Chamonix To Zermatt

The Haute Route

14th & 15th August 1994

Haute Nendaz - Arolla - Lac de Dix

Neither of us felt there was much to be gained by going back up to the Grand Desert for another go at finding Prafleuri. We had seen enough of that little bit of Switzerland to last us a lifetime, especially as the reward for success would be another night in a hut and a fairly primitive one at that. With the wonderfully integrated Swiss transport system on hand to help us achieve our goal, we were once again ready for the challenge. 

From Prafleuri the walk would have taken us on to the Lac de Dix, over the Col de Riedermatten, onto the Arolla, at 6,000ft, the highest village in Switzerland. Then down to Les Hauderes in the Val D’Herens. The revised plan now was to take the bus down into the Rhone Valley, where we could change to another bus that would take us up the Val D’Herens and back into the mountains. We could get off the bus at Les Hauderes, and continue on foot up to Arolla. We would effectively be doing the next two days in reverse order. Maybe not entirely conventional, but we would be covering the ground. So this afternoon we would walk the section from Les Hauderes to Arolla and tomorrow we could walk from Arolla, over the Col De Reidermatten to Lac de Dix, almost to Prafleuri, then along the full length of the lake and catch the bus back to Arolla. We would then resume the walk and complete the rest of it in the right order. This way we will only have missed out a very small section around Prafleuri, even if we have done a couple of sections the wrong way round! Not quite the way we expected to do this walk, but we had always known that we would probably have to think on our feet and adapt the walk to suit ourselves, or the conditions as we went and this little adaptation was just a part of that process.

When the bus pulled up in the square in Les Hauderes it was our cue to start walking up the valley towards Arolla. Hopefully no doubts about the route today, footpath all the way, on a route that was described in our guide book as “an easy day”. I think we have been lulled into a false sense of security by that phrase before. Of course we were doing this section the wrong way round, going up to Arolla from Les Hauderes, a gain in height of some one thousand eight hundred feet. So maybe coming down from Arolla would have been an easy day. As it was, it was anything but easy, but the walking was very pleasant and the views were improving all the time, widening as we climbed higher and higher. The path became steeper as we approached the Blue Lake, which we anticipated at the brow of every hill. We eventually reached the small mountain tarn, but it took much longer than we had been expecting, so much so that we were starting to think we were on the wrong path, but that would have meant we were lost and we don’t do lost! According to the guide book it looked like a short straight line down into Arolla, but as the path wound it’s way around the hillside on a switchback route, up and down, up and down, a short line suddenly felt like a long way. It was ten past five and we had expected to be in Arolla by now, but we still couldn’t see the village and once again fatigue was setting into our tired legs.

 

Arolla and Mont Collon

            

At last we saw a campsite down in the bottom of the valley. A quick look at the map confirmed that there was indeed a campsite at the bottom end of the village. Spirits lifted, especially when shortly after, we could see a hotel in the distance. A quick look through the binoculars confirmed that this was the Hotel Tsa. We had taken the precaution of booking ahead on this occasion but we had booked into the Hotel Glacier, it couldn’t be far away now. It didn’t take long to find the hotel in this tiny mountain village and by ten to six we were being guided up three flights of stairs to our room. The woman from the hotel apologised for the steep climb after our long walk, but it turned out to be well worth it. We looked out from our balcony at Mont Collon with it’s glacier capped peak and glaciers down both sides, it wasn’t difficult to see how the hotel got it’s name. As we relaxed and took in the view, the small alpine village of Arolla attached itself very firmly to our hearts.

We went down for dinner to see two familiar faces at the table behind ours, it was our French room mates from the Montfort Hut, I hope they have their own room tonight. They seemed as surprised to see us as we were to see them, or maybe they too felt a slight panic reaction. I’m sure they were no more ready to repeat the sharing experience than we were. It turned out that we were doing the same walk as them, but this was the last we saw of them. I wonder if they made it to Zermatt? I hope so.

There are some mornings in The Alps that you just cannot believe are real and Monday the fifteenth of August was one of those days. The sky was so blue, the air so fresh and clear, the colours so intense. The glaciers sparkled in the strong morning sunshine, days like this just make your heart sing! Days like this are just made for walking. We walked out of the village which sits at 6,000 feet and up towards the Col de Riedermatten at ten thousand, we had a long hard day  ahead of us. But it was a walk that could not be rushed, as so many photographs were just begging to be taken. More and more mountains came into view as we climbed higher and higher. Mont Collon (12,000ft) dominates the upper Val D’Herens, but soon it’s near and higher neighbour, Pigne D’Arolla (12,400) also came into view, followed by the succession of peaks around the same height, that form the chain of mountains that had been our barrier a couple of days ago. This time, the whole scene was totally uplifting and everyone that we met expressed it in some way, if only by their broad, warm smiles as they greeted us. Marmots played in the high alpine pastures and their shrill warning call startled us from time to time. The higher we climbed the more wild flowers appeared, most notably the edelweiss, the Swiss national flower which is now quite scarce and a protected species. This was undoubtedly a most spectacular day.

As the sun rose higher and higher, so did we and although it was getting warmer, we were getting close to ten thousand feet and with patches of snow and ice still around, it never actually got too hot. Of course this caused another mis-calculation on my part. Due to the cool feel of the air, I didn’t think I was getting sun burnt, but it should have been obvious from the extreme brightness of the light that I would be well cooked by sundown. The climb was steep, but eventually lead us into a high mountain combe filled with flowers growing all around us, between the patches of snow left over from the spring. Due to it’s high altitude, Arolla is one of the resorts where skiing continues until very late in the season.

Looking back we could no longer see down into the valley where the village sat far below us, but the view across the valley was one of the most spectacular of the trip so far. Mountains as far as the eye could see, with absolutely nothing else to interrupt the view. All we could see around us now was high, snow capped peaks, in every direction. It was an incredible feeling of being entirely in a natural setting, both exhilarating and slightly unnerving at the same time. A ridge of sharply pointed peaks faced us from across the valley, the most notably pointed being the Aiguille de la Tsa, which stands up above the rest of the ridge with, as it’s name suggests, almost needle like sharpness. Beyond them yet more snow covered mountains of breathtaking proportions, shape and beauty. The distant mountains included another glimpse of the upper slopes of The  Matterhorn, our ultimate destination. It would be day ten before we would have any further sightings of this great  and unmistakeable mountain. Each time we stopped to admire the view, we stared with renewed disbelief and wonder, at the spectacle that was spread out before us.

Looking down towards Arolla, the village invisible down in the valley.

As the path took us to the back of the combe, once again the gradient increased. At this point the path forked with the right hand option reaching the ridge at the Col De Riedermatten.  The left hand option reached the ridge a little further on, but slightly lower, at the Pas De Chevere which literally translates as the ‘path of the goat’ and they weren’t ‘kidding’. From this side the Pas De Chèvre looked the easier option, but the guide book had given us a good description of the two options. The Pas De Chèvre was a vertical drop on the other side, only made passable to mere mortals by the addition of two fixed steel ladders. Not only was that an unappealing prospect, but the ladders are apparently attached very close to the rock face, giving little room for a good foothold. The thought of descending these two ladders on tip toes, with the vast open view down onto the Glacier de Cheilon below, helped the decision making process. We opted for the Col instead. However, the Col De Riedermatten is something of a challenge too. It is not the conventional kind of col, but from this side just looked like a small ‘v’ shaped crack in the horizon. The full extent of it’s nature was not yet apparent to us as we approached. 

With our frequent stops for photography, many people had passed us on the way up to the col, so it seemed a little strange to see them all sat around at the top of the col as we got near. There must have been thirty or so people sat around a small area, some looking down the col, some looking at us as we approached. I was puzzled as to why they were all stopped at that point, until we reached the point where we could see down and I strode through the ‘crowd’, suddenly realising why they were all sat there. They were waiting for some fool to go first and I had just inadvertently jumped the queue! They were all sitting around very nonchalantly, as if they had always intended to stop there for lunch, but I knew what they were up too. I stopped abruptly, there didn’t seem to be anywhere left to sit, so I pretended to admire the view, but secretly, the view terrified me. I could see the way down  and turned to Irene saying “it can’t be down there!”, but she replied saying “go on there’s no other way, just keep going”. So with everyones eyes on us I entered the chimney like, narrow gulley. It was very steep and loose and although my eyes were firmly fixed on where my feet were trying to find a grip, I could still see the glacier far below us, just beyond the periphery of my boots and it was a little unnerving to say the least. As we edged our way down slowly, everyone else got up and followed us down, well I say followed, most of them were soon past us and on their way, without even so much as a thank you to the pioneers that had shown them the way and helped them believe in the possible. 

                                                               

 

Lac de Dix, just beyond the glacier.

Before long we were at the bottom of the gulley, two hundred metres below the ridge. We looked back along the ridge where we had come from and could now see the two ladders at Pas De Chevre. There appeared to be a tricky change over point on a ledge half way up and we watched as several people, with varying degrees of dexterity, negotiated this obstacle. We saw one couple appear at the top and look down, one of them got onto the ladder and came down a few steps before stopping. As he stood there, there seemed to be a discussion that followed with the person left looking over the edge. We can only speculate about the content of the exchange, but he soon climbed back up and they didn’t reappear. 

We sat amongst the boulders in this extraordinary place, the top of the Heremence Valley. We were on the moraine that runs alongside the Glacier De Cheilon and as we had our lunch we marvelled at the scene around us. The huge triangular face of Mont Blanc de Cheilon standing like a pyramid, just over a mile away to our left at twelve and a half thousand feet. Vast glaciers ran down either side of the mountain, meeting at the foot of the mountain just in front of us, to form the Glacier De Cheilon. Across from us was another twelve thousand plus mountain, La Luette with glaciers pouring from it’s summit towards us. In the middle of this great swirl of meeting glaciers was one small rocky outcrop, like an island in a vast sea of ice. The rock is known as Tete Noire and on it is built the Cabane de Dix, owned by the Monte Rosa section of Swiss Alpine Club it is one of the busiest refuges in the whole of the Alps. It is almost beyond my imagination to understand how, given it’s position in the midst of all this ice, made up of crevasses and seracs. But as we were watching, we could see six small dots moving across the glacier together, as another party of adventurers made their way to the refuge.

The landscape here is completely dominated by the glaciers and their colossal effects. Sitting on the moraine we were still quite high above the ice, but we were on the debris that had been thrust up by the glacier as it digs it’s way down the valley. The unexpected thing about the moraine was that it was all rock, like an enormous great quarry tip. This rock had been thrust up from the earth’s crust by the glacier and no soil had formed here yet. This was a new landscape, a work in 

                          

Glacier de Cheillon

progress, as the glaciers carved out new valleys and new shapes from the mountains around us.  Fortunately the route was well marked with flashes of paint, because we were stepping from rock to rock and the feet that had passed this way had left very little impression on this new and harsh landscape. The surprising thing was that occasionally, between the rocks, there were flowers growing. Not prolific by any stretch of the imagination, but that they were there at all, in this extreme environment is a miracle in itself. They were unusual plants too, Mont Cenis bellflower, Alpine rock Jasmine and moss saxifrage, plants that we have only seen a few times in remote places.

As we progressed down the valley, little by little, the terrain gradually began to change. As we moved away from the more active area of the glacier, the moraines were older and had started to grass over, plants were growing and a path was forming. We came across an area that was covered with edelweiss, that emblem of the alps that has become so rare in many places, was actually prolific in this small area of the Valais.

Eventually we reached the place where the glacier meltwater gushes into the Lac De Dix with tremendous force, creating a deep gorge that we had to cross. Fortunately there is a newly constructed steel bridge. It looked like it was under tension as it spanned the gorge, stretched out like a large, steel preying mantis about to pounce. The two hundred metre crossing was not a comfortable one, as it is quite high above the gorge and has a steel grid footway, giving a clear view of the drop down to the torrent of water, way beneath our feet. It was a narrow bridge too, that had a gentle swaying motion, just to add good value to the experience as we made our way across. 

All we had to do now was an easy walk along the lakeside to the barrage where we could catch a bus back to Arolla. It was only now that we began to wonder about the frequency of the buses. We had learned at some point during the day that it was a public holiday and we suddenly realised that this might have some impact on the bus service that we were relying on to get us back to Arolla. Still, all we could do now was to keep going, it was mid afternoon and although the lake didn’t look too long, the map confirmed that we still had five miles to walk. Distances can be hard to judge in the Alps because the scale is so different from that of our normal experience. The eye can be fooled, but the map is always reliable, another lesson from our Prafleuri experience. The path along the lakeside passes through a series of tunnels that seemed to be getting progressively longer. The longest ones had lighting that had to be switched on at the tunnel entrance. The lights were on a timer that allowed five minutes to get through, we hurried, but we always seemed to get through in plenty of time. It was too cold in the tunnels to hang about and quite a contrast in temperature and light levels, from bright sunshine to dim electric bulbs took a little while to adjust.

The dam, or Barrage de la Grande Dixence to give it it’s full title, is the world’s highest dam at nine hundred and thirty feet high and the best view of it is from the cable car that runs from the rim, down to it’s base. By now we were not in the best frame of mind to fully appreciate this engineering marvel. We were very tired, it had been another very long, hard day and we were ready for a rest and some refreshment. The lake is a very popular place on a sunny public holiday and the journey down in the cable car gave me a good appreciation of how sardines must feel. When we were released at the bottom it was just after four o’clock and a bus had just left, fortunately there was one more, at ten to five. That wasn’t the complete answer though as this bus would only get us back to the right valley and we would need to make another connection with a bus that would take us the last ten miles back to Arolla. I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable by this time, my shoulders and legs were burning and I was shivering too. Not a good sign after a full day in the sun.

We were exhausted by the walk, but the bus arrived early, so we expected that we would be able to get a good sit down on the bus whilst we awaited our departure. The group of people wanting to get on the bus was growing, a small crowd gathering around the door of the bus, but the driver assiduously ignored us. He sat, smoking his pipe, occasionally picking up his binoculars to have a look around the distant mountains. He seemed to be totally oblivious to the crowd that was growing with each passing minute, refusing steadfastly to acknowledge us and let us onboard.

The journey down the valley was uneventful and I was enjoying the rest, but starting to feel concerned about the time and the possibility of a connecting bus. We got off the bus in Vex and a quick check of my watch said that it was five twenty-five. An anxious look at the timetable at the bus stop told us that the last bus was at five twenty! No sooner had we read this information and without having had the time to panic, the bus shot past us, as if trying to make up the lost five minutes. But the driver had spotted us and thankfully brought the bus to a halt just around the corner. After a walk where we had climbed up four thousand feet and descended four thousand four hundred feet, walked eleven miles in eight hours, we nevertheless made an effort at running and climbed onto the last bus, by the skin of our teeth! Not a care in the world now, my thoughts turned to tonights menu.