This soon to be released follow up to ‘The Troll Hunter’, is based on a true story. Here, for the first time, is the full adventure with shots taken from the film.
May contain spoilers…
Many years ago, there was a revolution.
The 1960’s and early 1970’s were a time of peace, love and flower power. Apart, that is, from the bits not involving love, peace and flowers, of which, come to think of it, there were quite a few…
This was the generation that would change the world, that would halt its materialistic excesses, that would make weed a vital part of life, that would bring karma to all mankind.
That worked well didn’t it?
As time passed, most left the path of righteousness writ deep by those such a Bob Dylan (“I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinking”) and Jimi Hendrix (“never mind, I’ve still got my guitar”). Instead of Nirvana and a need for weed, they discovered Motörhead and a need for filthy lucre.
And so it goes.
Except, that is, for the very few. A small number of this Hippie generation discarded the mainstream mantra, and headed for the hills to start a new life, a life without the constraints of modern living, a life grasped from the soil itself.
After some months or occasionally years, most of these naïve souls discovered that such a life lived this way was not so easy. No gas, no electricity, no TV, no phones, no episodes of 'the Voice’. Just labour.
A few, a very few of them stayed the course. What of them? Are they really still there? Do they really exist or are they simply a story made up by parents to scare their children? Hidden well away from society, are these very few still scraping an existence from nature, their own children now grown and flown the nest?
This story is about the search for those few rare souls. Are they myth or memory? This is the story of the 'Hermit Hunter’…
We had heard rumours of a family of hermits hidden deep in the Pyrénéen mountains. Planning our hunt for them took years. First we needed a base camp. This we found near an outpost called le Couéou, meaning literally the arse-hole of nowhere. A clue for sure.
Our first attempt ended in disaster. Mistakenly thinking that we could find such reclusive men by car, we found ourselves trapped high on a mountain track in thick snow. (The full story here).
Realising that a different approach was called for, we purchased a quad motorbike and readied ourselves with a final meal.
Setting off in the early hours we initially found nothing but dead-ends. The forest tracks seem to be everywhere but go nowhere…
..although nowhere in itself can be quite beautiful…
Then, after travelling what seemed hours along a narrow track with vertiginous drops and crazy views…
…we found another clue…
Surely this totem meant we were nearing our goal?
Without warning (apart from Ian crying “Help!” from the back of the quad), we stumbled upon a hidden shack.
Approaching with care, we searched for clues as to the cabin’s inhabitants. It was certainly very remote. Access nearly impossible without special care and suicidal tendencies.
The first results were encouraging. The hygiene facilities were somewhat basic…
However, upon sneakily entering the cabin, we noticed certain clues that forced us to reevaluate our discovery.
The carton of milk on the table seemed unlikely to come directly from a cow.
The camera gear on the table appeared not to be homemade.
The table itself was indeed a pool table.
Finally, the cabin owner who at that moment appeared without, thankfully, shotgun in hand, proffered us a beer that looked suspiciously mass produced.
We had failed. We needed a new plan.
We decided that the only way left to us, was to follow tracks found in the forest on foot, to discard our modern machinery and head off into the forest fully provisioned for a 10-minute walk (family joke).
Our adventure did not start well. We had hardly gone 10 meters before our female members needed a break. Luckily a well designed local amenity was at hand…
With some gentle persuasion and not a little swearing, we set off once more.
Our next stop was an ancient stone refuge with wooden roof, rumoured to once belong to our quarry.
From there, we followed a narrow track deep into the forest, heading up stream until we found an old but working flour mill, clearly constructed without use of modern tools. At last! A real clue!
Crossing the stream, we climbed steeply uphill until finding a wood store containing freshly cut wood. Our pulses hammering, (part exhilaration, part being completely knackered), we continued on until stumbling into a small garden and, more importantly, its owner. Both of us were somewhat shocked, myself because I never really thought we could possibly achieve our goal, and he because he had not seen another human (apart from his wife who then came meekly out to join us) in many years.
Well, a couple of days anyway…
Our hunt was a success. This cabin had built 32 years ago by this couple after living previously in the refuge we had earlier discovered. They had survived there totally self-sufficiently, raising and educating eight children, all of whom had now left for pastures greener (literally, 5 have become shepherds). They produced or made all their own food without the use of electricity or modern machinery. They kept their own goats, fowl, rabbits etc and had only recently lost their horse.
'Mitten’, for this was his name, now at the age of 65, once a mathematician, had built the house and everything in and around it, including his own glasses! His wife Natalie brought out some gorgeous home made-lemonade to celebrate our arrival.
Annick was so excited she immediately blurted out several slightly impertinent questions such as “Is it true you have eight children?” and “Is there nothing else to do here?”
We discovered that they had come as a group of like-minded friends to escape the chains of civilisation, she a young actress with much to live for. They had helped each other build houses (one of which burnt to the ground, so they simply rebuilt it) gradually moving apart to achieve even further isolation. They had chosen this spot deep in the forest on the side of a steep valley because… well, frankly I’ve no idea really. It seems a little daft to me, but maybe I’m wrong. They pay no taxes of any kind but live as one with the forest. Their home in winter is completely cut off from any hope of reaching the nearest village.
They were clearly very happy.
We left with an air of euphoria having achieved our goal and maybe because of something in the lemonade…
On our return to base-camp, several hours later (something fairly typical for my 10-minute walks) we sat around the table to discuss our momentous find. We had so many remaining questions as to how they could survive in such an isolated place. And I mean seriously isolated.
We will one day return to ask those remaining questions.
Like, what to you do with a bloody great dead horse in the middle of the forest?
