The forecast was for a cloudier day today and we woke up to grey skies. By 11am the sun was shining and we decided to give Bellmunt a chance. On a Saturday we assumed there would be loads of people there, but there were no cars in the normal parking place. Two pilots launched and did ok, so we headed up too. On top it was deserted, but the wind was on and it seemed very thermic – the sky was certainly getting better by the minute. I took off first and thermalled around for a bit, getting high-ish over the edge, but then losing it and going down. I found a broken thermal in the valley, but couldn’t work it and went down.

Meanwhile Geoff was debating if it would be more sensible to come down for me or just to fly and sort out the car later. Being the weekend, what’s the problem? Should be loads of people out! He had a similar flight to me, thermalling up to 700 feet above the take-off, flying around, working something in the valley much better than I did and then losing it and going down. By this time I was standing by the roadside hitching. Bearing in mind it’s a dead end road that only goes up the mountain to a monastery/restaurant, I thought it would be easy to get a ride back up. However, the few cars that did come by were locals who live on the hill and none of them were going back to the top. By the time it got to 4pm, I thought I’d better start the 2 hour walk back up and left Geoff hitching at the bottom.

My entertainment on the walk was to count squashed praying mantises. It would appear from my limited research that they love the hot tarmac and they stand side on to the traffic, as each one was squashed in the typical praying position. I did come across three live ones, including a male (never seen one of those before, so very exciting), which I harassed off the road and into safety. I was standing in the middle of the road poking one to get into the undergrowth when Geoff swung round the corner chauffeured by a local hunting for mushrooms.

I thought I’d never hear the end of his going on about his hitching prowess. I did point out that it wasn’t a fair contest, since not one of the cars that passed me was actually going where I was trying to go, but Geoff dismissed that, saying his secret weapon was his pilot sign. Apparently, without one everyone will just assume I am one of the many hookers you see on the main roads here, so I’ll never be successful at hitching. Of course you don’t see many prostitutes in the middle of nowhere, in sweaty t-shirts and jeans holding a radio and with a severe case of helmet hair, but I’ll take his word for it. Another great excuse to let him do the hitching while I sunbathe. Ha!

See photos of today.

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