I love being in the mountains. Nothing frees the mind quite like hiking slowly through tough physical landscapes that reduce oneself to small isolated figure among the towering, rugged structures of the earth.
On one of my recent trips up the French Alps I grabbed the time to hike into the Aravis Range. Sitting at 2,753m above sea level, Pointe Percée the range’s highest point was my target as I set out from the nearby village.
(All pics by me. More on my Insta: Benstvparty)
From the snoozy streets of the village streets I made my way along the road then across farm lands where cows dozed in the afternoon sun by quaint, traditional wood barns and buildings.
As the road rose the fields gave way to dense alpine forest offering shade along the steep climbing trail. Making my way above the timber line the evergreens of the forest thinned away leaving more rugged terrains of tough grass and dry stone.
Heavy clouds were making their way into the higher valley and I hurried to make it to shelter for fear a stormy may erupt upon me. I was spending the night at a refuge nestled among the mountains where hikers and climbers could get a cheap bed and food for the night. Facilities were basic but after the long hike I was just thankful to take my boots off.
The small building made for close quarters but dinner offered a friendly atmosphere as fellow mountain lovers filled up on much-needed food and shared stories across language barriers. I took a half bottle of red wine outside to watch the striking red sunset. It relaxed me greatly and encroaching evening cold amplified the deep comfort of my bunk and I quickly passed into a deep sleep.
Dawn brought a brilliant light across the mountains and though the morning was cold the bright sun awoke the refuges’ sleeping residence. The bustle of mornings packing quickly faded as parties of climbers and hikers made their way off in all directions around the valley.I was heading up to the Pointe Percée ridge and the good evening’s rest spurred me on at quick pace.
After hopping my way through fields of boulders my pace slowed as the gradient of the mountain became more steep and the terrain transitioned into loose rumble. While the morning sun was bright the altitude and shadows of the surrounding summits kept me cool and I passed patches of snow yet to melt from the winter months.
The final stretch of the trail saw a sudden rise in the rocks forcing me to climb with my hands before reaching the summit.
There looking far across the surrounding valleys I took time to rest and take in the silence and clear, cool air that comes from reaching the peak of a mountain.
A summit is never, of course, the end of a journey. There is always the descent ahead and once suitably rested you always need to turn around and head back from where you came. Back down the rocky scree, into the forest and down to the valley below.
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You can find my previous posts here:
When a bookshop is an oasis in a desert – Morocco travel diary #3
Eating snails at Marrakesh night market -Morocco travel diary #2
Hostel Riad Marrakech Rouge – My favourite hostel ever!
Rain in the desert - My Morocco travel diary #1
An ancient Greek historian and a hangover made me go to a deserted island
Introducing myself: Your local drunk Irish writer
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