Photos Of Whitby June 2021

 

Chamonix To Zermatt

The Haute Route

August 23rd 1994

The Final Countdown... walking up to Zermatt.

We left the hotel just as the town was filling with young people on their way to school. Walking along the road with them I felt a bit like an overgrown schoolboy with an outsized satchel on my back. The atmosphere created by the excited chattering of school children seemed to siut our mood, as our own excitement was barely beneath the surface. Today we would achieve what we had dreamed about for so long, so it was with great enthusiasm that we left St Niklaus and headed up the valley to Zermatt. The path out of the village was close to the railway line and each time a train went by the passengers waved to us, adding to what was beginning to feel like a carnival atmosphere. It’s not the most interesting part of The Haute Route, just a straight forward valley walk of fifteen miles or so, but a nice easy day for seasoned Alpinists.

It would not be fair to give the impression that the walk up the valley held no interest. Any lack of interest was down to us, on any other day it would have been a walk that would have satisfied our interests and curiosity for hours. There was still a lot to see and some very enjoyable scenery, but our interest was masked by the anticipation and the excitement that we inevitably felt. It was inevitable that on this day, if on no other, our objective was everything, today was all about arriving in Zermatt. By now we were getting hard to impress and all we wanted from today was to walk into Zermatt, all other distractions were kept to a minimum. Of course we were eager to see the Matterhorn at close quarters, but it’s one of the twists of this journey that ensures that the great mountain stays hidden from view right up to the last minute, only revealing itself to the successful Haute Routers when they are within fifteen minutes of the finishing line.

The weather looked clear as we left St Niklaus, but it would be an hour or two before the sun would penetrate the depths of this high sided valley. In this deep, narrow valley is inevitable that our track would follow the course of the railway, which followed the course of the road, which followed the course of the river.The various strands that run the length of the valley cross each other from time to time in a woven artery that runs from Zermatt to the Rhone Valley. Fortunately the most intrusive of these links, the road, was usually the furthest away from us and terminated at Tasch, a few miles below Zermatt.

The path entered the woods on the right hand side of the valley and the walking was comparatively easy with no seriously uphill sections, just a gradual climb up the valley. We were making good progress, until one major diversion set us back slightly.

Three years earlier there had been an enormous rock fall in the valley near the village of Randa. It’s plain to see, a great section of the mountain had collapsed into the valley, cutting all through routes. The disaster took place over three days with the first being on April 18th when 33 million cubic metres of rock fell from the mountain, burying the road and railway. It also blocked the river and a lake formed, threatening houses in the village. On April 22nd there was a further collapse, but not a significant as the first one, but on May 9th a further 15 million cubic metres of rock fell into the valley, further burying the road and railway and further damming of the river making the newly formed lake extend to 1.3 kilometres. The heavy rain and snowmelt that followed caused the village of Randa to be flooded until a channel was cut through the debris and the lake drained. Fortunately no one was killed though some animals perished and some properties were buried for ever. Within ten weeks the road and railway were diverted, although it was a couple of years before permanent routes were established. Which just leaves the footpath that we were following and that came to an abrupt end right infant of us. There was a fence across the path and all we could see on the other side was a mountainous pile of debris, looking rather like a huge scree, it was the rockfall that had happened just three years earlier. Work was still going on to landscape the area and re establish as much as possible of what had existed before, but for now the path didn’t exist. 

The Mattertal at Randa with the debris from the rockfall clearly visible.

A quick look at the map and we could see that we would have to retrace our steps to cross the river and just walk up the road until we could rejoin the path on the other side of Randa. The walk back to find a bridge took us half an hour and then we had forty five minutes of walking along the road until we could cross back over the river and back onto the path. This felt like the most dangerous part of the whole walk, not from further landslides, which do occur from time to time, but from the traffic. As bus after bus flew past us, taking their loads of tourists up towards Zermatt, we felt quite keen to get this section over with as soon as possible.

It was with great relief that we rejoined the path and resumed our walk in more peaceful surroundings. Unfortunately the weather appeared to be worsening, at the top end of the valley we could see The Briethorn and sometimes we could see it disappearing behind squally showers. It was looking more and more likely that we would be caught out in the rain. The wind was getting quite strong and gusty as we approached the village of Tasch, it was funnelling down the valley with such force that our progress was extremely difficult. It seemed like a good moment for a break, if only we could reach Tasch without getting wet. We had come all the way from Chamonix without getting seriously wet. The odd bit of drizzle around Mont Fort and a washed out day back in Les Hauderes where we had to abandon walking for the day, but thankfully we hadn't been caught out in anything resembling a good soaking. If the worst came to the worst we could always get the train up to Zermatt. It was a possibility, but never a serious consideration. I think we would rather have walked into Zermatt dripping wet than to arrive by train along with all the other tourists. As our determination became more and more focussed, our options were being cast one by one to the wind. As far as we were concerned, there was only one way forward. We had come this far on foot and that was how we would enter Zermatt.

We left the footpath and crossed the river once more, this time to visit Tasch to buy some lunch and have a restoring cup of hot chocolate before continuing. The wind that was blowing through the valley was cold and a cup of Suchard’s hot chocolate was delicious and very welcome.We had left St Niklaus with such haste that morning that we hadn’t stopped to buy anything for lunch, so I left Irene outside the supermarket in Tasch, guarding the rucksacks outside, while I took what seemed like an eternity to buy some fruit, cheese and chocolate to sustain us over the final leg of our expedition.

Tasch is literally the end of the road and all car and bus passengers must leave their vehicles there and get the train for the last few miles up to Zermatt. Consequently Tasch is like one great big car park. Field after field around the village, given over to the parking of motor vehicles.

We crossed over the railway line right next to the station without either of us even mentioning the possibility of catching a train. The weather was looking better again and the wind had dropped, so keen as ever, we crossed the river and rejoined the path. At the far end of the bridge was a footpath signpost that said ‘Zermatt 1hr 20 mins’. It’s hard to describe the significance of that small sign to us. Emotions were very mixed, after two weeks of walking, we were suddenly just eighty minutes from our destination and although we desperately wanted to complete the journey, we also didn't want it to end. Every signpost from now on was met with a kind of eagerness tinged with some regret, to see how many minutes of this great walk we had left. It really was the final countdown. It was both exciting and disappointing all at once. We had almost achieved our goal and at the same time it was almost over. Maybe it really is “Better to travel in hope…”.

The path climbed up through the woods, along the narrowing valley and we started to meet more and more people walking in the opposite direction, a sure sign that Zermatt wasn’t far away. We passed a signpost that told us we had just 10 minutes to go and finally Zermatt came into view under a grey sky. It was not a pretty sight as we approached from the north. There was a lot of construction work going on at this end of the town, with another noticeable feature being the heliport, where the helicopters of ZermattAir swooped in and out noisily. It started to rain and overall I began to feel that we should turn around as soon as we got there, maybe go back to one of those beautiful places we had passed through. Ironically, the path lead us directly into the station and we walked out into the square along with all the tourists who had just come up by train. We felt as though we should stop someone and tell them, we hadn’t come on the train, we had just walked here, all the way from Chamonix! But no, we just strolled across the square with the throng of day trippers eager for a sighting of The Matterhorn.

Zermatt

How does it feel to achieve a long held ambition that demands a good deal of effort? I hadn’t dared to even think about it until this moment, but I guess I had vaguely expected to feel elated, but I didn’t. I was tired after our walk and I was irritated by the hoards of people which can only have been emphasised by having hardly seen anyone over the past couple of weeks. Had I expected to feel like a different person? Did I expect that things would never look the same way again? I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't this. The square between the station and the Tourist Office was crowded, the streets looked crowded and soon after we first saw The Matterhorn it disappeared behind the clouds, like a curtain coming down on a finale. The show was over.

This didn’t feel like the place we had looked forward to arriving in for so long. It didn’t look like the kind of place we could enjoy. We went into the tourist office to check the availability of accommodation, crowds everywhere. We came out again, more crowds. In the heat of the town it felt so claustrophobic, after two weeks on deserted mountain paths and fresh mountain air we weren't used to this, it felt so alien. We went back into the tourist office again. Should we stay, or should we leave? Where would we go? Where should we stay? We had come not only to the end of our walk, but we had also come to the end of our plan and not having that discipline of preparing for the next day left us floundering with too much choice. We eventually took the plunge and I picked up a phone and that connected me to a nearby apartment building where I booked a room for three nights. Armed with a street map from the T.O. desk we left the throng in the square and five minutes later we were checking in at the Apartments Jollimont, a comfortable ground floor flat where we had three days to reflect and unwind this walk that we had just completed.

The days had flown by us since leaving Chamonix. It perhaps seems strange to say flown by almost unnoticed, when in fact there had been so much to notice, so much to see. Maybe too much to take in day after day. As one day’s walking came to an end it was time to start planning the next day. Never quite having the time to reflect on the day's achievements and sights before the next one came along. It had been all about being in the moment with no time for thinking about what we had done, all our thoughts and energies were focussed on now and what lay immediately ahead. So much had happened in the last seventeen days since we let home. Geneva, Argentiere, Chamonix, Trient, Champex, Verbier, Mont Fort, Nendaz, Arolla, Les Hauderes, Grimentz, St Luc, Gruben Meiden, St Niklaus and now finally, Zermatt. So many places that we had passed through, over seven mountain passes, past countless snow capped peaks and icy glaciers. Through many beautiful Swiss villages and valleys, seeing more beautiful scenery that anyone has a right to expect in a lifetime of walking. The whole experience had been a wonderful privilege.

We left our packs in the apartment and went in search of a bank and refreshment, in that order. The effects of the robbery earlier in our adventure were beginning to cause us some difficulty as cash machines were virtually non existent and banks few and far between. But one of the pluses of being in a tourist centre like Zermatt was that there was a lovely machine that spewed out Swiss Francs every time Irene showed her card. So refreshed and solvent we strolled around the streets of Zermatt. The warm sun came our as the day trippers drifted away. The magnificent Matterhorn cast it’s cloak of cloud and welcomed us, Zermatt began to feel like a different, more friendly place. As we began to relax, the realisation of what we had done began to filter through.

Today we walked triumphantly into Zermatt. There was no finishing line and nowhere to register our achievement, but by now the silly grin on our very sun tanned faces told the whole story. We had done it! We had passed the physical test we had set ourselves, overcome the difficulties that had arisen along the way, taken on the challenge and fulfilled an ambition. It isn't necessary to mark it with a gesture of any kind, our reward is something that we will feel inside, for ever.

The End

Views from around Zermatt

Chamonix To Zermatt 

The Haute Route

22nd August 1994

Gruben Meiden to St Niklaus.

The Mattertal….. Almost Zermatt

The valleys that we descended into at the end of every day were so deep that weather forecasting was quite difficult. At any one time, from the valley bottom, we could only see a few hours worth of weather to come and certainly not what the day ahead would hold for us. So it was with a little caution that we set out on this, the penultimate day of the trip. The previous day had been very hot and it still felt a little humid, even this early in the morning. There had been a thunder storm overnight but we hadn't heard much of it as the snoring from our neighbour drowned out the noise of the thunder. As we left the hotel at 07.30 and started to climb, what was left of the clouds seemed to be moving away down the valley. When we cleared the steep valley sides and the tree line, the view opened out and the weather was still improving. We could see now that it was set fair for the day and we pressed on with renewed confidence. Our lack of sleep didn’t seem to be holding us back and my disbelief that anyone person could make so much noise and be totally unaware of it, began to diminish. The further away we got from the hotel, the funnier the whole episode started to look.

There were no problems identifying the path, today it was a very quiet but very obvious route. The track lead into a boulder filled combe with patches of melting snow. Above us we could see our route all the way up to the pass quite clearly. We quickly gained ground on a group of about eight people, all walking slowly in a line, passing them on one of their many rest stops. One of them was using an umbrella for shade. As we looked back at them from a distance, they created a strange and alien looking image that seemed to belong to another place and time. It was really just the use of the sun shade and the walking in line that made it look like a scene reminiscent of  the days of The Raj as they slowly made their way up the mountain. They were the only people we saw all morning, we were over the pass and well down the other side before we met another soul. We were however greeted by a very friendly flock of angora sheep, looking magnificent with their black faces, twisted horns and thick wooly fleeces. Their approach was totally without caution and almost amounted to a charge they were so enthusiastic. They were obviously interested in what food we might have to share with them, but due to there being no shops in Gruben Meiden, rations were rather scarce for us, so I’m afraid we had to leave them disappointed.

Every pass presents a new vista, a new world of mountains to identify, a whole new breathtaking experience. The Augsbord Pass was no exception, it was possibly one of the most impressive of the whole walk, it felt like the best one had been saved for the final crossing, but it would be unjust to make comparisons of excellence and this particular view was about to  get even better  as we progressed. It was always a relief to reach the pass and see what the path was like down the other side. At this height deep snow can lay in the gullies even into August. The guide book had warned us that the eastern side of the Augsbord Pass was prone this, depending on how the previous winter had been. Looking down from the pass we could see some snow fields across our route ahead, but nothing that was likely to trouble us. Some of the snow was tinged with pink which looked a bit odd, but we later found out that it is a micro bacteria that can grow in old snow, making it take on a shade of pink. It was hard not to feel a surge of euphoria at the Augsbord Pass as this was the last pass to be crossed on our marathon walk. It seemed highly  unlikely that anything could get in our way now.The guide book did mention some exposed sections further along the path as it contoured around the corner of the mountain into the Mattertal, so we fought to keep our euphoria under wraps for now.

The terrain of the high mountain was very rocky as usual, glacial debris, like great natural tips of boulders and slabs piled on top of each other for evermore. The path was an old trade route that had been laid out using some of the flat slabs to form a pathway. In some places it was very distinct, in others the mountain was fighting back, the wild nature of the place was undeniable. We met one or two people going the other way, they were all from one party but had got strung out along the way. The party leader stopped to exchange a few words, asking if we had spent the night at the Schwarzhorn, we didn't like to tell her to avoid room sixteen at all costs. She then asked us where the others were which puzzled us a bit, but before we had chance to work out what she meant, she quickly answered her own question by saying that they must be further back. We didn't argue with her as we didn’t really understand the question. Being somewhat wary of the ‘exposed’ path ahead I enquired about how bad it was and where it occurred. We were assured that there were no problems ahead, “It’s an ancient trade route you know” came the reply. We did know, but by now we were struggling to get a word in edgeways. As we walked off in the opposite direction to the tour guide that knew everything, we reflected on how nice it is to travel alone, just the two of us, no one else, save for the odd brief encounter.

The Augsbord Pass

There is a point on this path where it turns around a corner of the mountain and suddenly, there before you is the whole of the Mattertal spread out below. It is a breath taking sight. From the Grosser Aletsch Gletcher on the far side of the Rhone valley up to the left, right up to the Briethorn to our right, with The Dom, the highest mountain wholly in Switzerland, directly across the valley. There was a cairn here at this most wonderful of viewpoints where, over the centuries many travellers must have stopped to gaze at the wonder of the sights around them. We removed our packs, very unusual for the time of day, they usually stayed on until we had reached our destination. But now we could see the rest of our route, it suddenly felt like we had done it! Nothing could stop us now, tomorrow we would walk the last few miles along the valley to Zermatt. We sat down, time didn't matter anymore, now all our deadlines were behind us. It was one of the most moving moments of the whole walk as we thought back of all we had seen in the past couple of weeks. Chamonix seemed like a long way behind us now, Trient and Champex like a lifetime away. All those magnificent mountains and valleys behind us mixed with the magnificence of the sheer spectacle of all that was there before us. And then, the feeling that our goal was within our grasp…

The view along The Mattertal

From there it was still a long way down to St Niklaus, approximately five thousand feet and we still had to get there, so eventually we reloaded and continued along the ancient trade route. The way was still paved in places which was a constant reminder of it’s past use and its importance in connecting one valley to the next. No sooner had Irene said “I wonder how long it is since a pack horse last travelled this route?”, when a man leading a heavily laden mule appeared, heading up the track towards us. I cant imagine where he was heading and I’m not at all sure where he came from, there was an almost eerie feel about his sudden appearance. Eventually the path lead us into the small mountain village of Jungen, accessible only on foot or by cable car. We wandered slowly through the village towards the cable car, just to see if it was running. It didn’t appear to be working but on closer inspection we found that it was necessary telephone down to the bottom station to summon the gondola. Well once we had made that call to enquire when the next one would run, it was on it’s way up to us. We could hardly say no now could we? And neither did we want to, today it felt ok to take a ride for a change after another eight hours of walking. The gondola was tiny with seating room for four passengers and when we were joined by two elderly Swiss people, together with our large packs, it became a bit of a squeeze, we were crammed in like sardines.

Heading down to St Niklaus

It was very hot down in St Niklaus when we spilled out of the cable car and we wandered the streets looking for a suitable hotel. We were surprised to find very little choice and after walking around the village for half an hour we booked into the Hotel Monte Rossa. It was a self contained apartment with its own kitchen and a pair of skis on the balcony… just in case I guess. The meal that night was….  interesting…. unusual…. no, it was awful! There was only one word for it, awful! It was mostly meat that seemed to have been boiled together with the vegetables. We decided to skip breakfast the next morning and tried to settle the bill with the excuse that we needed an early start. It didn’t work, he wouldn’t hear of us starting the day on an empty stomach. After the meal we had just eaten it seemed like the best option, but we couldn’t refuse, breakfast it seemed was compulsory.

Breakfast was also magnificent, such a contrast from the night before. Sugar puffs and plain Swiss yoghurt, several hams, sausage, cheese, boiled eggs, freshly baked bread, jam, honey, croissants. If only I had realised at the time how much weight I had lost on this walk, I would have eaten all of it. As it was I left a slice of ham in a vain attempt not to appear too greedy.

tomorrow…

The Final Countdown... walking up to Zermatt.

Chamonix To Zermatt

The Haute Route

August 21st 1994

St Luc to Gruben Meiden

We knew from the very start that the challenges that this walk offered would be as varied as it’s delights. On this particular day we were presented with both, an unexpected challenge at the start of the day and a pleasant discovery at the end of it. The first unexpected twist came when I went to pay for our night at the Beau Site, they didn't take plastic, they expected us to pay in cash! It came as a bit of a shock in the country that bases much of its reputation on banking, that they expected us to pay with real money and real money was something that we didn’t carry much of since I last saw my wallet some two weeks ago. This presented us with a slight problem, a lack of ready cash, added to the fact that it was Sunday and the banks were closed (these were the days before cash machines). I had an idea that we might just have enough cash between us providing that the hotelier would cash our one remaining travellers cheque. This would leave us totally without cash and the place we were heading to in the Turtmmantal was such a remote valley with little more than one hotel, it certainly didn’t have a bank within a days walk. There wasn’t really an alternative, we had to deal the immediate problem now facing us and cash the cheque and hope for the best when we got to Gruben Meiden later in the day. I think the man at the hotel took pity on us as he gave us a very good exchange rate so that the money we had would match the bill he presented us with. I think he realised it was the only way he would get paid in full, if he had given us the usual low rate offered by hotels, we wouldn’t have had enough cash to pay him. However, he didn’t have to do it, he was a nice man and it was a generous gesture, but we did leave his hotel wondering where our next meal was coming from.

With that thought in mind we wandered up through the village of St Luc, heading for the Hotel Schwarzhorn, the Meidpass and eventually Gruben Meiden. There wouldn’t be a problem, so long as the hotel accepted the right cards, but if they didn’t we were stuck until we could get to a bank and there were no banks anywhere near Gruben Meiden, added to that it appears to be the only valley in Switzerland that has no public transport whatsoever. Maybe we should stay another night in St Luc so that we could go to the bank tomorrow, a diversion that we could definitely do without, especially as the weather was good for walking and we didn’t want to hang about. I had a few coins left in my pocket which I examined carefully. There was just enough there for one phone call. I stood nervously in the phone box listening to the phone ringing the Hotel Schwarzhorn, someone answered, in German and I struggled to make myself understood, it wasn’t working. So as a last ditch attempt I reverted to French “accepter vous Carte Bleu?”, “Oui, Visa est OK” came the reply. Woo Hoo… catastrophe averted!

The walk out of St Luc was very pleasant, with the cash issue off now our shoulders we could progress lightly along the path leading up towards the Meidpass. We were in a better state to appreciate its beauty that when we walked down this way the previous evening when we arrived feeling very hot and tired.The freshness of a clear sunny morning made the village look all the more picturesque and yes, the Matterhorn was still there. The first thing I had done when I got up in the morning was to go out onto the balcony, just to see if it was real, or had I just dreamt of a wonderful walk in paradise. 

The high mountain location of the Hotel Weisshorn

We filled our water bottles at the top of the village and continued upwards towards the Meidpass. The climb back up to the Weisshorn Hotel where we should have been starting our day was a climb of 2,400ft, just to get back up to the route and begin our ascent of the Meidpass. It was very steep and relentless, following a waterfall all the way up through the forest. I’m sure the psychological effect of a hard, two hour climb just to get to what should have been our starting point made the whole thing seem more difficult than it really was. It was a great relief to get out of the forest and into the open where the steepness eased for a whiled we were once again back on the trail ‘proper’. Above the forest at a point that overlooked the whole of the Val de Zinal, down to St Luc and right across to Grimentz, a boulder of around two metres diameter had been deliberately placed in a relatively flat area and on top of the boulder was a large, shiny ball of stainless steel measuring about a metre across. There was no explanation for its presence, no tell tale signs other that it shone beautifully in the bright morning sunshine. Just a big silver ball on a big grey rock, well it was something different to think about as we continued our upward progress to the the pass. Carefully we followed the map, because there wasn’t really a path at this point and we could still remember the difficulties that we caused ourselves at Prafleuri. We navigated by sight up to a mountain dairy and then up to a long since deserted farm that was being renovated. From there we traversed along the crest of a lateral moraine to pick up the path once more before the final steep ascent to the pass.

Lunch was taken on top of the moraine, we had intended to go over the moraine and sit beside a small lake on the other side, but when we saw how far down the loose moraine it was we decided that we were content with the view from the top. With four and a half hours of walking already under our belts and the col still a good distance away before we began the long descent into Gruben Meiden, the thought of adding a detour to visit a mountain tarn now seemed just a little extravagant. It was already going to be a very long day without that. There was a slight variation to the lunch menu today, cheese and fruit were still on, even though the cheese smelled off. A nice tasty Reblochon cheese is very pungent at the best of times. Due to climatic difficulties the chocolate had to be withdrawn from the menu and discreetly disposed of, it was running all over the place! The last few hundred feet up to the pass were desolate and rocky, one of those places that feel like the glacier has not been long gone. There were old patches of snow lying around with pools of meltwater below them. The ridge itself was very jagged and crumbling, not unsafe at  all but it had the appearance of a mountain that is still finding its shape. After six hours of climbing we at last reached the highest point of the Meidpass at just under ten thousand feet. There were two people on the top which came as a surprise as we hadn't seen anyone for hours. They kindly got up and with a smile, offered us their seats, which only served to emphasise the remote loneliness of this high mountain heaven. They departed into the vastness spread out below us and we watched as they slowly got smaller and smaller.

The Meidpass

The pass marks the crossing point from the Val de Zinal with its views dominated by Dent d’herens, into the Turtmantaal with the massive Weisshorn at the top end. It also marked the crossing point from French speaking Switzerland into the German speaking part of the Canton Valais. The long walk down into the valley would at least give us a few hours to practice this latest linguistic challenge, had there been anyone to practice on, but there was just the two of us and we were still conversing in Lancastrian English.

We stayed on the col just long enough to admire the vast views down both sides and to record it on film before we continued down to a mountain lake that looked remarkably like a Lakeland tarn, except that we were still eight thousand feet up and the surrounding peaks were covered in snow and glaciers. The couple that had vacated their seats at the pass were sat beside the lake but didn’t repeat the courtesy, so we had to carry on. Higher up the valley we watched as a silvery looking glider played on the thermals around the Weisshorn, glinting in the afternoon sun. Like a giant bird, it soared gracefully around the high peaks. Eventually we arrived at a small hamlet of summer farms, still remote and high up on the mountainside, they were in varying states of repair. One or two of them looked like they were still used and some looked like they had suffered the ravages of the severe winters that would undoubtedly occur up here. They were obviously too far up the mountain for mains services, just a communal trough fed from a spring and  placed in the midst of the group of cottages. They had no electricity apart from a couple that looked like they had been restored as holiday homes and they had solar panels. Very remote homes, but the attractions were all to apparent as we walked through the deserted hamlet and into the magnificent landscape that was their everyday view. In the meadows below the hamlet we were surprised to find mountain pasque flowers still in bloom, another early spring flower, on this the twenty first of August.

Walkers Of The World Unite

You Have Nothing To Lose But Your Sleep

Down into the forest once again and it was beginning to feel like we were approaching our place of rest for the evening, but we still hadn’t caught sight of Gruben Meiden, let alone the Hotel Schwarzhorn. The views of The Turtmanntal were a constant attraction and left us feeling that as with many other valleys we had visited on this walk, there were a lot more walks to do there, if ever we find the time to revisit. The path wound relentlessly down the  side of the valley and eventually we spotted the hotel, but the path kept winding, down and down into the valley bottom. There would be no searching for the hotel today as it was the only building of any significance in the valley, set as it was amidst a small group of ancient wooden chalets, huddled together for self defence against the elements that will certainly have a great influence on people’s lives here.

The village of Gruben Meiden with Hotel Schwarzhorn at the back.

We eventually found the hotel reception on the first floor where the owner took our details, I could not remember a word of German! I like to think it was because I was tired, but if Im honest, really honest, I never knew very much in the first place. I learned a few words and phrases once, but getting by in French for the past couple of weeks had completely erased  them from my memory, just when I could almost count to ten! It was back to the drawing board as they say in English. It wouldn't have been much use to me anyway as the room we were allocated was number sixteen, that never happened on my tape of “German For Holiday Makers” that I had spent six months trying to absorb. Our problems were compounded somewhat by the key to our room becoming detached from the key fob and madame (or Frau) insisted on fixing it before handing it over. We stood watching her perform Chinese puzzles with the dam thing for what seemed like quarter of an hour. It’s a longtime to stand with a thirty pound pack that has been on your back for the past eight hours. I had a go at fixing it for her and although I wasn’t successful either, I did manage to hold it in a way that convinced our hostess that I had performed a repair and at last we were shown to our room.

Not as salubrious as some of the places we had stayed in, in fact it was a little tired and shabby in places, but as it was the only hotel in the valley we felt very lucky to have booked the last available room. We went out into the garden and relaxed over a nice cool glass of beer. Two young backpackers arrived, they looked very tired and weary and were talking to our hostess who seemed to be suggesting which houses they might try to find a room for the night. It was a very hot Sunday afternoon and there were quite a few day trippers around, amongst them was a large family group that appeared to have consumed large amounts of alcohol over the course of the afternoon. Sat at another table we could see the couple that we met at the pass earlier in the day. No problem here though, plenty of seats for everyone.

We sat drinking our beer, relaxing and taking in the splendid scenery. On the table there was a leaflet about the Hotel Schwarzhorn which I began to idly peruse. As I read through the history of the building it switched to some information about the family who own the hotel. To our interest and amusement I discovered that the owners family name was Marx and he was known to his friends as Charlie, but it seemed beyond coincidence when I read that his first name was actually Karl! He must be the grandson, or great grandson of the great man himself. We couldn’t believe that purely by accident we had ended up staying with a direct descendent of the father of communism. This was the unexpected surprise of the day that I mentioned earlier. We never did confirm the lineage with Charlie, maybe  because he didn't speak any English, or maybe we didn’t want to risk the story being spoiled. So we will never know for certain, but we were sure we could see a family likeness.

Everyone was in the restaurant for seven o’clock and Karl marx had prepared medallions of pork in a peppercorn sauce, served with pasta. Perfect walking food and it was delicious. He wandered around the dining room taking the compliments of his hungry guests and serving out second helpings, working on an equal footing with his staff. We were all fed each according to our needs, so fully satisfied we retired to the bar.

It wasn't very long before fatigue got the better of us, so hopeful of another long night of restorative sleep, we returned to our room. Thoughts of tomorrows challenge were occupying our thoughts, the Augsbord Pass, another high pass that was marginally under 10,000ft. Another huge day of walking with well over 4,000ft of ascent, but this was the final pass, it would take us over to St Niklaus in the Mattertal, just one day away from Zermatt.

Some time later that evening, when we had managed to drift off into our much needed sleep, we were awoken by the unmistakeable noise of two very drunk sounding people trying to get up the stairs. I had the feeling it was around one in the morning, but had no idea really, it could have been much earlier. Often when you are woken from even a short spell of deep sleep it can seem like more time has passed than actually has. The two stumbling, noisy, drunks found their way to their room, which unfortunately was the next one to ours, where they continued to make more noise as they stumbled around the room. At least it would go quiet soon, when they fall into a deep and drunken slumber. Or so I thought. We spent the rest of the night longing for daylight when we could escape the incessant din that kept us awake for the rest of the night without any further sleep whatsoever. I have never heard snoring like it!! Never!! It is impossible to describe the noise, not a constant low pitched drone, but a staggered snort of a hundred decibels. I doubt if anyone in the whole hotel could sleep, but our adjoining room had an adjoining door which didn't offer any barrier to sound at all. The next language tape I buy won’t be “Getting By In German” it will be “Getting Angry In German”. I could have strangled him, if only I had the language to tell him why I was doing it!

Morning eventually came and with a great relief. As I refilled my pack Irene suggested that I should be a bit quieter as I might waken the people in the next room. I;m not a vengeful person, but I must confess that on this occasion it would have given me great pleasure.

After breakfast we got Karl Marx to fill our water bottles (I can’t resist a bit of name dropping), paid the bill, by card and set off once more into the mountains.

POWER TO THE PEOPLE!

Chamonix To Zermatt

The Haute Route

August 19th & 20th 1994

Grimentz to Zinal and on to St Luc

The forecast wasn’t brilliant, but looked good enough to see us through the next three days at least. Was five good days more than we could hope for? Grimentz was rapidly being transformed into a finishing point for the grand bike race. It looked like a process that was familiar to them as the pistes were converted into bike runs and a large grandstand was erected at the top end of the village and barriers were erected everywhere. The village was also filling up with cyclists and their support crews, media people were arriving and it was obviously going to be a very busy weekend, with what was looking like quite a prestigious event. We were leaving just in time. 

Lac de Moiry 

We loaded our packs and slung them onto our shoulders and headed out to make progress once more. We walked back up to the barrage, only this time, instead of heading along the lake, we headed up the mountain to cross the Col De Sorebois and over to the village of Zinal. The day felt very different from yesterday, with icy winds and grey skies, not the clear, sunny day of twenty four hours ago. We couldn’t resist a stop at the cafe by the barrage for a very welcome cup of hot chocolate. It warmed us through and gave us an energy boost ready to tackle the steep ascent ahead. On and on the path continued zig zagging back and forth, but always upwards. Without ever being busy, there was a surprising number of people on this stretch of path and also surprisingly, many of them looked very ill equipped for the mountains. Eventually we reached the col at 9,543 feet, from here it was all down hill to Zinal. Or it would have been had we chosen to take that route. We may have been tired from the climb up, but the summit of Corne De Sorbois looked temptingly close at hand and was after all only another 110 feet up from the col. So we kept going, onwards and upwards, we couldn’t miss out on a summit when it was so close by. The extra little climb was worth it, the views took our breath away, literally! It was so windy we could hardly stand up!

We could see for miles into the high peaks all around us and far down into the deep valleys on either side of Sorebois. The villages of Grimentz one side, Zinal on the other and St Luc straight ahead, they looked so far down below us that it felt like the view from an aeroplane. We could see the Lac De Moiry shining bright and blue, far below us and the subtle concave curve of the dam at its northern end.  Time to move on, conditions were not conducive to hanging about and admiring the view for too long. I must just mention one other unusual sight. There was one other person up there at the summit, a man, who seemed to think he was an aeroplane. He was running around in great looping runs, holding the bottom corners of his jacket, with his arms in the air, rather like a child does when they are pretending to fly. Given the conditions I’m surprised he didn’t take off, I kept expecting the gale force wind to whisk him off into the unknown.

returning to the col we took the path down towards Zinal and once off the ridge, the sun came out and it began to warm up. There was a cable car from just below the ridge that could have taken us straight down to Zinal, but it was never a consideration. We had all the time in the world and we were enjoying the walk down in the afternoon sunshine, so we passed by the cable car station with hardly a mention. “ oh look a cable car”, “oh yes, I wonder who uses them?”. 

The path down from Col de Sorebois to Zinal 

The descent down into Zinal seemed never ending, winding this way and that through endless forests, but there were views of a new range of mountains to familiarise ourselves with. Besso, Zinal Rothorn and the Weisshorn (14,645 feet) as well as the Zinal Glacier, towering over the upper Zinal Valley. The other Besso I was looking for by now was the Hotel Besso and by the time we spotted it in the late afternoon, it too was a wonderful sight.

It was easy to see how the hotel got it’s name, the window in our room opened up onto a valley with Besso, the mountain, dominating the view. The room was aesthetically perfect, absolutely delightful. It was very tastefully decorated and everything matched and fit together perfectly. Not quite as roomy as the Hotel Moiry, but this one just edges it for the award of most perfect room of the trip.

Dinner however was a different matter. The restaurant was very, very stylish, to the point of making me feel a little uncomfortable as I sat there in my walking gear, trying not to look too conspicuous. We didn’t have room in our packs for the clothes we would normally wear for this kind of dining, nor would we have wanted to carry them. After a long day’s walking the main requirement is food, lots of it and quickly. We were doing nine hour walks, sometimes more and tough walks at that, there was a lot of replenishment needed at the end of the day. Lots of carbs were best of all, large plates of pasta was what I was craving by the evening. Of course the quality of the food is important too, but most of all it needs to be free flowing and filling. Although the food at Hotel Besso really was excellent, it was a bit too nouvelle cuisine to be satisfying and worse still, there was half an hour between courses, which for me meant that the hunger I felt, never actually went away. Not that the service was poor, it was simply meant to be an experience to savour at leisure. Our needs were not matched by the occasion and perhaps we were not in the right condition to make the most of it. After dinner we went for a stroll around the village and topped up our diet with biscuits and crisps from a vending machine that was conveniently placed across the road from the hotel.

 

 
                                                                            Zinal
 

We had been promised by the guide book, that the walk from Zinal to the Weisshorn Hotelwould be something special, probably the best day of the walk and it certainly lived up to it’s promise. The weather seemed to be on an improving cycle, maybe, just maybe, we could get enough good days out of it to see us through to Zermatt, we were hopeful, even optimistic. By now we were confident that we were fit enough and strong enough to do this and only the weather could prevent us from successfully completing the walk.

Aug 20th 1994 

As usual the walk started with a steep, very steep climb up through the afforested lower slopes of the mountain. We tried to identify the birds that were living in the pine trees in quite large numbers, but our sightings were few and very fleeting as they darted between the trees and disappeared into the dense foliage. We could hear them almost all of the time, their calls varied from a soft mewing sound to a raucous Jay like call. They were a similar size and shape to a Jay, but much darker. They were  similar to a woodpecker, but not bright enough in colour. It was only some time later when we saw a poster of ‘Birds of The Alps’ that we were able to identify it as a Nutcracker, a dark bluish member of the woodpecker family. They live on a diet of pine cones and we had seen lots of discarded, chewed pine cones on the floor of the forests, but had put it down to the black squirrels, that were also our regular companions through the forest sections of our walks. 

 

Meeting friends along the way

 

Our daily walks really were very challenging and had to be planned as strictly as possible, but each day also had it’s lighter and spontaneous moments. Moments of unexpected pleasure and delight, not just from the spectacular views, but often in less expected and less obvious ways. Moments that nature would spring upon us, like the spotting of a new flower, the sighting of a soaring raptor, a comical squirrel or stoat. So many ways in which nature kept us interested and entertained. Our walks were a daily communion with nature, we were spending more time out in the open countryside, the wild, wide open countryside, than either of us had done for many years, if ever before.

 

The Zinal Valley

 

Each time we reached a break in the trees we stopped to look back at the mountains and each time the clouds seemed to have lifted higher. It even looked as though they were just about to clear the mountains completely. We stopped and watched, but each time as the clouds lifted, more clouds followed behind, slowing down as they reached the mountains, giving us tantalising glimpses, but never fully clearing. The sky was a deep blue across most of the sky, the only clouds left now were just clinging around the highest peaks and they too would soon be burned away by the hot sunshine that was increasing in intensity as the morning wore on.

The path eventually eased to a gentle incline, clear of the trees, sometimes contouring along the wild alpine meadows. Zinal was now far below us with glaciers sweeping down to the valley from Le Besso, Dent D’herens and many other major snow covered peaks that tower way above the top end of the valley. Then as the last of the clouds disappeared, revealed in all it’s glory, we had our first full view of The Matterhorn, one of the most exciting moments of our long walk. It was a special moment, to actually see our destination for the first time and believe that the end really was in sight. In truth it was still a good three and a half days of walking before we would arrive in Zermatt, but at least now we could see the end and realise that the start was well and truly behind us, just a distant memory. The progress was real and tangible, however, it did feel a little strange that The Matterhorn was behind us and we were walking away from it, but that’s just the nature of the walk, we had to get to the point where we could cross from one valley to the next over the high mountain pass. The view was magnificent. With every twist and turn of the path, every change of direction or elevation, the view changed and every time we stopped to take yet more photographs. It was so beautiful up there that we converted what should have been a three hour walk into a five hour photo session. 

The Matterhorn and Weisshorn at the head of the Zinal valley 

We came across an old run down farmstead with what just about passed for a field alongside it. The building was run down and had suffered the ravages of the weather at seven thousand feet. There was no one living there, but there was a group of four beautiful horses, two fully grown and two young foals, grazing together in the sunshine with the most spectacular of backdrops that any horse could ever wish for.

The valley began to widen and we had to negotiate a series of embankments that had been built up as avalanche protection for the residents far below. It’s quite awe inspiring to see the extent of the work that is needed to slow down the sliding snows that obviously threaten the area during the winter and early spring. The structures were like huge dams waiting to be filled with water, only in this case they were waiting to catch the snow and harness the power of gravity. The terrain changed to a more loose kind of limestone underfoot, a more jagged horizon and a rougher landscape altogether. Then at last, the Hotel Weisshorn came into view. This should have been our resting place for the night, but the hotel was fully booked with visitors up here for the weekend, so after refreshment and a brief look around it’s faded nineteenth century splendour, we headed off down the valley to the village of St Luc. It was much further than we had expected and some two hours later we were wandering through the village looking for the Hotel Beau Site. That’s the trouble with booking ahead, you never quite know how convenient the hotel is likely to be, but it does relieve the anxiety of having to find somewhere at the end of a long day of walking.

The Hotel Weisshorn with St Luc in the valley far below. 

Most of the hotels that we used along the way seemed to have an obvious reason for their names and on arrival  at Hotel Beau Site we could clearly see the reason behind this one. It faced up the valley towards the highest summits and the eye was constantly drawn to that magical mountain, The Matterhorn. I don't think I spoke much during dinner that night, I just watched The Matterhorn turning pink under the setting sun.