The Start: A Party-After Morning
The day started early after a long night of partying—a less-than-ideal prelude for an intense mountain adventure. Our group gathered in Brinkola, a quaint Basque village, as the starting point. Some arrived by train from Donostia, while I drove in from my nearby town. Once assembled, we packed our backpacks, including baguettes—a humorous moment for our French companions, who were visibly pained by how we treated their sacred bread.
Our goal was ambitious: summit Artzanburu, then descend to the Arriurdin refuge for the night.
Early Mishaps: Ski Goggles and Spontaneous Baths
From the start, Hugo was in his element—or perhaps his own world. Wearing shorts, long sleeves, and ski goggles (which I returned to him from our recent ski trip), he looked ready for anything but a summer hike. True to form, within ten minutes of walking, Hugo spotted a lake and couldn’t resist. He stripped down to his underwear and plunged into the icy water, much to everyone’s amusement.
While Hugo dried off, we shared snacks, including a peculiar red vegetable I had brought. I liked it, but the others weren’t impressed, calling it “interesting” at best. With Hugo leading, we continued briskly—perhaps too briskly. At one point, his confidence in the route led us astray, forcing a detour and an additional climb back to the correct path.
Caves and the Summit
As we ascended, the landscape shifted dramatically. The fields below Artzanburu were dotted with rocky outcroppings, and soon we stumbled upon a series of caves. Naturally, we decided to explore. These caves, unlike others we’d encountered, had a man-made feel—more like mining tunnels than natural formations. Despite this, the cool, dark interiors were fascinating and offered a welcome break from the uphill grind.
Pushing onward, the climb grew steeper and colder. The unexpected chill left two members of our group guarding the cider in the fields while the rest of us tackled the summit. At the top, we were greeted by a surreal landscape: swirling mist, strong winds, and even patches of snow. It was breathtaking and eerie, with visibility shifting as the fog danced around us. We took some quick photos, but the biting wind hastened our descent.
The Great Convincing and an Unexpected Stay
Descending the mountain was a wild rush—less a hike and more a controlled tumble down the slopes like mountain goats. By the time we regrouped at the fields, it was late afternoon. Most of the group prepared to leave, but Hugo, Camille, and I were set to stay overnight at the refuge.
With some effort—and perhaps a touch of persuasion—we convinced Aljaz and Susanna (fondly dubbed “Madonna”) to join us. They had no sleeping bags, mattresses, or warm clothing, making the decision as daring as it was questionable. But they agreed, ready for whatever the night would bring.
The Water Hunt: Danger in the Dark
Arriving at the Arriurdin refuge, we faced our first challenge: finding water. A spring was supposed to be nearby, marked on the map and confirmed by a friend who said a special tool was needed to open the tap. Despite this, we couldn’t locate it in the pitch-dark surroundings. Desperation set in, and Hugo and I decided to trek to a river about 2 kilometers away.
The journey to the river was treacherous—cold, slippery, and ominously quiet. When we reached the supposed location, there was no sound of water, only a sheer drop into darkness. Clinging to roots and rocks, we began descending the cliffside, convinced we could hear water faintly in the distance. The descent grew more dangerous with every step, the ground slick and unstable. After what felt like an eternity, we realized the “sound” was a cruel illusion born of thirst and exhaustion. Defeated, we climbed back up, narrowly avoiding serious falls.
Ironically, as soon as we returned to the refuge, I spotted something glinting in the darkness: the spring! Hidden among rocks just meters from the building, it had been there all along. Using Aljaz’s multitool to open the tap, we finally had fresh water, much to everyone’s relief.
Cooking in the Cold: Smoke and Innovation
With water secured, we turned our attention to dinner. Our menu featured txistorra, a Basque sausage perfect for grilling. We lit a fire in the refuge’s chimney, but the smoke quickly filled the room despite ventilation efforts. Breathing became impossible, forcing us to improvise.
Using a metal bucket, we transported hot coals outside, setting up a makeshift barbecue with a grill perched on top. The fire worked perfectly, and soon the smoky scent of sizzling txistorra filled the air. We shared snacks—cheese, nuts, and bread—while waiting, enjoying the moment despite the cold.
A Sleepless Night
After dinner, it was time to tackle the sleeping arrangements. With only three mattresses and sleeping bags for five people, comfort was out of the question. We laid the mattresses side by side, creating a shared sleeping space, but two people had to lie between the inflatable beds, effectively in trenches.
Hugo’s bivouac cover provided minimal insulation for Aljaz and Susanna, but the night was still brutally cold. To add to the chaos, we spotted massive rats scurrying on the roof beams, and they managed to steal some of our food. The combination of freezing temperatures, cramped quarters, and unwelcome rodent visitors made for a night none of us would forget.
Morning Exploration and Cheesecake
We woke up cold and groggy but eager to get moving. After a quick breakfast, we cleaned the refuge and packed up.
Returning to the fields, we re-explored the caves, this time with Aljaz and Camille, who had missed them the day before.
The hike to Arantzazu was scenic and uneventful, apart from some brambles that snagged our clothing.
Along the way, we found animal bones, sparking a moment of awe at the raw beauty of nature.
At Arantzazu, we treated ourselves to the famous La Viña cheesecake (this one with Idiazabal cheese), a bit pricey but worth every bite. Paired with coffee, it was the perfect reward for our efforts.
The Descent to Oñati and Farewell
Before leaving Arantzazu, we stepped into the church for Sunday mass, soaking in the calm and grandeur of the sanctuary. We also bought homemade bread from a local vendor—a simple but delightful souvenir.
A small minibus took us to Oñati, where we enjoyed a traditional vermouth in the town square and even played Basque pelota at the frontón. The warmth of the town was a stark contrast to the cold mountain air we’d left behind.
From there, we traveled to Zumarraga, where the group split up. While some took the train back to Donostia, I drove home, reflecting on a hike filled with laughter, danger, and unforgettable moments.
Final Reflections
This hike was more than just a journey—it was an adventure full of surprises, from hidden springs and cliffside scrambles to smoky fires and sleepless nights. Every twist and turn added depth to the experience, making it a story worth telling and a memory worth keeping.
Here’s to Artzanburu, the mountain that challenged us, humbled us, and gave us a weekend we’ll never forget.