over the mile and a half of huge rocks and streams between us and the right path, the one marked out in red and white that quickly leads us to our rolls.
Most of the team is waiting for us in Belagua; they have thoughtfully prepared two wonderful rolls filled with tomato, ham, and goat cheese. We devour them before making more, which we also devour. Cookies and energy bars are the desserts to round out our meal and prepare us for the fact that we are only at the halfway point on this stage. It will be at least six or seven hours before we sit in a chair again.
The rolls have an immediate impact. Our strength and energy return and urge us to put everything into our run so that we can have dinner before darkness falls. Thierry accompanies us on the first few minutes of the climb through a dense forest of oaks, across soil that reveals a thick layer of leaves that fell last autumn and have hibernated on the path under snow that is now melting under the spring sun.
We keep climbing through a changing landscape. We leave the oaks and enter a wood of red pine then black pine that gradually disappears as we reach alpine meadows where rivers meanderwhimsically around the landscape’s undulating contours. As we move on, the grass begins to disappear under the blocks of granite that increasingly fill the floor of the open valley, and then in turn the stone vanishes under a thicker layer of snow beneath our feet.
Now everything is white, to our right and to our left, over our heads and under our feet. Nature is apparently trying to homogenize the landscape by sending a thick layer of mist that blots out all sight of the terrain. The only point of reference is the slope in front of us. We keep climbing until the snow-covered slope changes direction and we assume we have reached the plateau. Fatigue is setting in, but in the mist and with no signs to indicate our route, it is no time to stop. If we stop for a few minutes on this plateau, there is a 50 percent chance we will end up going back along the path down the slope we have just climbed.
We start to go straight down across a broad expanse of snow that takes us directly to the bottom of the valley. I look at the map. There is a large flange of terrain leading to a depression where the valley starts that we must follow if we are to join the path that will take us straight to the cabins in Ansabère. As we cannot possibly get lost and must go several hundred feet to the bottom of the cirque to find the right path, we slip down on our backsides and make a swift descent. We proceed at top speed and in no time reach the bottom of the cirque, where all the glaciers that descend from the peaks and ridges come together. We start to run alongside the river, and I soon realize that Greg is finding it difficult to continue. He draws near at a slow trot. His face says it all: His eyes are glued to the ground, and he grits his teeth hard at each step to deal with the pain.
“What’s wrong? Have you twisted an ankle?” I ask.
“No, it’s my right knee. I get a stabbing pain with every step I take. I think I must have dislocated it. Can you pull on it?” he asks.
His pain is real: A dislocated knee is incredibly painful and makes it nearly impossible to continue. He sits on the ground and clings to a rock as I pull his leg as hard as I can to see whether the knee will snap back into place.
After a few pulls, the snap doesn’t happen. However, our worst possible option would be to stay put. The mist has lowered the temperature, and we are a long way from any refuge or road. We have a moderate climb followed by a long descent to where Olivier and Thierry, who can help Greg, will be waiting for us. We run on slowly and reach the cabins in Ansabère, where hikers have just arrived and are settling in for the night.
“Excuse me. Are we going in the right direction to get to the top of the Lac de la Chourique?” I ask while Greg stretches his leg against some rocks.
“Sure, follow the
Most of the team is waiting for us in Belagua; they have thoughtfully prepared two wonderful rolls filled with tomato, ham, and goat cheese. We devour them before making more, which we also devour. Cookies and energy bars are the desserts to round out our meal and prepare us for the fact that we are only at the halfway point on this stage. It will be at least six or seven hours before we sit in a chair again.
The rolls have an immediate impact. Our strength and energy return and urge us to put everything into our run so that we can have dinner before darkness falls. Thierry accompanies us on the first few minutes of the climb through a dense forest of oaks, across soil that reveals a thick layer of leaves that fell last autumn and have hibernated on the path under snow that is now melting under the spring sun.
We keep climbing through a changing landscape. We leave the oaks and enter a wood of red pine then black pine that gradually disappears as we reach alpine meadows where rivers meanderwhimsically around the landscape’s undulating contours. As we move on, the grass begins to disappear under the blocks of granite that increasingly fill the floor of the open valley, and then in turn the stone vanishes under a thicker layer of snow beneath our feet.
Now everything is white, to our right and to our left, over our heads and under our feet. Nature is apparently trying to homogenize the landscape by sending a thick layer of mist that blots out all sight of the terrain. The only point of reference is the slope in front of us. We keep climbing until the snow-covered slope changes direction and we assume we have reached the plateau. Fatigue is setting in, but in the mist and with no signs to indicate our route, it is no time to stop. If we stop for a few minutes on this plateau, there is a 50 percent chance we will end up going back along the path down the slope we have just climbed.
We start to go straight down across a broad expanse of snow that takes us directly to the bottom of the valley. I look at the map. There is a large flange of terrain leading to a depression where the valley starts that we must follow if we are to join the path that will take us straight to the cabins in Ansabère. As we cannot possibly get lost and must go several hundred feet to the bottom of the cirque to find the right path, we slip down on our backsides and make a swift descent. We proceed at top speed and in no time reach the bottom of the cirque, where all the glaciers that descend from the peaks and ridges come together. We start to run alongside the river, and I soon realize that Greg is finding it difficult to continue. He draws near at a slow trot. His face says it all: His eyes are glued to the ground, and he grits his teeth hard at each step to deal with the pain.
“What’s wrong? Have you twisted an ankle?” I ask.
“No, it’s my right knee. I get a stabbing pain with every step I take. I think I must have dislocated it. Can you pull on it?” he asks.
His pain is real: A dislocated knee is incredibly painful and makes it nearly impossible to continue. He sits on the ground and clings to a rock as I pull his leg as hard as I can to see whether the knee will snap back into place.
After a few pulls, the snap doesn’t happen. However, our worst possible option would be to stay put. The mist has lowered the temperature, and we are a long way from any refuge or road. We have a moderate climb followed by a long descent to where Olivier and Thierry, who can help Greg, will be waiting for us. We run on slowly and reach the cabins in Ansabère, where hikers have just arrived and are settling in for the night.
“Excuse me. Are we going in the right direction to get to the top of the Lac de la Chourique?” I ask while Greg stretches his leg against some rocks.
“Sure, follow the
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