Ensō : A Walk around Mont Blanc --- Day 4 of 9

Ensō: Day 4

I awoke and decided to forgo breakfast in order to get a good start and make use of the great weather. Before departing, I took another opportunity to soak in the mountains now with a pure blue backdrop. They seemed to take on new personalities, shining from the welcomed rays. My pace felt good, as did the bright sun on my face, and I soon came to an outcrop of large stones. I paused and took off my pack to go explore and just then a high-pitched marmot cry cut through the silence. A sound I had never heard before. I could feel it reverberating with the mountains and echoing in the valley. I approached the outcropping of stones, and I set up my tripod to take a photograph as I scurried up the side of one. Day 4... here I come. 

The trail began to crawl up once again, or perhaps it was only I who was doing the crawling. It went on like this for some time. Gratefully, I then reached a small plateau before descending gradually downward for the next few hours. I came across more houses in ruins, archways without roofs, roofs without shingles; memories of a time long ago. Soon a new set of mountains was in the forefront, and the ones I slumbered next to had become shadows of the ones I walk with now. The road was flat, too flat. After continuously walking uphill or downhill, this change felt foreign. Two lakes offered reflection, and I diverged from the flat road as soon as possible, slaloming upwards once again into the mountainside. I found myself crossing a small river when my checkpoint came into sight.

Looking back, I camped on the plateau close to the edge

Once the ascent was complete, I stopped to refill my water and have a quick lunch, though, I now ate the rest of my mid-day foods. Behind me lay the sharp peak of Aiguille Noire de Peuterey along with a vast mountain range and a valley imbued with two stretched lakes born from the dripping glaciers above. In front lay a new valley, surrounded by yet again new mountains, building steadily uphill until Col de la Seigne would be reached. I set out, and labored on as the path was reminiscent of yesterday's climb, only it seemed to keep going on and on.

The sharp peak of Aiguielle Noire de Peuterey and the flat trail I have just walked

Finally, the Col was reached. The wind is always something enjoyable when reaching a Col, as it can be known to radically shift. In this case, the calm air became like torrents flowing between the mountain tops and the ground. The mountains had a beautiful silver sheen to them, glowing in the sunlight. I walked off the trail up into one of the mountain sides, and here with my hair in constant flow I grokked the great valley before me.

—

After climbing for a large part of the trail, now was time for the first great descent. I strapped my backpack tight to my back, particularly utilizing two sets of pulls that brought the top and the bottom of the rucksack closer to my body. With a tight fit, I truly enjoyed a quick pace down. Using my poles like I was skiing, I hopped over small ravines and took corners as though they were berms, I loved it, I was unable (or unwilling) to slow down. I believe the joy on my face and a lively “bonjour!” gave some lift to those who took this trail in the opposite direction. The valley stretched down forever, at times one could not even see the bottom from the woven mountainside trail. Periodically, waterfalls split the earth and careened downward to supply the valley with the sustenance of life. 

I took a moment at one of the small rivers, unlacing my boots and placing my socks inside-out on the handles of my poles for a quick air dry. I took out my towel, and then dunked my hard working feet into the glacier flow. The icy water was only bearable for strings of seconds at a time, while the swirling water along the rocks was so mesmerizing that I forgot about the time. One way or another, the flow released me, and I dried my feet, dunked my circlet scarf and hat into the water, and set off to continue down the hill. Before long, I came across a memorial for the B-17G “Flying Fortress” which had been lost in these mountains some years ago, inscribed upon it a sentence by Saint Eupéry: “Les collines sous l'avion creusent déjà leur sillage d'ombre dans l'or du soir”.

—

After long, the small farmhouse of Les Mottetes was approached. I planned to have lunch here and so I put down my things outside and went inside. I saw they offered a variety of dishes, but what caught my eye even more was the opportunity to purchase farm fresh bread, cheese, and sausage by the kilogram. I ended up with a half kilo of bread, perhaps 200 grams of cheese, and half of a sausage, along with three small containers of paté and two oranges. Behind me, a man almost copied my exact grocery list, and in English too.

It turns out that he is from Colorado, and his name is Sage. He is an ultralight runner who is here in the valley for training for the upcoming Tour du Mont Blanc Ultralight Race, a 100+ mile endeavor which takes you around a very similar route to the one I am hiking. The main difference is that instead of aiming to complete the circuit in around 10 days, his aim is to complete it in under 24 hours. That is 24 consecutive hours, by the way. Sage told me he hopes to finish in around 20 hours, also mentioning that the top ten are typically the ones who do succeed in completing the race in under 24 hours, while the majority of the field finishes in somewhere around 30-40 hours of run time. Putting the pieces together, I realized that he means business. After getting to know him a bit more I find out that he travels all over the world thanks to his numerous sponsors to pursue his passion in trail running. What a great job! He also gave me some pointers on creating movies, with which he utilizes a GoPro and a stabilizer which he holds in his hands while running! This is a pretty cool design as it is purely mechanical and as Sage said it makes the video "seem like it is on rails”. Quite an achievement since here is he barreling down the side of a mountain. 

After enjoying our farm fresh food, he told me that the reason he was at this spot in the first place was to meet with another runner for the journey back. The journey thus far was about the same path as mine, the only difference was I had been walking for about 7 hours … and he did it in under 3 hours. I told Sage I had passed one runner on the descent, he asked if he was bald, and since I said he wasn't, that must have not been him. We exchanged information and headed our separate ways. 

—

The trail for the next few kilometers was relatively straight-forward and flat, but that was soon to change, drastically. The direction I chose was another variante which instead of making a loop around a mountain range to the next checkpoint, it climbed over it. The path consisted first of a steady uphill and then multiple switchbacks; I chose to roam over the grasslands in a more vertical path which strung the switchbacks together. Soon enough, I came to a crossroad that was not marked, and just then I saw my first person who happily pointed me in my desired path. Soon thereafter, I saw a bald man running toward me, shirtless and packless, and after passing me I implicitly slowed down. As I turned, I saw he was also turning. I asked simply, "Are you meeting Sage?". He replied that he was. I then informed him that he has already set off. The man thanked me, and continued downwards. I don't know the chances of that pass happening, as I had been largely walking off-trail, but I felt it was a special meeting and my body responded with a wave of chills igniting down my spine.

From here, the path continues upward but dissolves with the river flowing downward. Small cairns spotted the way just infrequently enough for one to catch your eye before the opportunity to drift off path too far arose. The mountain range spurred all around to the North and West, while the valley stretched until yet another range flirted with the clouds in the East. Later on, I met a group of three coming down. They inquired about the distance of the journey they had left to Les Mottetes. I tried the best I could to give them an impression of what remained, and they offered their thoughts on the journey I had left as well. In doing so, they told me how they spent 2 hours descending the steep ridge to the point where we are all standing now. I looked onward, and told them that climbing is my favorite part. 

Looking back

—

My options were making my way up a sharply angled and scree-lined slope, or climb a weeping waterfall. Presently, the flow was not too intense, which exposed the rock beneath that had been carved from ages of water rushing against the sturdy foundation, slowly but surely leaving its impression in the mountain. I felt the smooth curves and could imagine the water dancing its way down to the river below. As I continued to run my hand up the molded rock, I realized that I had begun to give the rock an experience contrary to which it often has: ascension. I mirrored my movements with the calm and continuous flow beside me, and soon enough I was halfway up a waterfall, and then a few moments later I was at the next segment of the climb.

The waterfall

Standing now, I saw the water followed a more gradual cascade toward the upper right, and I was to continue directly upward along the scree that presented itself some time ago. The steepness of this portion was extreme, tiptoeing the border between a hike and a climb. The only sound my breathing and a few small rocks shifting from my weight. Though those sounds were enough to startle an ibex, who leapt out from around the corner and bolted across the mountainside as if a stone skipped across a lake. As the elegant bouquetin hovered along it let out a whistle, and in response a pack up ahead emerged and then followed suit in heading for higher ground. I too would continue upward, albeit much more slowly as I winded my way back and forth up the slope, there would be no short cuts to these switchbacks.

Looking back

I need to go up the scree lined slope on the right

Can you find all the Ibex?

I was taken out of the entranced state from my motion and breathing when I heard another breath. I look downwards and I see no one other than the bald man continuing his journey back home, a super human. We meet only minutes from the summit, exchange a few words, some of them being advice for where I should set up my camp, and then he surpasses me and disappears over the ridge line. I would never see him again. 

—

As I reached the Col des Fours, the wind swept by me welcomingly. I arose and looked back on the path I had taken to get here: from this vantage point I followed the river into the valley until I was unable to see it any longer, and then recaptured the path as it travelled upward and back across the neighboring mountain pass, yet even from here I could not see the steps I took in the morning.

I started the day beyond the mountains in the distance on the upper left

Turning back around, a new land faced me, at first it seemed to be one of desolate clay and sparse mountain rock, but a few hundred meters later large rolling green hills emerged. I saw the Refugio Bonhamme below, and decided to set up an East-facing camp out of sight above, nestled amongst the hills with a doorstep offering itself to the great void between mountains. I took some time to grok my place in all of this as the sun sunk beneath the horizon and large violet clouds rose like smoke throughout the sky.

The calm and stillness of the air would last through the night, but internally, I was stirred as I sat in my mesh tent when I found a fairly large 8-legged friend had positioned himself directly in my line of sight. A black pearl marked his belly, and two red eyes seemed to watch my every move. I carefully tended my boiling quinoa with surgical like precision from a small zipped opening that I created while part of my attention never left my new friend. Moments passed, and now I counted 24-legs. Then 32… 48… and finally, 56-legs. My head was on a swivel. Was I camped on their nest? My spatial attention was functioning at its peak level as my red-lighted headlamp illuminated each creature in sequence. Whenever my prediction was met with an error, my eyes widened and a spotlight search ensued until all were accounted for. During this sequence, I had realized that a small tear in the back of my tent posed a possible entry point to my impending doom, and with this in mind, I pulled out a roll of white medical tape and quickly but efficiently fashioned a patch. Unsure of my visitors intentions, I studied their behavior until I determined several flicks to unoccupied tent regions made them lose their grip, and after returning with vigor several times after my catapulting technique, they eventually lost their interest. With only the 4 eyes of perhaps the mama and papa doom-seekers starring at me, I found myself huddled in my sleeping bag, and my eyes, much against my will, were slowly closing, placing myself at the will of the threading. 

--

This is the fourth post of a series of 10 from my trek in August 2015.
Check back within the week for the next post! 
For more adventures, writing, photographs, and even video go to my website: www.InTentsAdventure.wix.com/Explore

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Thanks for reading,
Eric