Adventure - or misadventure - in the French Alps

Rain crashed down on the metal roof with a frightening force. It sounded like millions of stones being dumped above us and seemed as if the entire ancient wooden building where we huddled on mattresses in the second floor loft might collapse under the ragging downpour. Even though there were no windows, flashes of angry lightening penetrated through cracks in the walls. Thunder roared like blasts of wrecking balls against a concrete high rise, then boomed and rumbled as it echoed in the surrounding mountains. Sleep was impossible.

This was our first night in the Refuge d'Orgeval, an alpage - a place in the French mountains where animals, namely cows and sheep, spend summer months. To house the farmers and the animals, there are usually several alpage buildings, but the beasts no longer had a home in this alpage barn as it had been converted into primitive lodging for hikers. We had joined 13 others from the village in southern France where we live for this three-day adventure in the Rhone Alps.

"This gives new meaning to the word rustic," said my husband. Each of us had a mattress on the floor of this attic, and blankets were provided.

There was no toilet, just two holes in the ground in two tiny stalls outside and around the back of the building. Signs hung on the metal doors, with libre (free) on one side and, J'y suis (I'm here) on the other side. Before entering you had to turn the sign to the J'y suis side. Instead of a lock, the inside of the door had a rope attached which, while crouched or standing and doing your thing, you had to hold to keep the door shut.

An outdoor watering trough with a faucet that blasted water - icy water -- in horizontal jets served for washing and brushing teeth. Mountain huts are not known for luxury, but none of the huts where we had previously stayed on hiking trips in Switzerland and Austria could compete with this one for being the barest of the bare.

The rain finally stopped that first night, yet sleep remained a challenge. Three young girls giggled. There were several snorers -- one almost as loud as the thunder. It was cold.

Dawn finally came. The ground was drenched. Clouds hung low, hiding the mountain peaks. We had breakfast -- thick slices of crusty farmer's bread with jam and butter and coffee and hot chocolate - by candlelight in a dark woodsy room in the main alpage building which had a spacious, old-fashioned kitchen. While we had no sound and light show on our second night in the loft, sleep was still elusive. I'd hear others make the trek down the steps to the WC, then figure I should do the same. I'd get out my flash light to check the time, then count the hours before daybreak.

The daytime parts of our journey were almost as exacting as the nights. The first day, loaded down with our packs, we followed a guide, 73-year-old Raymond Jacquemond, who shot straight up a skinny trail that climbed and climbed, over rocks, even bushes and bramble. The hiking was so strenuous, it was hard to appreciate the magnificent scenery. At one point I was so out of breath, I forced myself to stop lest I have a heart attack.

It was a relief to reach the top and a field of snow. However, the way down proved harder than the way up. We had to descend a treacherous and steep slope of stone, small stones that slid and rolled as we tromped on them. It was hard to tell where the trail was supposed to be. By now the group had split into many small groups, with the extra slow way behind.

After we had gone down the rocky precipice, then back up another short slope, the lead group stopped to wait for and watch the others in the distance as they gingerly crept down the rocky precipice. Suddenly everyone gasped. A woman fell, then rolled over three times in the rocks before she stopped. We were much too far away to provide assistance. Eyes glued to the accident scene, we feared the worse. It seemed an eternity before she stood up, then began to move. It was a miracle that she was not seriously injured.

We still had a long distance to trek before reaching the alpage. After the rocks came steep, overgrown green fields. The trail disappeared, but we could see the alpage in the distance far below so we just headed in that direction. Even though I had been using hiking poles, my knees were throbbing. The thought of a cold beer at the end kept me going.

Alas, the alpage had no beer, not even soft drinks. We had to wait for dinner with wine. Lucette, the fall victim, finally arrived in amazingly good spirits, but badly bruised and scraped.

Dinner, mountain sausage and pasta followed by cheese and fruit, was outdoors at a long wooden table. There was plenty of wine, lots of laughter and camaraderie.

The hike the next day, although longer, was less demanding, and the hike down on day #3 was only a 2 ½ hour walk, but again over some rocks and precipitous in places. At least on that day we awoke to glorious sunshine and the views of the mountains were splendid.

 
My knees were sore. My entire body ached. I was happy it was over.

Nonetheless I was glad I had hiked the French Alps and survived two nights in the barren alpage.

The trip had its moments - good and bad - that will be fun to remember, but not to relive.

This hike took place in the Massive of the Bauges, a pre Alpine region south of the town of Annecy. Tourist offices in the towns of the region can provide details of hikes in the mountains and arrange a guide. They can also provide information on area alpages or mountain huts where overnight accommodation is available.

We stayed at the Refuge d'Orgeval, Jarsy, ++33(0)479521872.

For more information: www.lesbauges.com

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