July 25, 2024

Les Contamines to Les Champieux (camp)

12.4 miles

Breakfast at the refuge this morning reminds me deeply of the albergue breakfasts on the Camino. It’s self-serve style, and it includes coffee, cereal with milk, fresh bread which can be toasted, an assortment of jams, and yogurt. We sit with the same family as last night and awkwardly kind-of-talk like last night but mostly I sit quietly and revel in the taste of the coffee and the feeling of becoming alive that it gives me. After breakfast we pack up and head out.

I’m a little nervous about this huge climb that the guy told me about at dinner, but I know that the first part of the day is flat as it walks towards Notre Dame de la Gorge, and I enjoy this section immensely. It continues following the same river as last night. The water is completely clear, and I can’t get over this fact every time I look at it. It’s so pleasant, so shaded, so flat, so just all around lovely. Before we know it we arrive at the chapel of Notre Dame de la Gorge. FarOut tells me that this used to be a popular destination for pilgrims saying prayers either asking or giving thanks for safe passage over the pass. In our case, it’s asking.

We need all the help we can get, if the start of the climb is any indication. It’s straight up on slabby rock that would be downright dangerous in wetter weather. There are tons of people around today, and I can tell from the start that we’re going to be playing some serious leapfrog. Maybe this will be the day when I get over my aversion to leapfrogging while hiking.

I feel pretty strong for the first part. It’s the morning, it’s lovely weather, and we don’t have to go that far today. My mood of pleasant enjoyment increases further when we walk over an old bridge covered in moss. I’m ogling at the rushing water beneath the bridge so I don’t immediately process it when Grace points to a year carved in one of the stones: 1425. This bridge is almost 600 years old.

Just past the bridge there is a viewing point for the waterfall and the carved gorge below. Clear, cold glacial water rushes downward, around mind-bending turns cut so deep into the rock you can’t see all the way down to the water. It strikes me that as old as the bridge is, this gorge probably looks pretty much the same as it would have during the time of its construction. That’s how slow geologic time is, and how powerful.

The trail continues upwards, and it becomes clear that this is going to be a challenging day—but a beautiful one. After some more climbing there is a short reprieve where the route follows a wide path through a sunny valley. I’m ambling along, babbling about something, when I see Grace stop and point to the ground at the chonkiest snail I have ever seen. It’s probably the size of my palm at least. We stand there staring, and then we start to be concerned that people will accidentally step on this fellow. Everyone seems focused; no one even looks at the snail we’re gawking at even though we’re right in the middle of the path.

“We brake for snails!” I say. Why doesn’t anyone else stop for this snail? He’s enormous! I am appalled.

We can’t just leave him there to the mercy of this unobservant horde. Grace gets a rock and places it in front of the snail. We continue standing, watching eagerly as the snail seems to ignore the rock, then finally climb onto it. Hooray! Success! Hopefully the snail stays off the trail and away from dangerous boots.

It’s after the snail that the day gets truly, deeply gorgeous. Perhaps the snail was a small spirit who granted us such beauty. We’re talking, sweeping landscapes changing with every mile forward, gray craggy mountains sprinkled with snow, waterfalls tumbling everywhere, glacial tarns, grassy meadows, rocks, wildflowers—it’s marmot central and I am peeved that I don’t see a single marmot all day (though I heard them). It makes me want to frolic! It makes me want to sing songs from the Sound of Music! (We both do this at various points). It’s Washington on the PCT; it’s Bighorn Plateau in the Sierras in the shimmering dusk; it’s Windy Pass on the Gallatin Crest; it’s none of these things at all because it’s the frigging ALPS, I am here in THE Alps, the blueprint mountains, the ones where the concept of “alpine” came into being in the first place. I can’t take it in no matter how hard I try.

The trail continues up. There is another incredible waterfall in the distance. There is a creek lined with beds of wildflowers. We spot some sheep being guarded by a very cute dog who turns kind of scary when she decides we have been looking at her sheeps for too long. “You’re a good dog!” I say. “You’re doing your job!” And then I shuffle away quickly because big dogs make me nervous.

We both start to flag a little bit right after we decide to try to keep going to the top to make it to the summit for lunch. I start to feel as slow as that snail we rescued. We take a quick side of the trail stop, which powers us up, up, up farther into more meadows and loveliness and then finally, mercifully, to the summit of the Col du Bonhomme.

It’s technically not the end of our climbing for the day, but it’s the end of the steep stuff and an idyllic spot for lunch, which we take advantage of fully. I remember that I packed out a Coke Zero and I want to cry with happiness as I sit there looking at the Alps drinking my delicious carbonated poison.

The rest of the ascent is just as lovely, crossing a gushing stream over slanted rocks and then finally reaching the very summit of the climb for the day. Phew. It was a rough one. I do not feel like I have trail legs from the SHT or like I am a reasonably fit 31 year old. I feel like a floppy noodle.

We get a half pint of beer (and a passport stamp) each at the Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme, which we drink outside, looking towards the valley and the mountains beyond. What a life.

It is tough to get moving again, but we do it, and then we begin the surprisingly grueling descent towards Les Chapieux. They don’t seem to believe in switchbacks here, so it’s largely just straight down to the valley. My quads are screaming from trying to fight gravity and my arms hurt for taking the extra weight. But we’re soooo close so stopping just isn’t an option.

It evens out a bit, then gets steep again, and then meanders down towards the vast camping area of Les Chapieux. My legs are so wobbly that I just collapse on the bench in front of the information center before I muster the energy to set up my tent. When we do find our spot and set up, it feels nice to get into my little home. This is the first time I’ve camped in Europe, I realize. I’ve done two other long distance hikes on this continent but never one that involved camping.

After each having a power nap and changing into warm clothes, we walk over to the pizza place and order a delicious pizza to share as well as a couple of local beers. It’s dusk in the mountains, my stomach is full, I have a beer in my hand after a hard day of hiking, and I feel very at peace.