I was on my way at 6:10 am, just as the sun tinted the high cliffs behind me a shade of pink. Re-joining the GR5 it led me down through marshy, mountain pasture to a steeper path that dropped into a sheltered, narrow valley populated by small sycamore and rowan trees. Birds twittered as I walked by. A chaffinch flew across my path. Fortunately a bridge was provided to cross a torrent of rapidly flowing water, squeezed between large rocks. Sadly the long descent meant a suitably long ascent up the other side of the valley. Leaving the trees I climbed along slopes of small, red flowered, rhododendrons up the steep, side of the deepening valley. I crossed many streams, the water tumbling down the mountainside in small waterfalls. As I carefully stepped over one such water course I congratulated myself for steeping between stones rather than standing on the top of them, as instructed on a hill walking course I attended. Immediately after this thought I slipped as I left the stream on a wet rock, wetting my trousers but only hurting my pride.
After traversing the slope, steadily gaining height I began to wonder where the pass was that I was my next objective. Two hikers were packing up their "bivouac" in some ruins I passed. Soon they and other hikers began to pass me on the path. Yesterday's climbs had taken their toll, I was slower today.
Leaving the rhododendrons behind, the path zig-zagged up rocky terrain beside cliffs. I kept thinking I was about to reach the pass, yet a higher point kept appearing. Eventually I was following a few hikers ahead of me into a bowl of soft snow. Then, on the horizon among rock outcrops, a group of people had collected, silhouetted against the sky. This was the Col du Brévent where my route joined a path coming up from the valley on the otherside. After a brief rest I followed an American foursome over snow and rocks to the summit of Le Brévent which I was looking forward to as there was a restaurant at the top of a "téléphérique", a cable car which brought people up from the valley of Chamonix. Over a coffee and crêpe, I admired the view of Mont Blanc. This morning the sky was clear of clouds and the white, snow covered summit was sharply defined, as were the glaciers spilling down its sides between black arêtes. Brightly coloured hang gliders swept and circled in the deep valley below me, earlier I had seen hot air balloons in the far distance.
Reluctantly, I began my long descent to Les Houches. Initially I enjoyed hopping between the rocks, metamorphic schist and gneiss. The silver mica in the rocks and sprinkled among the gravel on the path glinted in the sun like tiny sequins. I stopped again at the refuge of Bellachat, after that I began to struggle. My left knee in particular was tiring and refusing to bend easily, which made negotiating rocks slow and awkward. The narrow path initially ran back and fore over the steep mountain slope, eventually entering trees. My knees complaining I helpfully stood aside to let numerous people pass me. The times on the direction posts to reach Les Houches declined very slowly, but it was me that was slow, being careful as I knew my tired knees risked slips and falls.
Eventually I reached a road, then a massive concrete statue of Christ, and finally I was on a more or less level road at the base if the valley. My knees were much relieved to be walking on the flat, where they could stretch out. My campsite is popular with hikers such as myself, not only those walking the GR5, but also the Tour du Mont Blanc, a famous long distance walk tackled by many people which starts and finishes in Les Houches. Consequently the campground is packed with tents of numerous makes and designs. One group has constructed a tarp type tent from clear polythene sheet and trekking poles. Others are more robust.
I am looking forward to a rest day tomorrow.
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