a very deep and narrow gorge but the trees were so thick and close that it was often almost impossible to see and feel the true scale of the gorge, which was something of a pity.
The descent was about five miles and some 3100 feet but the path was generally good and I was at the bottom and effectively out of the gorge after only a couple of hours.

A rare glimpse of the Frau Gorge’s depth, the path weaves its way through the trees at the very bottom.

The descent ended quite suddenly at a small carpark and picnic area, from here the path wound its way up to the village of Montsegur, a climb of about four miles and 2300’.

Fortunately, after some ten days of walking my fitness and stamina seemed to have improved to the point where the climb, while steep and quite slippery from the previous day’s rain, wasn’t too difficult or unpleasant.

Eventually I clambered out of the ascent and onto an excellent track that took me easily and quickly to Montsegur village.  This is a true gem of a village, small narrow streets lined with two and three storey houses, a few shops, a couple of restaurants and a bar. The only downside was a distinct lack of road names and a building numbering system based on the order in which the buildings had been constructed.! After a couple of false starts, including being directed to the wrong address by a local couple, I found my gite.

Home for the night, La Pellerin in Montsegur.

Leaving my rucksack in my room I headed up to the castle. Montsegur is famously perched high on a pog ( the local name for a steep rocky outcrop often with a castle perched on its summit.).
Montsegur is famous as being one of the main Cathar castles, after a protracted siege the castle finally fell to the crusader forces who added another atrocity to their holy war by burning alive 225 ‘heretic’ Cathars believers.
It was a long, steep climb up to the castle which proved to be different from any of the others I’d visited. Most of the castles, with the exception of Puivert had ben pretty ruinous, romantic, but ruinous, odd bits of wall and maybe a crumbling tower or two. Montsegur’s outer wall was completely intact and as I toiled up to it I was amazed by how bold and formidable it still looked. This proved to be something of an illusion as there was nothing with the very imposing walls, the castle was a beautiful fully enclosed curtain, the outlines of old building were clearly visible on the inner walls, delineated by beam sockets which ran in rows around the its inner circumference but of the structures themselves there was no sign..

The main entrance to Montsegur.

Inside the fully intact curtain wall.

The views however were magnificent and I found a small sheltered area in which nestled a couple of dozen mountain gentians. These are gorgeous little flowers that only grow at altitude in the Alps and Pyrenees Like most alpine plants they grow lowdown in sheltered spots between rocks, clinging to the thin soils and surviving despite the harsh conditions; but unlike most alpine flora, which tend to have quite muted colours, the gentians are a stunning, deep blue. I first saw gentians when I visited the Pyrenees nearly 50 years ago and they’re a rare and gorgeous treat for the eyes and soul.

Mountain gentians.

The evening at the gite was a very pleasant affair the food and wine was excellent and I shared a very nice bottle of Cote de Rhone with an Irish couple who visited the area regularly.

Breakfast was the standard continental fare and after nearly two weeks, one I’d happily forego but it did provide a lot of energy to get me up the hills which, despite there being only two days left showed no signs of abating.

Montsegur Castle, high on its pog.

The Grand Randonnée paths in general try and avoid roads on the principle that if want to go for a long walk in the country then you probably don’t want to spend any time walking on tarmac, however the path route from Montsegur to the next village, Montferrier was something of an exception, with the route sometimes following a road and sometimes detouring through woods for a little easier on the feet.

Montferrier was one of those strange places that you sometimes stumble across; a small village that in the past was a centre of local industry that has now closed or moved away from some reason or another, leaving weird traces of long defunct activity. In the case of Montferrier it was a Then it was up again, this time on a well graded old cobbled track, probably a remnant of the village’s industrial past, in this case weaving and cloth making with much of the power coming from the local river.

A strange series of tanks and sluices in the river at Montferrier, a mute remnant from the cloth making industry.

From Montferrier the route climbed to the next ridge on an old cobbled track which in turn became a narrow path diving steeply down the next wooded slope.  This soon became a nightmare of slippery yellow and black mud, pools of water and rotting leaf mould, all running with water. It was the dirtiest, wettest and most horrible two miles of the whole trip and what should have taken less than a 40 minute stroll took an hour and a half.

Eventually I emerged onto a road, fed up and with wet feet and mud up to my knees, from the road, the official route crossed the road and continued in the same vain into more sodden woodland. Not fancying more muddy tracks with added climbing I elected to trog up the road and pretty soon arrived at the village of Roquefixade and the end of the penultimate day’s walking.

I left my rucksack at the gite and strolled up to the local castle.

Roquefixade much smaller than any of the other castles I’d visited and was in a particularly ruinous state due to being deliberately torn down by the king of France for reasons best only known to himself. The result is a long abandoned ruin that is, considering its state, surprisingly picturesque. Its character being enhanced by its situation on the end of a jutting spur of rock which allowed me to climb up and behind the castle and appreciate its place in the landscape.

Roquefixade Castle, a particularly fine ruin.

The only accommodation in Roquefixade was a gite which I’d booked a week or so earlier on the strength of the Meteo forecasting thunder. This turned out to be a very wise decision as the weather, which had been hot and sunny all day began to cloud over at about 7 and by 9 it was hammering down, not the sort of night you want to be outside, even if there had been a campsite.

When I woke, at about 6:30 the weather had cleared and the views from my balcony was fantastic.

The central Pyrenees from Roquefixade.

II always have mixed feeling on the last day of a long walk, part of me looks forward to finishing the walk but another part regrets the end of the journey and with the weather as fine as it was I was mostly inclined to a tinge of sadness that this adventure would soon be over.

However I still had a full day’s walking in front of me and I wasn’t looking forward to the final 5 miles. Both the guide book and walkers at the gite who had walked from Foix the previous day said that the end of the walk had been rerouted out of the hills and on to a road all the way to Foix. The good news, apparently, was that it was possible to get a bus and save the road walking which is what they had done. Unfortunately they had caught the bus out of Foix and while they could tell me where they had disembarked, no one had any idea what time the busses ran the other way.

The first 14 or 15 kilometres were great, I was fit and strong enough now to enjoy even the steep uphill stretches. The path a followed a rising line though open beech and oak woods

Leaving Roquefixade on the last day’s walk.

Beneath the tree canopy the air was still, cool and damp but where the trees opened out into pastures the temperature rose but the views across to the central Pyrenees were superb, nearly a match for the high pastures I’d walked across a few days previously.

Last views of the central Pyrenees before beginning to descend down to Foix.

The final four or five miles were a definitely a bit of a trudge along the road to Foix, but it was quick if a bit hot and boring and was completely bus free. After less than two hours after reaching the road I was in Foix and the end of the walk.

Foix, the final castle and end of the Cather Way.

Then it was all over, I dropped my rucksack off in the hotel and headed up to see the last castle.

Although the Count of Foix was a supporter of the Cathar cause, the castle survived the crusade and became, under various Counts of Foix an important cultural and political centre in the region, often in direct competition with the Count of Toulouse.

The castle is very well preserved and is undergoing a lot of very sympathetic restoration; it is also the centre of a modern cultural revival with an excellent museum and gallery. It has also invested heavily in guides and living history, on a quiet Wednesday afternoon I spotted at least 3 guides (dressed in apropriate medieval costumes) taking small groups arround the castle as well as several static living history displays including stone masonry, cooking and archery.

One of Foix castle’s impressive towers.

And that was that, a couple of beers and a meal to celebrate then it was an early night before catching a series of trains from Foix to Lancaster and home.

Altogether it had been a very exciting trip, I’d wanted something a bit harder and more adventurous than the last year’s Stevenson Trail and I definitely got it. While it was about 40 miles shorted than the Stevenson, the countryside was much wilder and there was a lot more climbing and descending, on average it was about the walking up and down Skiddaw from Keswick every day for two weeks.

The weather wasn’t terribly kind either, it was quite a bit cooler than average and there was a lot of rain, although I was very luck that most of it fell at night or on two days when I was able to find accommodation, rest and wait out the storms.

A couple of times I did find myself wondering if I’d bitten off a bit more than I could chew, but persevered and enjoyed almost all the trip.

I’d wanted an adventure and a test and the Cathar Way provided that and history and fantastic scenery as well.