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!