Following a WW2 route to freedom from St Girons, France, to Le Pont de Perosa, Spain
Back in 2012 I heard the journalist Edward Stourton talking about a girl who, during WW2 and wearing her school shoes and coat, had accompanied her father helping a Jewish family escape over the Pyrenees. I wondered “if a schoolgirl could do it, might I, with proper boots and all-weather gear?” I ordered a copy of Edward’s Cruel Crossing – the story of the hardest escape route across the Pyrenees, known as Le Chemin de la Liberté – and was soon hooked on the idea, despite never having hiked with a full backpack (or anything more than a map and a sandwich).
Each year in July, an “official” annual walk takes place over four days from St Girons in France to the Spanish border at La Pale de la Claouére (2455m). Organised by the municipalities, the Musée du Chemin de la Liberté and the WW2 Escape Lines Memorial Society, local walkers from France and Spain join participants with family connections to the route. We’d read other books by escapees who reached Spain via this route; the word that kept coming up was “gruelling”. Also, the paperwork came with lots of warnings about how hard the hike is and how you might get sent back on Day 2 if the leader thought you wouldn’t make it.
During the pandemic, there had been an AAC(UK) zoom presentation from Nathalie Vriend who had hiked the John Muir Trail with two children. She had forensically researched the lightest kit and I’d taken her advice on packing for our trip in 2023 – so thank you! Part of our preparation had been a day with a guide in Snowdonia – with the brief to go “somewhere off the beaten track” and we needed to “go up and down and up and down again for about ten hours” and “advice on kit most welcome”. Rory’s lunchtime review of my backpack contents was invaluable, and a top tip was to take couscous (rather than pasta) as you only need to bring the water to the boil, it uses less gas, and is quicker and easier to wash up!
Around 70 people comprising 40 visitors and 30 guides or supporters, set off from the start in St Girons. We were soon ascending steeply, and I certainly found it hard but very rewarding. The personal stories were every bit as interesting as I had anticipated, and they gave me food for thought as I walked. Would I be brave enough to join the Resistance? How brave would I be? Could I stand up to interrogation? Imprisonment? Torture?
Looking back, the four days passed in a bit of a blur (albeit a stunningly beautiful one), but those running from the Nazis didn’t have time to stop and admire the view, smell the flowers, or take photos - they just had to press on. Many of the évadés were young French men running to Spain to avoid Hitler’s call to work in Germany. Anne, a local French walker and volunteer at the museum, told of her uncle who had escaped at age 17 with a group from Holland who were hungry, weak and without suitable clothes. The French évadés helped them make it to Spain, before themselves being imprisoned by General Franco. The Dutch, in gratitude, set about contacting the consul and liberated the Frenchmen who went to North Africa, where Anne’s uncle joined the Free French parachute regiment and then served in Italy. We learned about the passeurs who helped the Jewish and RAF escapees – passing them along the lines – including ones who were killed when informants turned them in.
At midday on Day Two we reached the Col de la Core at 1395m, the point of no return (no one was asked to leave) before heading for the Cabane de la Subera (1499m) where our brand-new tent would finally get an airing. After we had enjoyed bathing in the river, a singsong around the shepherd’s hut and saucisson cooked on the campfire, a storm forced us inside and we lay in our tent listening to loud cracks of thunder and lightning roll around the mountain top but we woke to glorious sunshine.
Several participants had done this crossing before and said the third day would be the worst, with tiredness setting in and food running low. The terrain changed from steep rocky steps with a lot of vegetation and flowers to a less steep but barren moonscape of limestone boulders etched with ridges from the meltwater. Having crossed the ridges at the Col de Crabérous (2382m) and later Col de Pécouch (2462m) we descended to the Refuge des Estagnous (2245m) where the hardiest swam in the lake, and we enjoyed a hearty meal and a stunning sunset.
The last day was daunting, with two technical bits with cables and an exposed drop, then the glacier (a single expanse on the cover of the 2005 guidebook by Scott Goodall but now sadly reduced to a few large patches of snow) that was delightfully fresh to walk over in the baking heat of the day. Just at the top of this final steep couloir was the border with Spain, but a strong wind was howling over the top of the ridge and down the valley; it felt as if it could lift me off my feet, so there was no time to get emotional or to mark the occasion. From there it was all downhill to the river Noguéra Pallaresa via stunning wildflower meadows. Our guide, Paul Williams, said that we had hiked the equivalent altitude gain of 4,300m – or half of Everest. But this hike wasn’t about altitude for me; it was about history and values, about heroism and sacrifice, about people lost and then found again, about people who hiked to safety and people who were killed, people who tried and people who overcame their fears; people who helped and were kind to others for nothing in return.
On Day 1, I found it hard to grasp why so many people would return to undertake this hike more than once voluntarily, but those that did all mentioned the camaraderie, which by Day 4 was truly very special indeed. There was so much kindness among this big group of people who were hitherto mainly strangers, pressing forwards with relentless good humour in the face of this “gruelling” challenge. Here’s to the memory of everyone who has made the crossing of the Chemin de la Liberté.
Return to the top of this page or to this Archive's Index