Pico de Aneto – Day 2: Reaching the Peak
PICO DE ANETO
Day 2: Reaching the Peak
August 14, 2025
PART I
This was it: summit day! It had been months since we had set our sights on reaching the top of Pico de Aneto, and we were finally about to attempt it.
We woke up before sunrise, forced down a quick breakfast and prepared for the long day ahead. By the time we eventually returned, we would have covered around 15 kilometres and climbed more than 1,200 metres. I had done much harder treks in the past, but it had been quite a while and, according to my Garmin watch, I had been ‘detraining’ for the previous month. Let’s just say that ‘excited’ didn’t entirely describe how I felt right there and then. Kelly was equally terrified by the ordeal ahead, but luckily, the pitch-black pre-dawn darkness hid our anxiety remarkably well.
Donning our finest headlamps and grabbing our trekking poles, we began climbing immediately from the refuge, weaving through rocky slopes and boulder fields. The section was steep but relatively straightforward, gaining height quickly and gradually opening up views over the Benasque Valley. As the sun began to rise, it painted the surrounding landscape in soft, golden light. Granite peaks emerged from the darkness one by one, while the valley below slowly came to life. Driven by the quest ahead of us, however, we barely allowed ourselves enough time to appreciate it before pushing onwards.
The Road Less Scrambled
Taking the group’s fitness into consideration, and having completed the ascent the previous year, Nick decided against following the traditional route towards Portillón Superior. The standard northern route would have taken us through steep granite boulder fields before crossing the ridge at Portillón Superior and descending towards the glacier. Max instead led us along what he described as a steadier, more gradual alternative.
And lemme just say, I was so, so happy with his decision. While the traditional approach would have involved a whole lotta scrambling across barren boulders, the route he chose took us through one of the most beautiful landscapes we had encountered so far. A vast green meadow opened between the granite mountains, with a clear stream coursing through its centre and hundreds of cows grazing peacefully around it. The morning light reflected off the water while cowbells echoed throughout the valley. Here, in the middle of the open plain and surrounded by towering mountains, we stopped for our first proper break. It was so quiet and peaceful – and I could finally indulge in my traditional apple break!
The meadow eventually gave way to a chaotic field of granite blocks, which we had to scramble over before catching our first dramatic view of the Aneto Glacier. Nick told us that, when he had completed the route the previous year, far more of the mountainside had been covered in ice and snow. Now, bare moraines, glacially polished slabs and exposed rock dominated the landscape. A remaining ribbon of ice clung to the mountainside, looking considerably smaller than the frozen expanse he remembered.
According to the refuge staff, some of the visible difference between the two summers may have resulted from seasonal snowfall and melting rather than permanent ice loss alone. Still, the long-term retreat of the Aneto Glacier was painfully real. What had once been a formidable mass of ice increasingly resembled the fading remains of one. Any climate change denier should really pay the place a visit!
Leave No Man Behind
While the visible route towards Aneto drove some of us forwards, it became a source of crippling anxiety for others. Kelly was finding it increasingly difficult to continue, but Carrie encouraged her to keep moving, even if it meant slowing down considerably. Meanwhile, Julie became completely overwhelmed.
I hadn’t expected it because she had kept up remarkably well throughout the climb. Yet, confronted by the glacier and the steep mountainside ahead, she began panicking and couldn’t bring herself to continue. We tried to calm her down and encouraged her to take things one step at a time, but she simply couldn’t wrap her mind around crossing the ice. Eventually, she made the difficult but sensible decision to stay behind near the base of the glacier and wait for us. And then there were five.
The next part would arguably be the most difficult – crossing the glacier. Once we reached the ice, we strapped on our crampons and prepared for the summit push. The incline was steep, and a series of broad switchbacks carried us higher through ankle-deep snow. Every step required concentration. My knees were beginning to complain, and the occasional patch of exposed ice reminded me how quickly one careless movement could send someone sliding down the mountainside. It was touch and go on several occasions.
Whether because of seasonal conditions or the glacier’s continuing retreat, the crossing was shorter than Nick remembered. That might have made our day slightly easier, but it was hardly something worth celebrating. Before long, we stepped off the ice and reached the rocky upper ridge.
PART II
Pico's Peak
We removed our crampons and prepared for the final section. A short climb brought us onto a broad field of granite boulders. The scrambling was not especially technical, although our exhaustion made every movement feel considerably harder than it should have. But ahead of us, the summit cross was finally visible. One final scramble and, as far as I was concerned, we had made it.
Breathless from the exertion, altitude and disbelief that we had climbed so high, we stood there staring at one another. Around us lay a full 360-degree panorama of jagged granite peaks, deep glacial valleys and shimmering alpine lakes and tarns. Below us lay what was left of the Aneto Glacier, while the dark ridges of the Maladeta and Posets massifs rose in the distance. To the north, layer after layer of blue mountains faded towards France. To the south, the landscape gradually softened into the foothills of Aragón. The views were simply surreal!
We sat down to celebrate our achievement, eat our packed lunches and get some much-needed rest. The food – a piece of bread with the thinnest slice of ham and cheese – was incredibly disappointing considering everything we had endured to get there, but by that point, I would have happily eaten the packaging too.
The Summit that Wasn't
As we chewed our way through lunch, Nick casually informed us that the trek wasn’t quite over. In fact, the hardest part was still directly in front of us.
Until then, I hadn’t fully appreciated that the cross marking the true summit stood several metres away from where we were sitting. We had actually reached Aneto’s antecima – the fore-summit. To reach the real summit, we would have to cross the Puente de Mahoma – a narrow rocky ridge that’s around 40 metres long and features the most dramatic drops on both sides. This, according to Nick, wuld require careful scrambling and would lead us to the true summit at 3,404 metres.
Fellow trekkers were pulling on harnesses and tying themselves to ropes before attempting the crossing. I took one look at the drop and immediately backed away. It wasn’t me chickening out so much as me respecting the life I very much loved and remained in awe of. As far as I was concerned, reaching the antecima – only a few metres away from the actual summit – was more than enough. I felt accomplished right where I was. Attempting the crossing seemed reckless, and I could definitely do without it. For once, my FOMO had been completely subdued by the sight of a sheer mountainside and I was more than satisfied by looking at Nick’s photos.
The same could not be said for Harry. He desperately wanted to reach the cross and began making his way along the ridge, only to become overwhelmed by vertigo around halfway across. Nick, who had previous experience on the mountain, managed to complete the crossing and reach the true summit. He tried to help Harry continue, but even that wasn’t enough and he eventually turned back.
The rest of us sat contentedly on the antecima, knowing that we had already pushed ourselves farther than most of us had thought possible. Harry, meanwhile, maintained his pouty expression throughout. His FOMO was a powerful thing.
PART III
A New Guide is Born
Semi-fed and somewhat recovered, we began the journey back towards La Renclusa. We would be following roughly the same route down, something that always irks me slightly. Retracing my steps makes me feel as though I am slowly undoing all the hard work I put into the ascent.
We scrambled back across the boulder field, strapped on our crampons once again and carefully descended the glacier. At its base, we reunited with Julie, who had been waiting patiently beside a glacial stream – probably the most scenic waiting room imaginable. She welcomed us with enormous relief. Having recovered our old travelling companion, however, we almost immediately had to say goodbye to two others. Kelly’s knees had finally had enough, so Nick offered to remain behind and accompany her down at a much slower pace. Apparently, I would now be leading the rest of the group back to Refugio de La Renclusa.
You see, I might have accumulated quite a bit of trekking experience over the years, but when I’m hiking alone, I make a conscious effort to memorise the landmarks and every major turn I take. That way, I can retrace my steps without getting lost. Having Nick as our de facto route leader meant that I had allowed my mind to switch off completely. I had spent the entire morning following him without paying much attention to where we were going. As a result, I now had absolutely no clue which route we had taken. The others were equally disoriented.
My Inner Compass
The best I could do was walk towards something that seemed at least vaguely familiar – a distinctive peak facing the ridge on which we were standing. I was almost certain that we had seen it earlier. Almost.
And so, I chose that mountain as our target. We walked and walked, yet it never seemed to get any closer. By then, I was riddled with anxiety. There was nobody else around and we had no clear trail or reliable point of reference. Some possible routes led us completely off course. Others appeared unnecessarily exposed or dangerous. At every turn, I looked back towards the same peak I had been visualising and did my best to guide us towards it. It had become a monomaniacal obsession.
As hopelessly lost as I felt, whenever one of the others suggested an alternative route, I told them to trust me. I was fully aware that most of it was guesswork. Yet somewhere deep – way, way deep – inside my gut, I felt certain that I was heading in the right direction.
Luckily, I was right. The moment we reached the ridge beneath the peak that had been mocking us for what felt like hours, I recognised the meadow we had crossed earlier that morning, cradled between the mountains below. I came this close to crying the second I spotted it. The stream, the cows and the broad green plain had never looked so beautiful. More importantly, they confirmed that we were finally heading in the correct direction. For the first time since leaving Nick, I could breathe properly again.
The Trekkers Beside Me
Now that we were back on track, I could finally begin enjoying the descent. It wasn’t all fun and games, though. We still had a very long way to go.
Exhausted as we were, the approaching sunset pushed us onwards. I could hardly imagine having to find our way back to the refuge in complete darkness. If years of trekking had taught me anything, it was to respect both nature and my limitations. And so, we kept walking. As we did, I found myself feeling increasingly grateful for the company of these people – the same people I had been so sceptical about before the trip.
- Carrie: A force to be reckoned with. Before getting to know her, I had dismissed her as a self-important local celebrity with delusions of grandeur. Now, I could see the fierce and courageous woman beneath all the bravado. She had travelled extensively and climbed more mountains than I could name. She had raised her son alone and spoke about him with an overwhelming sense of pride. Most impressive of all was her joie de vivre – an infectious passion for living that seemed to energise everyone around her. I could see so much of myself in her.
- Julie: An absolute sweetheart and one of the purest souls I had ever met. When we returned from the upper mountain, she welcomed every one of us with a high five and a hug. She was genuinely ecstatic that we had made it and seemed completely at peace with her decision to remain behind. The experience had already been incredible enough for her. Had I missed out on reaching the antecima, I would probably have been so consumed by jealousy that I wouldn’t have managed to smile at anyone. To be fair, that says way more about me than it does about her.
- Harry: The guy I had such an enormous crush on for so, so long. As he bombarded me with ‘would you rather?’ questions and chatted throughout the descent, I found myself more confused than ever. We appeared to have an alarming amount in common. We shared similar attitudes towards most things, and he seemed like an incredibly intelligent, interesting and well-rounded person. He truly was a catch by almost any standard. That said, I wasn’t entirely sure whether there was any real attraction between us – from either side. Plus, he kept talking about his ex. Perhaps not a full red flag, but certainly a large flashing warning sign.
Somewhere along the way, I’d grown really fond of this odd little group. Only a day earlier, I’d been judging half of them and wondering what the hell I’d signed up for. Now, after just a day and a half and everything we’d been through together, I couldn’t imagine doing the trek with anyone else!
Silhouettes at Dusk
The trek back to the refuge seemed endless. Every time we thought we had finally arrived, the path curved behind another ridge and revealed yet another stretch of mountain. By the end, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in the foetal position and cry myself to death.
When La Renclusa finally came into view, an actual tear escaped. I could hardly believe we had made it back. We would have celebrated immediately, but two members of our group were still missing. Nick had reassured us that he and Kelly would be fine and that their slower pace might add a couple of hours to the descent. In the meantime, we showered, changed and settled into the refuge, eagerly awaiting their arrival.
After a couple of hours, our relief began turning into concern. The light was fading, and there was still no sign of them. Before long, we were all beginning to freak out. We discussed alerting the refuge staff and contacting mountain rescue. Anything seemed reasonable when two of our friends could potentially be stranded high on the mountain as darkness approached. Just as I suggested that we go outside and look for them, someone spotted two silhouettes in the distance: it was Nick and Kelly!
We ran towards them, relieved and almost incredulous that they had made it back in one piece – and just in time for dinner. They were exhausted, but they were safe. Finally reunited, we could raise a glass to everything we had achieved. Only one of us had technically reached the true summit, yet after the glacier, the exposed ridge, the wrong turns, the failing knees and the race against sunset, it still felt like an overall success!