I went looking for dolmens today. In my head this was a nice little jaunt with my friend Clare. A scramble up to a high point I’d seen in the height of the summer from my bike when it was too hot and too far to attain. We would run up towards it from much closer, first to a ruined chapel Clare had already found on one of her training runs. From there we’d strike upwards to a spot that held promise on a map.
The first unfortunate blow, struck by reality, was when Clare announced that we were running from her house in Olette. Maybe slightly preceded by there being nothing I fancied for breakfast so I’d driven up to hers stuffing an almond croissant from the Olette bakery into my mouth. These things colluded into legs of lead as we headed out. I guess that my body was annoyed that I was scuttling after Clare whilst it was occupied by digesting the tasty pastry.
Clare’s house is uphill from the centre of Olette. However, clearly not uphill enough. We found inclines above it where the hill should surely have run out. It was uphill through a kids’ playground. What are they breeding round here, children or little goats? We carried on climbing until the path started to descend to Evol.
Evol might be the prettiest village in France (or at least officially shortlisted for the honour) but it sits above a wooded valley. Implying that we had to go down again before we would (inevitably) recommence going up. The path wound along trails that looked vaguely familiar, maybe I have ridden my mountain bike down them or maybe they just look like ones I’ve ridden down.
Running face engaged.
If you don’t think I look particularly happy, it’s because I wasn’t.
I stumbled on a loose rock as we started to trend back upwards, reminding me to take it easy and keep picking up my feet. Not falling with an already dodgy shoulder was a higher priority than keeping up with Clare. At least with my long legs I could stride uphill and keep her in sight.
That wasn’t even the start of the true climb though. Everything became steeper as woodland gave way to scrubby grass. We took a wide piste that seemed steadier - until it wasn’t and I had to admit I couldn’t even alternate walking and running. My head felt light and my stomach was still angry with me (and my distracting requirements for upwards motion whilst it was trying to digest), so there was no chance of cramming in any extra calories. Just as I was berating myself for my foolishness (not for the first time), the chapel came into view. Curved walls built out of flat narrow stones still interlocked and intact to chest height, and the divot of an ancient window framing Canigou across the valleys.
It has a view because it’s very high up.
We stood admiring it, and as I appreciated the break, I wondered why it had been built in such an inaccessible place. How had the landscape changed, were there threats from marauding forces to evade? Climbing up that climb would surely protect it from casual pillaging.
The chapel wasn’t our goal though. We were after an older rock or rocks, relics from preceding millennia that were somewhere up above us. We scrambled up to the ridge above the chapel first, to try and get a better view. That only showed us that there was still a long way up above us and potential rocks far up on the horizon.
Clare set off like a springy mountain goat. “I’ll just go ahead to see if I can see anything interesting”, as I settled into a much more plodding pace. The ground was pale sand coloured, stony, with clumps of vegetation, and often little thorny bushes at ankle height. On the far horizon were clusters of dark rocks that could possibly be dolmen, and just ahead I could see a few golden red cows, glowing in the sunshine. They moved off, as Clare approached, drawing together to protect their calves. I resisted the urge to shout ‘don’t worry, she’s vegan’. Partly because I was breathing far too heavily and trying hard to remain upright.
We passed the cows’ path, to find they’d somehow melted back into the landscape and were already invisible, and continued upwards. Until Clare checked her map, and announced ’I think this is it’.
We had reached a very unassuming rock. A small pale outcrop riven with layers that we could easily stand atop. No single stone or regular shape, nothing that looked distinctive in any way. I looked at the pale grey, stratified, surface but couldn’t see anything that would single it out as having been worked, marked or shaped in prehistory. There was nothing about its location that would lead you towards it rather than any of the other outcrops or rocks we could see at intervals across the hillside.
There was still plenty of slope above us, with tantalising dark shapes that may be more interesting, but we had neither time nor inclination to climb any further. With an air of anticlimax, we turned our feet back downhill. This was a work in progress rather than a revelation from another age.
I realised that I had really had enough of running at this point. I’d set out to find a dolmen. Not found it. And now I needed to get back as quickly as I could. Where was my bike when I needed it?
Luckily I was able to distract myself with a sugary snack (always cheering - and particularly as my stomach grudgingly accepted it) and a large interesting rock formation that loomed up to left of the route we were tracing. Whilst it was definitely natural in origin, the jagged rocks we could see surrounded a sheltering space taller than head height. I was more optimistic that I would find marks on them, but a quick survey showed sheared faces with only the red blue patina that iron-containing rocks develop. Maybe if I’d had longer I would have found some sign to show that people had gathered here, or used its natural walls to protect them. My disinterest in running waned as my interest in returning to search again flickered to life.
Big rocky bowl.
Clare for scale
I trotted behind Clare as she headed back down towards the chapel, and then gathered speed as we joined the piste we’d come up on. Actually lifting my feet again, I was hopeful that we would make it back to civilisation.
The route back from there was, happily, quite short and the footpath popped us out just by the signs announcing that we were in Olette. I’d slightly lost control of my feet and kept treading on the back of Clare’s shoes in my excitement to get back.
She broke me.
It was still a pretty spectacular day though.
The moral of this story? I’m not sure. Maybe that almond croissants just before running are suboptimal nutrition. Or that an untrained runner, enthusiastically and naively, running after a seasoned athlete for over 12km and taking in more than 700m of climb ,is not going to find it a walk in the park. Or that there’s a lot to explore and (however awful I felt) I still want to keep exploring.
note: I did use the new prototype adventure Fold and Roll but I am frankly too exhausted to talk about it.
