Day 18: The mountain air smelled like brown sugar and butter melting in a skillet…
Day 18 – July 20 – 23 KMS – 9.5 HRS – 343 KMS TOTAL
Start: 8:03 AM, Modane, End: 5:32 PM, Les Granges de la Vallée Étroite
Ascent: 1500 m (19 340 m total), Descent: 50 m (17 070 m total)
Twelve weeks ago today, I successsfully completed my 32-day hike of the gorgeous and gruelling GR5. Beginning from St-Gingolphe at the northern terminus of the French Alps, and hiking south nearly 700 kilometres through the heart of this majestic mountain range, I arrived in Menton on the Mediterranean coast of France on the fifth of August. Since that glorious adventure ended, I have flown back home here to Canada, returned to work, and summer has ended. With the arrival of Fall has come a distinct chill in the air which already whispers of winter. Temperatures are quickly dropping as the days become noticeably shorter and shorter. Here, now, in Toronto, Canada, the busy, noisy, concrete city is cast in total darkness before only seven in the evening. Perhaps I am suffering from early onset Seasonal Affective Disorder (we are still a whole two months away from the beginning of winter and the shortest day of the year), but the winter blues are already creeping up on me. Although I had lamented not finishing these blogs about my GR5 hike while still on trail, I am now thankful to have this wistful work to warm and cheer me. With no further ado, let me tell you about day eighteen on the GR5…
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Instead of returning the way I had arrived at the campground, I followed a path through the neighbouring forest that would apparently rejoin the GR5, according to the campground owner. An hour later, lost, I found I had circled right back to the campground. Ugh! Finally, I just took the paved road on which I had come and started climbing up the steep hot concrete lane. After a sharp turn, I spotted the landmark that the owner of the campground had told me to watch for: la maison penchée, the leaning house. What he didn’t mention was that this house was completely covered in graffiti. As a street art enthusiast, I was thrilled. Walking through the house to check out all the tags and artwork, I stumbled several times due to the house floors being on such an extreme angle. The GR5 blazes re-appeared directly after the leaning house.
Not unusually, every fifteen minutes or so, I passed little stone structures, each one signifying successive Stages of the Cross, as per the Catholic bible. After crossing a major highway via a tunnel underpass, the trail headed back into more wooded terrain. Then, the trail again followed along a road for awhile, with vehicles zooming closely by as there were no sidewalks. Perhaps I should pray for my safety at the next Station of the Cross! These holy monuments lead the faithful follower to La Chapelle de Notre Dame du Charmaix, an impressive stone church built in the 15th century (and restored in the 19th) aside a narrow gorge, and accessed by a stately stone bridge which offers gasp-worthy glimpses of the gulch below. The ancient parish houses a black Madonna, apparently visible to passers-by, but from behind the wall of metal bars blocking the main room of the chapel, I couldn’t see Her. Here, I caught up with Berend who had stopped to fly his drone around the exceptional site.
Shortly after this was the little town of Valfréjus. One of the little shops sold a wooden walking stick with a metal spike on the end, exactly what I needed to replace one of my broken hiking poles. What a great souvenir, I thought, until I saw its Made in China sales tag. Really!? No local wood or artisans to craft a simple stick? Sitting at a picnic table in the middle of this tiny ski town, with Berend, who had arrived shortly after I did, I downed a carton of gazpacho and chewed chunks of fresh baguette.
The day held all the trail’s handsome and hallowed hallmarks: ruins of old stone buildings, waterfalls, steep inclines, and more of the little holy monuments. The trail meandered on and off the steep sand-and-gravel road and into the forest, where I found a little cave, closed off with metal bars, and which appeared to snake deep into the rocky subterrain of the grassy slopes. Then, the trail passed by an old creekside military fort. From there, the road crept steeply up, up, up… A circumference of mountainscape surrounded and awed me. The sun bore down all afternoon, and there wasn’t a stitch of shade in sight. Sprawling green meadows extended on either side of the road, leading ever so gently to distant mountain sides. Flowers of every colour sprinkled across the pastures like a delicious donut.
On a grassy hill beside the trail, I again caught up with Berend, and another hiker, who were sitting for a break and some food. I joined them, admiring a slate-grey mountain range ahead whose peaks became progressively more narrow and jagged toward its centre. The middle peaks were more like long teeth or an array of dull knives than they were like mountains. Snow still clung to the feet of these mountains. To the right of the knife collection range, as I called it, was a giant rock formation consisiting of a narrow rounded peak which was front and centre before a flat, jagged rock wall, like a display of tail feathers. I called this the peacock range. It, too, still had snow patches at its feet.
Truly, I am not trying to plug my YouTube channel, but it’s worth having a look at my videos for this hike, today in particular (there is one 20-minute video for most every day of the hike). The breadth, depth and scope of the sights I hiked through on this day are almost unimaginable. Pristine mountain pastures and virgin rock faces as far as the eye can see, and beyond…
Later in the day, as I passed through another gorgeous pasture, I stopped and tried to name the sweet scent of the mountain air here. It was like butter and brown sugar melting in a skillet! Here, I ran into Yves and Brigitte, a couple whom were also camping at Modane last night. Yves tells me that the sugary buttery aroma is the from the sun baking the flowers which attracts the cows to eat them. Heck, it was making me want to eat them. Yves and Brigitte were going to camp right there in the pasture. I was likewise tempted, but it was early, and I wanted a beer, so I carried on.
Stopping for a bio break (this is new lingo for me, it means I stopped to pee) behind a rock just off trail, I found more of my favourite flower, la joubarbe, or liveforevers in English. Mature and in bloom, their fuschia-hued dagger petals atop scaly pink stalks make them unique and striking. Ungrown and nestled into rock crevices, clusters of dozens of liveforever buds are like a bouquet of mini red Brussel sprouts with white hearts. Before the GR5, I knew nothing of this extraordinary flowering plant. Now, I am smitten with it.
Shortly after crossing Pon dlá Fundêrié (or something like that), around 5:30 PM, I finally reached the tiny village of Les Granges de la Vallée Étroite, which I decided would be my end point for the day. After having a nice cold beer on the terrasse of a refuge, and after buying a couple of cans of Birra Morretti (we were now in Italy, apparently) for the road, I hiked down to a roaring torrent just off trail and set up my tent, as did many other hikers. The wild water of the swift stream was ice cold and felt wonderful on my hot feet. I wedged my melted cereal bars (I had purchased a box of chocolate-covered bars by accident) between some rocks to re-harden the chocolate. The white noise of the raging river was loud, but I liked it; it’s better than the sirens, horns and car engines of the city! Everyone else’s tents were a ways back from the river, probably due to the cacophony of the current, but my tent was directly beside it. Berend arrived to the same general camp spot not long after I did, as well.
From inside my tent, I had a view of a sheer rock cliff on the other side of the river. Staring out at it and the river, I thought no thoughts at all. Too tired, and wholly content, I simply sat there, enjoyed the scenery and the beautiful exhaustion of a day spent sauntering through vast valleys, through flowery meadows and up and down the amazing Alps. This is living!
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It’s working! After writing this post, I feel markedly happier and more optimistic. The GR5 continues to bring me joy, just by thinking back on it. Thank you, GR5. Canadian winters are long. I’ll need you…
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Comments 1
WOW! Those photos… this trail just went on the bucket list. Incredible!