I returned to Ceillac for a coffee and croissant for breakfast from the boulangerie. The two customers and the shop owner all gave me numerous instructions in French on how to work the coffee machine. I enjoyed it outside as house martins flew above me between slightly ramshackle buildings, the wooden ones higher up the village were definitely showing their age. Stall holders were just setting up for market day with fresh fruit and cheeses.
Leaving the campsite, at first I followed a path through woodland beside which there were wooden statues of witches, fairies, mythical animals and pencils. Turning away from the valley I began a steep, sustained climb up into the mountains through conifer forest. Soon drops of sweat were rolling down my face with the effort, even though the sun had yet to reach this part of the valley. My handkerchief was wet as I tried to mop away the sweat before it entered my eyes, stinging them. A stream, splashing over rocks with white foam as it rapidly dropped down the mountain produced a little cooling spray.
In time the path levelled out among meadows and trees and I reached Lac Miroir, where people had stopped to admire the reflections in the water. After more uphill walking, past silent ski lifts I left the trees behind entering a disordered landscape of grass knolls and rocks, below grey scree and high cliffs. Ahead of me was a small chapel dedicated to St Anne. This looked down on Lac Ste Anne. Unlike the previous lake this had a milky blueness, produced by fine rock flour from the eroding cliffs above. After another hill I was able to see Col Girardin, one of the higher points on the GR5 at 2706 metres. To get there, I faced a wall of loose stone and rock. Approaching it I spotted pink saxifrage, tiny patches of flowers typical of these high stony spaces, but as I climbed higher there was just loose stone across which the path moved one way then the other as it crawled to the top. On the way up, one of those who passed me was a Frenchman who commented that we both had the same make of rucksack, an Atom Pack, lightweight equipment made in England’s Lake District. I later noticed we both had the same make and model of trekking poles, lightweight Black Diamond sticks (called bâtons in French).
I admired the wide panorama at the top of the pass of distant mountains, rocky peaks and blue sky with collecting clouds, before starting the equally steep descent on a path with so many turns it looked like a concertina. This side of the pass favoured flowers of blue, Alpine campanula, which seemed to lack much stem or leaf. The path levelled out in a hanging valley at the end of which I turned off the GR5 onto the path to Maljasset, a collection of ancient houses where I planned to bivouac at the refuge. This involved another steep descent on loose stone. At times it was difficult to determine where the trail was meant to go although waymarks of yellow bars helped a little. At the refuge the guardian said to camp by the river below the church, a few hundred metres away. A little inconvenient as I have booked dinner and breakfast at the refuge. I visited the church, a cool serene, place to sit in on a hot day, with piped music appropriate to the setting. Finding a good spot under trees by the river I pitched my tent, and hoped it would not be disturbed while I went for dinner.
No comments:
Post a Comment