Hiking the GR11 – Storms and Summits in the Aragonese Pyrenees

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After crossing the lush green hills of the Basque Country, the GR11 now climbs into Aragon’s high alpine terrain. The soft landscapes give way to dramatic limestone cliffs, and the stillness is often broken by the sharp cry of a marmot echoing across the valleys.

This section includes some of the GR11’s most difficult and dangerous high passes, so it’s best attempted only in good weather. If you’re unsure about the conditions, speak to the guardians in the refugios — they’re your best source of up-to-date local advice.

Picking up from where I left off, at the stone hut near the closed Camping de Zuriza, it took me 10 days to reach Refugio de Góriz. The Cicerone guide divides this stretch into 8 stages, but I was once again delayed by biblical storms. A two-day detour was necessary to avoid a high pass that would have been treacherous in such conditions.

Key Notes from the Aragonese Mountains:

• Be extra mindful of the weather. Cuello de Tebarrai is not where you want to be during a storm.
• In June, only El Águila was open in Candanchú.
• Refugio guardians are invaluable — ask them about conditions.
• Know your alternatives. For instance, detours via the GR15 can be useful.
• Snow can linger into the summer — bring snow spikes just in case.
• At peak times, prebook Refugio Goriz!!

13th June – Near Camping de Zuriza to Achar d’Aguas Tuertas Bothy

I packed up and left the stone bothy by 07:00, eager to get on the trail. The hike to La Mina took about 4 hours and 20 minutes, but I wanted to push on toward Refugio de Lizara, stopping at Achar d’Aguas Tuertas for the night.

The GR11 winds past the spectacular limestone cliffs of the Sierra de Alano — a refreshing change from the green hills of the Basque Country. The views just kept getting better and better as I hiked. I have to come back and climb here someday!

The trail to La Mina was straightforward, and with the rain holding off, I made good time. Although the stage ends at La Mina in the guidebook, there’s really nowhere suitable to stay there, so I continued on.

From La Mina, the GR11 follows a trail in a depression running parallel to the road toward the bothy. I chose to stick to the trail rather than take the road — a decision I quickly came to regret. The route became a muddy mess, hard to follow as it twisted through complex terrain, often ending in boggy dead ends. Just as I was starting to lose patience, the rain came in. By the time I finally reached the bothy, I was soaked and thoroughly miserable.

Achar d’Aguas Tuertas is a simple stone shelter with a couple of beds and a small table, but the roof leaks a bit. I was joined there by two other hikers — one heading in the same direction as me, the other making their way back toward the Atlantic. It was a welcome change to sit, chat, and share the evening after a tough, wet day.

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14th June – Achar d’Aguas Tuertas to Refugio de Lizara

Unlike the previous few days, it wasn’t dry when I woke up. In fact, there was no sun at all — just thick fog and a general sense of misery. I waited in the bothy with the other hikers, hoping it would lift, but by 11:00 there was still no change, so I decided to head out.

The water meadows of Aguas Tuertas are supposedly spectacular, but surrounded by dense fog, I didn’t see much of anything. I had to cross the river a couple of times, which meant taking off my boots and wading through icy water — not exactly a motivating start to the day.

Once across the meadows, the trail began to climb, and the fog grew thicker. Navigation quickly became tricky. By the time I reached Puerto de Bernera, visibility had dropped to less than four metres. The guidebook helpfully advises: “keep straight on to reach a flat area, then veer right and climb to reach the lip of the hidden valley.” In that fog, easier said than done. I took a compass bearing and climbed at a 45° angle as directed. Eventually, I reached the far side of the valley and picked up the continuation of the GR11.

Thankfully, after crossing the next high point, the fog lifted, and I could finally see the trail leading down toward Refugio de Lizara. What should have taken around 4 hours and 20 minutes ended up taking closer to 6 hours and 40 — slow, wet, and mentally draining.

After several nights in leaky bothies, I was grateful to arrive at the Refugio, where I devoured a large meal and enjoyed the rare luxury of a hot shower.

15th June – Lizara to Candanchú (Via the Old GR11)

In the morning, I spoke to the guardians at the Refugio to discuss the next section of the trail. The guidebook mentioned lingering snow in the pass early in the season, and since I didn’t have crampons or snow spikes, I needed to assess the risks.

It didn’t take long. The guardians confirmed there was a significant amount of snow on the high pass, and that without proper equipment, it would be extremely dangerous. A fall could be fatal. That made the decision easy: I would retrace my steps and take the old GR11, which contours around the high pass and eventually reaches Candanchú.

Though disappointed to return to Puerto de Bernera, the improved weather gave me a chance to enjoy the stunning scenery I’d missed the day before in the fog. Still, even in the sunshine, I made a navigational mistake trying to take a “shortcut.” It led me to the top of some very sketchy terrain, so I turned back and rejoined the safer, official old route.

Eventually, I arrived in Candanchú — a mostly deserted ski resort town. The guidebook claims that Refugio Pepe Garcés is open year-round, but that turned out to be false. Thankfully, El Águila was open, and I stayed there for the night.

I considered pushing on, but with bad weather in the forecast, I decided to rest.

That evening, the guardian mentioned that a young Finnish hiker was missing — he’d been expected at the Refugio but never arrived. A sobering reminder of how quickly things can go wrong in the mountains. I hope he’s okay.

16th June – Candanchú to Bivvy Outside Sallent de Gállego

I needed to buy snow spikes in Sallent de Gállego so I could safely cross the high alpine passes tomorrow. Without them, I’d have to wait for the forecasted storm to pass — something I was keen to avoid.

The trail out of Candanchú leads into a wide and beautiful valley. After a couple of hours of steady hiking, I reached what looked like a dead end — but sure enough, a steep path wound its way improbably upward through the terrain toward Ibón d’Anayet. The views on this climb were magical.

At the top, I was greeted by a serene lake with a spectacular view of Pic du Midi d’Ossau — a striking, snow-dusted rocky spire. It’s definitely on my list of future climbs.

From there, the trail descended sharply, eventually turning into a long, unpleasant yomp along the road toward Sallent de Gállego. Nearing the town, I ran into a massive herd of maybe 500 sheep and goats, which I had to carefully navigate my way through.

I arrived in the heat of the day, which meant all the shops were shut. I grabbed an ice cream from a bar and collapsed onto a bench to wait. Eventually, in the late afternoon, the shops opened — and I managed to get my hands on a pair of snow spikes. Success!

After stocking up on supplies, I continued out of Sallent toward Refugio de Respomuso. With bad weather forecast for tomorrow afternoon, I wanted to get as close as possible today, so I could cross the high passes early — before the storm arrived.

17th June – Bivvy to Refugio Bachimaña

A 04:00 alpine start — walking by 05:00. The trail climbed steeply but steadily, following a river that was swollen with meltwater. By 07:15, I arrived at Refugio de Respomuso. Anxious to cross Cuello de Tebarrai before the storm forecast for midday, I was back on the trail within 15 minutes.

The path was straightforward at first, but the area is laced with trails that crisscross the hills, so it’s important to stay alert and follow the correct one. By 10:00, I’d reached the snowline and put on my spikes. Thankfully, a track had already been cut into the snow by others who had crossed in previous days.

I carefully began the ascent, kicking in each step to make sure the spikes held. As I climbed, the slope steepened. I reached a small col just before the final exposed traverse. From there, I had to zigzag up a steep snowfield to reach the top of the pass. A slip here would have sent me sliding all the way down into the rocks below — but with firm, compact snow and steady footwork, I reached the top safely.

The view was incredible: a frozen lake nestled between the two passes.

After a short break, I descended the scree and began the climb to Cuello del Infierno. The descent from there was fast — I glissaded and boot-skied directly down the snow slope. I can only imagine how difficult it would be without snow.

By 11:00, I was resting by Ibón Azul Alto, elated. I had crossed both high passes safely, and the skies were still clear.

Now completely spent, I made my way to Refugio de Bachimaña, where I met Jacob from the Czech Republic. We shared a beer and chatted about the weather before calling it a night. At 21:00, the storm finally hit — and wow, was it a big one.

So relieved to have beaten it.

18th June – The Weather Is FUBAR

By 11:00, Jakub and I set off toward Refugio de los Ibones de Panticosa. Every trail had turned into a stream — water gushed down the paths, soaking us through within minutes.

We arrived at the Refugio dripping wet and decided to stop and reassess. The route ahead included another high alpine pass and a major river crossing. Given the relentless rain and the forecast for more of the same in the coming days, continuing on the GR11 would have been reckless.

So, we spent the afternoon drying out and planning our next move. The mountains weren’t going anywhere — but in weather like this, neither were we.

19th June – Plan B – Detour to the Witch’s House

We walked 7 km down the road to Panticosa to resupply before catching a bus to Biescas. Taking the bus felt wrong — like cheating — but slogging for four hours along a rainy highway seemed even more pointless.

Of course, as soon as we entered the next valley, the sun came out. Classic mountain weather.

From Biescas, we hiked for about an hour up to Refugio Casita de las Brujas — The House of the Witch. True to its name, it even had a broomstick hanging over the door.

The steep ascent in the afternoon heat was a sweaty contrast to the rain-soaked misery of the morning. But the spot was perfect. A clean river ran next to the refugio, so we washed off the day’s sweat and cooked a proper meal.

Tomorrow, we’d follow the GR15 through the abandoned village of Otal, eventually reconnecting with the GR11 at Torla. Not the route we’d planned, but a good one nonetheless.

20th – Plan B – A Witch’s House to an Abandoned Village

After a good night’s sleep, we set off along the GR15 toward Gavín — a dry, easy section, but honestly, not very memorable. From there, we continued to Yesero, hoping for a bar or bakery… but no luck. Still — it was dry, and that was enough to keep spirits high.

From Yesero, the real climb began — and it was brutal. The ascent to the summit above the village was steep. Very steep. As we climbed, we could see a storm brewing behind us, adding a layer of urgency and anxiety to the effort.

But thankfully, as soon as we dropped down the other side toward Otal, the skies cleared and the sun poured down on us. Glorious.

We arrived in Otal, a hauntingly beautiful abandoned village.

Most of the buildings were in ruins, but the church stood immaculate.

At first, we planned to sleep inside it for the night. But while exploring the village, I stumbled upon a three-story house in surprisingly excellent condition.

Clearly, someone had been living there recently — the kitchen was stocked with herbs, spices, and salt.

In the centre of the kitchen was a large stone fire pit, which we lit to cook chorizo. Sitting on the balcony, sipping tea and watching another storm sweep dramatically across the landscape, we were warm, dry, and well-fed.

Not bad at all for a detour.

21st June – Back to the GR11

From our epic home, it was a short muddy and upleasant ascent to Yosa, another abandoned village. 

Unlike Otal, Yosa is in total ruin however, the gorse bushes were in flower which was beautiful.  An uneventful but wet descent took us to Oto, then Broto.  Here Jakob and I sat in a bar and had a couple beer.  Two beers while hungry and thirsty made it feel like we had drunk five… whoops.

From Broto, it was a swift walk to Torla where we stayed in a small hostel for the night which meant we could wash and dry out equipment before rejoining the GR11 in the morning. 

22nd June – Back on the GR11: Into Ordesa and up to Góriz

Finally — back on the GR11, and with excellent weather.

The trail to Refugio de Góriz winds through the spectacular Ordesa Valley, a UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its immense limestone cliffs and dramatic natural beauty.

We started on picturesque forest paths, dappled in sunlight, with glimpses of those towering grey walls peeking through the trees.

The sun was shining, the air crisp, and the views unforgettable. This day has become a core memory for me — the sheer scale of the cliffs, the richness of the colours, the water surging down from the high ground… absolutely sensational.

Jakub was bursting with energy, practically sprinting ahead, hopping around the trail with the kind of joy that makes you laugh even when you’re exhausted trying to keep up.

As we climbed, we passed countless waterfalls — all overflowing after the recent storms. The volume and power of the water were staggering. The valley seems to stretch for around 16 km, a continuous corridor of breathtaking limestone walls and cascading rivers.

The only drawback? This is one of the most popular sections of the GR11 — not only because of its natural beauty, but because it’s the access route for climbing Monte Perdido. After days of near solitude, seeing so many people on the trail was a bit of a shock.

At the head of the valley, a steep, rocky path snakes up improbable terrain to the high point near Góriz. The views back down the valley are incredible. From there, it’s a short walk to Refugio de Góriz, where we camped just outside the hut, overlooking the valley below.

So happy to be back on the GR11 — and what a day to return!

Thoughts from the Stage

This Aragonese section of the GR11 felt like the point where the trail really grew teeth. The soft, green Basque hills were already behind me, but here the mountains became sharper, wilder, and less forgiving. Between biblical storms, dangerous high passes, and long wet days, this stretch demanded good judgement more than anything else. I spent as much time weighing weather forecasts, talking to guardians, and studying maps as I did actually walking.

What stands out most is how often my plans changed. I’d set out expecting a fairly standard sequence of Cicerone stages, but the reality was detours on the old GR11, an enforced retreat to lower valleys, two unexpected days on the GR15, and nights in leaky bothies, witch houses, and abandoned villages. It was a reminder that the red-and-white waymarks are only half the story — the real GR11 is the version you adapt on the fly when the weather and snow conditions don’t care about your itinerary.

There were plenty of magic moments too: first views of the Sierra de Alano, the surreal calm of Ibón d’Anayet beneath Pic du Midi d’Ossau, the frozen lake between Cuello de Tebarrai and Cuello del Infierno, and the eerie beauty of Otal and Yosa slowly dissolving back into the landscape. And then, as if as a reward for all the rain and faff, came the Ordesa Valley — a full-body reminder of why you put up with the hard days. Walking under those huge limestone walls with the rivers in full spate felt like stepping into another world.

If there’s a lesson from this stage, it’s that the Aragonese Pyrenees demand respect. Good weather, snow spikes, honest self-assessment and the willingness to take detours aren’t optional extras — they’re what let you thread a safe line through serious terrain. For me, this section was less about ticking off kilometres and more about learning how to move through big mountains with a bit more humility. By the time I reached Góriz, I felt battered, grateful, and very aware of how thin the line can be between a great adventure and a serious epic.

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.

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