The Great Divide
RW’S Tobias Mews tackles the monumental Grand Raid des Pyrénées
THEY MAY NOT HAVE QUITE THE PROFILE OF THE ALPS, BUT THE TOWERING PEAKS THAT SEPARATE THE IBERIAN PENINSULA FROM THE REST OF EUROPE ARE NO LESS AWE-INSPIRING, AND, IN THE GRAND RAID DES PYRÉNÉES, MAY STAGE THE BEST – AND TOUGHEST – MOUNTAIN ULTRA OF THEM ALL, AS RW’S TOBIAS MEWS DISCOVERS
Ilook down at my watch for the umpteenth time…
4:59am. After many years of waiting, only one minute to go. Around me, my fellow ultrarunners are nervously fidgeting in the pre-dawn darkness, headlamps shining above their wide-eyed stares.
There’s excitement in those eyes – and I see fear too: over 40 per cent of us won’t finish within the 52-hour cut-off. For me, it will be 42 hours and 26 minutes before I return to this quaint village square just outside Saint-lary-soulan, barely able to walk, let alone run. But I’m blissfully unaware of that as I ride the wave of collective euphoria over the start line, taking the first of the half million steps it will take me to finish the Grand Raid des Pyrénées.
Since its debut in 2008, the GRP has established itself as the connoisseur’s mountain ultra. Like the more celebrated Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc, the GRP offers a choice of shorter races, with the main event around 160km long with roughly 10,000m of ascent. But those stats hide the fact that the GRP is a far tougher proposition: there are no groomed paths,and large portions of the route are littered with rocks and boulders; the climbs are savage and steep, and the descents often hazardous.
The GRP is also devoid of the fanfare and fluff of some other big-name ultras. There’s currently no ballot or requirement for exhaustive points, and registration is an understated affair. But any lack of glamour is balanced by the warm, family atmosphere, while the brutal demands of the route are offset by the savage, ethereal beauty of Europe’ second largest mountain range. The spiralling towers of the Pyrenees, some still glistening with summer snow, are interspersed with lakes of spectacular blue. Marmots whistle among the rocks, cowbells chime as the herds graze the high pasture and enormous bearded vultures hang on the thermals above.
And, once a year, you’ll see a long line of exhausted ultrarunners, many on the verge of collapse. But look closely enough and you’ll see their faces shining with the wonder of a truly magical experience.