It really was a beautiful valley though, and beautiful weather to see it in too. From the refuge the path followed a ridge over several lumpy hillocks then dropped down to the stream running along the bottom of the valley. I timed Alf and Martha as they reached the stream: we were half an hour behind by the time we got to the same spot. For the hour and a half walk along the stream, we made good progress, enjoying several close encounters of the porcine kind. There were also a number of mules dotted about, and the weather was warm enough to tempt the lizards out on to the rocks to sunbathe.
Figure 18: The smooth-sided valley, complete with cloud-maker
Near the mouth of the valley, it turned sharply, requiring us to cross the stream, and also finally allowing us to see out of the end of it. We could see our final destination, way, way up on the other side of the valley we were feeding into. It seemed a thousand miles away.
As if dispirited by this, Claudia suddenly lost steam, and had to rest for ten minutes. The tactic worked well, and we resolved to do it regularly: fifty minutes walking, ten minutes rest. But we would need two more rests before we made it back. The last stretch of the valley was a beautiful tumble of boulders and stones, which the path and the stream weaved their way through as best they could. Scots Pines were dotted about wherever they could get a foothold, and they became more and more frequent, until they formed the forest that covered the sides of the new valley we were entering.
At last we dropped down off the ledge we had been following, forded the stream and then followed the contour round into the large valley. We came across a disgusting bergerie, piled with garbage in every corner, depressing collections of twentieth century detritus-plastic bags, beer cans, detergent bottles and boxes-in this eighteenth century setting of dry-stone cottages.
