At the village boulangerie after coffee and pain au raisin, I waved a final goodbye to the Swiss couple I had been trailing for the last few days (unlike me they would now be heading for Menton rather than Nice). Then I began the steep climb out of the village. Running through a forest of pine, spruce and larch I gained 450 metres in the first hour and many more in the second. The path crested at a saddle in the mountains, but instead of heading down, continued on up towards higher grassy peaks. Unfortunately the path soon had a "Path Closed" sign, apparently landslides a few years ago after heavy rain had taken the trail away. Myself and a lady with a dog were debating what to do next, when a fit trail runner came up and said there was a marked deviation. He said to follow him, and although he was only walking, the steep uphill slope meant I was at my limits to keep up. Fortunately his companion was also struggling, stopping frequently, which covered up my lagging behind. The lady with the dog was soon far behind us. Fortunately the redirected path was marked out with posts, easy to spot once you had turned left and walked a few paces from the point where the closure notice stood.
Once we reached a summit, we stopped and admired the view back to St Dalmas and the bare topped mountains to the north. I also noticed a solar farm and realised I had not seen such things or wind turbines on my walk from Lake Geneva, maybe due to all the National Parks I had walked through. I left the helpful (if fast) trail runner and began a long walk beside a ridge. This was different than previous days when the route led up to a high pass then went down the other side. Instead the path followed a long ridge, either on one side or the other. Initially running on a grass slope, the path entered an area where rock covered much of the ground, in the remainder lavender bushes bloomed, bee heaven. Inevitably the trail then lost height rapidly, the earth and gravel of the path slippery beneath my feet. It repeatedly crossed a vehicle track that took a zigzag route down through woodland to arrive at Grange de Brasque. This seemed to be a collection of old farm buildings, a derelict church and some holiday cabins. No cafes.
Then a lengthy stretch through forest, starting on a minor road and then on a rough but clear track. Surrounding hills were now clothed in trees, very different from the snow streaked, mountains of rock typical of the Alps. The path continued for some time and I kept passing then re-passing a couple. Whenever one of us stopped, the other would overtake a few minutes later. The man spoke English.
Suddenly the nature of the trail changed. Faced with a mountain of rock, the path took a tortuous route up through the outcrops. I wondered where it was taking us, especially as rockfalls had compromised parts of the trail. After winding around, up and down, the path settled into a route beside cliffs, generally at the same height. An old path, it was cut into the rock and had been built up in places with stone blocks. Where these had fallen down, a modern steel bridge had been installed over the void. A sign warned of rock falls.
Eventually the hilltop village of Utelle came into view, where I had booked accommodation. Red roofed, it looked very Provençal. As I struggled down the last, long descent, my legs aching, I was looking forward to a shower, a cold beer and washing my clothes, which were stiff and sticky with sweat, as well as being dirty. So I was desolate when I discovered, whether because I was befuddled by an unusual online booking system or due to my increasing senility, that I had booked a room for October, two months time! Needless to say they had no rooms available.
While thinking what to do next I refilled my water bottle at a tap in the village square and headed off down the next section of path. I had two alternatives: wild camp or walk to a hotel for which booking.com advertised vacancies, 3 1/2 hours away in Levens. That was 3 1/2 hours if you had not already been walking for 9 hours. Debating what to do as I walked along I realised that I was getting through my water fast in the dry, late afternoon heat. I would need more if I was to camp out. The path was beautiful in the low evening sun, much of it built into the side of a cliff, high up the steep, wooded valley side. A limestone cliff, which might explain why all the streams were dry, rain water sinking through the porous strata. Cicadas were making a din, creating a noisy Mediterranean ambiance. I passed the couple I had seen earlier. They were in an area where the ground had once been terraced for farming. Finding a convenient flat spot they decided to pitch their tent and camp. Its only downside was that one of the local, large white sheepdogs was sitting looking at them. The dog followed me for a few steps which pleased the couple, but unfortunately for them, decided I was not going to be as much fun and returned to his post. At least, as I said to them, he seemed friendly as he was not biting them.
A kilometre on there was a chapel dedicated to St Antoine, its door unlocked. The couple had been told it might make a good refuge for the night, but I was still without adequate water. I knew the path would cross a river soon, and as it lost height I thought there would be water at the "spring line", where the water table in the porous rock hits the valley side. This might have occurred by some houses, but an array of plastic pipes suggested all the spring water had been captured for their use. I would have asked someone, but no-one was around except for several furry cats glaring at me, and a barking dog. Reaching the bridge over the milky white river, I estimated I could make the hotel at Levens at just after 9 pm if I hurried, which gave a suitable safety margin with the reception closing at 10 pm. So I booked the room online on my phone, making sure I had the right month. I then faced a long, steep climb as Levens is spread along a shoulder of land high above the valley base. In theory, I was tired given the hours I had been walking. However, as I had been told by someone who covered large distances in "Challenge Events", it is all psychological. Faced with the thought of a cold beer and a shower, I raced up the hill at a steady plod. I took a short cut to the road into the village to save time. As so often with short cuts there was a problem. High fences and closed gates prevented me joining the road. Doubtless I was not the first faced with this obstacle as I found a hole in the bottom of the fence just big enough for me to squeeze through after pushing my rucksack through first.
My first beer, drunk before I had even seen my room, was heaven. I ordered my second while still on the phone to my wife. I felt I could unreservedly recommend the hotel before I had even been inside!
No comments:
Post a Comment