On the Alpine trail
Well, it looks like the description in the guidebook. Let’s carry on.’
The truth was, the landscape looked nothing like the picture the words were painting. I was making the classic mistake of matching the terrain to the description. I knew it. And I had been doing so for three hours. My reluctance to turn around was fuelled by an unwillingness to retrace my steps. And with each pace forward, my reluctance increased. The farce ended half an hour later when we walked onto a road. That wasn’t in the guidebook. William and I were now officially lost.
I couldn’t understand how I had made such an appalling navigational error. All day, we had followed the multitudinous red-and-white-striped markers that indicate the route of the Grande Randonnée Cinq (GR5). They were painted on every tenth tree trunk and boulder. The signs were so common that I wondered if the route, which stretches from Geneva to Nice, was sponsored by Dulux.
A local farmhand passed us on the road. In French that wasn’t so much broken as smashed to pieces, I asked him where on the map we were, gesturing hopefully to the place that I desperately wanted to be standing at. Or near. Or vaguely in the vicinity of. He laughed and pointed to the opposite corner of the sheet. My shoulders fell. The other two members of our group (who had presumably walked in the correct direction) would be worried. And because this misadventure was taking place several years before the advent of the mobile telephone, there was no way to get a message to them.
Trevor and Fiona had finished dinner and were staring uneasily at the walls of the otherwise deserted gîte d’etape when we burst through the door after dark. It had started raining soon after we had encountered the labourer. We were cold, wet and tired. And I was still smarting at my incompetence. How was I to know that the distinctive red-and-white markers weren’t unique to the GR5? Too late, I had realised that earlier in the day, the trail had intersected with another red-and-white-striped route. At that moment, my ignorance had sealed our fate.
Travel light
My ineptitude has landed me in other troubles while trekking in Europe during the past 20 years. The one piece of good news is that the weight and size of my rucksack has slowly shrunk. I can’t help with your navigation woes, but I can suggest ways to reduce the burden on your back.
If you decide to take advantage of the extensive network of hostels, or gîtes, that litter Europe’s mountain trails, you won’t need to cart around a stove, a cooking pot or any ready-to-eat meals. If you’re not camping, you’ll also be able to pack a much lighter sleeping bag and leave the closed-cell foam or self-inflating mattress at home. You’ll carry fewer clothes as you’ll be in a position to easily wash and dry items overnight. The price you’ll pay will be a financial one. Pack a wad of euros to avoid becoming over-reliant on cash machines and credit-card readers, both of which remain uncommon in mountain regions.
If you decide to bivvy or camp, bear in mind that in some areas, and below certain altitudes, it may be illegal to do so. In any case, take care to leave any site as you found it: don’t move rocks, pack out all rubbish (including used toilet paper) and avoid contaminating water sources.
If time or circumstance means that you’re unable to reach your intended destination for the night, pitch your tent at dusk and strike it at dawn. This should help you avoid drawing unwanted attention to your location.
Ultralight backpacking tents weigh little more than two waterproof/breathable bivvy bags. They offer a great deal more sleeping comfort but little space for storing possessions. I line my 50-litre rucksack with an oversized, waterproof, roll-top liner. After the tent is erected, I remove any items I’ll need during the evening and place the entire rucksack inside the liner to keep everything dry overnight.
A degree of rain is almost inevitable on an Alpine trek, even in summer. Waterproof clothing becomes lighter and more breathable with the release of each generation of fabrics. But for afternoon showers in calm conditions, nothing beats hiking beneath a £10 umbrella fitted with a short collapsible stem for easy stowage in a rucksack’s wand pocket.
When the sun does shine, it beats down ferociously. Long-sleeved shirts with a high Ultraviolet Protection Factor rating are de rigueur. I’m still searching for the perfect sunhat, but have found legionnaire-style designs to be more effective at preventing my face and neck from becoming sunburned than wide-brimmed varieties. Sunscreen, neckerchief, sunglasses and a UV-rated lip salve are mandatory.
I gave up eating formal lunches on multi-day treks years ago. They take too long to prepare and weigh too much for the calories they deliver. I prefer to strike camp in the grey light of pre-dawn, nail two thirds of the day’s route before noon, and sit out the blistering heat of midday under the shade of a tree. I graze from a bag containing carbohydrate-friendly dried fruit, candy and chocolate on an hourly basis. Jam and Nutella sandwiches are another personal favourite. I eat protein and fat-rich food in the evening.
Before departure, check that the fuel source for your stove is easily available. In some Alpine areas, the traditional puncture-style Bleuet gas canister may be more readily available than the modern resealable types, especially in isolated villages. While purple methylated spirits may be unavailable for your Trangia stove, clear alcool à brûler can often be obtained. Note that it can be difficult to detect the flame that emanates from this transparent liquid. Take extra care to ensure the flame is extinguished before refilling the burner.
In the evenings, a down sweater offers more warmth than a fleece jacket, but you may have to go to great lengths to keep it dry. Sodden down-filled insulation, whether in clothing or a sleeping bag, is about as useful as a chocolate teapot. While synthetic fabrics and fillings offer less warmth per gram of insulation than expensive down-filled kit, polyester-based materials will retain some heat-trapping capability even when wet.
When it comes to all those optional battery-powered extras such as a radio, MP3 player and iPad, I have four words of advice: leave it all behind. That said, a mobile phone does occasionally have its uses, although reception is never guaranteed in mountain regions.
Lost and found
We were in a celebratory mood on the last day of our hike along the GR5. Although the weather had done for us midway through the journey, making our trek an incomplete traverse, it had remained an enjoyable affair. The finish line at Nice was only half a day of walking away. After three weeks of olfactory cleansing, we smelt the city before we saw or heard it.
By now, the spartan Alpine landscape had given way to hillsides smothered in trees packed so closely together that it felt like a cloud forest. During the preceding 20 days, our quartet had grown confident (in my case a little more confident) in each other’s abilities – so much so that from time to time, we walked alone. Three hours before we hit the beach, I emerged from a dense swath of vegetation to find William and Fiona polishing off a final chocolate bar.
‘Where’s Trevor?’ asked Fiona.
‘I thought he was with you.’
‘I haven’t seen him since lunch.’
We tried to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of Trevor’s last known movements. It was obvious that some of the pieces were missing. Only two things were certain: Trevor hadn’t overtaken Fiona and he hadn’t fallen behind me.
We waited. At the hour mark, we made a decision. William and Fiona would continue to Nice. I would have until noon the next day to find Trevor and bring him in. If we were a no-show in the hostel in Nice at midday, William and Fiona would request the assistance of the nearest search-and-rescue team.
I didn’t fancy my chances of finding Trevor. The density of trees reduced visibility at any one time to an area the size of a squash court. I retraced my steps along the trail, asking myself one question: If I was Trevor and if I thought the route diverged, at which place would I have turned off? I was, after all, a past master of this particular feat.
Ninety minutes later, I spotted a faint woodcutter’s path veering off into a tangle of bushes. I followed a hunch and began calling ‘coo-ee’ (a sound that travels further than other shouts and doesn’t strain the vocal cords). After following the barely visible path for a kilometre, I heard an excited English voice responding to my call.
After realising he was lost and unable to retrace his footsteps, Trevor had done the smart things. He had donned warm and brightly coloured clothing. He had sat on his rucksack to insulate himself from the ground. And he had waited for someone to find him rather than wandering around haphazardly.
He was equipped with a sleeping bag and a bivvy bag, food and water. He could have survived comfortably for days, but thanks to his good sense and my steep learning curve, we were in Nice before midnight.
Walking on water
Accidents and injuries aside, there’s nothing worse on a trek than running out of water. And on Alpine trails, it can be a surprisingly easy thing to do. Some guidebooks highlight notoriously dry stretches of trail with the location of the last watering hole. But even this information can be fallible: water pumps can fail and streams can run dry.
I use lightweight collapsible bladders to give me the option of carrying up to four litres of water on relentlessly hot days. A hose allows me to sip water frequently while on the move. Nevertheless, even the best hydration systems are prone to failure. For that reason, one of my drinking containers is always a hard-plastic or stainless-steel bottle.
Ten of the best
Like many hiking expeditions, a multi-day Alpine trek requires a range of outdoor clothing to combat the changing elements; a tent, sleeping bag and stove for camping; and a comfortable rucksack for lugging all of this about (not to mention a keen sense of direction). However, if you plan to make use of the gîtes dotted throughout the mountains, you can discount much of the camping gear. Here are some of Paul’s equipment recommendations
Don’t forget…
…a head torch for finding your way at night, either on the trail or in the gîte in search of the bathroom
Paul deegan’s love affair with the European Alps has included a stint living in the Chamonix valley and three circumambulations of the celebrated Tour du Mont Blanc. www.pauldeegan.com.
August 2011
The truth was, the landscape looked nothing like the picture the words were painting. I was making the classic mistake of matching the terrain to the description. I knew it. And I had been doing so for three hours. My reluctance to turn around was fuelled by an unwillingness to retrace my steps. And with each pace forward, my reluctance increased. The farce ended half an hour later when we walked onto a road. That wasn’t in the guidebook. William and I were now officially lost.
I couldn’t understand how I had made such an appalling navigational error. All day, we had followed the multitudinous red-and-white-striped markers that indicate the route of the Grande Randonnée Cinq (GR5). They were painted on every tenth tree trunk and boulder. The signs were so common that I wondered if the route, which stretches from Geneva to Nice, was sponsored by Dulux.
A local farmhand passed us on the road. In French that wasn’t so much broken as smashed to pieces, I asked him where on the map we were, gesturing hopefully to the place that I desperately wanted to be standing at. Or near. Or vaguely in the vicinity of. He laughed and pointed to the opposite corner of the sheet. My shoulders fell. The other two members of our group (who had presumably walked in the correct direction) would be worried. And because this misadventure was taking place several years before the advent of the mobile telephone, there was no way to get a message to them.
Trevor and Fiona had finished dinner and were staring uneasily at the walls of the otherwise deserted gîte d’etape when we burst through the door after dark. It had started raining soon after we had encountered the labourer. We were cold, wet and tired. And I was still smarting at my incompetence. How was I to know that the distinctive red-and-white markers weren’t unique to the GR5? Too late, I had realised that earlier in the day, the trail had intersected with another red-and-white-striped route. At that moment, my ignorance had sealed our fate.
Travel light
My ineptitude has landed me in other troubles while trekking in Europe during the past 20 years. The one piece of good news is that the weight and size of my rucksack has slowly shrunk. I can’t help with your navigation woes, but I can suggest ways to reduce the burden on your back.
If you decide to take advantage of the extensive network of hostels, or gîtes, that litter Europe’s mountain trails, you won’t need to cart around a stove, a cooking pot or any ready-to-eat meals. If you’re not camping, you’ll also be able to pack a much lighter sleeping bag and leave the closed-cell foam or self-inflating mattress at home. You’ll carry fewer clothes as you’ll be in a position to easily wash and dry items overnight. The price you’ll pay will be a financial one. Pack a wad of euros to avoid becoming over-reliant on cash machines and credit-card readers, both of which remain uncommon in mountain regions.
If you decide to bivvy or camp, bear in mind that in some areas, and below certain altitudes, it may be illegal to do so. In any case, take care to leave any site as you found it: don’t move rocks, pack out all rubbish (including used toilet paper) and avoid contaminating water sources.
If time or circumstance means that you’re unable to reach your intended destination for the night, pitch your tent at dusk and strike it at dawn. This should help you avoid drawing unwanted attention to your location.
Ultralight backpacking tents weigh little more than two waterproof/breathable bivvy bags. They offer a great deal more sleeping comfort but little space for storing possessions. I line my 50-litre rucksack with an oversized, waterproof, roll-top liner. After the tent is erected, I remove any items I’ll need during the evening and place the entire rucksack inside the liner to keep everything dry overnight.
A degree of rain is almost inevitable on an Alpine trek, even in summer. Waterproof clothing becomes lighter and more breathable with the release of each generation of fabrics. But for afternoon showers in calm conditions, nothing beats hiking beneath a £10 umbrella fitted with a short collapsible stem for easy stowage in a rucksack’s wand pocket.
When the sun does shine, it beats down ferociously. Long-sleeved shirts with a high Ultraviolet Protection Factor rating are de rigueur. I’m still searching for the perfect sunhat, but have found legionnaire-style designs to be more effective at preventing my face and neck from becoming sunburned than wide-brimmed varieties. Sunscreen, neckerchief, sunglasses and a UV-rated lip salve are mandatory.
I gave up eating formal lunches on multi-day treks years ago. They take too long to prepare and weigh too much for the calories they deliver. I prefer to strike camp in the grey light of pre-dawn, nail two thirds of the day’s route before noon, and sit out the blistering heat of midday under the shade of a tree. I graze from a bag containing carbohydrate-friendly dried fruit, candy and chocolate on an hourly basis. Jam and Nutella sandwiches are another personal favourite. I eat protein and fat-rich food in the evening.
Before departure, check that the fuel source for your stove is easily available. In some Alpine areas, the traditional puncture-style Bleuet gas canister may be more readily available than the modern resealable types, especially in isolated villages. While purple methylated spirits may be unavailable for your Trangia stove, clear alcool à brûler can often be obtained. Note that it can be difficult to detect the flame that emanates from this transparent liquid. Take extra care to ensure the flame is extinguished before refilling the burner.
In the evenings, a down sweater offers more warmth than a fleece jacket, but you may have to go to great lengths to keep it dry. Sodden down-filled insulation, whether in clothing or a sleeping bag, is about as useful as a chocolate teapot. While synthetic fabrics and fillings offer less warmth per gram of insulation than expensive down-filled kit, polyester-based materials will retain some heat-trapping capability even when wet.
When it comes to all those optional battery-powered extras such as a radio, MP3 player and iPad, I have four words of advice: leave it all behind. That said, a mobile phone does occasionally have its uses, although reception is never guaranteed in mountain regions.
Lost and found
We were in a celebratory mood on the last day of our hike along the GR5. Although the weather had done for us midway through the journey, making our trek an incomplete traverse, it had remained an enjoyable affair. The finish line at Nice was only half a day of walking away. After three weeks of olfactory cleansing, we smelt the city before we saw or heard it.
By now, the spartan Alpine landscape had given way to hillsides smothered in trees packed so closely together that it felt like a cloud forest. During the preceding 20 days, our quartet had grown confident (in my case a little more confident) in each other’s abilities – so much so that from time to time, we walked alone. Three hours before we hit the beach, I emerged from a dense swath of vegetation to find William and Fiona polishing off a final chocolate bar.
‘Where’s Trevor?’ asked Fiona.
‘I thought he was with you.’
‘I haven’t seen him since lunch.’
We tried to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of Trevor’s last known movements. It was obvious that some of the pieces were missing. Only two things were certain: Trevor hadn’t overtaken Fiona and he hadn’t fallen behind me.
We waited. At the hour mark, we made a decision. William and Fiona would continue to Nice. I would have until noon the next day to find Trevor and bring him in. If we were a no-show in the hostel in Nice at midday, William and Fiona would request the assistance of the nearest search-and-rescue team.
I didn’t fancy my chances of finding Trevor. The density of trees reduced visibility at any one time to an area the size of a squash court. I retraced my steps along the trail, asking myself one question: If I was Trevor and if I thought the route diverged, at which place would I have turned off? I was, after all, a past master of this particular feat.
Ninety minutes later, I spotted a faint woodcutter’s path veering off into a tangle of bushes. I followed a hunch and began calling ‘coo-ee’ (a sound that travels further than other shouts and doesn’t strain the vocal cords). After following the barely visible path for a kilometre, I heard an excited English voice responding to my call.
After realising he was lost and unable to retrace his footsteps, Trevor had done the smart things. He had donned warm and brightly coloured clothing. He had sat on his rucksack to insulate himself from the ground. And he had waited for someone to find him rather than wandering around haphazardly.
He was equipped with a sleeping bag and a bivvy bag, food and water. He could have survived comfortably for days, but thanks to his good sense and my steep learning curve, we were in Nice before midnight.
Walking on water
Accidents and injuries aside, there’s nothing worse on a trek than running out of water. And on Alpine trails, it can be a surprisingly easy thing to do. Some guidebooks highlight notoriously dry stretches of trail with the location of the last watering hole. But even this information can be fallible: water pumps can fail and streams can run dry.
I use lightweight collapsible bladders to give me the option of carrying up to four litres of water on relentlessly hot days. A hose allows me to sip water frequently while on the move. Nevertheless, even the best hydration systems are prone to failure. For that reason, one of my drinking containers is always a hard-plastic or stainless-steel bottle.
Ten of the best
Like many hiking expeditions, a multi-day Alpine trek requires a range of outdoor clothing to combat the changing elements; a tent, sleeping bag and stove for camping; and a comfortable rucksack for lugging all of this about (not to mention a keen sense of direction). However, if you plan to make use of the gîtes dotted throughout the mountains, you can discount much of the camping gear. Here are some of Paul’s equipment recommendations
Start the slideshow (10 pictures)
Don’t forget…
…a head torch for finding your way at night, either on the trail or in the gîte in search of the bathroom
Paul deegan’s love affair with the European Alps has included a stint living in the Chamonix valley and three circumambulations of the celebrated Tour du Mont Blanc. www.pauldeegan.com.
August 2011
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