SAMAYA x MARTIN RIVET

 

 

Martin Rivet, director and outdoor photographer, is no stranger to wilderness expeditions. Never alone, rarely taking a break, he needed an engaging solo adventure. Returning to his roots, he tells us the story of his 1,000-kilometer trek on foot, alone.

 

"I've been hiking in the Pyrenees since I was a kid, and this adventure was an opportunity to rediscover this playground in a different way, sleeping in a tent and being as self-sufficient as possible. It's a privilege to be able to free up time just for oneself, to be truly alone and to experience thinking only with oneself. It's a great gift I've given myself, to spend 40 days alone with myself.

 

In addition to self-sufficiency, I set myself the challenge of filming and creating content during this crossing, which adds a not inconsiderable weight factor. A heavy pack is the number one cause of abandonment on long-distance treks. So I set out with one premise in mind: find the lightest equipment possible. An ultra-light tent makes all the difference.

 

I set off from the Mediterranean Sea to reach the Atlantic Ocean, crossing all the Pyrenees mountains. My route was divided into 4 stages: Pyrénées-Orientales, Ariège, Hautes-Pyrénées and Pyrénées-Atlantiques. In terms of typology, the highest peaks are between 2000 and 3000 meters altitude.

 

I had a lot of surprises along the way, because I didn't follow the GR trail. Instead, I went to the places that interested me, leaving behind the less wild feeder towns, which led me to the Pic Carlit, the highest peak in the Pyrénées-Orientales at over 2921 meters.

 

My route took shape as I went along and according to the weather conditions. When the weather was bad, I tried to climb back down to avoid staying at 3,000 meters if a storm threatened.

 

The first week was very hard physically and mentally. Firstly, because I was overloaded, I had problems adjusting and adjusting my pack, which caused haematomas and a lot of pain. I also had a lot of thunderstorms and snow, particularly at the Pic Carlit. I only had the first few days behind me, and mentally, knowing that there were still 30 to go was a bit tough. The aches and pains combined with the bad weather really made me doubt: if I couldn't sort out my bag and shoe problems, I'd have to make a decision. I was very lucky afterwards, as the weather was very nice.

 

After the very dry Pyrénées-Orientales and the Hautes-Pyrénées, I reached the Pyrénées-Atlantiques, a section I'd explored a lot before. So I came up with a route that would allow me to rediscover my region and visit places I'd never seen before.

 

It's mid-September, not the best time to cross the Pyrenees, with all the refuges closed and the weather can be capricious. Going at this time of year is something I like, because it's much less crowded than in summer. In Andorra and Ariège in particular, I spent whole days with nobody. I was really left to my own devices and I found that great.

 

I really enjoy solitude. I think that when it's sought-after and voluntary, it's a very pleasant feeling. What's more, walking is a very meditative activity that gives you time to really think, to take a step back from a lot of things.

 

Still, I met a lot of people over the 40 days, and was pleasantly surprised. In the mountains, there's a kind of hospitality that you can't find anywhere else, a kind of mutual aid that I find really wonderful. Sometimes the weather was really bad and I took refuge in a hut. Others arrive and we find ourselves in this little cocoon full to bursting, with so much to eat that we share everything: local produce, cheese, everything for a lovely evening. These are short encounters, fleeting moments that warm the heart. I think it played a part in my mental outlook, boosting my spirits during the more solitary moments.

 

The experience of bivouacking for 40 days like that is enormous. The fact that you can choose your location and be free, that's what I like. I gave myself stages each day and bivouac spots for the evening, close to waterholes and fairly low to the ground.

 

Except in national parks where it's more regulated, I loved the freedom of being able to choose my own little comfort for the night and my own place to bivouac. There's a really great feeling in the evening when you've just finished hiking, set up camp, put up your tent, cooked your hot meal and gone to bed, tired but happy with the day that's just ended. Sleeping in a tent is like a daily ritual. It's like feeling at home with new routines. It's the only time you can recuperate so you can set off again the next day.

 

I left at a time when there were a lot of deer braying. One day in Ariège, I arrived in a Spanish area where I set up my bivouac. During the night, they were extremely close. It was the evening of a full moon and when I opened the tent door, I could see them barely ten meters away. It was impressive, almost unreal. It was impossible to sleep!

 

The funny thing about trekking, and also a little depressing at the same time, is that every time you cross a pass, you see the summits you've just covered, but also all those awaiting you. These mixed feelings were particularly poignant when crossing the Ariège. I saw endless mountains and never thought I'd get out. When I got to the end, I saw the Pic du Midi: I felt a little more at home.

 

It was a really special feeling, like when I saw the ocean.

 

It was all over.

 

There was nothing left to cross, nothing on the horizon."

 

Photos by Baptiste Cibat @baptistecibat