Today we would reach our zenith: Mont Lozère at 1.699 metres above sea level. For me this would be higher than my previous highest point: Garajonay on La Gomera at 1487 metres. When young, Julia had crossed the Rockies, so she was pretty unimpressed by my number-crunching.

We left Hotel Remise after breakfast, but well before nine o’clock. It was wet and dark with poor visibility, the clouds dropping to create banks of mist. Bleymard sits astride its river – the Lot. Having crossed the river, we meandered through the rive gauche community before our path took us above the houses and away. We were soon in woodland and continuing to climb quite steeply through the Forest of Neyrac. We were relieved when our feet could sense that the incline was easing; the trees thinned out and Le Montlo 48 Relais des Serfs hove into view. This is a bar/restaurant/hotel serving the adjacent ski station. And it was open – the bar was warm and the coffee was very good.

At the Relais des Serfs, we were joined by our fellow followers of the RLS trail, Jane and Roger. As visibility remained poor, and there was very little evidence of habitation on the route ahead, we fell in together as a foursome. As we climbed away from the ski station, visibility wasn’t too bad – at least 400 metres by my reckoning (subjective, I know). We were on what I would call moorland – tufty grass, rocks and a few stubborn trees. Our way was marked by ancient standing stones – menhirs. We reached a crossroads – turn right for the summit of Mont Lozère or straight on over the shoulder just to the east of the summit. My subjective, unreliable visibility monitor told me it was down to 70 metres at the most (standing on the halfway line, I’d have difficulty making out the corner flags). Signs adjacent to the path had been forthright in conveying the message that turning right if visibility was poor would be highly dangerous: that path was close to precipices!

I’m no mountaineer, but for some moments I felt the futility of climbing a mountain and failing to reach the top. At the point where we continued straight on – south – and ignored the path to the summit, we were only 60 metres below the summit. Nevertheless, I was walking at an altitude higher than I had ever reached before!

My disappointment didn’t last long as our descent took us through a magical valley! There weren’t any way markers but the path ran directly south following a stream. On my 1 in 25,000 map, this was named as “Ruisseau de Prat Souteyran”. The stony steep path was a rivulet in itself and the adjacent stream was a roaring force. We were walking through mixed woodland, which added to the wild beauty. Frequently, we made mini- detours to avoid obstructions and/or to keep our feet dry. At one point, the path crossed the ruisseau at what would have been stepping-stones. These were well and truly submerged; a tree that had fallen across the stream at this point was a further hindrance. But, with the four of us working together, using our walking poles and pushing back obstructing branches, we all got across with seven dry feet!

We emerged onto the much more prosaic D20 road which we followed to the hamlet of Finiels. Another treat – the lane running south from Finiels towards Pont de Montvert was unusual and beautiful. The valley was strewn with huge boulders, as if some giant had randomly thrown them down.

The final couple of kilometres into Pont de Montvert were very steep, made worse by the fact that the path was now doubling as a stream. Progress was slow. At one point I slipped but my subcutaneous padding saved me from injury. As we entered the village, the sky turned very dark and the heavens opened. Luckily, we were able to dive under the awning of the “Bar Le Commerce” and watch the rain bounce on the tarmac whilst we cupped our hands around hot drinks.

We had to stir ourselves – we had a rendezvous to fulfil. We had to be at the petrol station at the edge of the village for 4.30 p.m. An unusual place to meet, the reason for which only became apparent on the following morning. Our walk out of the village took us alongside the River Tarn which looked for all the world as if it wanted to devour Pont de Montvert such was its ferocious clamour.

A young man was to ferry us a few kilometres east to our place of rest for the night. “Le Merlet” looked like an isolated farmhouse; it had been converted into an auberge catering mainly for the hiking community. Our bedroom was cramped; the hot water was a bit erratic. But it gave us a flavour of French rural life. Downstairs the dining room was low, long with an open fire with inglenook at one end. The walls were over two feet thick! We were twenty-two for the evening meal and the ambiance was lubricated by kir apéritifs and a regular supply of red wine. They placed us four British at the fire end of the room. We chatted with a French couple who had completed the RLS Way in spring 2023, and were now embarking upon a hike following the River Tarn as far as Albi (this is the GR 736).

We climbed the wooden stairs to our cosy bedrooms, which were immediately above the dining room, hence benefiting from the proximity to that open fire. The next day looked like a long haul of at least seventeen miles with a great deal of climbing, descending and rain thrown in. But we had a couple of ideas up our sleeve – short cuts if you like – to ensure that we would survive!