Sunday, July 29, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Samoens to Aosta
Sunday 1 July - Samoens
Awoke to low cloud and a dense fog with less than fifty metres visibility. Rather like diving. The fog was left behind as I walked down the mountain with a very pleasant quartet from Amsterdam - Maarten Endt, sons Menno and Matthijs and friend Wiete. Maarten set a good pace and proved a good conversationalist. I asked Menno how it was the Dutch were so proficient in English. He answered in one word, " Subtitles." Foreign programmes on Dutch tv are not dubbed as in France, but subtitled. Nice to walk in company if only for a couple of hours. Foolishly abandoned them at a refuge on the outskirts of Samoens and took a hotel room in the centre of town. As usual the weather turned to shiite as soon as I finished walking. Fifth day in the Alps. A bit of snow between me and the next stage. I decided to stay a few days in the hope of an improvement in the weather. I found a bar with Belgian beer and contemplate my next move. My new runners, well hardly new now, were not designed for snow. Suddenly found myself completely exhausted. After a couple of glasses of wine and a long bath I collapsed into bed without eating.
Monday 2 July - Samoens
Weather still shiite and forecast was the same. I decided to stay until the weather improved and devote myself to eating, drinking and sleeping. Samoens is a small resort entirely dependent on tourists, popular with the British. It was hardly crowded but the streets had the usual dismal atmosphere of a holiday in the rain. Disconsolate figures trudging up and down the streets under umbrellas, windowshopping. Rain stopped long enough for a decent sunset.
It seemed there was snow on the track to the south. I considered my footwear and decided I would have to get something more suitable.
Tuesday 3 July - Samoens
Day turns out fine after a poor start. Accompanied Maarten and his boys for half an hour and then turned back.I wished I'd been better organised and was walking with them. Bought some more suitable shoes, heavy tread, supposedly waterproof. More to carry but a suburban flatearth nerd must take the mountains seriously. Weather forecast was moderate for Wednesday, shiite thereafter. I booked accommodation at refuges through until Sunday
Wednesday 4 July - Refuge Alfred Wills
Up from 703m at Samoens to 1800m at Collet d'Anterne. It was a dramatic and satisfying walk but I am finding it more and more difficult to describe walks without repetition. Basically they're up or down or up and down. There might be a little flat bit at the beginning, middle or end but not so as you'd notice. The guide books have handy little diagrams to indicate steepness of the terrain. They look like cardiographs. The path crisscrossed a motorable road for a while.
I stopped for a beer at the end of the motorable part. Then it was very steep through national park. I met a few skimpily dressed speed hikers on their way down. I was passed by two polite and friendly boys with fishing rods sticking out of their packs. The path was steep and rocky and strewn with what looked like horse dung. I reached the Collet - that means little col - after about six hours. The valley below looked like Iceland - windswept, more rock than grass, huge red- and brown- streaked cliffs to what I guessed was the west. And there were donkeys, being led down to the refuge with packs on their backs. I could hear marmots- little animals like rock wallabies - whistling alarm calls but too far away to photograph.
The refuge was welcoming but stark, especially in the overcast light. A few small chalets, one toilet for guests, no showers. Upstairs dormitory was the loft space over the kitchen and dining room. Beer was very reasonably priced considering everything has to be brought in by donkey or helicopter. I shared a dinner table with a friendly American family who had sensibly brought their own guide. I wished I could have afforded one. She told me there was very little snow - " Only a hundred metres or so." I kicked myself for wasting money and weight on those shoes in Samoens. The manager of the refuge advised me to leave at six since Chamonix was 8 hours away and "bad weather" was forecast for the afternoon. Bad weather was already with us, I thought, the rain only stopping to make room for hail.
Thursday 5 July - Chamonix
I had no trouble getting up early, what with the snoring of my companions and a certain amount of trepidation regarding today's walk. Which was pusillanimous of me since several of the other walkers looked older and weightier than me and I judged the American boy to be about ten. I was up at 5 to cloud but no rain. Breakfast was left out for me, a thermos of luke warm water to make tea, some stale bread. I forced down as much as I could. The climb out of the valley to the lake was not as bad as it had looked the night before but began with a hair-raising joke of a bridge. There were two tents pitched by the lake, one I assumed was housing the boys I'd met yesterday.
From the lake it was a scramble up to the Col d'Anterne at 2300m. Then the snow began. This didn't look too bad. I slithered carefully over it in my runners and picked my way over a stream. My feet were moderately wet but not cold. Further uphill was a much larger patch of snow. I decided to put on my new shoes. If my body was to be found down a ravine, at least no one could say I had not worn sensible shoes. I wished I'd put on clean underwear.
After the col was a fairly extensive period of downhill walking, which I resented because I knew I was going to have to make it all up again to get over the next col.
After several more hair-raisers (to me) I saw above me a line of people inching their way over a snow-covered ledge. At least that's how it looked to me. They were probably dancing with joy. I am not going up there, I thought bravely. And I wasn't. This was the path to the summit, of easy access, according to the guide book. After another scramble over rock and snow I found myself on the col proper, 2257m, looking down at the cable car station at Planpraz. It was far below, but definitely all downhill. I'd been walking for nearly eight hours by which time, according to one signpost, I should have been in Chamonix. But that was alright with me. I wasn't too proud to abandon the path after eight hours and take the cable car. In fact, I was proud to take the cable car. I walked down the steep path with a Swedish couple. Of course it started to rain and since there was little wind I got out Brolly II. The Swedes had clearly not seen such technology before and gave cries of admiration as they struggled into their waterproofs. I had a beer in the cafe at the station, surrounded by glum-looking climbers (at least that's what I assumed them to be by their ropes and ice-axes). My brief experience of climbers leads me to believe they spend as much time gazing at mountains as actually climbing them. Rather like surfers and the sea, I suppose. And me too, I suppose, having spent as much time looking at maps as actually using them.
I found a cheap room ten minutes walk from the centre of Chamonix which proved to be a pretty but characterless ski resort. Numerous shops selling hiking gear, the streets filled with people wearing it. I couldn't wait to leave. I never even took a photo.
Friday 6 July - Aosta
I planned to make an early start south but awoke to rain and went back to sleep. I woke up and thought, "Italy!" Found a coach at the train station and left for Aosta, changing coaches at Courmayeur.
The other side of Mont Blanc was sunny and dry and Aosta proved to be a delight. By good luck I found the nicest room I've had the whole trip in a little courtyard appartment building at the end of Via St Anselm. Plain wooden floors and furniture, window overlooking the Piazza Arco d'Augusto.
And that explains the name - Aosta is a corruption of Augustus, in whose honour the arch was built in 27BC. It was a walled town, quite a lot of the original walls remaining. I put my socks to soak in the bidet and went off to explore. There were a fair number of tourists but almost all Italian, from Milan or Turin I supposed. I found myself at the Museo Archeologico where there was an exhibition devoted to Vassily Kandinsky. The three women at the reception were delighted to see me and persuaded me to buy a ticket to another exhibition at reduced price, works of Giorgio Chiroco. I love the atmosphere of art galleries, regardless of what's on show. And anyway I loved the Kandinsky exhibition. I seemed to be the only one there apart from the security guards and one middle-aged woman who also turned out to be a security guard. All this for me, I thought. And I picked up a couple of new isms (or ismos as we say in Italy) for my collection - geometrismo and orientalismo.
La mia pittura è come un pezzo di ghiaccio entro cui brucia una fiamma. Or, Ma peinture est comme un morceau de glace dans lequel brule une flamme. (My painting is like a piece of ice in which a flame is burning.) What a man!
The buildings are roofed with slate but the tiles are huge - two inches thick and a foot and a half wide.
I slept as late as I could on Saturday and spent an hour or so exchanging English and Italian lessons with my hostess, Sara, a charming friendly David Bowie lookalike. I wandered down to the market and couldn't resist a huge roast pork sandwich for elevenses. I've got to eat more. In Australia I'm used to hiking with lots of nuts and dried fruit but those are hard to find here, anywhere I've been for that matter. Chocolate, however is a great substitute. Dark and milk have the same calorific value but dark has a greater proportion of fat to sugar. So force down that chocolate, boy.
In the afternoon I took a bus to Cogne, billed in the Lonely Planet guide as "a dreamy little town" and gateway to some of the walks in the Western Alps. I found another pretty but anonymous resort with nothing but us tourists and of course more shops selling boots. Could have been Chamonix or Samoens. I took a cable car up a mountain with the intention of doing a hike but after half an hour got bored and came down for a beer. Give me Aosta anytime.
On Sunday I woke up with a mild dose of flu and used that as an excuse to do nothing much once again. Sara directed me to an internet cafe where I spent a few hours updating this blog. And that's what I intend to do with the next few days until it's time to meet Owen in Cuneo.
Awoke to low cloud and a dense fog with less than fifty metres visibility. Rather like diving. The fog was left behind as I walked down the mountain with a very pleasant quartet from Amsterdam - Maarten Endt, sons Menno and Matthijs and friend Wiete. Maarten set a good pace and proved a good conversationalist. I asked Menno how it was the Dutch were so proficient in English. He answered in one word, " Subtitles." Foreign programmes on Dutch tv are not dubbed as in France, but subtitled. Nice to walk in company if only for a couple of hours. Foolishly abandoned them at a refuge on the outskirts of Samoens and took a hotel room in the centre of town. As usual the weather turned to shiite as soon as I finished walking. Fifth day in the Alps. A bit of snow between me and the next stage. I decided to stay a few days in the hope of an improvement in the weather. I found a bar with Belgian beer and contemplate my next move. My new runners, well hardly new now, were not designed for snow. Suddenly found myself completely exhausted. After a couple of glasses of wine and a long bath I collapsed into bed without eating.
Monday 2 July - Samoens
Weather still shiite and forecast was the same. I decided to stay until the weather improved and devote myself to eating, drinking and sleeping. Samoens is a small resort entirely dependent on tourists, popular with the British. It was hardly crowded but the streets had the usual dismal atmosphere of a holiday in the rain. Disconsolate figures trudging up and down the streets under umbrellas, windowshopping. Rain stopped long enough for a decent sunset.
Tuesday 3 July - Samoens
Day turns out fine after a poor start. Accompanied Maarten and his boys for half an hour and then turned back.I wished I'd been better organised and was walking with them. Bought some more suitable shoes, heavy tread, supposedly waterproof. More to carry but a suburban flatearth nerd must take the mountains seriously. Weather forecast was moderate for Wednesday, shiite thereafter. I booked accommodation at refuges through until Sunday
Wednesday 4 July - Refuge Alfred Wills
Up from 703m at Samoens to 1800m at Collet d'Anterne. It was a dramatic and satisfying walk but I am finding it more and more difficult to describe walks without repetition. Basically they're up or down or up and down. There might be a little flat bit at the beginning, middle or end but not so as you'd notice. The guide books have handy little diagrams to indicate steepness of the terrain. They look like cardiographs. The path crisscrossed a motorable road for a while.
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| Cascade de la Saulfaz 1450m |
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| Refuge Alfred Wills |
Thursday 5 July - Chamonix
I had no trouble getting up early, what with the snoring of my companions and a certain amount of trepidation regarding today's walk. Which was pusillanimous of me since several of the other walkers looked older and weightier than me and I judged the American boy to be about ten. I was up at 5 to cloud but no rain. Breakfast was left out for me, a thermos of luke warm water to make tea, some stale bread. I forced down as much as I could. The climb out of the valley to the lake was not as bad as it had looked the night before but began with a hair-raising joke of a bridge. There were two tents pitched by the lake, one I assumed was housing the boys I'd met yesterday.
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| Marmots |
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| Lac d'Anterne |
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| Stepping stones |
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| Hair raised |
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| Sommet d'acces facile, le Brevent |
I found a cheap room ten minutes walk from the centre of Chamonix which proved to be a pretty but characterless ski resort. Numerous shops selling hiking gear, the streets filled with people wearing it. I couldn't wait to leave. I never even took a photo.
Friday 6 July - Aosta
I planned to make an early start south but awoke to rain and went back to sleep. I woke up and thought, "Italy!" Found a coach at the train station and left for Aosta, changing coaches at Courmayeur.
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| Mont Blanc tunnel |
And that explains the name - Aosta is a corruption of Augustus, in whose honour the arch was built in 27BC. It was a walled town, quite a lot of the original walls remaining. I put my socks to soak in the bidet and went off to explore. There were a fair number of tourists but almost all Italian, from Milan or Turin I supposed. I found myself at the Museo Archeologico where there was an exhibition devoted to Vassily Kandinsky. The three women at the reception were delighted to see me and persuaded me to buy a ticket to another exhibition at reduced price, works of Giorgio Chiroco. I love the atmosphere of art galleries, regardless of what's on show. And anyway I loved the Kandinsky exhibition. I seemed to be the only one there apart from the security guards and one middle-aged woman who also turned out to be a security guard. All this for me, I thought. And I picked up a couple of new isms (or ismos as we say in Italy) for my collection - geometrismo and orientalismo.
La mia pittura è come un pezzo di ghiaccio entro cui brucia una fiamma. Or, Ma peinture est comme un morceau de glace dans lequel brule une flamme. (My painting is like a piece of ice in which a flame is burning.) What a man!
On Sunday I woke up with a mild dose of flu and used that as an excuse to do nothing much once again. Sara directed me to an internet cafe where I spent a few hours updating this blog. And that's what I intend to do with the next few days until it's time to meet Owen in Cuneo.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Beliancourt to Col de la Golese
Monday 11 June - Beliancourt
Internetted at the local tourism office and researched my onward route through the Jura mountains. I found a halfway decent map and had a steak lunch at the shopping centre before leaving at 2:30. I walked along the Haut Saone canal for a few hours to Nammoy. No accommodation there so I caught a bus to Beliancourt and got a room at the Bristol Hotel. Bristol was apparently an English noble who travelled a lot in the 19th century. I spent my first night in Kuwait in 1973 in the Bristol Hotel. I've been plagued with them ever since, although luckily the one in Beliancourt was not next to a mosque.
Tuesday 12 June - Point de Rode
Some confusion in my diary. Was it really me in Pont de Rode, or was it some other walker? I made a bad choice for a hotel and found myself on a tiny but busy border crossing into Switzerland. I observed that I was eating a quiche lorraine in Lorraine. The local war memorial had about 50 names on it. Eleven named Gresson died in the First World War. There was a least one left: he died in the Second. I noted a wood on the map called Le Bois Banal: the banal wood. Was there any connection with La Rue Quatre Banal in Thionville? I could not resist some fantasizing. I remembered books from my childhood by Enid Blyton. After The Famous Five and the Secret Seven could there be a gang called The Banal Four? I wanted to be the leader.
Some confusion in my diary. Was it really me in Pont de Rode, or was it some other walker? I made a bad choice for a hotel and found myself on a tiny but busy border crossing into Switzerland. I observed that I was eating a quiche lorraine in Lorraine. The local war memorial had about 50 names on it. Eleven named Gresson died in the First World War. There was a least one left: he died in the Second. I noted a wood on the map called Le Bois Banal: the banal wood. Was there any connection with La Rue Quatre Banal in Thionville? I could not resist some fantasizing. I remembered books from my childhood by Enid Blyton. After The Famous Five and the Secret Seven could there be a gang called The Banal Four? I wanted to be the leader.
Wednesday 13 June - Trevillers
Six and a half hours in indifferent weather took me to Trevillers. A lot of traffic through town but very well regulated. I was impressed with the way huge trucks squealed to a halt at the pedestrian crossings. In fact it seems that pedestrian crossings are observed punctiliously in France. You have to be careful standing near them because all traffic comes to a halt even when you dont't actually want to cross. The valley of the Daubs is too narrow to permit a bypass. Brolly gave up the ghost. The telescoping mechanism could not cope with the constant use. We had been through a lot together: I had backtracked for two hours to recover it on the Luxembourg-German border. No commando ever had a more useful piece of kit. But I was ruthless about dumping it in the nearest bin. Fortunately while Trevillers was little more than a busy village it was also, for good reason, the brolly capital of the western world. I was directed to a shop selling handbags and such where I asked for an umbrella.The assistant was something of an expert and showed me a fine spring-loaded number but it was too heavy. I chose a lightweight one and was issued with an official warning that it could not be expected to cope with heavy winds or showers.
Thursday 14 June - Biaufond (Switzerland)
A day of smug self-congratulation. I congratulated self on purchase of Brolly II - it had a workout. Congratulated self on finding exquisite footpaths along the river and over the hills. Congratulated self on performance of new shoes, perfectly comfortable in the wet. Eventually I had to walk down from a high plateau towards
A day of smug self-congratulation. I congratulated self on purchase of Brolly II - it had a workout. Congratulated self on finding exquisite footpaths along the river and over the hills. Congratulated self on performance of new shoes, perfectly comfortable in the wet. Eventually I had to walk down from a high plateau towards
Friday 15 June - Viller-le-Lac (France)
Saturday 16 June - Le Gras
Sunday - Monday 17 -18 June - Pontarlier
Tuesday 19 June - Jougne
Wednesday 20 June - Source de Daubs
Thursday 21 June - Bellefontaine
Friday 22 June - St Cergue ( Switzerland)
Saturday 23 June - Sunday 24 June - Thonon-les-Bains
Monday 25-Tuesday 26 June - St Gingolph
Wednesday 27 June Chalets de Bise
I made an early start from St Gingolph where I discovered I had officially embarked on la GRAND TRAVERSEE DES ALPES and had a steep walk up a narrow wooded path, through some tick pastures to Novel where I had breakfast of chocolate and stale bread and a chat with Lois. Then half an hour's walk through woods so soggy my glasses fogged up. Then the walk got very steep indeed. I was climbing a mountain! I had somehow thought I could get through the Alps valley to valley without great exertion. This was not the case. After an hour I experienced some doubts over the whole enterprise. Would my smoke blackened lungs see me through? Would I be paralysed with vertigo? I had to stop for the occasional breather but luckily the path though overgrown was dry. The scenery was magnificent but I stopped appreciating it, looking longingly back at occasional glimpses of Lake Geneva.
After 3 hours I could see figures on the horizon - Col de Bise. I hauled myself to the top and all was forgiven. I was looking down on a huge green valley, steep sided and ringing with tick bells. There was some snow but none on the path. There were some day trippers who had climbed up from the valley but no-one on the path behind me. There was a long steep but easy walk to the valley floor 500m below. There were a couple of small farmhouses and decrepit outbuildings. The Club Alpin Français refuge occupied the upper floor of one of the farmhouses. It was unlocked and unattended but clean inside with bunks and blankets. A girl from the farm was very apologetic: it seemed the toilets were locked and I would have to make do with the cow pasture. I was perfectly happy. I bought a lump of cheese and, after they had milked the cows, a litre of milk. I spent a couple of hours wandering the lowlands and checking out the next day's route, had a supper of the can of beans I'd been carrying since Pontarlier and a perfect night's sleep alone in the refuge. That was what I'd signed up for!
Thursday 28 June Chalet de Trabentaz
I had breakfast of cheese, three day old bread from Thonon and the last of the milk The milk didn't taste any different to any other milk, even though it was entirely untreated, but at least I had seen it extracted from the cows with my own eyes. I made an early start and a couple of hours later I was over another col and studying the map over a beer in Chapel d'Abondance, another ski resort. Half an hour on a quiet D road then I had another two hour lung buster up a steep path to Chalet de Trabentaz. No showers but plenty of water and beer. Madame was very welcoming. She pointed out my path for tomorrow: relatively gentle slope for half an hour or so and then what looked like ( to my cowardly and vertiginous gaze) a vertical assent over an intimidating patch of snow. "It's easy", she said. "I saw you coming up, you're a strong walker." I choked on my cigarette. I'd come up like a snail but I was grateful for the encouragement.
The chalet was satisfyingly isolated. The nearest motorable track was way down below. Supplies were brought up on kilometre long cable, a sort of winch powered flying fox. The owners bring their sheep up from their farm in Chatel every summer and used to send the milk down to be made into cheese. But none of their three sons wanted a career milking a hundred sheep by hand every day and now the sheep were bred for meat only. I wasn't hungry but forced down as much dinner as I could. There were eight of us in the dorm, including a little baby the father had carried up in a special backpack. It was very quiet after ten, except a little gentle snoring. I didn't know if my snoring was gentle but nobody said anything.
Friday 29 June - Refuge de Chesery (Switzerland)
Climb up to col was relatively easy as promised except the last few metres which were a bit of a scramble. Then I had a huge sloping prairie all to myself and the wild flowers. A couple of hours later I began to run into day hikers and found myself at the Col de Bassachaux. I had some lunch at the restaurant. The guidebook said it was 3 hours to Col de Chesery but a signpost said 50 minutes. An easy day. I dawdled over lunch and dawdled down the track. I was in full scale winter sports country with a spider's web of skilifts all around.
I stopped to watch mountain bikers and other suicidal types do their stuff. The mountain bikers take ski lifts up the mountains and then come hurtling down the tracks. There was some sort of special event on and hundreds of riders were enjoying the perfect weather. I only saw one ambulance.
I was the only guest at the refuge and had agneau d'alpage (mountain lamb) for dinner. Shower for an extra 2 euros.
Saturday 30 June - Refuge de la Golese
Had to share the track with mountain bikers for the first half of the day. Amazing where they go but I only ever saw them coming down. I asked a group of English riders if it was as terrifying as it looked. No, no. The biggest fear was the damage to expensive gear. But one at the back of the group, maybe a beginner, rolled his eyes and nodded his head most emphatically.
I got lost and added an extra couple of hours, mostly uphill, to my walk. I was passed on the track up to the col by two youngish men walking at a very fast pace. It was hot so I filled my hat with snow and made no attempt to keep up with them. I found them taking a breather at the col. They were on a two day hike and heading for Samoens. They passed me again as I was going down and up to the next col. Twenty minutes before the refuge I found one of them lying at the side of the track, prostrate with exhaustion. He had lost all strength he said. His friend had left him to it. Clearly a competitive friendship. I stayed with him until he was ready to walk again and then accompanied him to the Refuge de la Golese, where his smirking companion was drinking something cold.
After 7 hours hard work I gave up the idea of going on to Samoens and got a place in the dormitory at the refuge. Best meal in the mountains so far, and thankfully not ham but pork. The refuge is a large modern chalet, different from a hotel only in that accommodation is in dormitories. There was a four wheel drive track up to it so it was relatively easily supplied.
Tuesday 19 June - Jougne
Wednesday 20 June - Source de Daubs
Thursday 21 June - Bellefontaine
Friday 22 June - St Cergue ( Switzerland)
Saturday 23 June - Sunday 24 June - Thonon-les-Bains
Monday 25-Tuesday 26 June - St Gingolph
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| Lake Geneva from St Gingolph |
Wednesday 27 June Chalets de Bise
I made an early start from St Gingolph where I discovered I had officially embarked on la GRAND TRAVERSEE DES ALPES and had a steep walk up a narrow wooded path, through some tick pastures to Novel where I had breakfast of chocolate and stale bread and a chat with Lois. Then half an hour's walk through woods so soggy my glasses fogged up. Then the walk got very steep indeed. I was climbing a mountain! I had somehow thought I could get through the Alps valley to valley without great exertion. This was not the case. After an hour I experienced some doubts over the whole enterprise. Would my smoke blackened lungs see me through? Would I be paralysed with vertigo? I had to stop for the occasional breather but luckily the path though overgrown was dry. The scenery was magnificent but I stopped appreciating it, looking longingly back at occasional glimpses of Lake Geneva.
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| Refuge in the shade of Col de Bise |
I had breakfast of cheese, three day old bread from Thonon and the last of the milk The milk didn't taste any different to any other milk, even though it was entirely untreated, but at least I had seen it extracted from the cows with my own eyes. I made an early start and a couple of hours later I was over another col and studying the map over a beer in Chapel d'Abondance, another ski resort. Half an hour on a quiet D road then I had another two hour lung buster up a steep path to Chalet de Trabentaz. No showers but plenty of water and beer. Madame was very welcoming. She pointed out my path for tomorrow: relatively gentle slope for half an hour or so and then what looked like ( to my cowardly and vertiginous gaze) a vertical assent over an intimidating patch of snow. "It's easy", she said. "I saw you coming up, you're a strong walker." I choked on my cigarette. I'd come up like a snail but I was grateful for the encouragement.
Friday 29 June - Refuge de Chesery (Switzerland)
Climb up to col was relatively easy as promised except the last few metres which were a bit of a scramble. Then I had a huge sloping prairie all to myself and the wild flowers. A couple of hours later I began to run into day hikers and found myself at the Col de Bassachaux. I had some lunch at the restaurant. The guidebook said it was 3 hours to Col de Chesery but a signpost said 50 minutes. An easy day. I dawdled over lunch and dawdled down the track. I was in full scale winter sports country with a spider's web of skilifts all around.
I stopped to watch mountain bikers and other suicidal types do their stuff. The mountain bikers take ski lifts up the mountains and then come hurtling down the tracks. There was some sort of special event on and hundreds of riders were enjoying the perfect weather. I only saw one ambulance.
Saturday 30 June - Refuge de la Golese
Had to share the track with mountain bikers for the first half of the day. Amazing where they go but I only ever saw them coming down. I asked a group of English riders if it was as terrifying as it looked. No, no. The biggest fear was the damage to expensive gear. But one at the back of the group, maybe a beginner, rolled his eyes and nodded his head most emphatically.
I got lost and added an extra couple of hours, mostly uphill, to my walk. I was passed on the track up to the col by two youngish men walking at a very fast pace. It was hot so I filled my hat with snow and made no attempt to keep up with them. I found them taking a breather at the col. They were on a two day hike and heading for Samoens. They passed me again as I was going down and up to the next col. Twenty minutes before the refuge I found one of them lying at the side of the track, prostrate with exhaustion. He had lost all strength he said. His friend had left him to it. Clearly a competitive friendship. I stayed with him until he was ready to walk again and then accompanied him to the Refuge de la Golese, where his smirking companion was drinking something cold.
After 7 hours hard work I gave up the idea of going on to Samoens and got a place in the dormitory at the refuge. Best meal in the mountains so far, and thankfully not ham but pork. The refuge is a large modern chalet, different from a hotel only in that accommodation is in dormitories. There was a four wheel drive track up to it so it was relatively easily supplied.
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