There is a principle that states that the position and velocity of a quantum particle cannot be known at the same time. Surely there will be those who distrust such a proposal, that in this world there is everything. But I can say that I have experienced something very similar.
It was following the Carros de Foc route. A classic route with a circular format, which passes through the nine guarded refuges of the Aigüestortes i Estany de Saint Maurici National Park. It adds 65 kilometers and accumulates a drop of 9,200 meters. Almost always above two thousand meters of altitude, it has its highest point in the Contraix pass, at 2,745 metres. There are those who have completed the route in less than ten hours, there are those who have completed two laps in less than 24 hours. But, with time and without hurry, the usual thing is to dedicate five to seven days to it.
Saint Maurici National Park.
The circular route passes through the nine protected refuges of the Aigüestortes and Estany de Saint Maurici national park
We had reservations for four nights. A family expedition, with my two daughters, my brother with a daughter, another nephew and myself. The van stayed in the Espot parking lot. At the Ernest Mallafré refuge, next to the Sant Maurici pond, we picked up the card that would be stamped for us at each refuge. We went up to the Amitges refuge and stopped to spend the night at Saboredo.
They had undergone renovations, since the last time he had slept there. If in the past one was embedded among the guests like a teaspoon in the cutlery drawer, now, from the highest bunks you could enjoy the landscape in panoramic format. A wonder that did not disturb the whining of a baby. His parents, in the morning, apologized afflicted: the poor kid suffered from gastroenteritis. I had slept soundly. Nor had I heard the snoring that, according to the young section of our team, had shaken the room during the night. I didn’t give them much credit. Even snoring has been attributed to me at times and it can be said that I have always questioned it, because I have never heard it.
The second day ran along the north side of the route, up to the Restanca refuge. Rock, sky, lake, meadow… what can you report when you are so close to heaven, when the world is reduced to the essentials and the essentials are so well arranged?
Refugee Colomina.
The next day, we attacked the top of the route. At that time there was still snow on the Col de Contraix and the only danger was skidding, because it would entail descending the steep slope to its base. And already descending towards the goal of the day in the Estany Llong refuge, my niece felt bad. It would be the altitude, I thought, or the effort. But the truth hit me with a bang, when the second course of dinner landed on my table. I had to run away and I don’t know why it comes to mind when I visit the Icelandic geyser that has given its name to these sources that suddenly expel an inconceivable jet of water.
The night of the parrot continued, without a wink in my litter, waiting for the next morning to sacrifice me and accompany my niece in her retreat. But she woke up so fresh. And so I tackled my quantum journey. I can remember a transposed walk, step by step, with no more sensation than that flow, that persistent advance; I can pinpoint a point, and I find myself sitting, my back against a rock, in the Colomina shelter (it had also been enlarged since my last stay, when it took me in, along with I don’t know how many dozens more, during a snowstorm in a July). But I can’t establish any relation between those points and the displacement.
Pyrenees mountains.
Next up is a plate of meatballs at the Josep M. Blanc shelter. The refuge, I realized when I left it behind the next morning, must be among the best located in the Pyrenees, if not in the world, placed on a peninsula, surrounded by water. But that would see the next morning. There it continues and will continue, for those who want to verify it. But the miracle had happened the day before, with that plate of meatballs. They pulled me out of my quantum drift and dropped me back into the world of ordinary physics. The services provided by these high mountain chefs will never be adequately appreciated. It goes far beyond mere energy replenishment. In my case, they achieved a change of scale, the return to the macroscopic level, something that according to whom I would describe as a miracle.
In the morning, I attacked the last stage so impressive. And on the way back we stopped in Salàs de Pallars to taste some wonderful cannelloni, my niece and I, with that panache, while two other members of the expedition stayed on a sofa at the entrance of the restaurant immersed in deep quantum musing.
