Tour du Mont Blanc: La Flégère to Trient

Our day began surrounded by muted colors.  Despite being several hours after sunrise, the soft morning sunlight had yet to spill into the Chamonix valley.  Everything existed in varying shades of gray.

My legs protested the movement after yesterday’s day of climbing.  Matt and I speculated what we would feel like in another ten days.  We assumed it wasn’t good.  Then I realized how a trip like this was similar to back-to-back race days.  Although it wasn’t near a race effort, a lot of the mental struggles were similar: self doubt, energy lows, highs, and then the fantastic moment at the end of the day when the night’s resting place comes into view.  Each of these ten days felt similar in that regard.  I eventually felt stronger mentally by the end of this trip from the daily practice.

A couple of hours into the day, we approached one of the most exciting parts of the entire trek: a series of ladders and cables that we had to climb down.  Each ladder was fixed to a sheer rock face, most of them were new.  Mangled ladders from seasons past dangled from the remaining bolts still anchored in the rock.  As part of Mother Nature’s springtime cleansing, she sent down rock slides and avalanches to take care of this unnatural human influence.  Since this sheltered mountainside held pockets of winter snow, I was thankful for the ladders and special footholds.  I often experience vertigo when standing on high places.  A wave of dizziness swept over me as I took photos of Matt descending one of the laddered areas.  I grabbed hold of an iron handrail and steadied myself.  Then it was my turn.  I stared at the rocks straight in front of my hands.  Left hand, right hand, don’t look down, I thought to myself.  

Once on a less steep area, we began encountering other hikers.  Many of us weren’t native speakers of French, but Bonjour seemed to be the universal greeting everyone used regardless of background.  I enjoyed hearing the differences in how that single word was said.  Often I could tell if someone wasn’t French, but I couldn’t place their accent any further than that.  I’ve been told I have a Canadian accent, but I’m not sure what that really means.  As an Anglophone, I can tell where others are from based on their accent, I’m assuming French speaking people can place us with our accents as well. 

Within one of the groups of people, I approached a woman wearing a backpack that looked familiar.  When we met, I noticed we had the same pack on.  “Bonjour!  J’aime bien votre sac à dos,” I said as I pointed to my backpack.  She looked confused for a moment and then realized what I was saying.  I also encountered a few people with the Brooks Cascadia shoes I was wearing.  They kinda rocked for this type of trip.  Many people at the refuges on later nights treated blisters and chafing spots from leather hiking boots, I thought mine were perfect and I never got a single blister the whole trip.

By lunchtime, we had descended back to the valley floor and crossed a small highway near Tré-Le-Champ.  After a morning of lowering myself over boulders and picking through rocky trails, I was actually a bit thankful to be climbing out the other side of the valley.  As we moved above treeline, the wind was noticeably stronger and forced fog through up against the hillside we were climbing.  Off to the south, we could see the other half of the valley was in sunshine.  That would be a recurring theme for the day: sunshine, just out of reach.

Today, we decided to take the high route alternative and summit the Aiguillette des Posettes.  Clouds zoomed by as we reached the summit.  Thankfully, the entire trip thus far included the wind at our backs.  We followed the ridge’s crest, the aiguillette, to a ski hill that lead to the Swiss border.  Picking through dark shale that was sticking straight up through the grass, it almost appeared to be covered in headstones.  I’d never seen anything like it.  Eventually we rejoined an established trail to the Refuge du Col de Balme.  A brisk wind rushed us across the border.  We paused for a quick photo and then began the snowy descent into Switzerland.  Immediately the wind was calm and we each stopped several times to remove layers.  We skidded down through the snow on our feet, skipping the glissade for now.  Matt examined the shallow snow and small rocks sticking out and decided to stay on his feet, citing his reasoning out loud, “It’s all fun and games until someone loses a nut.”

The more than 1,000m (3,000 ft.) descent to Trient afforded us views of the small village where we’d be spending our night even though it was still at least a two hour walk away.   

Once back in the forest, the steep trail became unrelenting.  The trail was of perfect soft dirt and free of tree roots and rocks, ideal for running, except that it was painfully steep.  Even walking jarred my knees.  Through this trip, I grew to dislike not the climbs, but the descents, the most.  The last five kilometers of this day were where that all began.  Clearly, I hadn’t done enough downhill training.  I quietly munched on almonds, my ears ringing with a bell sound echoing up from the valley.  Matt decided it was church bells.  The sound continued for over an hour.  No it couldn’t be that.  “I bet you that we’ll get to the bottom and we’ll find a herd of cows wearing bells,” I speculated, only half believing what I was saying, “It is Switzerland after all.”  When we reached the valley floor and came across our first cluster of cows, I pointed, “HA! I told you so!!” 

There, staring back at me, were cows wearing leather collars with large ringing bells.  The rest of our stay in Switzerland would include the same musical accompaniment.  Thankfully, each bell included the same tone.  I don’t think my musician brain could tolerate listening to dissonance for several days straight.

19km (11.75 mi.)

1368m (4488 ft.) gain

1802m (5912 ft.) loss