Stepping into the High Alps: My First Day on the Tour du Mont Blanc
I've hiked before in the Andes while doing the Torres del Paine in Patagonia and San Jose de Maipo outside Santiago, Chile, both climbs of around 600 meters. But nothing prepared me for hiking into, up, and over mountains. My second trip to France brought me to Les Houches, a quaint village perched above a valley. Arriving late the night before, I was immediately thrust back into backpacking mode, and dinner at a local auberge set the tone for what lay ahead. Seated with a table of mostly French-speaking hikers, I felt an instant camaraderie; we were all here for the same reason: the Tour du Mont Blanc.
The Tour du Mont Blanc is no small feat: 170 kilometers circling the Mont Blanc massif, with roughly 10,000 meters of elevation gain and loss, weaving through France, Italy, and Switzerland, and nights spent in mountain huts and refuges. A chilly morning greeted me with cloud-covered views of Les Houches, and I quickly realized I was headed the wrong way. Momentarily embarrassed I started ascending earthen steps into the hillside. Clouds lingered for an hour, casting a magical veil over my first encounter with this legendary trail. Gravel paths, wooden steps, and paved roads carried me higher until Col de Voza offered the first sweeping view back down into the valley.
The alternate route I had chosen led through dense forests and rocky scrambles, complete with steel cables bolted into sheer rock faces. Signs warned of "dangerous" paths, and I welcomed the challenge. Waterfalls and rushing rivers punctuated the trail, with slick rocks forcing cautious crossings. The ascent to Col de Tricot tested my limits: thin air made each breath labored, my stomach protested, and nausea set in. But reaching 2,120 meters above sea level rewarded every struggle with a panorama that stretched farther than I could take in at once.
The descent was grueling on my knees, lingering reminders of the Camino three months prior. By the time I reached Chalets de Miage, it was already 2 p.m., and I still had more climbing ahead before reaching my refuge for the night, Auberge de Truc. The auberge was a true mountain hideaway: no lights in the dorm, outhouse bathrooms, and milk straight from their cows. And yet, none of it mattered. I had done it. I had climbed, scrambled, and crossed rivers. I had made it through my first day in the high mountains.
Dinner brought new friendships: a couple from Germany, a man from South Korea, and a woman from Spain. Afterward, we watched the sun paint Dome de Miage in brilliant pinks and oranges. Life in the mountains is quiet, almost sacred. Even the cowbells, which might annoy elsewhere, were soothing here, lulling me to sleep as I dreamt of the next stage of the Tour du Mont Blanc.