Day 82: A Short Day That Turns into a Long One
I have only just woken up when Hugo calls out goodbye from outside my tent. It is barely 7.30 am and he is already ready to leave (or, from another point of view, it is 7.30 am and I am still in my bed or on my sleeping mat). We are only supposed to do about 19 kilometres today, so I am not in a hurry. I tell him that I will catch up with him towards the end of the day.
Around 8.30 am, it is my turn to set off (or to try to set off, everything hurts). From the very first kilometres, I move through a series of sharp scree fields. Wow, I should have had one more coffee to stay focused. Instead, I keep yawning, which has become a speciality over the past few days. The morning is going to be rough: we have to link three passes. The first one, Col de la Valette, gains almost 1,000 metres in 4 kilometres. That is huge.
Luckily, for this first climb, the sun is not yet very high in the sky, so it is not too hot. In addition, the ascent follows a very well-marked trail with lots of switchbacks, which makes it much easier.
Along the way, I come across children of around six years old who are doing their first multi-day hike. They are impressive to watch, barely one metre tall.
Once at the top of the pass, the view is magnificent. Most mountain summits are devoid of vegetation, which gives the landscape a more lunar feel. All that sweat was worth it. From where I am, I can see the Col de Gouiran, the second mission of the day. Since I am already at a good altitude, this second climb is much easier than the first and takes me less than an hour. The descent is another story. It feels like walking on slippery black sand. You have to be extremely careful not to lose your footing.
After a good descent, I spot the Col de Vallonpierre in my line of sight, the last major climb of the day. It is much steeper, and with the frantic growling of my stomach, I decide to save it for after lunch. Careful, this is a double strategy: I will have energy, and my pack will be lighter.
I have just finished my lunch and am about to leave when I run into the two Quebecers from yesterday again. They do not stop, and one of them races off towards the summit. I comment on it to the other, who explains the reason for this speed. Yesterday, they missed the charcuterie service, which stopped at 2.00 pm. Today, there is no way they are missing it. Speed is essential. I wish them good luck in their sausage quest and continue on my way.
The climb is sustained, but nothing too difficult. However, I would not attempt it in bad weather, as the trail sometimes requires using your hands to keep your balance. I stop every minute to take photos (or maybe that is my secret excuse to catch my breath, a technique widely used by many hikers).
A short steep descent (for a change) brings me to the Vallonpierre Refuge and its alpine lake. I run into the Quebecers again, seated in front of their famous charcuterie plate. They made it before the critical closing time. Still no sign of Hugo. He must have stopped here briefly before carrying on. We agreed to meet at the Refuge du Clôt, so I will catch up with him later in the afternoon.
Two espressos later (a must), I start a long descent towards the next refuge. In general, I prefer climbs, but it feels good to change things up. On the descent, I meet a Dutch hiker doing the Tour des Écrins, as well as a father and daughter running downhill at full speed (forget it, there is no chance I will run even a single stride). We chat a bit. They are heading to the same refuge as me to help a friend who is managing the hut for the summer.
When my signal comes back, I receive a message from Hugo telling me that he would like to walk 7 kilometres more than our planned goal for the day, to reach a town and reduce tomorrow’s distance. Grrrrr, I would have loved a short day, I feel incredibly lazy today. But he is right. Tomorrow, we have 26 kilometres with 2,200 metres up and 2,000 metres down. Better to cut it a bit.
I arrive at the Refuge des Clots grumbling, because the last kilometres were in sand (try walking kilometres in sand, it is far from the paradise shown in films). I run into the small family I spoke with a few hours earlier, and the father kindly offers me a Coca-Cola. A quick aside: when I was a child, my mother showed me how you could remove rust from a coin by soaking it in this drink, and since then I never wanted to swallow a single drop. On the HexaTrek, this is the first time in my 27 years that I drink Coke (and actually twice, I had one on Stage 4 as well).
After about a 30-minute break, I set off again feeling a walking fatigue I have not experienced at any point during my entire adventure on the trail. Today, it is pure laziness. A few kilometres later, I notice that the trail runs alongside a road. I decide to hitchhike the remaining kilometres, I do not want to disgust myself with walking. I am quickly picked up by a woman who has done major expeditions in the Yukon and the Far North and who is in love with Canada. She tells me about her hiking and canoe-camping adventures in the wilderness. It is a real pleasure to listen to her. On her side, she is delighted to hear me talk about a hike she had never heard of before.
I arrive in the village before Hugo (thanks to the car) and settle into the campsite. While waiting for him, I go shopping. I buy ice cream, crisps and biscuits (treating ourselves in town).
We have dinner together and spend a very relaxed evening. Tomorrow, it goes up.
Day 83: Up, Up and Up!
This morning, after a small resupply, we head towards the Refuge des Souffles, which will mark the first part of our day. Afterwards, once the first pass is climbed, we will have to tackle a second one, bringing the total elevation gain to more than 2,000 metres. And that is without mentioning the same amount of descent that awaits us afterwards. All of this over a total of only 19 kilometres. In other words, it goes up a lot please kindly (or bloody hell for my Quebec friends).
The first sign of the day already shows the effort ahead. 5 hours and 45 minutes to cover 6 kilometres… 1 km per hour. This is going to hurt.
I start the climb with a sun that is already burning my skin (do not worry mum, I put on sunscreen). My first effort is fuelled by sweets shaped like the Great Smurf, although with the heat they are more like melted Smurf fondant. Hugo and I were so apprehensive about this day that, in the end, the climb turns out to be less difficult than expected. After three hours of continuous ascent, I reach the Col de Colombes.
With this climb, I realise that my Achilles tendon has become very painful to the touch. It does not seem too serious, but I decide to slow my pace for the day.
After another kilometre, I arrive by a small alpine lake. I hear a “Charloootttteeeee” and, recognising Hugo’s voice, I look around for him. For a moment, I think his voice is coming from the top of a cliff (what on earth is he doing climbing extra mountains when we already have 2,000 metres up to do?), but I realise it is just the echo playing tricks on me. I finally see him sitting by the lake. I join him, we eat a bit, and then I decide to take my first small alpine dip.
We head back towards the Refuge des Souffles with a solid descent.
We allow ourselves a good break at the refuge, just enough time to catch our breath (sorry for the obvious pun), then we set off again in the late afternoon towards the second pass.
Since my tendon is quite sore, I continue using my crab technique (which has about as much style as my pair of Crocs, you can judge). Luckily, the ascent is much more gradual than the first one. For this second pass, Hugo and I walk together at a steady pace.
After a good two hours of effort, we reach the summit. Only descent left for today. Hugo descends faster than I do, so I let him go ahead, and I take the opportunity to snap a few photos while trying to capture just how steep the trail is (mission failed, I swear it was steep).
Around 7.30 pm, we finally arrive at the bivouac spot recommended by the mobile app. We thought we would be the only ones there, since we had not met many HexaTrekkers in the previous days, but apparently the spot is also well known by hikers doing the Tour des Écrins… as well as by sheep, who have chosen it as their open-air dry toilet. The ground is covered in small dried pellets with an exquisite smell (sarcasm intended). But the day has already been long, it is almost dark, and we do not feel like descending another two hours to the next village. We find a slightly less contaminated patch and pitch our tents there. That will do. We enjoy a lovely sunset, then head to bed.
Day 84: Unhappy Tendons and a Small Road Detour
The next morning, my left Achilles tendon is still hurting a bit. Since we have another day with two passes totalling 2,100 metres of elevation gain, I study the route to see whether I could bypass the first pass to avoid making the pain worse. I notice that it is possible via a moderately flat road (at least compared to the height of the first summit). However, it will add a good 7 kilometres. Right, it will be a longer distance, decision made. I am not thrilled about walking on asphalt, but what would I not do for my dear tendon?
After 5 kilometres, I already find it extremely boring. I would love to stick my thumb out to hitch a ride, but the only problem is that all the cars are going in the opposite direction.
After another two kilometres, a van finally passes and stops when it sees me. A woman opens the door and asks where I am going. She turns out to be a nomad travelling around France at her own pace. By pure chance, the place I want to reach, Valsenestre, is somewhere she has not visited in a long time and would like to see again. So, thanks to generosity and a good dose of luck, Patricia takes me with her. She tells me about her decision to retire early because of the increasingly difficult conditions of her teaching job in France. Wanting to preserve her mental health and her love for children, she left and embarked on a minimalist retirement in her van.
We share the road for about twenty minutes, then I continue on foot. I stop for lunch and look on my mobile app at the climb that awaits me. Here is how it is described:
“We imagine an impassable wall.” Well, that sounds promising. Thanks HexaTrek.I set off towards the Col de la Muzelle with music blasting in my ears. The first part is very easy, even though the climb is fairly sustained. The closer I get to the pass, the less I understand how I am supposed to get up there. It is only when I reach the last kilometre before the final ascent that I can see the multitude of switchbacks carved into the black schist.
Well, when you have to go, you have to go. If an objective spectator had witnessed my ascent, they would probably have named it something like “the contemporary dance of the battered crab”. To protect my Achilles tendon, I walk sideways, but to avoid abusing my ankles too much, I switch my leading foot at every switchback by doing a 180-degree turn. Pure elegance. At that moment, only my little HexaTrek sign attached to my rucksack bears witness to the scale of my awkward gait. My style is slow, but effective, and I eventually reach the pass. Despite strong gusts of wind (with the weight of my pack, I am not at risk of taking off), the view is clear and opens onto the magnificent Lac de la Muzelle, which will be our bivouac spot for the night.
A pleasant gradual descent (for once) brings me, at a not-too-late hour (decidedly, today is a day of “for once”), to the Refuge de la Muzelle. I join a few hikers doing the Tour des Écrins whom I have been crossing paths with for a few days, and we order beers and desserts. Hugo joins us about an hour later, and I tease him a bit for having arrived before him (obviously, I have no merit, I did not walk the first pass, but it is all in good fun). We spend a lovely evening in a small group of six, then go and pitch our tents in the bivouac area, which has turned into a canvas village (there must be at least 40 of us).
This is followed by a night where I struggle to sleep because of the continuous strong gusts of wind shaking my tent in every direction. Well, it will be a short night. Tomorrow, the last hard day before a well-deserved rest day.