Mondarrain: An Easygoing Ascent

Editorial Staff
3 days ago
5 min read

In the French Basque Country, Mondarrain tops out at 2,457 feet. It’s neither the highest peak nor the hardest. But on a clear day, you can see all the way to the beaches of the Atlantic from the summit. I hiked up in August with 29 pounds on my back, good gear, and the thought that mountains don’t have to be inaccessible to be worth the trip.

Le sommet du Mondarrain — The summit of Mondarrain © Vertige Media

I’ve always preferred the planning side of hiking: reading maps, choosing routes. It took me a long time to start thinking seriously about gear. At first, I didn’t have the money. I wasn’t particularly interested, either. These days, equipment is part of the routine because, as with so many things in life, the right tools can help you do more of what you love. The mountains, long seen as the domain of the well-equipped and the bold, are also there for people who head uphill simply because it’s beautiful. Peaks like Mondarrain are perfect for that.

That morning, sometime before noon, we leave the parking lot in one of Itxassou’s oldest neighborhoods, where, two centuries ago, many of the houses were still sheep barns. The village, less than half an hour from Biarritz, has the Basque charm you see on seaside posters: red sandstone walls, exposed timber framing. And closed shutters, because the heat has already taken over the day. It’s close to 77 degrees when we start climbing a trail that begins just beyond the last red-and-white facades.

Walking on Clouds

Underfoot, my Hoka Speedgoat 7s roll over the gravel, their 37-millimeter heel stack making each step feel surprisingly soft. They’re the latest model in a long-running line, and the ride is comfortable. The foam cushions the weight coming down through my heels and gives a little bounce back. With 29 pounds on my back, I’ll take it.

My daughter is asleep. For her, this mountain is a hammock. Meanwhile, bouncing along in my shoes, I feel like a cartoon character. The first part of the climb crosses a long, exposed meadow under an August sun that is absolutely not messing around. My answer is a black, short-sleeve Patagonia Capilene Cool Sun shirt. The fabric moves sweat away before it has time to soak in and provides UV protection on the skin it covers. When you’re carrying a kid on your back, the last thing you want to do is dig around for sunscreen at the bottom of your pack. Twenty minutes in, my shoulders aren’t burning. The shirt is even drying as I walk. It’s pretty remarkable, and I find myself smiling at the thought that outdoor brands really do keep finding new ways to make this stuff work better.

Les SpeedGoat 7 de Hoka — The Hoka SpeedGoat 7 © Maxime de Courchelle

Halfway up, three stone blocks rise from the meadow. This is where the first wide view opens up: the hills of Labourd, the historic region of the French Basque Country; the ridges of Artzamendi behind them, the highest peak in Labourd at 3,038 feet; and Itxassou below, suddenly looking like a miniature version of the Tour de France’s red-and-white polka-dot King of the Mountains jersey.

We stop for a drink. The stones look like menhirs. Maybe they are. The massif is home to stone circles dating from roughly 1300 to 600 BCE, high-elevation burial sites from the Bronze Age. With dry feet and what feel like two little cushions of cloud under my heels, hiking suddenly seems like a perfectly good time for an archaeological detour.

The forest comes next. We pass beneath a short, dense stand of beech trees that finally gives us some relief from the heat. Not from the grade, though. The trail steepens. Tight switchbacks pile up one after another, the kind of section where you end up putting your hands on your knees to keep driving upward.

This is where the Odlo shorts earn their keep. They have a baggy cut, with polyamide and elastane fabric, so there’s plenty of room for big steps without anything pulling or catching. Four zippered pockets. Car keys on the right, turrón on the left. I can move freely, even on the steeper terrain.

Climb and Feel

At about 2,300 feet, just below the summit, we hear voices. A group of young climbers is working a short wall. I stop to watch.

I have a partial pulley tear in my right ring finger, so yes, I’m a little bummed. Climbing short routes with a view across the entire Basque Country looks like a pretty good way to spend the day.

I console myself with the idea that standing there and taking it all in fits neatly with the philosophy of Pyreneism. “Climb, write, and feel,” Henri Beraldi wrote in Cent ans aux Pyrénées. Pyreneism developed in part as an alternative to the Alpine obsession with performance. Writers and scientists argued that the Pyrenees were something to experience and understand before they were something to conquer.

That said, I am still wearing trail-running shoes.

The Speedgoats were designed for ultralong races—we’re talking 112 miles, give or take—and they grip well. But what matters here is what that actually means on a hike. With weight on my shoulders, the thick cushioning takes some of the sting out of rocks underfoot, makes the descent easier, and leaves my knees in better shape for the next day.

Le short Odlo et le t-shirt Patagonia — The Odlo shorts and the Patagonia T-shirt

Then the summit plateau suddenly opens in front of us, along with a cross and a flagpole where the ikurriña, the Basque flag, snaps in the warm wind. We sit down in the grass.

The Pyrenees spread out across the horizon, from Pic d’Anie to Pic d’Orhy, from the Spanish ridgeline to the first plains of Béarn. To the left, the Nive River winds toward Cambo-les-Bains.

Look farther still, beyond the terrain as it gradually flattens out, and the horizon changes color. It becomes paler, almost translucent. Those are the pine forests of the Landes. Beyond them, too far away to really make out but hinted at by that distinctive brightness, are the beaches. Labenne, maybe.

The Atlantic, definitely.

Around us, scattered through the short grass, are ruins: old collapsed walls that nearly disappear into the landscape. In November 1813, as Wellington’s armies advanced out of Spain and back onto French soil, Marshal Soult established defenses along these heights. Mondarrain formed the far left end of his entire line, a natural strongpoint. In military terms, it was a redoubt: a small fortified position built to hold the line.

We make it back down in an hour. The shoes absorb the impacts, and my knees barely notice the terrain. The benefit of all that cushioning is most obvious on the descent.

There’s nothing heroic about it. Just comfort, and a little help for joints that have started to creak.

Plus the slightly ridiculous feeling that I’m bounding downhill like a mountain goat.

Translate “Speedgoat” and you’ll get the idea.

Mondarrain is nowhere near the highest summit in the Pyrenees. But that morning, with good gear and no need to rush, it was a pleasure.

Practical Information for Hiking Mondarrain: Starting from the Ateka/Sanoki neighborhood in Itxassou, allow about two hours for roughly 2,130 feet of elevation gain. There are a few rocky sections near the summit, but nothing technically difficult. Gear We Used: