HexaTrek Tales Part 6: Falling in Love with The Alps and Stage Three

The mountains tower above me, a wall of rock looming so large it looks like there’s no way in. But I know there must be, for that is where I am heading. I repeat the two words over and over, at first to cement that I’m really here, and then until they lose all meaning. The Alps. 

The Sierra Nevada engraved itself on my heart last year. I wondered how these mountains would make their mark; how they would mesmerize me, how they would scar me. I didn’t know if my body was ready for them, and I didn’t know if my mind was either. I decided it didn’t matter; as the sun started falling, I started climbing. 

It feels like a long time has passed since that moment of fearful excitement. In fact, it was just a little under three weeks ago. Enough time for me to traverse the Southern Alps and complete Stage Three of the HexaTrek. Enough time for me to glimpse some of the extremes these mountains can offer. 

The past few weeks have been wild.   

I’ve been caught in thunderstorms, some expected and some not. I’ve been surrounded by snarling, barking, aggressive protection dogs, and thought there was a non-zero chance I was going to get mauled. I’ve been alone on many passes and surrounded by GR hikers on others. I’ve seen glaciers and glimpsed Mont Blanc, eaten wild blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries, and leaped a waterfall to pass cows blocking the trail. I’ve randomly crossed paths with people I met months ago, and played Yahtzee with a group of strangers. I climbed 3000 meters, and descended 2900, in a single day. I’ve been speechless countless times, and have felt that magical tingle of awe almost everyday.

The forests and rolling hills of Stage One were beautiful. The gorges and rivers of Stage Four were stunning. The villages along the way — picturesque and seeping with history. But the Southern Alps? That’s where I fell in love with the HexaTrek.

Try visiting this place and not falling in love.

It’s hard to articulate how those mountains make me feel, because it’s everything.

They’re brimming with contrasts, igniting peace and chaos, excitement and trepidation, connection and solitude, awe and fear. They can feel like the most peaceful place on earth. A gentle breeze and flowing streams, wildflower patches and squeaking marmites, pastel-coloured sunrises and a rugged wonderland. And, with the turn of the breeze, they can become the most violent shitshow you’re begging aloud to escape before you get consumed alive. 

It’s strange to be in a place you can feel so at home in and, an hour later, like a helpless, ill-equipped intruder. Alas, that’s big mountains for you.

I want to ingrain these weeks into my memory. 

What you start with, heading north in Stage Three, is a couple of days easing in. A hiker going the opposite direction framed them as boring, uneventful kilometers, not worthy of taking out the camera. I’ve learned not to take these warnings too seriously. For me, it was blackberries, lavender, quirky towns, and listening to my first music on trail — Marvin Gaye. 

The Vercors mountain range provided my first taste of the mountains, and I was shocked by the beauty. “This trail is pretty cool” became, “This trail is breathtaking”. Home to high plateaus, limestone cliffs, and the HexaTrek emblem, Mont Aiguille, Vercors foreshadowed the weeks ahead. A hint of storms, some less than ideal encounters with protection dogs, and a whole lot of feeling grateful to be where I was. 

In the Belledonne mountain range, the mountains showed their power. Afternoon storms, and navigating my whole day around them, became the norm. Each pass prompted a little fear: what if this was the one where the weather changed (and, one morning, that was the case). In Belledonne, I felt like I was really in the mountains. There were alpine lakes and entrancing glaciers, unmarked trail and cliffs that looked like liquid metal, sliding down rocks and 50-meter stretches that took 20 minutes to traverse. 

And lastly, Écrins national park — no doubt my favorite section of trail so far. For weeks, hikers going the opposite way had been regaling stories of Les Écrins, sighing the name as if reliving the elevation gain, granite peaks, and endless passes. For me, it was bliss. My body felt strong, I was surrounded by beauty, and I’d discovered how much I loved approaching a new pass, spending a moment remembering the terrain I’d just walked through, and looking up to take in the next world ahead. I spent days in the clouds and then days revelling in the dramatic, imposing landscape. It was hard, but not as hard as I expected. Maybe because my comparison point had shifted. 

Yet another pass all to myself.

Our comparison point influences everything. 

I spent a while wondering why Les Écrins wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. In large part, I think this is because I’d experienced other hard things on trail that, when absent, made life relatively easy. Gone were the ticks and failing gear of Stage One, the adjusting to solitude that took place in Stage Four, and the storms I’d endured the week prior. Now it was just me and the joyful (while still difficult) task of climbing some beautiful mountains. 

The importance of our comparison point was again reiterated when talking with a GR hiker. He asked how far I was going the following day, and was shocked when I said 33 kilometers — a longer day in the Alps. “It’s just 2000 meters of descent and 1500 meters of climbing though, so it’s a pretty chill 33”, I assured him. When the shocked look remained on his face, I recalled that that was probably not a chill day for the average person — even the average hiker. My comparison point though? The day before I’d climbed 3000 meters and descended 2900. In my mind, what I’d be doing was more restful than that. 

Part of the reason I like doing challenging things is that it can reset my comparison point. It can shift my perspective so that difficult things appear easy, and simple comforts feel like absolute luxuries. A thru-hike is almost a guaranteed way to achieve this.

So, as usual, what’s next?

A few weeks ago, I decided I needed to see some mountains. Having seen some mountains, I think I need to see a couple more. Northern Alps and Stage Two anyone?