A slightly longer and higher hike was planned than that of two weeks before. Also promised were good views of Monte Bianco (Mont Blanc) for most of the day if the weather was good. Eight of us set off for the day out – it started with an hour or so driving up the Aosta Valley to Courmayeur and then turning north-east to the trail-head. The weather was proving sufficiently good to get nice views of Monte Bianco as the highway wound through villages, under and over the autostrada and railway, loosely following the Dora Baltea upstream. Clearly we were getting into popular ski country as large cable-cars and smaller chairlifts stretched up the valley walls and sometimes across the valley.

Off the highway and out of Courmayeur, the road climbed steeply and we were loosely paralleling the French border, which in this part is the watershed of a ridge towering above the valley we were in with some quite impressive peaks. Starting to walk at around half-nine it was at first a little bit near the road to get to a bridge that crossed the river that drained the valley we were to walk up to the pass. I only mention that as the bridge was wooden planks and every time a car crossed it, the sound would reverberate around the valley – I was hearing that annoying bridge quite a lot. The climb began in earnest as we left the road again; with a mixed group the pace was also mixed – so there was frequent stopping to wait, take photos, eat wild blueberries, admire the views and snack.

A very dirty glacier way off in the distance.

Down the valley from which we started – Monte Bianco hiding briefly behind clouds.

The first milestone for the climb was the refugio (a day-hut) at about 1900 m. For some of us, this was the limit of the day’s walking – I couldn’t quite understand being up in such beautiful mountains on a sunny day and wanting to sit at a day-hut waiting for the rest of us to return. I later found out that there was a pretty good bar in the refugio, so that made a bit more sense. Six of carried on, five of us together and the sixth at a steady pace much more suited to her. The valley was quite wide and our climbing would have levelled off quite a bit – if we had taken the correct path up the centre of the valley, not up the (/our) right hand side. It didn’t matter though as it was easy to traverse around to the trail when our mistake was realised.

Traversing near the top of the valley.

Monte Bianco on the left.

Back on the trail, we were onto the steepest climbing of the day as we climbed out of the grassy valley and eventually traversed a rocky scree slope to the pass. Just as we got out of the grass we were passed by two mountain-bikers coming down – not sure how they would go on the descent of what we’d just climbed (I’d have had to walk a fair bit) the rest of the day’s trail looked fantastic and I was slightly envious.

There’s the trail heading up to the pass – which is the narrow gap on the right. There wasn’t a lot of room to have lunch.

I for one started to notice a shortness of breath, plus maybe a little tiredness from the previous thousand metres of climbing, as we went through the last two hundred metres. At the pass, 2925 m, there was a bit of a traffic jam of various groups (some had walked up from the other side) but once one group moved off we had enough room to perch ourselves and tuck in to all the cheese, proscuitto, bread and chocolate that had been hauled up. The view that opened up on the other side of the pass was towards Great St Bernard Pass – but this was obscured by a couple of other peaks in the way.

Various attempts at group photos ensued before we descended.

A fantastic walk up with great views all around in excellent company – the most surreal thing was trying to teach Zuza, a Polish girl studying languages and translation, how to count in Maori while walking in the Italian Alps. As we got off the scree on the way down I was impressed to see Mary still making her way up. We continued down together for a while, but our pace was a bit too much on the steep part – rather we all spread out as I took it pretty slowly too so as not to have sore knees for days to come.

I really wanted a bike as we got back into this valley – the trail was sublime.

We found Eliza and Rachel back at the refugio enjoying the sun and the views. I was hungry again and they had even more proscuitto. Jokingly, I mentioned that a drink a bit stronger than the mountain-side water I’d just filled my bottle with would be nice. When some of the Italian part of our group returned with a bottle of red and glasses, I realised that there was actually a bar – sitting in the sun staring out at the Alps and Monte Bianco drinking wine, playing cards, and probably eating still, was pretty damn good.

We all spread out again on the final descent to the road, before regrouping and heading off for gelato – of course.

With over 2000 km of cycling clocked in the three weeks before, and a 2000 m climb the day before, I thought my legs deserved a rest. However, while they may have got a rest from cycling on Sunday there was a reasonably steep hike involved. When it was mentioned slightly after my arrival that a group was hiking up a peak on the other side of the valley the next day – I could hardly turn down the opportunity to be outside exploring new places with new friends. In fact, the whole situation reminded me of my arrival to live in the Bow Valley – a long valley surrounded by large peaks and then going to climb up one of the peaks almost immediately with many new faces.

What I initially understood to be a departure time of seven o’clock graciously turned into half past eight, so I did manage a good rest beforehand. Before long, five of us were squeezed in what can be most generously described as a classic early-nineties Fiat Panda careening around narrow Italian roads as we dropped to the valley floor, crossed it and then began the tortuous steep climb up to the trail-head through tiny hillside villages.

The walk started at around 1600 m while the morning was still misty and cool. The whole affair was pretty steep, but first followed double-track up through forest, passing small farm-holdings along the way. A cacophony of clanging cow-bells told us we were approaching a herd – accompanied by their herdsman they were slowly being driven down the hill eating as they went. While the herdsman sat mending a bell collar, it was funny to see the varying sizes of bells. The calves had tiny bells, the yearlings slightly bigger and the cows the normal full-size bells.

We stopped to snack, look across the valley and refill bottles from the mountain sourced water fountain.

As we left the double-track and then the trees heading into the alpine the trail became less well defined and quite challenging to find and then negotiate. There were plenty of small wild flowers about, at times the wild thyme filled the mountain air with its distinctive smell. We passed ruined mountain shacks, their slate roofs collapsed while the walls still stand. With two hours of walking behind us we ascended the last and were on the summit plateau – about 2500 m. While it had gotten a little warmer, a lot of the surrounding area was still covered in cloud.

Settling down to picnic lunch of grand amounts of proscuitto and fontina (a cheese of the Aosta Valley – quite famous, protected and delicious), the clouds thwarting our views at various times dispersed so that we could see quite a bit.

The Aosta Valley running centre to bottom left, and the valley I rode down off GSB Pass the day before, above that just right of centre. Mont Blanc is left most peak.

Mont Blanc

The village nearest to where I’m staying, Nus, down on the valley floor.

Admiring the view (Jose’s photo).

With an hour of eating and then lazing in the sun done, we headed down – which is never as enjoyable for me as walking up; but my legs and knees didn’t scream too much. Hiking downhill always seems anti-climatic – I don’t remember much of note of the return to the car. Oh, there were a few stops to pick flowers and leaves – which quite possibly has been what I’ve had in my tea each morning.

Over a slate roof to the Aosta Valley.

Also one of Jose’s photos.

Dinner attendance that night got a big bigger with a cousin and neighbour also around – ten in total. My distinct memory will be of the cousin, Francesco, continually pulling more and more dried meats from a bag and proceeding to cut them all up. First there a big piece of beef hind-quarters – the air-cured type that you see hanging by the dozen at various shops and bars (also Bologna Airport, if I recall correctly). And then scores of sausages of dried meat – although one variety had a fair bit of blood and potato in the mix, so wasn’t quite as dry. With another huge piece of fontina cheese also present, we didn’t lack for food that night (it must be said, the whole time I’ve been here we’ve not lacked for delicious locally-produced food). Also sampled were a couple of bottles of the vineyard’s efforts – very good. After being forced some-what, my protestations weren’t that loud, to have a third piece of walnut cake the locally made spirits came out – mostly grappa with various plants and flavours (liquorice, wild flowers etc.) infused, some liquorice & mint spirit (quite tasty) and some green concoction of horribleness. Thankfully I don’t remember much of that last one.