In contrast to all the tiny coves yesterday, Hendaye is a 3km long beach break and promenade to mark France’s most southwesterly point. At one end are the twin bell-shaped Duex Jumeaux rocks carved by wave action. At the other end is the Bidassoa estuary that separates France from Spain. Over the water is the very Spanish sounding town of Hondaribba. The promenade is a lovely stretch of walkway raised above the fine sands. The grey cloudy morning has not deterred the countless surf schools and open water swimmers that use this ultra safe stretch to plunge into the waves every day.
I have to get a boat across the border and then walk out to Cabo Higuer point before my trail starts. This will add an unexpected 8km onto my day today and I realise that I will be looking at close to 30km before my hike is over. It has been years since I walked that distance but I am not overly concerned. It would throw me if it was later in the day that I learned of the extra hike but as it is I can adjust my pace. I will take it easy. I have compeed on my blister and I shoulder my rucksack.
As I cross the border on a tiny yellow boat that costs €2.50 I read a little more about this location. There is a small island called Pheasant Island in the estuary that is owned by France for six months of the year and then it swaps over to be managed by Spain for the next six months. This makes it the worlds smallest condominium. It has been this way since the 17th century and it was on that island that Louis 14th met his new bride from Spain, Marie Therese. Hemingway lived in Hendaye in the 1920s. Franco and Hitler met here during the war and it was here that Franco declined to officially join the Axis because he didn’t want to annoy the Brits and the Yanks.
I am in Spain in less than ten minutes and I follow the other side of the estuary all the way up to Cabo Higuer, meeting plenty of walkers and joggers that use this stretch.
“Spain – a great whale stranded on the shores of Europe.”
Elizabeth Oakes Smith
Cabo Higuer is where Mount Jaizkibel runs down into the water. It is 545m high and I will be crossing this peak today. It is also the starting point of the epic GR11 that takes you across the Pyrenees and all the way to the Mediterranean. The Camino Norte also goes through here but I will be following the shorter GR121 along the coast. It is more poetically known as the Talaia Ibilbidea or the Lookout route. By the time I get to the start, the grey clouds have disappeared and the air is as hot as the previous day. On my right is the deep blue Cantabrian Sea. A yellow clay goat trail disappears into the green woodland ahead. There will be no water or food or civilisation for the next 22km. I can. Not. Wait.
What follows is some of the finest wilderness walking I have ever experienced. The path follows the rolling shoulder of the mountain for about 10km and then heads up and away from the coastline to the summit. The signage is simple but more important, well visible. The off-road distance alone is fantastic. This is really what I came here for – a long day’s walk through unspoiled nature. As the day progresses I feel the busy stress of townlife fall away from me. At each creek where the mountain slides into the sea I meet other groups of hikers and families out exploring. The whole mountain is criss-crossed with trails and everyone wants to take their picnic breaks on the giant slabs of rock near the water or in the Pine forests.
A few things stand out for me. The geology is incredibly varied and is like nothing I have ever seen before. Yellow sandstone is carved into honeycomb structures by who-knows-what. One minute a cliff is straight as a ruler, the next it is pocked with holes and round whorls like an old Oak tree. There are giant slabs of rock as big as houses that look like they are melting or else they look like they are made up of rows of perfectly laid bricks. In one place the trail has fallen away into the water below and the only way across is over a narrow ledge holding on to a big old rope that looks like it came off a pirate galleon.
I encounter my first ever wild snake. It is small and cute and is in no hurry to move for me. When I come closer with my camera I marvel at its languid grace as it slides through blades of grass into the undergrowth. Five minutes later I hear a rustle to my right and my eyes land on the brightest greenest lizard I have ever seen. This is so unlike the tiny brown newt like creatures that I am familiar with. It is large, almost like a mini dragon. I have to adjust my eyes because I am not used to seeing so much detail. Each individual scale along its seems to sparkle like a jewel under a microscope and when it moves it is like a flash of magic that disappears and reforms. I also see hundreds of Spanish slugs on the trail. They are all a glistening jet black, about the length of my foot and unlike Irish slugs they bask in the sun without drying up, which is just weird behaviour for a slug.
I have my lunch sitting on a fallen log on the bluff of a Pine Forest overlooking the sea. The floor is carpeted with red Pine needles. By now I have built up my walking rhythm and am thoroughly relaxed. I am in no hurry to get anywhere. It takes a while for this to happen to me when I am walking, but it always happens. I soak up the sea air and the warmth of the sun and the smell of the woods around me.
After 10km I come to Cabo Bioznar, a prominent finger of rock that juts out into the sea and points accusingly at Canada. This is where I leave the coastline for a while and follow the path up through heather towards green pastures higher up. The climb is steep at first but it eases out and follows some old zig-zag trails. I meet a herd of semi feral Basque horses and have to talk nicely to one of them so he will move off my path. The herd is accompanied by a large billy goat that I smell a long time before I see.
When I look back down to the bluff where I had my lunch I spy a bunch of about ten circling birds of prey that are enjoying the updraft. At first I think these are buzzards but after watching them for a while I discover that this is a kettle (I know!) of Griffon Vultures. Their wings are much larger, like planks of wood and their heads have that bald sunburnt look.
I go through more shady forests for a while. Apart from one overflowing stream I have to be careful crossing, the walking is steady and safe. I meet some cows and cross a main road before continuing upwards once again. Eventually I reach the Jaizkibel ridge and follow a trail of torreas (stone fortifications from the Carlist Wars). It is going into late afternoon now and the 360 degree views from up here with the softening sun are magnificent. Now, along with the views of the sea I can see all the other hills along the coast and the inland towns and villages that spread themselves across the Pyrenees.
The further I walk along the trail, the narrower it gets. It is stunning and sublime until it eventually becomes a knife edge with a tiny foot trail. On the seaward side the ridge plummets straight down smooth cliffs. The trail is mostly protected from this side by a ridge of cliff rocks that arrow upwards but there are places where the path is open and if it was a windy day I would be pretty nervous. On the landward side it is less steep and the slope is covered in scrub and trees below. Still, I am carrying a 7kg rucksack on my back. If I leave the trail here, the weight will turn me into an unstoppable object until I reach the bottom. I can see from the land forms ahead that it is getting narrower and it is going to start descending rapidly at some stage.
I have walked a long way so far and my knee muscles now have that mid-50s shake in them. In the end there is about 2km of this left and I take it bit by bit. That is the only way to do it. In places my rucksack makes it extremely difficult to scramble and at one point I have to kind of shimmy down a rock looking for my feet to find their footings. I hang onto the side of the rockface where I can for extra grip just in case. It is not the safest hike I have ever done but I can’t go back now. I take it easy, take no chances. I stop every few metres for a rest and to pop a sweet in my mouth and look at where I need to go next. Eventually I make it to the end of the ridge and a wide open concrete road that I can walk down the rest of the way at ease. I pass a local swimming cove and then stroll into the beautiful basque village of Pasaia where all the restaurants are shutting for the evening.
Hola Spain!
