A map to follow this wee braw Alpine tour: https://onthegomap.com/s/q7i3gcqf
Friday 20th June | 6.9km | 830m | Pont-de-Nant – Col des Essets
Friday night, sounds right. An escape into the mountains was on the cards. Fresh air and exercise, the best way to spend a weekend.
I caught a train just past 17:00 from Renens, all the way to Aigle close to Valais, and then the last bus of the day up to a small town called Pont-de-Nant which consisted of a single restaurant and a bunch of small houses situated in one of these amazing high, hanging glacial valleys. It was the last stop of the line, and I was the only person to still be on the bus when it arrived. I got off as the postbus was switched off, and the driver followed me to the water fountain outside of this (now quiet) restaurant. It was hot and humid, despite the grey cloud coverage, and we stood there beside the water fountain chugging water. Him, preparing to drive back down. Me, to prepare for hiking up a big hill.
I soon set off, past a car park with a handful of cars and on to some nice, well-cared-for paths. I was sweating quite a bit, embarrassingly so. It was hot, it was humid and the air was close. There were trail runners heading down to (presumably) their parked cars whilst I battled my way uphill. Dark pine forests with rugged paths and groomed mountains were the surroundings. Verdant alpine meadows and exposed rock. ‘Verdant’ is going to be the word of this blog post and best way to describe this trail. Towers of shady clouds swirled around the lofty peaks, either covering them in a thick grey fog, or rearing high above them, white and pink in the evening sun.
On up, past an auberge (where there were some coke cans sitting in a cow trough, if you wanted a fresh drink), past waterfalls, and eventually to La Vare where a barking dog and some gruff old men were drinking in the porch of beat-up farmstead which reminded me a bit of Corsica. I swept through this farmstead and into a wide-open field behind it, carpeted – carpeted – with flowers. I think I always get these euphoric feelings when I finish a big climb, and I was definitely feeling good as I wondered along this planed meadow with these stunning, dramatic mountains about me. The mountains were definitely bigger than I was expecting as well. And this meadow was stacked with wildlife. Lizards (gold striped!), marmots, chamois and cows, butterflies beyond count… Vibrant!
Towards the end of this small, flat meadow that was nestled in this shallow vale, surrounded by these huge mountains, the land rose steeply, climbing up to Col des Essets. From down in the meadow, I could trace the path up, zig-zagging, switchbacks following switchbacks.
At this point, dark swirling clouds swarmed over the northern ridge (Arête de l’Argentine – I don’t know if this was named after the country, or after any silver mines in the area…), reminding me of that one scene from Mulan. If you know, you know. As such, with rain starting to spit down, I took shelter beneath some snarled, tough, warped trees for ten minutes, until all the rain had passed on south, and the sky opened up blue above me again. I headed on up to the Col des Essets, topped it, and was confronted with wide, green pastures. Hidden high up in the Alps, far from prying eyes. Such simplicity, such beauty. You know, I do believe that simple things are so much better for the spirit than most anything else… But that is just my opinion. Team minimalist. Or, maybe, Team Essentialist.
Amongst the tumbled down glacial erratics, I found myself a small flat piece of land where my tent could be happily pitched, blending in with the surroundings. I sat in the porch and ate my 20:00 dinner, happy with my version of a great Friday night. In cities around the world, jarring electronic dance music would be blaring until the small hours. I was happy with the peach clouds, brooding mountains and Alpine air.
Saturday 21st | 29.8km | 1680m | Col des Essets – Lac de Fully
I was up and awake at 05:55. I pre-empted my alarm and I just wanted to get bustling. I had a big day ahead of me planned. I packed everything up, ate my breakfast, and headed out of camp by 06:40. Speed. Still, I will never be as quick in the mornings as Sevi and Elise! Maybe I will adopt their morning routine when I do the PCT, after my PhD. Who knows.
I headed down towards Anzeindaz, passing a (closed?) hut on my left. Green pastures, dew-soaked and a bright open sky. It was going to be a hot day! I hurried through the village, not wanting to disturb or break the peace, turning abruptly right to the east and heading onwards. The trail took me through yet more alpine pastures, strewn with gigantic glacial erratics. I crossed trickling streams and over rickety bridges. I find Switzerland a funny country of two halves sometimes. Like, there is the sleek, efficient, robust Switzerland that you come across in Geneva and Zurich and Lausanne et cetera. But then, in the Alps, the peasant roots of Switzerland show through. As I understand it, historically, that is what Switzerland used to be with a lot of small communities living remotely in their old-fashioned ways. Wooden houses and make shift, ‘that-will-do’, number 8 mentality. Small farmsteads and battered mountain homes. The Swiss, white-and-red painted blazes beckoned me on along the trail.
I reached Pas de Cheville, shy over 2000m, and started a big 500m descent. The first, but certainly not the last. I passed some tents in a small clearing on my right, the guys just emerging from them. Further on, I passed by a large waterfall, pounding down the slickened rockface to my left. Down, down and down, through forests and along dusty trails until I emerged out above turquoise Lac Deborence. I actually thought about starting here, there is a bus stop here. I stopped by the restaurant (I think they were a bit surprised to see a hiker at this time in the morning already!) to refill my water bottles, before I then bid them ‘Adieu’ and turned right (south-west), and on to that long long uphill pull. 08:30. You have to love a long uphill climb, genuinely. I have had this debate with many people and I still believe that going uphill is better than going downhill… But only just…
I was energised though, and a big uphill is always best tackled earlier in the day, rather than later. Especially since the day had been super chill thus far. A river – La Dorbonne – was making its icy way down the valley, under the deep shadows of those looming peaks to the south. Mont à Cavouère, Mont à Perron, and Haut de Cry. Tolkien was famously inspired by the Swiss Alps for his mountains in the Lord of the Rings legendarium, and with these peaks all around me, I can completely understand why. Despite these mountains being fairly wee for Swiss ones!
At the end of this valley, I kept spying this cleft that I thought the trail was heading towards. However, just before a steep sheer rock face below this cleft, the path veered round to the north and circled up to it, passing by Gîte de l’Alpage de Dorbon. Here, just before 10:00, I settled down for a second breakfast. This gîte was actually just wonderful. Family run, with children having made colourful, hand-painted signs everywhere. Decorative bunting fluttering against the backdrop of snow-capped mountains. A vegetable garden behind, and a deck out front with cheerful picnic benches. An ideal resting spot. Two girls, both under ten, came to take my order. Lemonade and une crêpe, svp! I demolished it, downed the 50cL of lemonade, and sat basking in the sun. Delightful. This is what I mean – simplicity is just peaceful. After paying with cash inside, I spied a piano. Goodness only knows how it managed to get up here. But I had to play a little bit, of course. Always!
I set off again, heading past lots of other hikers now. Those that had started down by Lac Deborence, or at the gîte. Through these dry, sun-bleached rocks and up through the cleft that I had spied early. The land opened up again and it was clear that we were in ex-glacial territory. Glaciers are a tragedy unfolding before our very eyes, I swear. You can track how ‘healthy’ a glacier is by keeping track of its Glacial Loss Day. That is, the day in the year where a glacier loses all of its snow and ice that it has accumulated throughout the winter. So, in other words, when it starts shrinking. And usually, for glaciers in Switzerland, they tend to last until September/October, before starting to shrink in earnest once more. However, this year, 2025, they started shrinking in June/July. Not so good. Not so ideal. The glaciers in the Alps are already scientifically extinct though (Link). Their retreat is so quick, so alarming, that it cannot be stopped at all…
I passed through this barren land and followed the trail until I arrived at some high lakes, perched up at 2500m. Lac de la Forcla. A thin sheet of ice and snow still covered it at points. And in fact, there was snow all around me. It was high and cold enough for it still to be there. Ahead of me, at the end of these lakes was Col de la Forcla, rising up to 2550m. Beefy. The climb up, through the snow and ice though, was a bit treacherous at points though. And kind of exhausting. So much so, that when I popped out onto the col, I had to immediately sit down and have an early lunch. At, like, 11:45. Shocking behaviour. Wraps, peanut butter and banana, cheese and avocado. No regrets.
Energy back, I turned and slipped off of this col, heading south-west still. People were out for their day hikes, but I trooped past them with my pack and poles, pushing on. This descent was steep, definitely a knee cruncher, before it turned and traversed directly across a scree slope. These things are always fun to try and cross… I always think that one slip, and you would tumble all the way to the bottom. The physics of loose particles on a slope is pretty interesting too, as a sidenote. Worth looking up if you’re interested.
The trail continued on and up to Cabane Rambert. I think this must have been people’s objectives with their day hikes since there was a mass exodus up to that cabin, perched high up, just under the south flank of the Grand Muveran. However, it was a detour and not actually on my route, and so I looked up at the cabin with its Swiss flags flying out front, before turning and continuing on.
This part of the day was when I was completely in the zone. On every thru-hike and most every day, I find you come to these points. When the trail is easy and you body is good – physically tired but good – and you can just go without thinking too much. Completely in the zone. Your mind ranges from topic to topic, and I always find myself daydreaming once more. Something I actually don’t find myself doing so much of nowadays. I think because my job is literally to think analytically, and this is the complete opposite to a certain extent. Plus, daydreaming comes from being relaxed and with no surrounding stress, something that, again, I find does not come often during this PhD. Hence, why I hike.
I headed down from Cabane Rambert, down steep slopes with dusty, slippery tracks until I levelled out into a small flat hanging valley with a collection of jumbled buildings. Flat and dry, an ideal camp spot. The trail then fell off the end of this hanging valley and headed due south, the tall range of white peaks on the horizon, the Italian border. It headed downhill, and as I descended, I could see the trail emerge and I traced its long trajectory all the way to the west, gently climbing towards Ovronnaz. Large rocks and scrag trees threw shadows everywhere.
Eventually, after following this trajectory, I arrived at Ovronnaz ski station where I stopped for a mid-afternoon snack. I bought myself 2 (two, deux) cokes and sat with an absolute lush view of southern Valais and chugged them. Sugar and liquid. My poor teeth. My body was feeling the long day by now. My pack probably weighs around 9kg with food and water, but honestly, I hadn’t been out in the mountains much these past months and yeah, I was going to have to tough it out. I have this belief that since I did the TA, I can do anything physical pretty much. This view may need to be revised. Or, at least, moderated. Especially since the TA was now over two and a half years ago. The only thing remaining are the memories and mindset. Which, to be fair, are more than enough most of the time.
Heading out from Ovronnaz, I was aiming to finish the day somewhere around Lac de Fully. And I am not going to lie, these last six kilometres I kinda struggled. Not, like, badly. I was just not used to doing these big days with this amount of physical work in a long time! It was the first time today that people were overtaking me! Boof. The path rose up and into a flat bowl, Euloi, which holds a sort of marshy quagmire. Totally a place that you could wild camp, if it wasn’t so open. I got to the end of this flat bowl and stood looking up at Col de Fenestral where I said out loud to myself, ‘That is a long way up’. A brisk 350m climb, what is there not to love? I had done worse. I heaved myself up this slope, along grassy flanks, and then eventually through boulder fields, and then finally after seemingly a long long time, I got to the col where a touch of snow still hid in the shadows.
To my surprise, I found a cabin waiting for me, just on the other side of this col, overlooking Lac de Fully and with views across the snowy Dents-du-Midi and Mont Blanc. Jagged peaks, and the absolute highest point in Europe. Incredible scenes. I sat on a bench outside of this modernist cube of a ski hut and just enjoyed the view. I didn’t head inside at all, not when it was completely full of families and couples and other people, all laughing and having a good time, with the floor to ceiling windows fogged up from the condensation. I preferred the cleaner air.
I set off again, following some trail runners who quickly turned aside and headed up and over a col, round the back of Six du Doe. My trail, down towards Lac Fully, was well easy. Visible and smooth. It entered into some jumbled hillocks around the lake, and I glimpsed someone camping down there. I took inspiration from this and at the next stream crossing, I turned off of the path and down towards the lake, in amongst these small knolls. I searched for a wee while, following this stream downhill, until I came across a place that looked alright! Flat, check. Close to water, check. Hidden, (vaguely) check. I set my pack down, threw on some layers, and sat down myself. I could just see the previous hut that I had just come from, a block on the skyline to the north-east. The blue sky was being throttled slowly as well with grey clouds so I decided to pitch my tent quickly and get inside. And sure enough, a pattering of rain came at around 17:00. Tucked into my sleeping bag, I dozed on and off for the next little while whilst the rain blew through. When I next popped my head out, it was clear again, so I made myself some dinner, brushed my teeth, and settled down for an early bed. I had my book with me, another Agatha Christie, so I read that whilst the light still held out, before I eventually rolled over and slept.
Sunday 22nd | 19.9km | 1470m | Lac de Fully – Pont-de-Nant
I was up again at 06:00, and hiking along by 06:45. I fumbled my way down and across the southern end of Lac Fully, not quite awake or warmed up yet, before I started that steep climb to yet another col. Col de Demècre. But this was only a 100m climb, I am just whining really. Once again, I got to the col and was surprised by the presence of yet another hut. How many do you need in the same area, practically within sight of each other? The sky was blue and clear and the haze of the horizon was clearing up.
The trail dived into the shade of the mountains, hugging the rearing cliffs. The trail now turned a corner and headed north, with the view opening up on to the Valais floor. The Rhône made its way along, meandering down towards Lac Léman through colourful fields of different types of crops. Industry was prevalent in Valais too, belching smoke.
There were cuckoos gently calling out in the valley as I made my zig-zag way down and on to the trail, leading under the caps of the mountains. The trail wibbled and wobbled along the contours, cliffs growing above me and below me. Before long, you would need a good head for heights since the cliffs were dropping away so far under my feet it was crazy. A small gust and I would be taken away for sure. I passed through Alpine meadows, deep in bloom. Pastel flowers amongst the mature green grass. I once again realise that I have a gap in my knowledge, and that is of flowers and plants, and how to identify them. My brain just doesn’t work it well. I would like a book on native plants (trees and flowers) of Scotland and Switzerland I think. That would be nice. I chuntered along, enjoying myself. This really was a beautiful section of the hike, a highlight amongst highlights. Once again, the Swiss Alps are putting on a show, one that I will never tire of. I hummed along, Shostakovich on the mind.
Eventually, I crossed back into Vaud and arrived at Cabane de la Tourche. Heaps of people were outside, so I just headed on, no break needed really. I was feeling fighting fit. I only had a 500m climb ahead of me after all, what is there not to like? I spied, ahead of me on the trail, three ladies with skies strapped to their packs, hunting for a last bit of snow for the season, denying climate change one more year. “Turns all year baby… Can’t really do that in Europe though!”
I climbed up from the cabane and up to Col des Perris Blancs, passing an old abandoned refuge built into a cave. My initial plan was to just go right over this col since allegedly there was a trail leading directly down into the valley from there. However, when I reached the col and said hello to the people already there, I saw that there was a sign indicating that there had been a landslip, and that this trail was now closed. Therefore, faced with this conundrum, I turned right and headed uphill, along a blue ‘Alpine’ technical trail to Col des Martinets, so that I could drop down into the valley and head home from there.
This meant I started climbing once again, and I reached a lovely altitude of 2615m. Simple. There were moments on this technical section where the trail just slipped away into the oblivion and you had to hang on with your hands to the chains that were fixed there. Thank goodness for all the Alpinists over the centuries who have fixed done this to the mountains.
At the Col, there was snow and suncream. I slipped quickly down and into the valley, sometimes slip sliding my way down. Controlled though. Before long, the snow at the col gave way to verdant green Alpine pastures and meadows, and grey boulders in stream beds from the extinct glacier. Pine trees stretched up the sides of the mountains. Grand Muveran, the largest mountain in this chain, towered over everything.
I dropped down, down, down. The trail merged from a poor wee thin thing, through these high meadows, into a broader walking trail for local Sunday jaunts. I motored along, all the way back to Pont-de-Nant, missing the bus by less than ten minutes. I would have to wait an entire other hour before the next one arrived. I had a coke whilst I waited. I was happy to wait, here in my dear Alps.