Day 4 – Friday 25th June – Refuge Elizabetta to La Maison Vielle
A short day was in prospect here so there was no need to hurry. Looking out at 5am, I could see Bouquetin grazing nearby in one direction and a beautiful dawn in the other. The black jagged tower of Barad-dûr (know locally as Aiguille Noire de Peuterey) was especially impressive in the early light.
The track descended steeply to the valley floor then, just beyond a lake offering some fine reflections, speared up the opposite side for some 600m to a brilliant viewpoint on a shoulder of the ridge, where I spent nearly an hour just soaking up the view and the silence.
There was a little stream to cross on the way, and this required a some exploring for the easiest place to jump. The track swung around the hillside with splendid views in all directions. Then gently descended the ridge tracking alongside the ski lifts to the col where lay the lovely La Maison Vielle.
I had hoped to camp here, which was possible according to certain notes I had read. Indeed it would have been possible if done with some discretion after 5pm. However as I found the people so welcoming and there was a cute little four-bed dormitory in an separate building, it did not take much to seduce me into staying. And what a good plan it turned out to be.
After a welcome shower and laundry, I settled down with a latte into a chair on the wide lawn to read. This one afternoon alone justified my carrying David Copperfield for the entire trip. The mountains towered over us at our backs, and before us the view stretched infinitely into the blue distance.
There was a library-like hush, broken occasionally by the snoring of three rather inebriated Frenchmen. Unable to stagger down to Courmayeur after a long birthday lunch party, they slept at their table, while waiting for a taxi to take them to rejoin their marginally more sober companions.
Various hikers arrived and most passed on. However one couple that did stay were the Norwegians I had seen on the first day. What a treat it was to spend some time talking to them after dinner. It was one of those notable encounters that make travelling alone so rewarding.
Day 5 – Saturday 26th June – La Maison Vielle to wild camp near Torrent D'Armina
The purpose of stopping here was not to have a delightfully indulgent afternoon, or to have a rest day, though each is as good a reason as any.
One beneficial effect was to cut the long descent into two, but the primary motive was to arrive in Courmayeur just as the supermarket opened at 10am and leave again as soon as possible after that.
It would not have been possible to get down before it closed at noon the day before, which would have meant a wait till after 4pm, making it rather late to start for Bertone.
I was up early to admire the golden light on the mountains behind the Refuge. The outside tables painted bright yellow and mounted on skis, positively glowed. After my breakfast in the sunshine I joined the Norwegians over a latte indoors, and savoured their company and inspiration.
It was a delightful if somewhat steep descent to the town, but I could picture it being harder work if left to the end of the day.
I walked some of the way with a Parisian, who said he would have travelled more widely but for his linguistic shortcomings. I enjoyed the irony of his lecture on the importance of speaking English. I had taken him for a Swiss with his immaculate Mammut pants, supported by fire-engine red braces over a marigold shirt. Not a bit of it; the pants were bought for €8 in Nepal.
At first sight Courmayeur is attractive with its stone roofs and flower baskets, but for me its appeal soon palled. There was little for hikers, or residents, but lots of tat for tourists. And expensive tat at that. The supermarket was very moderate in all except price, but at least hidden amongst the packaged dross there was just enough to fill my food bag (no gas) and I could leave with a sigh of relief.
In recompense the main street had a bakery selling an excellent fig and nut loaf that lasted me till Switzerland, where I could find really serious bread!
There were a number of outdoor stores, and some stocked (screw type) gas, but these felt like “outdoor lifestyle clothing” stores and not real mountain gear shops. Like the Ferrari in the street outside it was all about appearance. Sad to see Patagonia in that sort of company.
The path starts just behind the church. I was only too glad to start the climb to Refuge Bertone, making the most of a stone water fountain near the top end of the village to tank up. It was about a 600m rise with a heavy load and the pine trees lower down provided welcome shade.
There was a big weekend crowd lunching at the refuge, some sporting Louis Vuitton handbags, and many smoking. The views were most impressive just over the ridge from where everyone was sitting. After a carrot and some water I headed off to quieter pastures. The ridge walk was empty once past the lower path to Refuge Bonatti. There were some tempting camping spots tucked away on balconies and even some small ponds with water, but after some initial hesitation I opted to push on and am very glad I did.
Coming up to the ridge higher up I startled a solitary Chamoix grazing just 25m away. Their horns are distinctly different from the Bouquetin, finer and only curled over near the tips. Initially it ran away, then turned and ran back towards me, crossing just in front of me to reach the steep safe ground on the northern flanc.
Shortly afterwards I passed the only two people I saw on this section of the trail. A father and son returning from a little refuge high up in the mountains. They had snow shoes strapped to their bags.
There were two little summits and then a quick descent to a col. Then down into the valley where I would find a place to camp. There was a small river cascading down the cliff that defined its upper end, and slowly I discerned a ruined hut, near the path leading to the next col. I approached cautiously, and disturbed a massive marmot. The valley was positively bristling with marmots, and they did a fair bit of whistling before the night drew in and they hunkered down in their burrows.
I had a relatively flat spot and a good view, but there were few such places available. Water was running close by. After this long day and a good meal, I slept like a log and so I believe did the marmots.
Day 6 – Sunday 27th June – Wild camp to La Foulay (Switzerland)
These early starts were becoming more of a habit and less of an exception with each passing day. By 7am I was watching the approach of a single hiker moving swiftly. He passed me with a curt nod and soon disappeared amongst the rocks, heading upwards to the cascades at the end of the valley. The marmots were soon out and about and refereed my every move with whistles, as if I had given away an endless series of free-kicks.
It took an hour to reach the col to the east, which would give me access to the valley leading to Refuge Bonatti. A good way to warm up for what would be a long day. The snow was still hard and it was easy going, though in the warm weather it would soon become much softer. Two Italians passed me going uphill towards the col I had just left. They used my boot prints as a guide to the best line upward, whereas I had the plan of the whole valley laid out before me.
Another hour brought me down into the valley and along a series of winding streams sparkling in a flat meadow. I almost expected to see Yaks grazing. The buildings at the end are not the Refuge. The correct path is on the left side of the valley, indicated by a number of panels.
The Refuge was 15 minutes below, but in the end I didn't need to go there. Instead I took the high route up the valley, by turning right at some ruined buildings. The route is relatively flat and easy with terrific views. It may also save a small amount of descent, but it certainly quieter as it if further from the road.
Walter Bonatti was a wonderful and good man, disgracefully treated by some self-serving members of the Italian climbing community after the K2 first ascent. I highly commend “The Mountains of My Life” to anyone interested in knowing more about his remarkable life story.
Eventually the path descend and emerges on the road near a smart restaurant, where Sunday tourists were parking their cars. For the thirsty trekker there was a welcome water trough.
After a short but dusty section of road, the real climb started. It took me 2 hours to do the 800m. I walked across the balcony of the huge Refuge Elena but felt disinclined to stop amongst the hordes, opting instead to take a break after completing 500m.
One on the best features on my watch is the Difference Altimeter, which is especially useful on long climbs or descents. Set it to zero at the start, then see how much you have climbed, the elapsed time and the climb rate. The latter helps estimate the time to the top, provided you know the total climb.
There was little snow on the hotter Italian side of the pass, but this did not prevent a fine Husky from finding enough to slide in. Indeed his playful antics so delayed owner (a young man carrying just a T-shirt and a lead) that I managed to overtake him before the summit of the col.
After a short while on the pass a dozen Italian cyclists arrived from the snowy Swiss side. I took group photos for them with their cameras, carefully arranging them around the sole, but rather photogenic, female.
The view from the pass down the valley was utterly delightful and merited a decent break in the sun. Two young lads arrived and sat not far off, but for the life of me I could not understand a single word they said, or even figure out what language it was. Once their parents arrived it became clear, they were Finnish. Another family walking together, who kindly offered me a muffin that looked straight out of Starbucks, but in fact came from Elena. So there was a reason to have stopped.
The border is marked by a rather minimalist stone. I spared a thought for the cyclists who had pushed their bikes up, as we went together down the long snow slope to a small Refuge and a road. They had a Yurt as part of the accommodation. We took a breather. The cows shook their bells, and waited to be milked. We had been in Switzerland for an hour, but no one had yodelled yet.
Somehow I had it in my head that now La Foulay was but a short, flat stroll away. Not a bit of it. After what seemed like a lengthy descent along the road, I reached a car park. After declining a lift to the village, I was a little taken aback to discover that it was still another hour away. Half of this was on a track on the left bank of the river. There were some welcoming signs to a Gite, and a field full of massive black bulls, sporting bells of a similar build.
Finally the village was appeared around a bend and a sign pointed left to the camping. It seemed like another two kilometres before I reached the reception and the long stage drew to a end.
The Camping Glaciers indeed has a fine view of the glaciers. Unusual to find myself rubbing tent poles with camping cars and mega tents with fridges and televisions, but the facilities were first rate and there was a large building for those campers who lacked add-on dining rooms or who wanted to see Mexico play Argentina.
I slept well in the knowledge that tomorrow there would be a good pfund of rye bread waiting for me at reception.
Day 7 – Monday 28th June – La Foulay to Champex-Lac
The thick, fragrant and impeccably mown Swiss grass was a veritable mattress, and highly conducive to a good sleep. Normally I tried to pitch my tent to catch the earliest sun, so that it was as dry as possible before packing it. However here this was not easy, so in anticipation of a short day I had a gentle start after moving the empty tent into the sun. The pfund of bread lived up to expectations, and I was also able to resupply with gas at reception.
As it turned out the day was not quite as short as I'd anticipated. As the TMB route passes though the camp site, it was easy to get back on the trail. Ten minutes after starting I met the Finnish family and ended up walking with them all day. And a delightful one it was too.
We ambled slowly down a fresh looking green valley, passing chocolate box chalets, colourful with geraniums, and a spectacular gnome collection. As lunchtime approached, so our desire for a cup of coffee grew. Each passing hamlet only increased our disappointment. Eventually we found a cafe in Issert. Here a woman with a purple wig served us a coffee and some lunch for the boys. We enjoyed a lengthy break before the afternoon climb, something I had entirely overlooked.
The climb started immediately, and we gained the 400m or so, steadily through forest, with glimpses of the valley falling away below. There was a cave on the way which we explored, and much discussion of the berries and mushrooms of Finland. It sounded like a great place to visit. The boys had already been in Champex for an hour when we finally arrived.
The town was basically a tourist resort around a small lake. It had several restaurants and a small supermarket with a very modest collection of foodstuffs at less than modest prices. The Dutch reputation for holidaying in their caravans with all their food from home except bread and milk, was beginning to make sense.
The camp site was a little beyond the end of town, and not on the lake shore as I had supposed. However it had all one needed, and offered a shelter for cooking in bad weather and World Cup soccer on the TV. There was plenty of space as it was less than half full. In summer it might be a bit cramped. I set myself up at the western end so I could catch the early sun, as I guessed the next day to be quite long.
The Dutch were happy to be through to the quarter finals with only Germany between them and a place in the final. “We are always very motivated against Germany”.
Day 8 – Tuesday 29th June – Champex-Lac to Le Puetry
I didn't really decide on the route, until two minutes walk brought me to the junction. It then seemed obvious to take the left fork to the High Route. The weather continued fine, and on the map the Fenêtre d'Arpette seemed appealing. Indeed so it proved in reality. There was a stiff climb first past ski slopes and lifts, then on a small road, but in less than a hour I was ascending more gently in the Arpette valley.
I thought I was making good time until a German woman ran past. Later on I would meet her again on her descent from the snow limit. She was training for a 78km mountain marathon, “because the 42km ones are too short”.
Shortly after this I passed two Dutchmen putting on little ice spikes (not crampons) for a negligible amount of snow, scattered with the tree debris from a storm. They were also walking the TMB. We shared some spiced cake at our 500m rest stop, and I left just a minute before them. They never arrived at the col or in Le Puetry, and I wondered what happened to them.
The route up the valley is pretty straightforward, but there was a well-marked but unexpectedly sharp right turn at one point. Gradually it gets steeper, and eventually turned to snow. I had already seen a couple descending wearing sneakers, so knew that it would not be too challenging. “How they could be already be here at 10am?” I wondered. I filled my water bottles high up at a spring gushing from rocks.
The last couple of a hundred meters is all in snow and gets steep at the end. Finally there was the flag at the col, though why a Cross of St George I was unsure. The views got better and better as one approached the top, and then one had a wide view on the other side as well. As if this were not sufficient there were also some Bouquetin resting not far away, safe perched on their perilous rocks.
Quite a little gathering at the top. People from both directions arriving for their lunch break. A young English couple on their honeymoon who had been on the train at Les Houches, were also lunching.
There were the first hint of a thunderstorm on the way down, and even a few drops of rain, but not enough to merit a jacket, though it did help to cool things down a little. Quite a long descent of about 1300m to Le Puetry. We passed a number of runners on their way up, presumably on a training run.
At a rustic cafe I took the wooden bridge across the river and wound down to the village on a mixture of road and track. One could continue straight on to Col de Forclaz, but as tomorrow would bring one back through Le Peutry I went straight there, thus missing seeing my Finnish friends who would end their tour that night.
Once in the valley floor it is not far to the village, where the first thing one encounters is the camp site. It would be easy to miss as it is just a field next to a shelter and a small toilet block. Not far away is a Gite, but I had already put up my tent by the time I noticed it. There was only one other tent, an Austrian Biker with a huge Honda.
Ten minutes down the valley just beyond the church I found the only shop open and quite useful. The Relais seemed to be full of hikers, even though the tracks had been largely empty.
A lady came round in the evening to collect 3€, and for a good night's sleep with no rain that seemed like a bargain.
Day 9 – Wednesday 30th June – Le Puetry to Les Frasserands
The last day in Switzerland, and the end of the Tour was approaching, just as I was really starting to get into the swing of it. Maybe that is why I like really long walks. The daily rhythm becomes one of the soothing aspects of the trip. Funny how that same rhythm at home becomes the daily grind.
It was good to start early before it heated up, as low down it already felt humid. The climb started immediately and swung back and forth in forest till I reached a table near the tree line with a good view of the col.
Just as I was leaving after a rest a group of four Kiwis arrived and we walked together to the Col de la Balme. New Zealand being a small place it was not long before I found that we had a friend in common.
The latter half of the climb is open and more gentle, and can be seen from far off. Sadly the Refuge Col de la Balme is better from a distance that up close where its unwelcoming management, hostile attitude and negative signs mark it out as the low point of the entire trip. One wonders why people like that are in the hospitality business.
So after a last Swiss photo we entered France. First down to a col and then along a fine ridge. After a brief lunch stop on the final summit, where there were magnificent views, the track descends steeply. I was overtaken by a group of Mountain Bikers on very tricky terrain. Then embarrassingly I caught up with them again and walked past. Eventually though they did take off ahead of me, and before long I reached the road and a car park.
Argentière and Les Frasserands are down the road to the left of the Col des Montets. There are some signs that lead me down on a winding course to the camp site at the Chalet Pierre Semard. This was a very nice place with plenty of space, friendly management and good facilities. Not many tents, so I could choose a spot on the western side.
A short walk down the valley is Argentière, which I liked immediately and much preferred to Chamonix. It seemed like a real village, at last! It had a proper supermarket and serious gear shops. The people seemed helpful and friendly.
There are various activities for the residents of the Chalet to which the campers are invited. I eschewed the ballroom dancing, but enjoyed the Pétanque.
It had come into my mind to try and do both the remaining sections in one day, so I prepared for an early departure.
Day 10 – Thursday 1st July – Les Frasserands to Les Houches
It was already quite hot by half past eight when I started to haul myself and my load up the hill to the road again. The trail starts just opposite the one coming up from Les Frasserands. In the trees lower down it was shaded by the sun, but also more humid, so I was glad to climb above the tree line.
I realised that I had been taking for granted the spectacular views of the mountains, which other walkers have perhaps only seen through gaps in the clouds. All this day the Mt Blanc massif was exposed across the valley to the south. Only in the section behind Le Brevant was it briefly hidden from view.
After the first few hundred metres of climb there was the first of three sets of ladders that I encountered this day. Two sets were on the section up to where the path turns to Lac Blanc at a large cairn, but they were very secure and easily negotiated even with a big pack, but it was certainly safer to pack the poles away for this part.
Once above the ladders the route was generally less steep as it traversed across to La Flagère, where there is a cable car and ski lifts. There were crowds here, some lunching in front of the panorama, but as most never stray far from their mechanical transport, the trail was soon quiet again. I saw relatively few people walking this day, but one group of young English went past in the opposite direction. To my surprise I would meet then again the next day.
As I was so early at La Flagère it became obvious that I would try to reach Les Houches that afternoon. The next section took me to the base of the climb to the Col du Brevant. Here I ate some lunch in the shelter of a first-aid hut and watched an unsuspecting marmot a few feet below me. It ignored my proffered carrot.
I wrongly thought that the climb to the col would be the last of the trip, and was celebrating accordingly, when I reached the cairn. Some Canadians arrived at the same time, preparing to walk from Chamonix to Zermatt. It sounded an excellent hike.
Luckily I checked the map instead of just plunging on down and found that I actually had to turn left and climb again to the summit of Le Brevant. This was a wonderful and unexpected section. Snow, solitude and storms. There were some fairly fresh tracks to follow though. The path goes behind the mountain and there are good views to the north, where I could see a storm brewing with thunder getting louder. Over on the Mt Blanc side I could also hear thunder. Would this be a little sting in the tail as far as weather is concerned?
In the end my luck held. I walked in sunshine across the snow slopes and could look either way to black skies, but overhead it stayed completely dry. There was a further set of steel ladders, where my thoughts turned very much to lightening strikes. Finally arriving at Le Brevant, where the massive cable car station is located, I found it suspended for the duration of the storms. The cables plunging off into thin air seems particularly vulnerable and I was glad to be walking on.
Just after leaving the summit I encountered a Frenchman named Alain. He was in his late 60s and walking the GR5 to Nice over the course of the next month. He was already on day six, and had started that day at five in the morning. We descended together as far as the Refuge Belachat, where he stopped for a coffee.
It was a pretty steep and long descent but the end was in sight and at one moment there was even a rainbow in the valley pointing me down to Les Houches. After crossing a stream I re-entered the forest and eventually encountered the fence of the Animal Park, which one skirts leaving it to the left.
The track continues down steadily circling around the statue Le Christ Roi, with slight hints of Rio about it. Finally there is a choice to go to the centre of town or direct to the train station. Given that both routes end up there I could really have taken the shorter one. The total descent is about 1600m so I was glad to cross the river and head up hill to the village.
In the camp site there were more people this time and even some who knew me and called out a greeting. My bag was waiting for me, and after ten and a half hours of walking I was glad of a cup of tea.
Post TMB in Argentiere
I often need a period to digest a walk, and was lucky not to be obliged to leave immediately. Descending to Les Houches the sound of traffic rises to meet one. Most of the noise is caused by the trucks using the Mt Blanc tunnel rather than by local traffic.
So the next day I took the free (with a guest card) local bus up the valley back to Argentière, and stayed at Camping Pierre Semard again. This time I stayed a week. One of the other attractions was the Wifi, but in the end this proved unreliable, and I would use a deck chair outside the Tourist Office and their open network.
As I saw more of the village I grew to like it more and more. A really very nice little place, with everything one needed and not too much of what one did not.
One day I walked up Lac Blanc and it was a memorable day hike. Near the ladders there was a Bouquetin on a very steep buit of ground close to the path. It lay on its side to slide down the low azalea bushes to make its descent onto the path below, where it passed within a few metres of some other walkers. A little higher up there were some more, including a couple of young. All seemed quite tame.
I went on around the lake and up the snow slopes to the col about 400m above the Refuge. There was quite a lot of ice still in the lake. However it is the exceptional views of Mt Blanc across the valley, which make this such a popular trip.
There was no-one at the col however and only a few other climbers visible on the snow fields. The col is dominated by the Aiguilles Rouges, which have some fine cracks running up them. Over the other side it is a very steep descent to the valley floor 1500m or more below.
For a change I had walked this day in approach shoes instead of my mountain boots, and while the climb up was a little slippery, I could glissade downhill quite easily, and took much less time to return to the lake. By now it was early afternoon and the shores were heaving with day trippers, some of whom were only just arriving.
I took a variant route back to the road avoiding the ladders, and using the full length of the ridge as far as the Col des Mottets.
There were more people at the camp site over this period as the peak season approached.
The group of young English kids appeared on the first evening. They were from Halifax from a variety of disadvantaged backgrounds, and I confess I struggled at times to understand them. All eight were culminating a training course in the UK with this expedition.
They were about 16 years old and it was really enjoyable to see how well they functioned. Now on day eight they had the confidence of people who know that they can make it to the end. I admired the way they all sat together with their guide and quietly talked over the days experiences in a circle. Some were clearly fit young lads, but others were really making a huge step into unknown territory. A few of us talked late that night and shared our different experiences.
After they left I found that one of them had put a little present just inside my tent fly. How sweet. I wondered who it was, and what had prompted it. In case you are reading this – Thank you!
The next big group was also English but of a very different hue. This was a big commercial group of mostly middle-aged people. They had a guide walking with them and a young and very frisky couple in the support vehicle. I noted with a smile that the only tent that they had bothered to place correctly with respect to the slope was their own. They clearly had more pressing matters on their minds.
Notwithstanding that they carried very little and had everything prepared for them when they arrived in camp, some in this group complained of the rigours of the day. Admittedly it was their first day, but as they had taken a cable car to the start I thought they were slightly overdoing it, especially when compared to those teenagers from Halifax.
There were two French Railway workers from the north of France, who managed to get out and about a fair bit despite their chaotic preparations. They had walked the TMB together 30 years ago, so this time were just doing some lengthy day walks. They took many hours to pack their small car when they left.
Finally there were some other independent hikers, from the US, England and Wales. They all took a wise option and left their bags in the camp site for their last day to Les Houches, catching a train or a bus back in the evening. I had suggested this option to them and was glad when they all succeeded. The quickest took 8 and a half and the longest 14 hours.
One day I took the little mountain train down to Chamonix. It was more crowded and less congenial than I had expected. The outdoor stores were more expensive than elsewhere, and it all seemed a but much. I was glad to squeeze onto the train back up the valley to the peace of Argentière.
At the camp site they were selling postcards with classic sepia photographs. I bought one depicting a trio of formidable Victorian ladies on the Mt Blanc glacier, taken in 1901. They were wearing full length skirts, delicate patent leather boots and wonderful feathery hats. All three clutched handbags. Now that's the style!
So ended my Tour du Mont Blanc for 2010. It would like to return at another season one day, and I hope I can do that before thirty years have passed. Otherwise there may be few glaciers left, though I am sure the flowers will still be as wonderful and the marmots will still be whistling as one passes.
Florac, August 2010
