Days 7 to 12 on the GR5!

It is just after six and I have awoken to the call of Nature. Les sanitaires, otherwise known in English as the washrooms, are only 100 metres away here at Camping Les Richardes, in Val d’Isère, France. It is cold, but at least I can’t see my breath like I could two nights ago. The evenings can be quite frigid up here in the mountains on the GR5! Despite the nocturnal chill, I slept warmly and oh-so-snuggly in my good-to-0°C mummy sleeping bag, my Merino wool longjohns, my Merino wool long-sleeved turtleneck top and my thick wool sleep socks. All of this on top of my Smartwool t-shirt and my thin Smartwool hoodie, clothing normally reserved for day use but used as extra layers at night, when required. Last night they were required! However, I risked not also using my SeaToSummit Thermolite sleeping bag liner, which is supposed to add a few extra degrees of warmth. Evidently, I gambled wisely as I slept deeply and soundly all through the night. That is, except for my seemingly new ritual of waking in the middle of the night in order to catch a glimpse of the sky spectacularly full of stars. It happened again last night. After taking a few photos, I went peacefully and happily back to sleep, on what was already my twelfth night on the GR5!

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Day 7, July 9

Since I always sleep with the vestibule flaps of my tent rolled back, leaving only a light mesh screen between me, along the entire length of my sleeping bag, and the rest of the world, the first thing I saw upon opening my eyes that morning was the majestic view of Mont Blanc. Life ain’t half bad, I thought. After packing up, I bid adieu to the three other bivouacers there: a Polish couple, who had just finished the Tour du Mont Blanc (which I will also do after the GR5) and to Michel, an older French gentleman who is also hiking the GR5. Then, I began the remaining steep descent into Les Houches. Only minutes into my downhill walk, I passed the imposing statue of “Christ the King,” which peers out over the valley below. From the trail, we get a nice view of the Good Lord’s backside. Upon arriving in Les Houches, which is a thriving ski town in the winter and a popular outdoor activity destination year round, I spotted a boulangerie and headed there directly. A baguette and an onion-and-cheese pastry were carefully packed into my backpack. On the small terrasse, I enjoyed un petit café and a demi-baguette à la bruschetta for my decadent breakfast. After this, I was off to Casino (the supermarket) to re-stock my Ursack. Instant coffee, cereal bars, dried sausage and a litre of orange juice were purchased. After discarding all the packaging and drinking the juice, I was ready to hit the trail…and so were dozens of other hikers! Les Houches is the official start of the Tour du Mont Blanc. The GR5 and the TMB share the route for the next couple of days. The climb out of Les Houches was long and steep! Thankfully, there was a little restaurant near the top, so I stopped and enjoyed a bottle of La Blanche from the Brasserie du Mont Blanc. It was pretty cool (pardon the pun!) to drink that beer while looking at its famous namesake! As I sat there, who came trudging up the hill but Ike! I had seen him in town, but he had told me he was taking a rest day. Like me, Ike can’t sit still, and apparently a rest day for him was out of the question after all. He joined me for a beer, then the two of us continued the uphill hike together. Wide tracks led us through forest, through many a little village, past splendid up-close views of snowcapped mountain peaks and past distant jagged mountain ridges of grey, blue and green. Ike soon outpaced me as I continued to slowly saunter along. Green alpages and crystal clear cascades ornamented the valleys between each little town nestled between the never-ending mountains. What a walk this was! The rolling river made a wonderful trailside companion leading me into the Les Contamines, yet another little ski town busy through summer with cyclists and outdoor adventurists. I had hoped to camp but the closest campsite was a bus ride away at Le Pontet. Deciding instead to just stay put, I picked up a bottle of red wine and some Brie and headed a short distance to a charming little room at La Ferme de Champelet as recommended to me by the tourism office. In turn, I highly recommend this darling and rustic little bed and breakfast for a cozy night’s stay.

Day 8, July 10

With the remainder of the wine stored in a Nalgene bottle, I set off, chipper and ready to hike 24 kilometres to Plan de la Lai. Modest religious monuments and shrines are not uncommon sights. These small stones structures house religious figurines and statues behind metal bars. Under a cloudy sky, I hiked up wide tracks, often along smooth slabs of stone. A highlight was the gorge beneath the Roman Bridge through which white water roared, and pooled in a beautiful aquamarine pond far below. More uphill hiking on a wide, rocky track led me past surging streams and views of teeth-like mountain peaks bearing wisps of snow. Reaching a meadow, a hiker ahead of me suddenly stood and turned around. It was Mathieu! We walked along together until Refuge de la Balme where we stopped to lunch. This was Mathieu’s destination for the day, so after taking a couple of selfies, I carried on. From the refuge, the GR5 continued to wind up, passing verdant mountain sides perfectly permeated with countless cascades and waterfalls. The beauty is jaw-dropping and the views are non-stop. Grassy boulder fields, cotton candy clouds and layers and layers of mountains surrounded me. Once higher up, the path crossed swaths of snow that were fun to cross as they were not on a steep slope beside a shear drop-off. At one summit, many hikers were seated to rest. A marmotte scampered by and the cute, fat little thing captured all our attentions, and affections! Relatively small peaks and valleys soon brought me to Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme. The guide book specifically states: “Don’t get mixed up with the Tour du Mont Blanc, which heads down…” Yes, that was where the shared path separated. A tiny little wooden sign sat on the ground, stating simply “GR5” with a little arrow pointing to the right. I didn’t read the guidebook and I didn’t see the sign. After hiking almost all the way steeply down to Les Chapieux, something suddenly clicked in my busy little brain, which had been too besieged by the beauty before me to pay attention to where I was going. I was on the TMB path and off the GR5 route! Turning around, I began the long, steep climb back up to Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme, which I (for the second time) reached at 5:35 PM. I still had seven kilometres to go, but the summer days are long and it was hours before sunset, so despite being a bit tired, I continued. Directly after getting back on track, the GR5 climbs up to La Crête des Gittes. This stunning section had me walking the narrow spine of a mountain ridge with steep drop-offs both to the left and to the right of me. The views were mind-blowing and the magnitude of where I was standing and what I was doing was almost too much for me to comprehend. Up and up, I climbed along the skinny ridge, then passed through a hammered-out notch in the rock ridge. Here, I encountered a shelf of snow blocking the path. The only way around it was to scramble along the steep and crumbling slate slope above it. I hemmed and hawed for half an hour here, evaluating the situation as objectively as I could, trying to free myself of fear, pride and desire. Where does one draw the line between venturing out of one’s comfort zone and being downright fool-hardy? I still feel uncomfortable about the decision I made, but I went for it; obviously, with success. “C’était la limite,” is how another hiker later described this very precarious part. Pretty and colourful flowers bordered the thin trail that soon began to descend into a gaping green valley where I saw a few tents set up. It was getting late, I was very tired and emotionally drained from the stressful snow-shelf crossing, and thus was tempted to set up my tent here, too. However, still intent on reaching Plan de la Lai, I carried on. Regal-looking bouquetins frolicked on the slopes. A giant wing-like rock structure jutted out atop the grassy mountain peak before me. Finally, at 9:30 PM, I reached Plan de la Lai. Behind the refuge, three tents of bike packers and hikers were already set up. Pitching my tent among theirs, I was quite happy to sip that leftover wine as the black of night settled in.

Day 9, July 11

Grazing cows, countless green peaks wrapped with boas of billowing clouds, winding narrow dirt paths and a sapphire lake for below. And so began another dazzling day on the gorgeous GR5. Beyond this spectacular sphere of grassy summits lay a circumference of snow-sprinkled rock mountains. A striking and magnificently-sized rectangular rock pillar jutted out among the pointy peaks. A “boots off” water crossing was medicine for the hot and overworked feet. So many unique, colourful and pretty mountain flowers bobbed and swayed in the wind. As the trail wound higher, it crossed crunchy snow patches on reasonable angles which did not traumatize me. With brooks and streams galore, there was never a need to carry more than a litre of water. At Refuge de la Balme (same name but different refuge than yesterday) I enjoyed a cheese omelette with salad as my salt-stained black Smartwool T-shirt was dried by the formidable mountain breeze. From here, the trail dropped down into a vast, verdant valley snuggly nestled between imposing lush green mountain sides. Eventually, the GR5 tucked into a forest at about exactly the same time that it began to rain. I threw on my rain jacket and fitted my backpack with its rain cover. It was a light rain, but the heavy gray clouds above threatened of storms to come. Upon arriving in Valezan, I decided to check into the auberge instead of camping or carrying on. Wise choice. It stormed all night.

Day 10, July 12

With storms in the forecast for the entire day, and with the rare treat of having a strong Wi-Fi signal, I decided to take a day of rest. This time, it wasn’t to assuage an ailing body, but instead to edit and post videos for my YouTube channel (@womaninthewoods13) and to write for The Trek. It was a day dedicated to being creative, and here on the GR5, there is so much impetus and inspiration for creation! As well, there was time enough to watch my favourite French TV show, Un dîner presque parfait, while eating pizza made with a cream base, red onion, diot (a locally-made sausage), mozzarella and reblochon (a locally-made cheese) and drinking wine.

Day 11, July 13

Climbs, chapels and churches under a sky full of sunshine is how the day began. In Bellentre, I mailed a postcard and purchased three boxes of cereal bars and a litre of orange juice. By the way, the snails I’ve encountered along the trail here on the GR5 are huge! They are so fat and juicy, thicker and bigger than my fingers, that I can understand why the French decided to start eating them! As I passed through the quaint little village of Landry, I witnessed people hanging streamers and flags of red, white and blue, the colours of France’s flag; in preparation for France’s big holiday, Jour de Bastille, which was the next day, I assumed. Up and up through the forest I hiked. The GR5 meandered up past cascading streams and the crumbling remnants of old stone buildings. Dirt tracks culminated up ahead under distant mountain ranges so high they had snagged the clouds. In Peisey-Nancroix, a tiny little ski village, I passed under a unique télésiège that carted just a handful of booth-like cars in which people stood rather than sat, although most were empty. At a Sherpa (a supermarket), I bought a baguette, Brie, a locally-made dried sausage (boasting 10% Beaufort cheese!) and instant coffee. They didn’t have powdered milk…rats! Later, the trail followed uphill beside a roaring and raging river that cascaded down over boulders and fallen tree trunks. Two rather handsome but snooty horses were hanging out in front of Palais de la Mine, a tall and rectangular old stone building that was once the centre of an 18th century mining site. Near it, in a sunken plot of earth, a lone grave was marked by a simple cross and bordered by a thick metal chain. Eerie! Later, a “boots off” water crossing led me to a busy parking lot where there was a big Parc National de la Vanoise information building. Young men with long hair pulled into buns sat in lawn chairs outside of their camping car as groups of climbers, still or already decked out in their climbing harnesses, strolled by. This sure was a hotbed of activity! I couldn’t wait to move past it. The trail continued at the end of the packed parkade, immediately and steeply ascending the mountainside. A lookout deck gave a perfect panorama of the opposing grandiose mountains and their horsetail waterfalls. The trail then cut around and followed back through a grassy boulder field bordered by rugged rock mountain sides. An adorable marmotte flitted about not far from the trail, effectively flirting with us passers-by! Just after 6 PM, I reached the Refuge d’Entre-le-Lac. The other tents there were facing the refuge, but I decided to face mine away from it and toward the massive throne-shaped rugged rocky mountain to the east. Tucked deep in the valley, it was so crisp and cold after the sun had set that I could see my breath. In the middle of the night, I awoke to a sky full of stars. After snapping a few photos of the celestial scene, I quickly ducked back into the warmth of my trusty sleeping bag.

Day 12, July 14

Climbing up and out of the valley, I couldn’t count all the furry and scampering marmottes! They scooted around, chasing each other, tackling one another and rolling about in somersaults. So precious! They paid passing hikers no mind as they went about their game-playing and playful roughhousing. A bulbous, pale gray, rugged peak loomed over a turquoise lake beside yet another verdant field of scattered rocks where the GR5 wound its way through. A particularly arresting sight was a section of snowy and jagged rock mountain tops reflected perfectly by the blazing sun in a lake below. After hiking up a few fun patches of snow, I arrived at Refuge du Col du Palet where I savoured a small glass of blueberry juice. Then it was time to hike up through more non-stressful snow to a summit at Col du Palet, 2 652 meters. Descending now, I hiked past a pretty pool of deep turquoise water, still partially covered with snow. Later, passing under a ski lift, I watched small airplanes take off, one after the other, from a small runway. At Croix de Lognan, views of the massive and busy ski town cum summer hike-and-bike village came into view. Passing through it, dressed in my dirty, salty clothes and toting my big, bulky backpack, I felt very out of place among the fancy tourists dining on the terrasse of the chic restaurant airing catchy tunes from its many speakers. In fact, it was unsettling and even felt invasive, suddenly being in such a commercial and crowded core, one including extravagant amenities such as tennis courts, golf greens, and high rise hotels. The entire development sat aside the striking blue-green waters of Lac de Tignes. Children climbed on massive letters spelling “#TIGNES” directly beside the lake, where one could take that postcard-perfect picture. After stopping at a bank machine to replenish my supply of Euros, and briefly at a vendor of many different flavours of regionally-made dried sausage (I chose a smoked one), I hiked out of this terrific tourist trap as quickly as my feet, beneath my 15-kilo backpack, could take me. Climbing up and away, I passed another small landing strip where airplanes landed and took off intermittently, soaring directly above me as I hiked. Crumbling old stone structures, a herd of grazing horses and a sky-scraping power line post decorated the open valley. Finally descending into the ski village of Val d’Isere, I enjoyed a small La Blanche from the Brasserie du Mont Blanc at “The Garage,” a restaurant that was showing the Wimbledon Finals, Federer versus Alcaraz, on a wall-sized TV screen. (Congratulations, Carlos!) Then I walked a couple of more kilometres to Camping Les Richardes, a roadside parking lot of every imaginable vehicle; bicycles, motorcycles, cars, camping cars and everything in between. After pitching my tent beside the row of motorcycles and their perfectly-parallel line of tents, I happily made a sandwich of baguette, dried sausage and Brie. As I sat in my tent, legs out, flaps open, I gazed out upon yet another looming but unknown mountain. I stared as the sun sank deeper and deeper behind it.

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Honk! Honk!
Honk! Honk!

Oops, sorry, but I must go! The boulangère has arrived in her adorable little 3-wheeled truck, tooting her horn to announce her arrival. Every day, this campground receives fresh bread and pastries at 8 o’clock. Gawd bless the French! Before I can even finish writing this sentence, a queue has formed in front of the truck and I can smell the deliciously fresh baguettes and croissants from here. I have dried sausage and Brie left, but I am out of baguette. As well, I think a nice pain au chocolat would do me well to start this glorious thirteenth day on the GR5.