A peak challenge in the French Alps
Canadians tackle difficult yet rewarding Tour of the Oisans hike in the French Alps
‘How on earth do we get up there?” I blurted out. “Looks like we clamber up that rock face,” my friend Brian replied, his eyesight more acute than mine.
We had spotted the grey stone building half a kilometre away as we climbed the narrowing, rockstrewn valley. Drawing nearer, we were amazed by its dramatic setting and seemingly precarious placement. It was the Refuge des Bans, sitting stark and alone on a rocky knoll at the base of a circle of high peaks dominated by the 3,669-metre-high summit of Les Bans.
Next thing, we were clinging to cables bolted to the rock wall as we pulled ourselves, hand over hand, up the 10-metre obstacle to the tiny plateau on which the refuge sat.
We were four days into an 11-day hiking trip on the Grand Rondonnée No. 54 — a circular mountainous route in the French Alps often referred to as the Tour of the Oisans and regarded as one of the toughest high-level routes in Europe.
We had decided to follow a suggestion in our guidebook and detour half-a-day to spend a night at a “spectacular” refuge.
With many European mountain refuges (huts we call them in Canada), being remote doesn’t necessarily equate to deprivation or frugality. Seated under an ample parasol on a stone patio overlooking massive glacierflanked crags, we ate a late lunch of wild mushroom omelette and salad swilled down with ice-cold beer.
That evening’s four-course dinner (including fondue and wine) was rounded off with a sip of Génépi — a delicious regional herbal aperitif served by “le patron” to 20-odd guests.
It was mid-August when Brian Connon and I set out on our 185-kilometre-long hike from Bourg d’Oisans, a small town famous for its proximity to Alp d’Huez — one of the most frequently climbed mountains in the Tour de France. We had spied our route from our hotel window and knew that by morning’s end we’d have sweated up our first mountain pass — the Col de Sarenne — 1,999 metres above sea level. In fact, our journey to the Refuge des Bans took us over a collection of six rugged mountain passes (cols as the French term them) with an average height of 2,212 metres (that’s 7,257 feet in old money).
But for us, the scaling of the cols was the price we willingly paid to experience the grandeur of the surrounding peaks. Everywhere we looked, they towered over a landscape that was already a source of wonder to us both.
Our second day out was dominated by La Meije, an impressive 3,982-metre-high mountain that is guarded on all sides by steep, crevasse-pitted glaciers. Next day, eating breakfast on our auberge’s deck, we looked out over the Romanche River valley to the peak’s soaring, jagged pinnacles glowing golden in the early morning sunlight — café noir and chocolate baguettes never tasted better.
The rhythm of our days followed a predictable pattern, and the rewards were always spectacular. Whether we stayed in auberge, gîte d’étape, hotel or refuge, we’d have an early breakfast and be on the trail by 7:30. Here’s my journal account of one of those days — the day we left La Meije behind: • Day 3 La Grave to Monêtier-lesBains (7 hours/ 22 km)
The day began with a hike along the undulating banks of the Romanche River to enter another lovely, cobbled-street village — Villar D’Arêne. We followed the river into its gorge and then climbed steeply to an open landscape passing the Refuge de l’Alpe, which at 2,077 metres looked isolated in the distance.
We reached the Col d’Arsine (2,340 metres) about 12:30 and had lunch. Our backs against a rock, we searched for a last glimpse of La Meije but it didn’t matter — we were surrounded by other huge mountains — the Pic de Neige Cordier (3,614 metres), the Montagne des Agneaux (3,664 metres), the very high Barre des Écrins at 4,102 metres and others. All were hung with glaciers that, in the summer warmth, spawned streams that flowed the length of the Arsine Valley. Marmots were everywhere — all curious and some fearless.
After a long but not too strenuous descent, we hit the Lac de la Douche (interesting name!) filled by the milky glacial waters coursing from above.
From the lake we descended steadily to the village of Le Casset, where we filled our water bottles from the communal fountain that all villages and hamlets seem to have.
We hiked alongside La Guisane River for about an hour until Monêtier-les-Bains and our home for the night, the Gîte Le Flourou. We had chosen our time in the Alps with care. Like most travellers, we wanted two things — good weather and no crowds. We got both. Mid- to late-August in the French Alps usually has stable weather, and summer holidays for the French are winding down.
Not that we didn’t meet people. We did — on the trail and over meals at our accommodations. We’d often be surrounded at dinner by fellow hikers from two, three or more different countries all trying to converse in French.
One French guy asked why we had come all the way from Canada to hike in their mountains when we had such magnificent ranges of our own.
“Ah,” I responded in my middling French, “there’s an intimacy, a closeness that one doesn’t often find in the mountains of North America. And besides, going from village to village, from refuge to refuge on a daily basis for food and lodging while remaining in the mountains is just not possible.”
The Col de l’Aup Martin had engendered a certain type of curiosity for us both — a mix of anticipation and apprehension. At 2,761 metres (just over 9,000 feet), it was the highest col on our route and we could see its stretched saddle long before we placed our boots on its coal-black shale slopes.
We knew that its very narrow 100-metrelong switchbacks could be treacherous in wet conditions — fine and crumbly rock debris can be unstable in rain and snow. At the beginning of every hiking season, a new route has to be carved up the pass. For us, the sun shone and, while we placed our feet with care on the sinuous route to the top, we crested the col with a hug and a smile on our faces.
We arrived in the village of Valsenestre mid-afternoon after a long descent off the Col de Côte Belle where we’d booked a room at Le Béranger — a gite d’êtape that was once the local schoolhouse. Strolling through the village was like being in another world and another time.
The stone and slate-roofed houses and their gardens were immaculate — as were the narrow streets. Blooming flower boxes hung from balconies and windows and decorated street corners.
The tiny church felt more like a cave than a chapel. A semi-abstract, metresquare painting of the crucifixion hanging above the doorway was the only reference to our modern age.
A plaque told of an avalanche that had destroyed the village almost 200 years ago. That’s why it was now a heritage site only inhabited during summer months.
Our stay at the gîte could not have been better. Our host charming and informative, our room comfortable and, in the lowceilinged dining room that evening, the food delicious and, after a glass or two of agreeable wine, the conversation lively.
Our guidebook had warned us about the Col de la Muzelle. Not only was it one of the highest on the GR54 (2,625 metres), its crest was likely to be the trickiest.
As we drew near, the col looked a veritable slag heap — an apron of black, crumbly shale that looked to us the most unstable surface we’d encountered — even in dry conditions.
The reality was something less foreboding. A series of tight switchbacks had recently been etched into the shale, making the final vertical 200 metres, while a considerable grunt, safe enough. From the col’s summit we could see, in the distance, a quintessential French alpine scene.
It was of a small ice-blue lake with a weathered stone and wood refuge perched on its shore, imposing gnarly peaks as a backdrop. It wasn’t quite our journey’s end, but almost. We had one final communal meal with convivial fellow hikers before an early night and an even earlier departure.
After climbing our last col and hiking the long descent to the valley floor, we were back in the streets of Bourg d’Oisans and checking into our hotel — appropriately named L’Hôtel Terminus.
John Crouch is a Victoria author. He has written four guidebooks: Walk Victoria, Hike Victoria, Bike Victoria and Cycling the Islands. His Six Highways to Home travel book was published in 2014.