Pico de Aneto – Day 4: One Last Cruel Joke
PICO DE ANETO
Day 4: One Last Cruel Joke
August 16, 2025
PART I
I guess it’s an obvious observation when I say that no one understands me better than I understand myself. But trust me when I say that even I couldn’t begin to imagine what the hell was going on when I woke up full of energy and ready to start our trek. I swear, there must have been something wrong with me.
It was probably the belief that it was all gonna be downhill from there. The previous day, we had decided to cut short what our map estimated would be an 18-kilometre trek back towards Benasque. We would walk around seven kilometres downhill and then catch a bus back to the village, leaving us with half a day to join Kelly for a spa treatment. We felt as though we had seen and done more than enough. It was only fair that we treated ourselves to a little luxury, after all.
And so, driven by the prospect of having a couple of expert hands kneading our sore bodies back into something resembling working order, we began our descent.
"All" Downhill
The descent, as it turned out, began with a brief 300-metre uphill climb. Although my motivation hadn’t buckled just yet and my soreness remained at an acceptable level, my lungs felt like they were giving out.
After three days of trekking at such high altitudes, I was surprised to find myself getting so breathless after climbing only a few metres. Never in my entire life had I felt as out of breath as I did while climbing those 300 metres. It simply must have been the altitude! But despite that, I went on. And, after the steady ascent along the rocky path, we reached the Collado de Vallibierna – the highest point we would encounter that day according to both Nick and the map.
From the pass, the landscape opened into the Vallibierna cirque, revealing an incredible vista across the valley, with the lakes lying at our feet. This time, we could actually take a few minutes to appreciate the view, knowing that we had a much shorter journey ahead of us than the previous day. And, most importantly, that it would definitely be all downhill from there.
Although the descent wasn’t as easy as we had imagined, we were at least accompanied by wonderful views of the lakes throughout. They were a welcome sight for sore eyes and even sorer bodies – particularly after the barren boulder fields that had dominated much of the previous day.
We scrambled down at a slow pace as the trail led us towards the shimmering waters of the Ibón Alto de Vallibierna, a cold, wind-ruffled lake set beneath steep granite walls. Much like the previous day, I suggested stopping there for a short break, only for Nick to assure us that there would be plenty more lakes ahead where we could chill. A little further down, we stumbled upon the Ibón Bajo de Vallibierna, another glacial lake surrounded by alpine meadows and slightly gentler terrain. With the future never guaranteed, I insisted that we stop there. It was the perfect opportunity to take a dip in the refreshing, ice-cold water.
While I jumped in without a second thought, the others required a little convincing after seeing my reaction the moment my head rose above the surface. Despite the initial shock, it felt like the best damn thing ever, especially for my blister-riddled feet, still-swollen knee and aching calves. The descent, as it turned out, began with a brief 300-metre uphill climb. Although my motivation hadn’t buckled just yet and my soreness remained at an acceptable level, my lungs felt like they were giving out.
The Promised Land
After our break, we continued descending through the wide Vallibierna Valley, eventually entering patches of pine and fir forest.
Unlike the rest of the trail, this felt like a walk in the park. We enjoyed several kilometres of pure bliss as we hiked through the gorgeous forest, with the occasional stream or waterfall gracing our view. It provided such a pleasant contrast to the barren wasteland we had trodden across the previous day! Here we could finally appreciate flowers of all kinds, along with birds and butterflies fluttering around us – the entire landscape buzzing with life.
Enjoying our lunch beneath the shade of an enormous pine tree became one of the highlights of the day. Well-fed and happy, we continued downwards until we reached the Refugio de Coronas, a simple, unstaffed mountain hut beside the Puente de Coronas, used by climbers approaching Aneto from its southern side. To us, this was the promised land. This was where we would catch the bus back to Benasque.
Having arrived several hours ahead of schedule to make absolutely certain that we didn’t miss it, we found a peaceful spot beside the Vallibierna River. It was the most idyllic of places, transporting me back to my time in Theth, Albania, as we sat along the riverbank before plunging into the freezing water once again.
Back on dry land, I guided Julie and Carrie through a gentle seated yoga flow, which felt simply heavenly after four days of trekking without so much as a basic stretch. I couldn’t have been happier if I tried!
PART II
The Bus That Never Came
I couldn’t have been happier – that is, until a park ranger told us that the Vallibierna track had been closed. That, of course, meant there would be no bus.
I swear, the second I heard him say that, I almost fainted. I’m talking proper presyncope here: blurred vision, light-headedness, nausea and the overwhelming feeling that I was about to pass out. I then translated everything for the rest of the group and watched the same expression spread across all their faces.
We simply couldn’t believe it. It felt like a nightmare that refused to end. Aneto was the mountain that kept on giving. It had been one struggle after another, with our plans being repeatedly derailed. Every time we tried to devise an alternative route that better suited our needs, the universe mocked us by forcing us onto something even more difficult than what we had originally planned.
The park ranger assured us that it would be only another eight kilometres over mostly straightforward terrain, an easy walk by all accounts. Compared with what we had already endured, it probably would be easy. That said, we had already mentally accepted that we were done. Having to restart felt unnecessarily cruel. And, the worst part is, we had no other option.
One Final March
Alongside several other angry trekkers who had also been waiting for the bus, we began the final leg of the trail.
From there, the route became progressively easier, following tracks and forest paths along the valley floor as the high peaks receded behind us. The descent continued for several kilometres, trading the alpine silence we had grown accustomed to for the sounds of rushing rivers, cowbells and the first hints of civilisation.
As we marched onwards for what felt like hours, we chatted endlessly about travelling, whirlwind romances while on holiday, Nick’s mysterious new beau, whom he was being incredibly secretive about, Harry’s ongoing property hunt and everything in between.
One Final Meltdown
The final section of the trek featured all kinds of mental breakdowns and meltdowns. When we encountered a fork in the road and discovered that the path we were supposed to follow involved yet another uphill climb, Carrie burst into tears and told us to continue without her.
Instead, we chose what appeared to be an easier but longer route, at which point we promptly became lost. For a while, it was a matter of trial and error, with every path seemingly turning out to be the wrong one. I just wanted to curl up in foetal position and cry myself to sleep. My body ached and my psyche was faring no better. It was all just too much! I don’t ever recall complaining and whining so damn much during any trek – including my first one back in the Ciudad Perdida, Colombia.
Eventually, however, we spotted the main road that would lead us back towards civilisation. Once we reached the tarmac – something I had never truly appreciated until that moment – we collapsed onto the ground as we faced one last hurdle: we could either walk several more kilometres back to Benasque or hail a taxi. Neither option seemed particularly possible – especially since we were all done by that point and the fact that there didn’t seem to be a single taxi available.
That’s when we realised that there was a third option: hitchhiking. With our thumbs pointing upwards, we eventually attracted the attention of a passing car, allowing Carrie and Julie to leave first. A few minutes later, Harry, Nick and I managed to get a lift from a delightful but completely unhinged woman who practically drag-raced all the way to the village. We held on for dear life as she swerved around bends and between oncoming traffic. You see, she had to pick her son up from school.
And So We Finally Chill
Still, I guess all’s well that ends well. After being hurriedly chucked out of the car, we walked towards our hotel and found Kelly, Carrie and Julie sitting outside with beers alongside David and Paula, the couple who had given Carrie and Julie a lift back.
We celebrated our achievement over another round of beers and spent at least a couple of hours simply sitting there, unable to move. It was here that I caved and asked Kelly for a cigarette – the first in over a year and a half. As great as I felt about myself ever since I had quit smoking, there was this one thought I had while trekking that made me feel like smoking again: if I’m still out of breath when I’m not smoking, I might as well smoke if I feel like it. And so, one cigarette wouldn’t be the end of the world, right? And lemme tell ya, it did kinda feel amazing.
Finally able to relax and just be, it was nice to hang out with the gang knowing the worst part was over. Kelly, delighted to be reunited with the rest of the group, looked fresh and remarkably well-recovered, probably thanks to the spa treatments she had enjoyed while we were still battling our way across the mountains.
As we recounted tales from our adventure in the Parque Natural Posets-Maladeta, David, who bore an astounding resemblance to Damiano David from Måneskin, told us that he had just returned from completing the same route himself. He had also summited Pico de Aneto twice, having shown two different groups of friends the way on separate occasions. I wasn’t so much impressed as I was completely in awe of him. Paula, on the other hand, was a city girl through and through. She had simply driven up to pick him up so that they could spend the rest of the weekend together, given that it was her birthday.
A Final Beer
After they went on their way, we checked into the hotel and scrubbed away four days’ worth of gunk and sweat. We agreed to meet later that evening for one final hangout.
In the meantime, Harry and I would be sharing a room. Given our previous attempts at flirting over Tinder, I have to admit that being alone with him felt a little awkward. That said, the previous few days had rendered our relationship kinda platonic, although he would occasionally say or do something that left me wondering whether he was still into me. Regardless, we were both far too exhausted to do anything about it.
Later that night, we decided to go out for drinks. The few steps required to reach the village centre were pure agony, but now that we were finally back in the comfort of an urban-ish landscape and wearing flip-flops, even that short walk felt strangely enjoyable. The glasses of wine and the ongoing banter between this new group of friends were priceless – as were the few cigarettes I bummed off Kelly!
The following day, we would be bidding Julie adiós at the train station before the rest of us would begin our journey home to Malta. It might have been only four days, and I might have started the trip wondering whether travelling with a group of fellow Maltese people would prove to be a problem, but in the end, everything worked out perfectly, despite the impossibly difficult trek. And so, thank you, Pico de Aneto Gang. It was a blast!