Day 61: Battling Food Poisoning
Three hours. That is the number of hours I slept after a night punctuated by surprise thunderstorms and food poisoning. I gather what courage I have, pack my belongings into my rucksack and nibble very lightly on two small pieces of bread, just so my stomach is not completely empty.
I walk a few metres away from my bivouac spot, leaving my rucksack on the ground, to find a bit of mobile signal so I can check the weather before setting off. When I come back, my bag is surrounded by a herd of male cattle. Cows, although usually passive, can become quite aggressive when they feel threatened or when they have calves. Did you know that every year there are a few deaths caused by cow attacks? In short, I will need to be careful to retrieve my bag. I move forward slowly and most of the herd steps back. Perfect, everything seems fine. One of them, however, stays close. I gently pick up my fabric home. The cow moves forward, giving me the impression that she wants to be stroked. I slowly extend my hand and bam, she tries to headbutt me. Lesson learned. Cows are not dogs and they want to be left alone.
With my bag saved, I strap it on and set off, a strong wave of nausea accompanying me. Luckily, the day begins with a descent. I need to reach the Folly Refuge before midday, when thunderstorms are forecast to start. It is only eleven kilometres, but if you have ever walked with food poisoning, you will understand the struggle. Throughout the climb, I talk to myself out loud to stay motivated and I count my steps. This technique works very well by the way: thirty steps, a few seconds of rest, then repeat.
I finally arrive at the refuge around eleven o’clock. It is an immense relief. I ask the wardens if I can sleep inside on my mat, explaining my situation. Very understanding, they grant me this privilege. Three hours of nap later, I feel a little better. I have not been sleeping well for weeks and I clearly have a lot of rest to catch up on. I order a crêpe, oh I am hungry, a good sign, then I lie down again for another nap. In the end, I decide to take a bed in the dormitory for the first time since the start of my hike. Seventeen euros, I got lucky.
It is in this refuge that I have the opportunity to sign one of the HexaTrek guestbooks for the first time. It is wonderful to read the messages left by those who passed through before. I recognise the handwriting of several friends and it brings a big smile to my face.
In the evening, I am calmly cooking some pasta when a little girl named Inès, who turns out to be the wardens’ daughter, stands in front of me holding a huge deck of cards and asks me to play with her. It is not really a request, it feels more like an order. I agree, even though I am exhausted, and we begin a strange game of snap where she allows herself to cheat constantly and where I risk being scolded at the slightest rule infringement. She has quite a personality for a five year old. Then comes the moment when she wants to dip into my pasta, steal a few sweets and finally taste a rather creative mix of pasta and sweets. I should point out that this is her recipe, not mine. After an hour of being completely defeated at every game she brings out, I surrender and go to bed. Thunderstorms are still rumbling and for once I can admire them safely. There are nine of us in the dormitory and luckily no snoring. I fall asleep quickly and drift into dreamland.
Day 62: Thirty Euros for a Campsite? No Thanks, Thirty Kilometres It Is
I wake up at six o’clock feeling incredibly better. This night was without a doubt the most restful of my entire trek. Wow. I feel ready for a solid day of walking. Initially, I had planned to stay at Camping du Pelly, but one of the hikers mentioned that she had paid nearly thirty euros for the night. There is no way I am paying that much for a campsite, so I decide to push on to the Grenairon Refuge, which means a day of almost thirty kilometres. Thirty kilometres in the Alps really hits hard, at least for me.
I set off around seven o’clock towards the Combes aux Puaires. The trail climbs steadily and I pick up the pace as thunderstorms are forecast once again for early afternoon. Four days in a row, what a joy. The section is quite exposed, so I would rather not be caught there when the storm hits. The terrain becomes difficult over several hundred metres, with nothing but piles of rocks and snowfields and no clearly defined path. I have to look for small red painted circles that mark the route among the rocks. Once this technical section is behind me, the landscape becomes magnificent, with a high view over the alpine lake of La Vogealle. I cross my first snowfields. You always need to be careful when walking on snow, as there can sometimes be a river flowing underneath. If the snow collapses, the fall into icy water can be extremely dangerous. It is best to avoid snow when possible, and if not, to test its solidity with trekking poles before stepping onto it.
The scenery is stunning, with alpine lakes surrounded by tall mountains on each side. I arrive at the Vogealle Refuge where I hear a Quebec accent for the first time in almost two months. One of the waiters has come to work in France for the summer. It feels strange to hear it, I have become very used to the French accent.
After a delicious chocolate brioche, I continue on my way down a steep descent that gradually leads me to a place called Le Bout du Monde, the End of the World. If this is the end of the world, then we are many here. Le Bout du Monde is a series of spectacular waterfalls plunging down high cliffs. At first, seeing so many tourists irritates me. This happens when certain places are accessible via short day hikes. Then I let that thought go and realise how wonderful it is that these viewpoints are accessible to so many people. Everyone should be able to enjoy nature and the outdoors. Nature does so much good for us all.
Near Camping du Pelly, I remain firm in my decision and head instead to Sixt Fer à Cheval to resupply. It is a small detour off the trail, but I can rejoin it later. As the sky still looks threatening, I choose a less exposed route up to the Grenairon Refuge, with the downside of a six kilometre climb and eleven hundred metres of elevation gain. I arrive around seven in the evening, completely exhausted.
For four euros, it is possible to bivouac near the refuge. With the weather still uncertain, I choose this option. My legs would not agree to anything else anyway. Thunderstorms are forecast around eleven o’clock. When they start, panic sets in again. I grab my sleeping bag and mat and sleep inside the refuge under a table in the dining room. I wake around four in the morning, the sky now clear, and return to my tent to finish the night.
Day 63: A Bivouac on Cheval Blanc
On the HexaTrek mobile app, I notice that eight kilometres from the refuge lies one of the best bivouac spots on the entire trail, at the summit of Cheval Blanc, at 2,800 metres. Still tired and sore, I decide to make it a short day and bivouac there. I sleep in until 10:30 and set off calmly in the afternoon. The climb is steady and thick fog hides the surrounding mountain ranges. For hours, I walk through barren landscapes of rock and snow, crossing a few small snowfields.
Around four o’clock, I reach the summit. I see the white, but not the horse. It is cold, early and visibility is zero. The forecast promises sunshine and perfect visibility. Sometimes I truly do not understand meteorologists. Luckily, a Swiss couple is also camping on the summit and decides to stay. Their optimism rubs off on me. Soon, two New Zealanders, Matt and Sam, and an Austrian hiker join us, all tackling the HexaTrek at a very fast pace. We share a quick dinner together before retreating to our tents as the cold intensifies. It is four degrees with very high humidity. I am very grateful for my minus six degree sleeping bag. I set an alarm for six o’clock, hoping for a surprise clearing.
Day 64: A Memorable Day
Six o’clock. With little hope, I open my tent and look outside, expecting a wall of fog. Instead, everything is clear. Completely overwhelmed with excitement, I jump up and rush to wake the others. Sleep can wait. A moment like this is rare. Everyone on the summit is speechless.
The sun slowly rises, illuminating both Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn in Switzerland. Of all the bivouacs so far, this is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful.
The rest of the day is just as extraordinary. The descent from Cheval Blanc is extremely steep, with ladders and fixed ropes in places. The view more than makes up for the difficulty. Below, Lake Vieux Émosson glistens in the morning light. I cross a few slippery snowfields, relying on my trekking poles to keep my balance.
My goal for the day is a bivouac at Lake Chésery, a few kilometres from Chamonix. While Lake Blanc is more famous, Lake Chésery offers an exceptional view of the Mont Blanc massif. It will be a long day.
Around half past seven in the evening, Mont Blanc suddenly appears ahead of me, towering and imposing. From Cheval Blanc, it seemed distant. Now it feels immense. I quicken my pace, giddy with excitement, before reminding myself to slow down and stay safe.
Around half past eight, I finally reach the lake, only to find it completely full, with at least thirty tents. A beautiful place often means a popular one, especially so close to Chamonix. I find a small flat spot and settle in. The night will be cold again. After dinner and a video call with a close friend, I fall asleep instantly, forgetting to set an alarm.
Tomorrow, Chamonix awaits and a well deserved rest day.
