Days 13 and 14 on the GR5…

There is a slight sour taste to my morning mixture of powdered milk and three instant coffee packets with 400 mL of water; shaken, not stirred. I guess it’s time to thoroughly wash my 400-millilitre Nalgene bottle! This, and three cereal bars, is, as usual, breakfast. After the glorious toothbrushing, I make my daily backpack sandwich. The backpack sandwich is how I religiously pack my backpack. By packing up exactly the same way each day, I never, suddenly, later in the day along the trail, wonder if I forgot something. I always know that I haven’t, all thanks to the backpack sandwich. On the bottom layer is the bulk; one dry bag containing my sleeping bag and another dry bag containing my clothing. In the middle layer, the meatier items are placed; the ones that weigh the most. There is a dry bag of my toiletries and repair items, a dry bag of my electronics (headlamp, two extra battery packs, assorted cables, reading glasses) and my beloved bamboo baby wipes. (Note: I am still trying to progress from using baby wipes to using a pee-towel, but it’s a psychological work-in-progress.) On the top layer is my Ursack of food and my tent. With the backpack (a.k.a. the boyfriend, a.k.a. mon cowboy) ready to go, I am ready to, yet again, hit the GR5 . But, first, let me tell you about the previous punishing but picturesque several days, here on the GR5…

Day 13, July 15

After finishing my fresh pain au chocolat and packing up my tent, I begin hiking at just before nine in the morning. Up through the forest, occasional gaps in the trees offer picture-perfect glimpses of verdant mountain ranges with rugged bald rocky spots and jagged peaks still sporting spots of snow. Then, the path passes by less picturesque parts: electric towers, a ski hill, a chairlift and a construction site. That’s the way long paths are; it isn’t always glorious. However, a lovely cascading stream helps to pretty up the place and to make more pleasant my pace. A curious triangular-shaped stone tower sits unmarked beside the trail, the remnant of some former existence here about which I will probably never know. The trail crosses a road a few times and traverses large swaths of snow still lingering long past a regular Spring and Summer existence. Finally, I reach a large metal arch proclaiming the gateway to the Haute Tarentaise Vanoise, at an altitude of 2 702 meters. More snow, more climbing. At just after noon, I reach the Col d’Iséran. At 2 770 meters, it is the highest point on the entire GR5. The road leading here was built in 1937 and is one of the highest in all of France. The large parking lot here is full of camper vans, cars and motorcycles. Packs of people mill about and vie for their turn to take the typical tourist photo in front of the location sign. I can’t wait to get the heck out of there. Although it is possible to take the road to descend from here, the GR5 avoids it, instead continuing past the old church and over the grassy hill before dropping down the other side of the mountain, revealing a grandiose and gasp-worthy panorama of the Italian Alps. The 360-degree view is jaw-dropping. From here, the descent is steep, and broad patches of snow still cling to the vertiginous mountainside, obscuring the path at times. I look longingly to the clear road below and wonder if I should have just taken that route instead. Digging my heels into the snow, I search for purchase on the slippery slope. Near the end of the snowy descent, I fall and slide on my butt. Thankfully, there is snow-free land to arrest me from falling any further. However, I feel very uncomfortable with the level of risk I find myself dealing with. Forty-five minutes later, I again find myself face-to-face with an unavoidable section of snow on a steep slope. This one is more nerve-racking than the first as there is no clear land below to stop a fall should one occur. Mentally blocking out my precarious surroundings, I zone in on each step, kicking in and carving out footsteps into the snow, making for a very slow traverse. My quads spasm as I hold each step firmly in place while I dig out the next. I make it across, of course. But, man. The lingering snow on the GR5 certainly adds a level of expertise and challenge I had not anticipated! Half an hour later, I reach Pont de la Neige and officially enter Parc National de la Vanoise, where no bivouac camping is allowed. This means that I can not just stop, drop and camp wherever I so desire. I need to make it to the next refuge, wherever that may be. In this case, that is still 16 kilometres away. After the bridge, the GR5 descends into a fairytale valley with a thunderous gorge and tall, terrific waterfalls. Absolutely stunning. Metal chains anchored to the rocky moutainside assist hikers along the vertiginous path through the canyon-like landscape. Thankfully there is no snow to cross here, though there is still a lot in the valley below. This is a particularly beautiful section of the hike and I take my time here, taking lots of photos and videos of the roaring river, the horses grazing in the field on the other side and the pretty purple Alpine flowers. At La Lenta, I lose the path, continuing on the road and missing an uphill track. I pick up the GR5E, though, which is the lower variant. The sun beats down relentlessly and drains my energy, already low from the stress of the snow crossings. The ruins of former stone buildings are plenty. I’d love to know what life was like here when these buildings were built and who lived in them or what they were used for. Perhaps, after this hike, when I’m back home in Canada and have regular Internet access again, I will look into it. Just after 6 PM, I pass Rocher du Château. From the posted informational placards, I learn that, here, ancient civilizations mined the shock-resistant Serpentinite rock to make arrowheads. As well, eight red deer rom the Neolithic period were painted here on the cliffside, of which one can still vaguely be seen. At eight o’clock, I finally make it to Camping de l’Illaz, which is about three kilometres further than my intended destination. After setting up my tent, I eat dried sausage, baguette and a tin of ratatouille. Completely exhausted, I don’t even shower. I hang my stinky socks on the ridgeline of my vestibule and wash down my legs with my small pink Paktowel before falling into an instant sleep. Just after midnight, I wake, as usual, to stargaze for a few precious minutes. The sky is spectacularly full of the sacred gems that have become a sacred and ritualistic part of my hike. At these moments, I feel overwhelmed with appreciation and gratitude; thankful to be here, camping, hiking the GR5, living with only what I carry on my back, allowing my body to show me its power, and to be so submersed in peace and beauty. Thank-you, Universe. After snapping a couple of photos of the sky full of stars, I fall right back into a snuggly-sweet and deliciously-deep sleep.

Day 14, July 16

It’s windy. I make tomato and cheese sandwiches, eating one and packing the other away for later. Today, my destination is Refuge du Cuchet, an unmanned refuge, only 15 kilometres away. Standing on the side of the road, I hitch a ride back to Bessans to re-join the main route of the GR5 rather than continuing on the variant. In town, I sip an espresso on the terrasse of a café, write and mail a couple of postcards, and enjoy a late start due to the lower-kilometre day ahead of me. Another day in paradise begins, and all the usual fairytale fixtures can be found: a herd of mountain goats guarded by patou, a lone bull cow laying in the tall grass, hay rolls, sprawling open fields, white flowers, purple flowers, pine trees, so many pine trees, cascades a-plenty and the faithful mountains in the distance. Just before noon, I arrive at Chapelle Marie-Madeleine, where I stop for a short break. From here, the trail ascends a natural stone staircase contouring the mountainside and overlooking the small villages and vast valleys below. Above, a theatrical mountain range, green at the bottom and grey at the top, some with snowy shoulders, surrounds. Along the grassy slopes beside the path, tall, thick stalks bearing stacks of yellow pom-pom flowers decorate the already beautiful landscape. As always, the remains of old stone buildings stand here, there and everywhere. Religious relics abound as well; churches, crosses, shrines. So many different flowers dot the grassy mountainsides and fields; hairy purply-grey flowers, little white daisy-like flowers, and, my favourite, a red head of buds atop a thick thorny reptilian-like stem called la joubarbe, or houseleeks, in English. Another English name for this plant is liveforever, which sounds much prettier than houseleeks! What a way to spend every day, amid all this eye candy and history. It’s all sweets for the sauntering soul; food for the unconscious thought in my brain that is doing no thinking at all. The trail contours mountain after mountain. I love when the trail circles the mountains this way, rather than climbs them. It’s not because I loathe the hard work of the ascents. In fact, I love how physically demanding the GR5 is. But when the trail follows along these balconies, you see the path sprawl out in front of you, and the length and scale of the trail become almost as gobsmacking as the beauty of the Alps themselves. Two long wooden boards bridge a path over a roaring cascade. They bounce and sway under my heavy steps. Not long after, there is another such water crossing. At four in the afternoon, I arrive to the unmanned refuge. At an altitude of 2160 meters, the wood cabin sits on a grassy mountainside hosting herds of cows and countless flowers, and has a stunning view of a village far below crowned by a royal row of mountains. This shelter can house 24 people, but I secretly hope that nobody else will come along and that I will have the place to myself. Luck is on my side, and this is exactly what happens. The hours slowly pass as I munch on dried sausage and old baguette that is my teeth tear away in hearty hunks. Staring out into the night sky, I snap a few photos of the sea of stars before climbing up into my bunk and nestling into my cushy sleeping bag. This is the life!

TO BE CONTINUED…