Tour du Mont Blanc
Words by Noémi Shuey. Photos by Noémi and Dave Shuey.
Littlefoot. Or Petitpied, en français. This being my first through-hike, Dave decided that at some point he would give me my official trail name. We were only a couple hours into our first day, making the arduous climb up to Brévent, when inspiration struck. But he wouldn’t tell me until we were seated to dinner and hot cocoa that evening. He would only say that it was the name of an American character that represented great strength, courage, bravery and leadership. (The Land Before Time was Dave’s favorite movie as a child, if you couldn’t tell.) I told him to make sure he really thought about it, because once he said it out loud, there was no going back. I got lucky; he could have waited until the end of the trip, when he realized that he should have named me Penguin because of how much I waddled with a sprained ankle. Littlefoot is much more respectable.
We hadn’t planned to do the Tour du Mont Blanc upon arriving in Chamonix, and made a rather last minute decision to do so just a few weeks before. One morning, over breakfast, we tried to remember how long the hike was. We thought it was around fifty or sixty miles and would take four or five days, and decided on the spot to do it. After walking to Chamonix and looking at a guidebook, however, we realized that it was close to double what we thought. 105 miles with around 32,000 feet of elevation gain, taking most hikers about ten days to complete. We were already planning on tackling the Trekker’s Haute Route in August, a 120-mile trip to Zermatt, Switzerland. Having never done one backpacking trip this long, let alone two trips back to back, it seemed like it could be too much to take on. But the seed was planted, and we just couldn’t get the idea out of our heads. Giddy with excitement, we bought a map and began planning our trip.
The route travels in a grand loop around the Mont Blanc massif, crossing borders into France, Switzerland and Italy. It is an incredibly popular trail, very well marked with signs at every crossing that point “TMB” in either direction. Being a loop, it is also an easily accessible route that you can technically start anywhere you want. However, most people start in either Les Houches, France or Courmayeur, Italy and travel counter-clockwise. We chose to travel against the grain, clockwise direction, in the hopes of hiking amongst less people on this highly trafficked path.
Traveling clockwise allowed us to pass many hikers a few times each day, with hours in between where we met very few other people. Early in the morning and again in the afternoon, we would pass many people within a short distance, sometimes in groups of twenty or more, politely greeting “Bonjour…Bonjour…Bonjour…” over and over again. This is the Champs-Élysées of trails in France. We were really happy with our choice; I would much rather walk in relative solitude than get stuck behind a group of thirty tourists for an entire day. We saw less than fifteen hikers going in our direction over the entire trip and were able to spend much of the day on our own.
The majority of hikers on this trail stay in refuges and hotels along the way, carrying only a small backpack with some clothes, snacks and water. Many people even complete the route by trail running, with very minimal supplies and just a small running pack. New to this European concept of hiking from hut to hut, we decided to do the hike unsupported with everything we needed on our backs. Without hot showers, comfortable beds, protection from the elements and meals in restaurants three times a day, we certainly chose the less comfortable method of trekking the TMB. But there are plenty of campgrounds on the trail and many people who choose the path of hefty packs like us. It also makes the trip considerably less expensive; between food and accommodation at the refuges, you can end up spending 100 euros per person each day. We also decided to push ourselves to complete the hike in only eight days, averaging about thirteen miles a day. With the extra mileage and the extra weight, we set out to see what we could accomplish on this challenging trail.
The week before we left, we experienced the worst weather we had encountered since arriving in Chamonix over a month earlier. For seven days straight we saw almost constant rain, and spent every day between our tent, make-shift fort and the campground “picnic room.” Needless to say, we got rather restless and were more than a little concerned about what the weather would be like for our hike. Supposedly the rain would clear up the week we were planning on leaving, but you never know in the Alps. The most reliable weather forecast I’ve found online begins almost every prediction with the word “uncertain” and describes each day as partly sunny, partly cloudy, with a chance of thunderstorms. The morning we woke up to leave, I could not have been happier when I unzipped the tent to reveal crystal-clear blue skies and our first views of the mountains in over a week. The first four days of our hike were blessed with wonderful sunshine and warmth, followed by a good amount of rain the last few days, but I think that was the best we could have possibly asked for.
We began our first day with our gear dry for the first time in a week, and took a bus to Les Houches. The guidebooks recommend against starting in Les Houches if you are traveling clockwise because you begin immediately with the toughest climb of the trip. The hike to Brévent is not for the faint of heart and many become immediately discouraged with the difficulty and might not make it past the first day. However, we had already done the hike a couple of times, once early upon arrival when we still had to hike through snow to the summit, and again with our visiting friends from the U.S. to show them the best views of the valley. Granted, it’s a little different with heavy packs. Nonetheless, we completed our ten miles at a slow but steady pace, trucking along in first-day high spirits.
With the steepest climb of the trip behind us, the start of our second day took us along a wonderful trail opposite some of the more northern mountains of Chamonix valley, before descending toward Argentière. The descent features an impressive section of steep metal ladders that are a bit trickier to navigate when traveling clockwise, against the flow of traffic. Congestion on narrow rock ledges inevitably ensued. After a long climb to the Aiguillette des Posettes, with spectacular 360 degree views of the surrounding Alps, we said goodbye to France and crossed into Switzerland via the Col de Balme.
It is an interesting concept to know that you walked to a different country. We had fun coming up with grand generalizations about a country from what we had seen in the first few minutes on the trail. (As in: slugs in Switzerland are red to match to color of the Swiss flag. This is not true.) One of the things I enjoyed the most about the TMB is how multicultural it is. Not only do you get to experience three different countries, with the trail’s popularity you hike with likeminded travelers from all over the world. We decided that everyone should greet each other in their own native language; you could learn a lot in a week on the trail. French is certainly the most common, but every now and then we got to throw in a “Bon día” or “Ciao.”
Our second day in Switzerland brought us to Champex, a small town with a beautiful lake as its main focal point. While soaking our sore feet in the cold water and relaxing in the sun, we enjoyed fresh fruits and yogurts from the grocery store and watched visitors on paddle boats and local fisherman. We actually saw a man in a chef uniform from the hotel restaurant across the street catch a fish while we were having lunch. Naturally, we assumed he was on his lunch break and would bring the fish inside to make a meal of it, either for himself or perhaps the restaurant would feature extremely fresh seafood that day.
Upon leaving the tranquil and comforting waters of Champex Lake, we embarked on a long stroll down the “Sentier des Champignions.” This didactic trail about mushrooms proved to be a wonderful distraction from our aching feet and backs. There are signs along the way, presented by Charlotte la Marmotte, that describe the many varieties of wild mushrooms in Switzerland. I must admit that I didn’t actually stop to read what Charlotte had to say or learn anything about mushrooms, aside from the fact that the bright red ones with white spots will kill you. But the trail also features many hand carved statues out of tree trunks that depict mushrooms and animals in amazing detail and proved incredibly entertaining. Some very lucky artist got paid to hang out in a forest and create wooden squirrels and eagles. It is a great trail for families and a wonderful distraction for through-hikers.
By the end of the day, my sore spots and injuries were beginning to accumulate. In my experience backpacking, it is in the first few days that your body really breaks down. That night I had blisters on my pinky toes, hot spots on my heels, bright red rashes on my shoulders and lower back, swollen hip bones the size of ping pong balls, and a minor sprain in my ankle that seemed to be getting worse. My body was clearly rejecting the lifestyle I had chosen for it. Yet somehow, around the fourth day, my body always seems to figure out how to rebuild itself and adapt to this grueling terrain. After a few days of protesting, it eventually accepts that I am not going to listen to its complaints and will continue the abuse whether it likes it or not. Even when I go to bed exhausted beyond belief, barely able to walk, not sure how I will make it out of bed the next day let alone hike fourteen miles, somehow I wake up in the morning stronger than the day before. Surprisingly rejuvenated, I find my muscles loosened, my feet strong and my morale lifted to the point that I am excited to do it all again.
It is a fascinating aspect of backpacking, the adaptive resilience of the body. That said, our fourth day was not an easy one. As strong as I felt waking up that morning, the first ten miles of our fourteen mile day were a consistent incline. On our way to the Grand Col de Ferret, we enjoyed our last views of Switzerland, marveling at the alpine meadows, green hillsides and peacefully grazing sheep. When we reached the top of the col, I immediately forgot about feeling tired. Perched on the border between Switzerland and Italy, with no other hikers around as evening approached, we stood in awe of the amazing views on either side of the summit. The preceding ten miles were certainly exhausting, but you could never experience views this satisfying without a good amount of work.
After applying fresh bandages to our feet, we began our descent into Italy. I have wanted to visit Italy for many years, and our initial introduction to the country did not disappoint. The fading, evening light retreated behind the mountains and glaciers, multicolored cliff faces jutted out from the mountainside, and we were suddenly surrounded by wildflowers on the trail. We probably saw more wildflowers in Italy than France and Switzerland combined. I assume it was due to the large amounts of snowmelt still running down the mountains. Whereas in Switzerland, for instance, most the snow had already melted and the flowers were fading away. With temperatures finally dropping from the incredibly hot and sunny day, Dave and I hiked quickly and in very high spirits, excited to be experiencing Italy for the first time.
The following day featured some of the best views of the trip. The trail to Courmayeur is relatively flat, cut into the hillside and running parallel to the mountains on the opposite side of the valley. With easy rolling hills, we enjoyed a slightly less challenging hike with amazing views of the mountains and glaciers opposite us for the entire length of the trail. Wildflowers in every color imaginable covered the green hillside around us, and we crossed many streams and rivers flowing from the snowmelt above. Unfortunately a storm was also arriving; ominous clouds loomed in the distance and a light rain commenced.
As we began the steep descent into Courmayeur, my ankle, which I had twisted slightly a couple days earlier, took a turn for the worse. It had seemed to be getting better that morning, but after another long day of hiking and a pounding final descent, I found that I could barely walk by the time we reached the city. Back in Chamonix we had looked up a campground online that should have been just before entering Courmayeur, but upon arriving, we realized that no such place existed. We hobbled under an awning to get out of the rain, and debated our options over snacks and ibuprofen.
We still had to find a grocery store, a restaurant to have our one Italian meal we had promised ourselves, and wanted to spend a bit of time visiting the city. Yet with our heavy packs, my protesting ankle and an approaching storm, these tasks sounded dreadful. As if an omen, from where we were sitting on the ground we could just make out a hotel banner down the street that carried the image of one, solitary star. “A one-star! Ooh, maybe we can afford this…” I’m pretty sure this was the cheapest hotel in Courmayeur, so I think it was meant to be. It felt like cheating but we simply couldn’t resist beds, hot showers and safety from the elements after several days of camping.
It was strange to be so suddenly transported from quiet trail to bustling city. After five days of hiking, I was suddenly all too aware of my rolled up rain pants and thin, dirty shirt. Surrounded by well dressed tourists browsing expensive designer shops, we were happy to have a shower to freshen up and a place to leave our gargantuan backpacks while we looked for a restaurant. Starving, we picked one of the first places we saw, and indulged in two enormous vegetarian pizzas, a large salad and a liter of wine. With no rush and nowhere to be, we relaxed and ate slowly, enjoying the ambiance of the busy Italian restaurant. After several days of hiking, even such large quantities of food and drink seemed to disappear immediately in our apparently bottomless stomachs.
The next morning, the alarm went off at 6:30 and our groans and protestations filled the room. We debated from the comfort of our down sleeping bags. With the storm getting worse and my ankle still incredibly sore, we decided to call it an early birthday present to myself and stay an extra night. We made up for the extra money we spent on the hotel by eating our freeze-dried pasta and Chinese noodles for lunch and dinner. Equipped with a cheap bottle of wine and a bar of Swiss chocolate, we enjoyed a wonderful rest day playing cribbage and relaxing inside our hotel room.
With the extra day we were also able to see a bit of Courmayeur, which is a very touristy but endearing city. That morning there was a bicycle race going on and the locals and tourists were collecting in the city center to cheer on the finishers. I noticed that there was a table set up for the cyclists, but instead of the sports drinks and orange wedges that I would have expected, they had bottles of white wine and Nutella on bread slices! Perhaps we have something to learn from the Italians…
I am so happy that we decided to rest an extra day because my ankle was able to heal quickly and the rest of the trip went smoothly. It turns out all I needed was one day without pounding up and down mountains; I can’t imagine how much pain I would have been in if I hadn’t given it the chance to heal. So with one last hot shower and a bread and jelly feast from our free breakfast buffet, we set out for our climb leaving Italy.
With clear blue skies and a day of rest under our belts, we both felt strong and rejuvenated. However, halfway through the day, the weather started to change for the worse. As we drank percolated espressos over lunch, warming our bellies in the cold, we looked up at the looming cloud above the peak we were about the climb. “So…we want to go up into the big stormy cloud…?” We managed to get up and over the Col de la Seigne as quickly as possible, with the wind blowing against us the entire way and rain pelting our faces. The fog engulfed all potential views around us, so that every time I turned around all I saw was the edge of the hillside I had just come over, disappearing into grey. This was our first experience with really bad weather on the trip, and we laughed it off easily. It seemed simply crazy: slipping on the steep, muddy slopes, zero views in any direction, unable to hear anything between the two hoods over my ears and the howling wind. At the summit, I laughed at the metal plaque that showed us all the peaks and mountains we should have seen, and spun around taking in the 360 degree views of fog. Exposed on the summit and wary of potential thunderstorms, we collapsed our poles and quickly made our way down the slippery trails to safety.
“I’m in a cloud!” Dave exclaimed as we got up in the early morning fog, our tent still engulfed. We packed up our wet gear and clothes, feeling less than energetic and getting some quizzical looks from the passing hikers leaving the nearby refuge. Wearing the same wet clothes from yesterday, I greeted them with the most energetic “Bonjour!” I could muster, in an attempt to show them that backpacking in the rain was not as terrible and bizarre as they seemed to think. I’m not sure they bought it.
With another col to climb and the weather just as bad as the day before, it was a little more difficult to laugh off this day’s trials. With three to four solid days of rain, the trails leading up to the Col du Bonhomme were completely destroyed. We named it the Choose You Own Adventure Trail: mud, grass, rock, river, snow… All equally slippery! With water pouring down everything that could possibly be a trail, it was often impossible to tell what was the TMB and what was actually a river. Every now and then we might see the familiar red and white stripe marking the trail on a rock sticking up out of the river, and know that we were on the right path. And so we sloshed up the mountain with puddles in our shoes, engulfed in thick fog, rain pouring down upon us, our clothes and bodies soaked to the bone.
I realized that I must not have looked very happy or comfortable when the hikers who passed me asked, “Ça va?” One man actually told me there was chocolate cake waiting for me at the top. “Bon Courage” has become my new favorite French phrase; it is used often in hiking. It is similar to “Good Luck” with the added edge that what you are doing takes courage, and in hiking it generally comes from someone who knows what you are going through and probably just finished the same ordeal themselves. It seems more positive than “Good Luck,” in that your success is not up to chance or external factors, but rather your own inner strength to power you up to the summit!
With the entire mountainside becoming one enormous river, I started hiking faster when I realized that my feet were so wet that it really didn’t matter where I stepped anymore. The actual rivers had also swollen in size due to the rain, making some of the crossings incredibly difficult on wobbly rocks that barely reached the surface, leaping from one slippery bank to another. Cold and soaked, we managed to hike up and over the col in around five hours, hardly ever stopping. Luckily there is a wonderful camping area just past the Refuge de la Balme that allows free camping for TMB hikers, provided that you only stay one night and pack up early in the morning. With bathrooms, fresh drinking water and a big grassy area to set up our tent, we happily settled in for the night, grateful for this small sanctuary from the storm.
At some point in the night, it finally stopped raining. Words cannot express how happy we were to wake up to clear skies in the morning! All of our gear was remarkably wet and smelly, but as it was our last day, we knew that we had the comforts of Camping des Écureuils awaiting us, with laundry and hot showers to look forward to. At 16.5 miles, this was the longest day of our trip, but from La Balme to Les Houches it is mostly roads and easy trails, without much elevation gain. With a last-day jump to our step, our final day of hiking flew by.
As I finished our last climb to the Col de Voza, I imagined one final peaceful summit, with views of the surrounding mountains, enjoying a well earned snack with at most a couple of other hikers. As I approached, however, the noise emanating from my peaceful summit grew louder and louder. I reached the top and was confronted with trains, restaurants, hotels, a drum circle, live music and a bouncy-house. Dave and I ate our trail mix in awe of the spectacle before us. It is a bit defeating to work so hard for a summit only to find a million people at the top who didn’t work for it at all. But between the chair lifts, gondolas and mountain trains many peaks in this area are very easily accessible for a fee.
We said goodbye to the masses and began our final descent into Les Houches. Passing empty chair lifts on the deserted ski slopes, we longed for soft snow and skis as we finished the blistering descent. Upon completing 105 miles, we had only one thing on the agenda: pizza and beer! At our favorite pizza restaurant in Chamonix, we indulged and celebrated our achievements.
It is amazing how much you can do and see each day of backpacking, and how quickly nine days can fly by. It was strange to suddenly find ourselves back at Squirrel Camp, doing laundry, going grocery shopping and cooking ravioli like we never left. Our initial shift from everyday living to backpacking was similarly interesting. Usually it is such a big change to make, that you spend weeks or months planning in advance, and is a huge adjustment for your body and mind. Since Dave and I had spent the preceding two months living in a campground in Chamonix, the transition into backpacking was remarkably insignificant. We were already spending every night in our two-person tent, cooking meals with our Jet Boil stove, wearing the same workout clothes every day, and going for long hikes. We really just had to get used to carrying a heavier pack and sleeping somewhere different every night. And doing so without showers…
Backpacking is a very empowering experience. You push yourself beyond your perceived limitations and struggle against both mind and body, sometimes unsure of success. There were moments when I wondered if we might have taken on too much by attempting the route in only eight days of hiking. But you can’t get stronger without a little suffering, and with every successful summit comes a great increase in mental and physical strength. I experienced amazing views I could never have seen otherwise and a truly unique perspective of the Alps. In reaching our final destination, 105 miles the wiser, the feelings of satisfaction and accomplishment were indescribable. We both finished the hike feeling stronger than ever before, and Littlefoot can’t wait to do it all again! With that said, in less than three weeks we will set out on the trekking Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt, exploring 120 miles and 40,000 vertical feel of Switzerland.
Bon Courage!
