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This section of the GR11 marks the gradual end of the high Pyrenean mountains as the trail descends toward Núria. Along the way it passes through the desperately over-developed Principality of Andorra, a sharp contrast to the wild alpine solitude of the earlier stages.
For those with energy to spare, this part of the route offers countless opportunities to bag nearby summits without straying too far from the main trail — provided you can handle a few more days of outrageous elevation gain.
After a boozy evening in Tavascan, I continued towards Núria, often leaving the GR11 to explore exposed ridges and climb additional peaks. As I drew closer to the Mediterranean, the temperature climbed steadily, the air growing warmer and drier with each day.
These stages took me to Refugi de Baiau — arguably the second most beautiful mountain hut on the entire GR11 — and over the summits of Monteixo, Comapedrosa, and Puigpedrós. Along the way, I enjoyed some spectacular nights under star-filled skies… and a few less memorable ones in rather dingy shepherds’ huts.
Notes for the Final Mountains
- Camping Internacional in Encamp no longer exists — it’s now a football stadium. Nearby options include Camping Casal in Canillo.
- Refugios in Andorra usually have a free winter room open year-round — ideal if you’d rather not pay for the main hut.
- Expect plenty of cows (and the sound of their bells day and night).
- Resupply is much easier than in the previous sections.
- Arrive early at Refugi de Baiau if you want to secure a bed — it fills fast.
- Camping in Nuria, firstly I do not recommend it and secondly, book before arrival.
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7th July – Tavascan to Camping Pica d’Estats
Cicerone Stage 29: A brutal climb, bad water, and the lure of Monteixo
The first hill out of Tavascan was absolutely brutal — and the beers from the night before certainly didn’t help my morning performance. The initial 500-metre ascent hit hard, and what followed was a devious, undefined path — beautiful, yes, but tricky to follow. In several places the trail is eroding away, though a reassuring metal chain has been fixed in place to help you across the worst section.
I was relieved to reach Boldís Sobrià, at least until I tried to refill my water at the fountain in the village centre. The water was cloudy and didn’t look safe to drink. As the Cicerone guide suggests, it’s better to use the water point on the right as you exit the hamlet — and even then, filter it.
Beyond the village, the climb continues but is far gentler than the first ascent. After a long but uneventful stretch, I reached Àrue and followed the track towards Camping Pica d’Estats, where I bumped into Kevin again.
When checking in, I mentioned my plan to climb Monteixo (2,904 m) the following day. The campsite owner grinned and told me the route is very hard — it’s used for the annual Monteixo Sky Race, which climbs a vertical mile (1.6 km) in under 5 km of distance. He proudly showed me his medals from the race, which he’d won multiple times. I was tempted — but decided I’d see how the legs felt in the morning.
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8th July – Camping Pica d’Estats to Refugi de Baiau (via some Dicken-made madness…)
Cicerone Stages 30 & 31: A vertical mile, too many cols, and one hidden valley from hell
I woke early, feeling surprisingly fresh after a beerless evening — a wise choice given what lay ahead. Today’s plan? Hike the Monteixo vertical mile… with a full pack.
I’ll be honest — the ascent was savage. It just kept going and going and going. No wonder it’s used for the annual Sky Race. After 3 hours and 15 minutes, I reached the summit of Monteixo (2,904 m) — which I think was pretty decent going with all my gear!
The views from the top were spectacular, and I soaked in the panorama before descending a loose, exposed ridge to the col. From there, I pushed up Pic de Norrís (2,820 m).
At the next col, I’d planned to continue up Pic de Gerri, but time was slipping away — the previous section had taken far longer than expected. I reluctantly dropped down towards Pla de Baiau.
That descent was horrendous. Hundreds of metres of scree, loose rock, and general nonsense. I ended up in a stunning but isolated hidden valley and attempted to traverse back to the GR11 — which quickly proved impassable. After some determined bushwhacking, I finally made it back to the main trail, six hours later, completely wrecked.
My off-route adventure had skipped Refugi de Vallferrera, so I pushed on directly toward Refugi de Baiau. Thankfully, the final stretch was far gentler — easy gradients, good water sources, and epic mountain views. Still, I was utterly spent by the time I arrived.
Refugi de Baiau has space for about 18 people and a small table for cooking. The panorama outside is beyond spectacular. When I arrived, most of the beds were already taken, and by evening the hut was full — but there are plenty of wild camping spots nearby.
That night I shared the hut with three Dutch women who kindly gave me a Sudoku puzzle to keep me entertained — a small gesture that made a big difference after such a punishing day.
A great day overall — full of classic “Dicken-ing”: brutal ascents, sketchy descents, and just enough chaos to make it unforgettable.
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9th July – Refugi de Baiau to Refugi de Comapedrosa
Cicerone Stage 31: Ridges, scree, and long-awaited summits in Andorra
I spent a pleasant morning chatting with the other occupants of the Refugi de Baiau while making breakfast. It felt strange to have so much company after so many days of solitude on the trail. The hike from Baiau to Refugi de Comapedrosa is fairly short, so I planned to reach the col — marking the border of Andorra — and then follow the spectacular ridge that rises above it.
Bag packed and spirits high, I set off. The climb to Portella de Baiau was tough going. The approach path was vague, and the final ascent was a slog up steep, loose scree — the kind that makes you slide back half a step for every one you take. It felt pretty sketchy at times and definitely not ideal terrain for the nervous.
At the top of the col, I ditched my heavy pack and shot up Comapedrosa (2,939 m) — the highest peak in Andorra. Without my bag, I felt weightless and fast; what a joy to move freely again!
It had been six years since I last attempted Comapedrosa, when bad weather forced me to turn back. This time, under perfect blue skies, I finally made the summit — and it was absolutely sensational. 100% worth the wait.
I descended via a different ridge to tag Pic de Baiau before returning to collect my pack. Then, back to being heavy again, I continued up another exposed scramble to Pic de Sanfonts, following the ridge for a couple more hours over six more peaks until reaching Pic del Port Vell.
From there, I retraced my steps to the col and took the easy descent down to Refugi de Comapedrosa.
In Andorra, the winter rooms of mountain refuges are open all year round and free to use — even though normally you’d have to pay to stay in the main hut. I took full advantage, opting to sleep outside but still paid for a hot meal inside the hut.
As evening fell, a few Spanish hikers passing through shared a beer with me — a perfect end to another great day in the mountains.
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10th July – Refugi de Comapedrosa to Camping Internacional (which is now a football stadium)
Cicerone Stages 32 & 33: From mountain magic to Andorran madness
Another early morning in another magical place. The path down from Refugi de Comapedrosa to Arinsal was wonderfully scenic — the morning light glinting off crystal-clear streams as I followed the trail through alpine meadows.
Arinsal, a busy ski resort that stays open year-round (minus the skiing, of course), felt jarringly out of place after the peaceful heights of Comapedrosa. From there, the route climbs once more to Coll de les Cases, before dropping into the tiny, shopless hamlet of Arans.
I pressed on toward Encamp, following what the Cicerone guide optimistically describes as “a quiet route avoiding the noise, congestion, and supermarkets of the main towns of Andorra.” In reality, it didn’t quite manage to avoid the sounds of major construction echoing from the valley below. The path wound steeply through humid forest, and being early morning, I spent most of it wiping cobwebs from my face.
Arriving in Encamp, I confidently set off in search of Camping Internacional — my planned stop for the night. I wandered the streets for far too long in the midday sun, growing increasingly confused. Eventually, I stopped a passerby and asked where it was.
“There is no campsite here anymore,” he said, “it’s our football stadium.”
Darn.
I slumped into a café to regroup, where the staff kindly pointed me toward another campsite in Canillo, Camping Casal, along with directions for catching a bus. And so, for the second time on my crossing of the Pyrenees, I found myself on public transport — not exactly the alpine adventure I’d envisioned, but a welcome break all the same.
11th July – Rest Day at Camping Casal
I needed this…
A full rest day at Camping Casal in Canillo was long overdue — a chance to wash kit, reorganise the rucksack, and simply do nothing. After the punishing climbs of the previous days, it was bliss to sit in the shade, eat too much, and enjoy a cold drink without thinking about the next col.
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12th July – Camping Casal to Cabana dels Esparvers
Cicerone Stages 34 & 35: A steep start, loose ridges, and a magical valley
I caught the 07:25 bus to Encamp and rejoined the GR11. Even in the cool morning air the trail climbed steeply through humid woodland — a sweaty start to the day. The path soon widened into a more relaxed tourist trail, winding past Estany d’Engolasters, before the climb up to Coll Lovell (1,779 m).
From the col I left the GR11 to tackle Tossa del Braibal (2,657 m) — a monstrously steep ascent that demanded patience and strong legs. From the summit, I aimed to follow the ESE ridge, which began as fun, exposed scrambling before quickly turning into VD/S-graded climbing on loose rock. With a 55-litre pack, it soon got a bit too exciting. I delicately down-climbed and traversed below the ridge on a faint goat path until I could safely re-join it further along.
It was all getting a bit too tough. Instead of continuing along the ridge, I decided to abandon my “detour” and descend to Estany Forcat, then onwards to Refugi de l’Illa.
That descent was pure magic — the scenery mind-blowingly beautiful, with crystal lakes, high peaks, and alpine meadows.
I stopped at the Refugi de l’Illa for a quick coffee; the place is so modern it looks like a spaceship dropped into the mountainscape.
From there I followed a gentle woodland stream, winding through a lush valley hemmed in by towering peaks. It was one of those perfect stretches of trail where every turn feels like a postcard.
By evening I reached Cabana dels Esparvers. Although spacious, the hut had no windows and felt more like a dungeon than a refuge — so I pitched my tent nearby and enjoyed a wonderful wild camp instead.
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13th July – Cabana dels Esparvers to an Old Shepherd’s Hut near Refugi de Cabanella (via Puigpedrós)
Cicerone Stages 35 & 36 — plus a little off-guide exploration
Note: The hike to Refugi de Cabanella is not included in the Cicerone guide. At Font de la Canel, fork right (not left) to reach the shepherd’s hut. Left continues on the GR11.
I slept like a baby. My wild camp was infinitely better than the cramped camping at Canillo — quiet, cool, and with perfect mountain views.
From my beautiful campsite, the trail climbed steadily toward Portella d’Engorgs (2,680 m). From the col, I followed a long, undulating ridge over Tosseta de l’Esquella (2,869 m) and Pic d’Engorgs (2,819 m), with plenty of smaller summits in between.
After a steep descent to the next col, I began the climb up Puigpedrós (2,912 m) — the highest peak in this area. After so many hours of solitude, it was almost a shock to arrive at the summit and find crowds of hikers. It’s clearly a popular day hike, and understandably so — the views stretch endlessly across the Pyrenees.
From the summit, I descended southeast past Refugi de Malniu and Refugi de la Feixa. The latter is described in my guidebook as “unmanned,” though that turned out not to be the case.
Continuing through open meadows and forested trails, I reached Refugi de Cabanella — only to find it locked. I’d passed several good camping spots earlier, but none with nearby water. Fortunately, not far from the hut I spotted a small stone shepherd’s shelter. It was dark, dingy, and a little rough around the edges — but after a long day on the move, it would do just fine.
Another night tucked away in the mountains — peaceful, simple, and perfectly “off-guide.”
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14th July – Old Shepherd’s Hut (near Refugi de Cabanella) to Wild Camp near Dòrria
Cicerone Stages 36 & 37: Cow chaos, lost socks, and a very dry climb
I woke up in my tiny stone dungeon to find myself surrounded by cows. I’d heard their bells “ding-donging” through the night but hadn’t realised just how many were grazing around me. I was bloody grateful not to have been in my tent — it would have been trampled for sure.
From the dodgy little hut, the trail continued along largely unremarkable paths down to Puigcerdà, a large town with everything you could possibly need for a proper resupply.
A few days earlier I’d met another hiker, Alex, who happened to be from Puigcerdà. He’d powered off ahead of me, and later that day I found a rogue sock on the trail. Normally I just collect trash and bin it when I can, but for some reason I had a feeling it was his. I messaged him — and sure enough, he’d lost a sock. On my way out of town, I hid it in a wall opposite the Burger King, sent him the location, and later got a message confirming he’d retrieved it. A good bit of trail kindness — or perhaps just shared hiker weirdness. Anyway, back to the trail!
From Puigcerdà, the route turned steep, hot, and dry. The Mediterranean felt close now; the air was heavy and the landscape more scrubby and sunburned. The stretch from Vilallobent to Coll de la Creu was long and exposed. If you ever walk this section — restock water in Vilallobent. I didn’t, and ended up sipping from a very questionable stream.
From the col, the path finally opened into beautifully picturesque views — rolling ridges, pine woods, and distant peaks fading into the haze. Unfortunately, I was exhausted, my feet were sore, and the heat wasn’t helping. About a kilometre before Dòrria, I found a perfect little spot beside a stream and set up camp.
Just as I’d started washing off the day’s grime, a brigade of cows arrived and trampled right into the water. Party ruined. I packed up in a huff and moved about 500 metres down the path. The new spot wasn’t quite as idyllic — but it had fewer cows, fewer bugs, and a better view. Good enough.
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15th July – Wild Camp near Dòrria to Núria
Cicerone Stages 37 & 38: Sunburn, crowds, and the end of the high Pyrenees
Remarkably, I had a cow-free night, which meant a proper sleep and a spring in my step when I hit the trail.
I dropped down into Dòrria and quickly continued on to Planoles. The path up toward Queralbs was pleasant, with pretty woodland and steady gradients, but nothing compared to the dramatic mountains of the previous days.
As I hiked past Collet de les Barraques, I realised I’d dropped my sunblock — not a good omen on such a bright, cloudless morning. By the time I reached Queralbs, I could already feel the sun biting at my skin. I stopped to resupply with some bread for the trail, then treated myself to a coffee and sandwich for lunch.
Queralbs is a charming little hamlet with traditional stone buildings, small shops, and a couple of bars. It looked like it could be quite lively during the summer, with a steady stream of tourists making their way up toward Núria.
After lunch, I continued along the trail toward Núria. The path was spectacular — following a meandering river through a steep valley, with waterfalls, pools, and swim spots all along the way.
It really was one of the a beautiful part of the GR11, but unfortunately, with no sunscreen and the afternoon sun blazing down, I was suffering. The trail was also packed with people, being the main tourist route up to Núria.
Arriving in Núria was bewildering. After days of solitude, I suddenly found myself in a bustling mountain resort. According to the guidebook, “the Sanctuari de Núria is a holiday complex with hotel, youth hostel, and basic campground.” What I actually found was a train-accessed alpine village full of day-trippers, cafés, and chaos — not exactly what I’d pictured when leaving Queralbs.
Inside the sprawling complex, I found a so-called “help desk”, where the staff were anything but helpful. They refused to sell me a camping ticket in person, insisting I book online because they couldn’t check availability. After a frustrating bit of admin on my phone, I finally reserved a spot at the campsite — only to arrive and find no one there, no check-in, and no sign of anyone caring whether I’d paid or not.
By that point I was sunburnt, dehydrated, and generally miserable, so I was just relieved to have somewhere to rest. Still, I’d say don’t stay here. Push on into the mountains instead — the following stretch marks the final, dry approach to the Mediterranean, and the last of the true high Pyrenean peaks.
Make sure you enjoy them.
Thoughts from the Stage
The stretch from Tavascan to Núria felt like the final great act of the high Pyrenees. The mountains were still rugged and vast, but the heat was rising day by day and the landscape was slowly drying out as the Mediterranean crept closer. I found myself summiting more peaks than planned, often wandering along exposed ridges simply because they looked too good to ignore.
Andorra was a strange contrast — spectacular mountains wrapped around ski resorts, construction noise, and heavy tourism. It never felt wild in the same way as the earlier ranges, though the ridges and high cols more than made up for it. Refugi de Baiau was a standout, one of the most beautiful huts on the GR11, and the days around Monteixo and Comapedrosa were some of the finest of the entire trail.
But this section was also tough. It was hot, dry, and relentless. I lost my sunblock, got cooked on the approach to Núria, and found the sudden arrival of crowds quite jarring after so much solitude. Núria itself was bewildering — a chaotic resort in the middle of the mountains — and it felt like an abrupt reminder that the wilderness doesn’t last forever.
Still, these were the last true high Pyrenean days, the final big summits and wide ridges before dropping into the sun-baked foothills. If you’re hiking this section, savour every moment. The mountains change quickly from here.
If you have any questions about this stage of the GR11, feel free to ask — I’m always happy to give honest answers and accurate info.
If this blog has helped you plan your own GR11 adventure, you can support the blog by buying me a coffee – it keeps the stories coming!
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