Chamonix To Zermatt
The Haute Route
August 16th 1994
Les Hauderes, Grimentz, and the Moiry Glacier.
Sole Searching
We really did fall in love with Arolla, a beautiful, small village high up in the Swiss Alps, but the time came when we had to leave. It would have been easy to stay longer, there is still more walking to be done at the top end of that beautiful valley and the Hotel Glacier was very comfortable. The food was excellent, I couldn’t believe how much of it was brought to our table and they probably couldn’t believe how little of it they took away (none)! Zermatt was beckoning, we were still committed to completing this walk, so it was time to make progress, but not before one more small episode of note on the morning of our departure.
For a few days now the inner sole of my right boot had been scrunching up inside and becoming rather uncomfortable. It had been beaten into a different shape by the constant pounding as I tripped lightly over the mountains. I have to say, I was a bit reluctant try and buy new ones, purely because I didn’t know what they were called in French and when it comes to this kind of situation, I have form and it’s not good. But the inner sole problem was close to causing some damage to my foot and the last thing I needed on a walk like this was a blister, or worse. There was however a very promising looking outdoor shop in Arolla and I thought it would be worth exploring, to see if I could spot some without having to go through the difficulties of asking for them. I seem to have a knack of getting drawn into this kind of conversation, where the only word I don’t know, is the primary subject of the conversation. It can get ridiculously impossible. I wandered around the shop, but no luck, I couldn’t see any and by now the assistant had spotted me and was homing in to ‘help’, oh no! So I pointed to my boots and said chausettes? which of course resulted in me being taken to see an extensive display of thick wooly socks. At this point I could have just said “merci”, smiled and left, but no, against my better judgement , I tried again. “Non non”, I picked up a boot from the display and ran my finger along the bottom edge showing quite obviously, or so I thought, that I wanted the flat bit that sits inside the bottom of the boot. The response was to offer me a tin of boot wax! “Non non” and I pointed inside the boot and wondered how I was going to get out of the shop without further embarrassment, but it was too late. I was now being offered a spray can for the inside of my boots to stop my feet from smelling! “Mais Non!” In the belief that there could not be many possibilities left I decided to persist. Still holding the boot in one hand, I ran my other hand out flat, next to it. My mime skills were being tested to the full. “Le plan chausettes” I found myself saying out loud. ‘The flat sock’? For goodness sake! I was scraping the barrel now, but it worked. “Ah” the assistant cried in a eureka moment, “le inner sole” We both laughed with relief and at how simple the answer actually was. Oh well, success in the end, but non, when the laughter died down, they didn’t have any in stock!
So struggling to keep pace with Irene, I limped down the track towards Les Hauderes, hopping every third step to keep up. At least I wouldn’t have to repeat that process over again, now that I know what to ask for. Le inner sole, obvious really, why didn’t I think of that.
As we had already walked up the valley from Les Hauderes to Arolla along the high path, just a couple of days earlier, we felt justified in taking the walk down along the valley bottom. This was not to make the walk easier of course, no, it was purely to give us some variation. It was a gorgeous sunny morning and we took our time, enjoying every single step of the way, or in my case every other step, along this little corner of paradise. We watched trout in clear pools by the wayside, photographed the wild flowers along the edge of the stream and took in deep breaths of fresh mountain air. Absolute bliss, just to feel the sheer joy of being alive on a day like this.
As we walked down the valley we could see beyond Les Hauderes to the Col de Torrent, at nine and a half thousand feet, this was tomorrow’s crossing point that we would be taking into the next valley and to the village of Grimentz. It looked a long and steep climb, but aren’t they all and anyway, that was for tomorrow. Today we were enjoying the freedom of The Alps!
We passed through the small hamlet of Les Gouilles on the path down the valley, from Arolla to Les Hauderes.
We arrived in Les Hauderes in time for lunch and decided to check out the Hotel Edelweiss where we had pre booked a room for the night. We should preferably have been staying at La Sage, a very small village a few miles further up along our route, but the only hotel there was full. This would make tomorrow’s walk a little longer, but what is a few miles when you are getting fitter every day? That afternoon we decided to check out the route anyway and walked up to La Sage before returning back down to Les Hauderes for the night. It seemed like a good plan, however I didn’t realise that I had not been fully briefed. For me the plan would have meant checking into the Edelweiss and leaving our packs there, before our little sortie up to La Sage, but Irene would have none of it. We would keep our rucksacks with us, that’s what trekking is all about isn’t it? Well there’s rules and there’s rules surely? So, fully laden, we took to the trail to La Sage and on towards Col de Torrent.
It was a pleasant walk up to La Sage, first through forest and then out into open meadows. The architecture around here is typically Valaisian, chalets and barns made of wood, turned a very dark colour through age and weathering, supported on staddle stones. The views back up the valley towards Arolla were wonderful and opened up the more we climbed up towards La Sage. At the top end of the village of La Sage, on a rocky outcrop, there was a chapel dedicated to St Christopher, so as travellers we felt obliged to pay a visit, if only out of curiosity. The views from here made the short climb up worthwhile. We sat on the small, flat grassy area in front of the chapel and enjoyed a nice juicy nectarine. It was the hottest part of the day and beginning to feel very humid. Just below the chapel and with similar views, there was a property for sale. It was just a small barn in a field, but with views like that, we couldn’t stop ourselves from dreaming.
Back in Les Hauderes I was allowed to take off my pack and check into the hotel. We wandered around the pretty narrow streets of the village, in search of ‘le inner sole’ and without too much effort, or fuss, we were successful, full comfort restored at last! We changed some travellers cheques at the local estate agents office and while we were there we saw a picture of the barn for sale in La Sage. The asking price for the shell of an empty barn was Sf 90,000 roughly £50,000, enough to buy a decent three bedroomed house back home. Ah well, another dream that has passed the way of dreams.
The humidity was really building by now and large clouds were starting to grow, prospects for tomorrow were beginning to give us some concern. A quick check of the weather forecast confirmed what we already suspected, but didn’t want to admit. Tomorrow was going to be a total washout, with torrential rain and thunder and lightening thrown in. There was no way we could keep going in that! Or more precisely, there is no way it would be safe to head up into the mountains on a day like that. There was some irony in the fact we should have been crossing the Col de Torrent, but it is not a place to be in torrential rain and a thunder storm.
We visited the local mini supermarket for postcards and provisions, not knowing it would take me the rest of the day to check out. I was only third in the queue, but each customer was treated to several minutes of intense conversation between each item that was checked through the till. Added to that, the man on the till appeared not to know any of the prices, so for each item he had to go wandering off around the shop to find a price! I wish I knew what they were talking about, it had the air of gossip about it, because although I didn’t understand the words, I did recognise the facial expressions, the gestures, the hushed tones and the sideways glances and the knowing nods. It must have been gossip because when it was my turn I was whisked through in seconds. I had no juicy information to impart, no stories of intrigue to tell. I wanted to make contact and was indeed tempted to start a conversation, but the memory of the mornings quest for an inner sole was still fresh. So I stopped short of sharing pleasantries and satisfied myself with some inner peace, two postcards, two nectarines and a bar of Swiss chocolate.
Optimistic as ever, we decided over dinner that the thunder storm that was now crashing around us had come early and would therefore depart early. So tomorrow would be fresh and sunny after all, enabling us to continue over the Col de Torrent to Grimentz. And then we considered the what ifs, mainly what if we are wrong, what if the rain is still with us when we get up in the morning. We had to think about the unthinkable and start considering some contingency plans. It seemed we had three options. The first one was a none starter and the was to press on regardless of the weather, but that would be fool hardy. The second option was to stay put in Les Hauderes until the weather improved, but a day of hanging around in the rain, chomping at the bit, didn’t hold much attraction either. The third option was to catch the early morning bus to Sion down in the Rhone valley, then a train to Sierre, where we could catch another bus up to Grimentz.
We didn’t even have to get out of bed in the morning to know what the weather was like. Lying there in our hotel room, the darkness told us about the kind of day we had woken up to, exactly as the forecast had predicted. At breakfast we could hear the thunder rumbling around the mountains and the streets of Les Hauderes were awash. A quick dash to the village square and we were on the ten to eight bus heading for Sion.
To Grimentz...
I may go on about it from time to time, but I never cease to be impressed by the transport system in Switzerland. We travelled down the Val D’Heremence, along the Rhone valley and then up the Val D’Anniviers to end up at the other side of the mountain from where we had started out earlier that same day. A simple enough concept, but is it really so complicated that other countries struggle to achieve it with such precision and with so little fuss? The topography of Switzerland must make it one of the the most difficult places in the world to build a comprehensive transport network, but they have done it. It combines the railways, post buses, cable cars and water transport, all co-ordinated and connected, reliable and run with pride. A fantastic service that serves both tourists and locals alike.
The bus ride up to Grimentz was spectacular. As I looked up the Val D’Anniviers I didn’t think it was possible to proceed by bus and although it wasn’t specified on the timetable, I was sure at some point we would have to change to a mule train. We didn’t of course, a road had been cut into the sheer sides of the valley, not as a ledge, but as a groove! We had the road under us, rock to our left and a rocky roof above us. I don’t like to remember too much about what was to our right, but every time I dared to look, there was a lot of fresh air between us and the valley floor that was so far below us that it was only occasionally visible.
We arrived in Grimentz in a thunder storm, the same one that we hoped to have left behind that morning. In the torrential rain we ran into the first hotel we saw, it was the Hotel Moiry. This one gets my vote for the best room of the whole trip, oh, apart from the one would check into in Zinal. Okay, the best one so far. The room was spacious, freshly decorated, clean, comfortable and best of all, very warm. The thunder storm had brought with it a drop in temperature of some fourteen degrees centigrade and when the rain stopped and the cloud lifted a little, we weren’t surprised to see fresh snow down to quite a low level. We could only imagine what conditions would have been like on the Col de Torrent. Our room also had a large, enclosed balcony, rather like a conservatory, where I sat with map and compass, identifying the landmarks around us, getting my bearings and generally getting to know our surroundings in this ‘new’ valley. Or I may just have been “pratting about”, it depends who’s version you choose to listen too.
Grimentz is an absolutely idyllic mountain village. It is everything you would expect a Swiss village to be. It is a bit of a tourist trap, but it is so far out of the way to ever get too busy. However, such an attractive place, combined with it’s good skiing facilities is bound to attract attention and the price that Grimentz pays for that is only 15% of the properties here are permanently occupied, with 83% being holiday homes. With a permanent population of just 385, Grimentz has a very gentle and quiet atmosphere.
About fifty metres up the road from our hotel there was a traffic free zone. The streets were so narrow that cars would struggle to negotiate the twists and turns and the overhanging upper stories of these old cobbled streets. Every building in this part of the village is like a picture from a calendar or chocolate box. Dark wooden chalets draped with red geraniums, carvings hanging from walls and balconies, ancient carved doors and crooked outside staircases. Some of the buildings here date back to the fifteen hundreds and now they are preserved in a conservation area, so that we can see the way that villages used to be built, tightly together for protection from the snow. Some of the buildings almost touched or overlapped at roof level, giving as much protection as possible from the elements.
Wherever I Lose My Hat……
As a result of the inclement weather and our journey to Grimentz, this had been the first day without a walk since leaving the Chamonix valley, ten days ago. By the following morning we were desperate to be off walking again. We had booked into the hotel for a couple of nights to give us the chance to see more of the area. So you can imagine our frustration when we got up the following morning to discover that it was still raining. We listened carefully to the weather forecast on the radio and thankfully, it promised a rapid improvement in the weather in the early part of the morning. I have to admit that the conditions made me sceptical, but as we had breakfast, that rapid transformation took place. We wandered out of the hotel to discover that the rain had gone, clear blue sky everywhere, even if the air was still a little chilly.
You could be forgiven for thinking this was a day off, but we had other plans and we left the hotel before the sun had reached into the valley. It was icy cold and as we walked through the forest cold drops fell from the trees, causing us to shout out occasionally as they always seemed to find that little gap down the back of the shirt! Today we were going to cover much of the section that we had missed out yesterday and combine it with a walk up to the Lac De Moiry, then up to the Moiry ice fall on the Moiry glacier beyond the lake. Then we might continue up to the Moiry Hut, before returning back to the Hotel Moiry in Grimentz. You could be forgiven for thinking there is a lack of imagination around here when it comes to naming places.
We began to warm up as we climbed up beyond the tree line and out of the shadows in the lower valley. We stopped to remove our outer layers of clothing as the sun warmed the air and brightened up the day. We met three men coming down the path, they were checking the course for a stage in the mountain bike world championships that were to be held here in a few days time. It was soon after this point that Irene discovered that her much loved and much travelled Manchester United hat was no longer with her. The immediate reaction was “oh no!”! This wasn’t just a hat that could be replaced, it was a personal possession with sentimental attachment, that had been a trusty friend on many mountains, both in Switzerland and at home. If it was lost she would have to start all over again with another one, a different one. We decided that she had probably just left it in the hotel room and it would be safe and not lost after all. At least that’s what we hoped, but I did have fears that it would be unusual for Irene not to have brought it with her. We decided to stay positive and not let it spoil the day.
Looking back down the valley towards Grimentz from the barrage. Notice our route zig zagging up, on the left of the picture.
Soon the barrage at the end of the lake came into view and piled up high behind it a range of snow capped mountains. From our view point it looked like this huge wall of concrete was holding back the mountains. As the path switched back and forth up the the side of the dam we could hear marmots shrieking all across the valley, I think we must have been the first walkers to disturb them that morning. One particular specimen disturbed us too, I don’t know who got the bigger shock, the marmot due to his close encounter with us, or the start we got when it jumped up just twenty feet in front of us issuing a shriek loud enough to waken the whole valley!
Barrage de Moiry
We reached the top of this very impressive barrage, which was an altogether more pleasing shape than others we had seen along the way. The smooth curve of the dam with the valley dropping far below on one side and deep turquoise water of unknown depth on the other. Sometimes it is possible to see Ibex climbing on the almost vertical wall of the dam to graze on the lichens that grow there. On what looks like an impossible wall to negotiate, they manoeuvre higher and higher in their attempts to reach the lichen. Just watching them can be a real heart in the mouth experience!
The water sparkled in the bright morning sunlight and the mountains that had earlier appeared from behind the dam, now formed a magnificent backdrop to this jewel of a lake. We walked along the length of the lake, constantly stopping to take more photographs as the perspective changed and more mountains and glaciers came into view. Beyond the top end of the lake there were two small, shallow lakes that act like settling pools where the meltwater from the glaciers slows down and deposits most of it’s sludge and debris. The water entering the lake is much clearer because of this and explains why the lake is a much brighter and cleaner looking than the Lac de Cleusson and Lac de Dix that we had passed a few days ago. It was almost impossible to know exactly when, the days now were a constant becoming a stream of extraordinary sights. It was almost overwhelming, as before one sight is fully absorbed, the next incredible view comes along.
The path continued along the apex of a lateral moraine of the Moiry Glacier, down below us to the right, the glacier ploughed on at an imperceptible pace and below to our left there were huge blocks of snow and ice, slowly melting in the warm sun, creating pools of water, fringed by wild flowers. On the hillside further up to our left we could see a female Ibex with her young, but almost fully grown fawn, or whatever a young Ibex is called. As we watched them grazing we became aware that there were about twelve others, a little further up the mountain, some of them grazing, others just basking in the midday sun. It was the most Ibex we had ever seen together in one place.
As we reached the ice fall we marvelled at the sight of this great ice structure, with it’s high seracs and deep crevasses, twisted and contorted as it drops nearly a thousand feet in one step from the higher part of the valley. It is a fascinating sight and one of nature’s wonders to see a glacier that appears relatively flat and smooth at the top, suddenly plunge down in a chaotic mass of tangled ice and snow, only to appear smooth again when it reaches the bottom of the ice fall. We could see the Moiry Hut glinting in the sun on rocky outcrop further up the valley. It still looked a good hours walk away. It was two o’clock and we had been walking for six hours, it was a longway back down to Grimentz, so fully satisfied with what we had seen, we turned to make our way back down the valley. We constantly looked back over our shoulders at the incredible natural drama of the Moiry Glacier. looking back too at the magnificent sight of mountains that were too numerous to list, but including the Bouquetins, Grand Cornier and highest of all, Dent Blanche at well over fourteen thousand feet.
A cafe at the side of the dam provided a welcome place for a brief rest and refreshment, but not for too long. Although we had come down considerably, to seven and a half thousand feet and the sun had shone brightly all day, the air was still cold this far up here in close proximity to the glaciers. During the latter part of our decent we kept our eyes peeled for any signs of a Manchester United hat, but we didn’t really expect to find it. After all, it was safely tucked away in a hotel room down in the village, either that or………. we didn’t even dare think about it!
The hat wasn’t there! It just wasn’t there! We checked and double checked everywhere. Every possibility was investigated and then investigated again. And so the post mortem began. The conclusion that we came to was that somewhere there was a mountain bike world cup marshal wearing a Manchester United hat! Well I hope he appreciates it and gives it a good home, as it is much missed by it’s owner. I went to a local shop to buy an immediate replacement and even though it had Grimentz writ large across the front, it was no consolation. After all, they’re not even in the Vauxhall Conference league!
That evening we had an informal review of how things were going, there had been a bit of ‘messing about’ from time to time. Things certainly had not always gone to plan, the robbery on the first day, not being able to find Prafleuri, the washed out day yesterday and the severe blow of a hat loss. But we were still on course and only a very small part of the route had been missed out, even if we had done some of it in reverse order. Most importantly, we were enjoying every single dammed second of this adventure. As I looked across the valley I could see the best part of the next three days walking and suddenly realised that five more consecutive days walking would take us to Zermatt. All we needed now was five days of walkable weather and for the first time on this walk, I could actually visualise the remainder of the task ahead. For the first time it actually felt within touching distance, close enough to complete.
Spurred on by this realisation we telephoned ahead and booked the next three nights accommodation. We booked the Hotel Besso in Zinal for Friday night. The Hotel Weisshorn should have been our resting point for the next night but losing track of the days we had forgotten that it was a Saturday and of course the hotel was fully booked. The Hotel Weisshorn is an old hotel, built high on the mountainside with nothing else around it. This makes it a very popular weekend destination for walkers and would have been the perfect stopping off point for us. No room at the inn meant we had to book a hotel in St Luc, the village down in the valley, some 2,760ft below the Weisshorn, which also meant adding two hours extra walking at the end of the day and even worse, an additional two hours and a big climb at the start of our next day. However, we were lucky enough to get the last room at the Hotel Schwarzhorn in Gruben-Meiden for Sunday night. It was essential that we got into the Schwarzhorn because it was the only accommodation in the Turtmentaal valley and the Turtmentaal must be the only valley in Switzerland not to have any public transport. It was touch and go, the Schwarzhorn is in the German speaking part of Switzerland and my skills with the German language are even less impressive than my French linguistic dexterity. So when I rang the hotel to book I thought I could play it safe and ask if he spoke English. The reply I got was very brief and to the point “No” and then silence. I was on the verge of putting the phone down as the man on the other end said “goodbye”, but what else could I do? Giving up was not an option, we had to have a room there. “Parler vous Francaise?” I quickly blurted out, “Mais oui” came the reply. What followed was not a fluent conversation, but I did manage to book the last remaining room in the hotel. We felt very lucky and relieved that we had rung ahead rather than leave it to chance. By Monday morning we didn’t feel as though we had been quite so lucky, but that’s a part of the story for later on in our adventure on The Haute Route.
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