Col de la Schlucht to Metzeral: Day 152

Beautiful scenery but a difficult descent meant I stopped my walk at lunchtime. 

After struggling with a stiff back, tottering around on rough grass while I brushed my teeth, I left my hidden campsite a little before 8 am. The sun had only just cleared the horizon but already there were many people along the edge of the ridge, where the land dropped steeply to the east. At first I thought they were admiring the large, dusty yellow sun rising above grey mountain ranges, however some were equipped with cameras with large telephoto lenses. Scanning the hillside below, I noticed a group of animals grazing. Too distant to identify I wondered if they were chamois as later, when the path took me down below the ridge line, I caught a glimpse of a creature with brown and white stripes.

The rising sun and far away mountains watched by a group of people. 

Taking selfies at Le Hohneck.

While still on the high ridge I admired the scarp slope beneath me, dropping sharply to the east, with rock outcrops, grass and areas of trees, their shapes outlined by the morning sun. Beyond, forested mountains rose in lines, turning from grey to forest green as the morning progressed. At Le Hohneck there was a large car park, full of cars despite the early hour, a hotel and brasserie (closed when I past). From there the path began to fall, easily at first as far as the Ferme Auberge of Schiessroth. I  had read such places provide food although the door was closed when I passed, however people were milling around an annex that appeared to have dormitory accommodation. I suspect I missed a number of such places when I prepared my itinerary. 

From Schiessroth my struggle began. The path was tortuous and rocky, running back and fore as it dropped down the steep and stony slope between mature trees. My progress was slow as I tried to avoid damage to my knees caused by landing a footstep too hard or at an awkward angle. Loosing a great deal of height I reflected that I would have to climb back up it all on the other side of the valley. Despite the difficulty the descent was through a beautiful area. In addition to the trees and the pervasive greenness of the moss covered rocks there were two lakes. The higher one was a reservoir, I stood on the dam admiring the reflection of the mountain I was descending. Further down was a smaller, more intimate lake, its surface reflecting the leaves of sunlit trees and grey granite rocks.

Reflections in the lower lake, the Lac du Fischboedle.

A long rocky path down over scree slope modern or ancient.

Reaching the village of Mittlach I was a little disappointed it did not have more facilities as I had been imagining a morning coffee and a pastry at a boulangerie. However with my slow and careful progress it was now midday so I settled for lunch at the hotel. I weighed up the options, whether to continue on the next section with my stressed knees, a long uphill climb and then wild camp, or stay in a hotel in the valley. As proving my endurance despite adversity and pain was not my aim I have settled for the hotel. After confirming that the hotel at Mittlach was full I booked one in the neighbouring village of Metzeral. Although over three kilometres away it was along the valley floor with no climbing, on good tracks or roads.

Informative signs with old photos showed the village was pretty well destroyed in the First World War when the French captured the town, so most of the buildings were from after then. I spent the remainder of the afternoon doing chores and planning the rest of my trip. It seems not so long ago I was at a campsite in Belgium, now I am comparing bus and train journeys home.

L'Étang du Devin to Col de la Schlucht: Day 151

Forested mountains with remains of First World Battles in the morning, then a change to long stretches of open ridge.

On rising from my comfortable bed this morning I was unable to put weight on my right foot without a sharp pain in my back. Options I contemplated included asking to stay another night and Ibuprofen, however after slowly going through my back exercises I was able to hobble down to breakfast. Generous helpings of orange juice, coffee, fruit, granola, cheese, bread etc. helped my mood and convinced me I should have a very slow day. My plan was to wild camp at whatever distance I managed to achieve today.

On leaving I spoke to one of the large rambling group who were at the hotel last night. They were also preparing to depart after a week long trip organised by a travel company. Unbeknown to me they had noticed that I was a bit "done in" when I had arrived yesterday. It was sad leaving the Hotel d'Etang du Devin as I had much appreciated my stay after a long day yesterday.

I soon had an introduction to the theme of this morning. Close to the hotel was a cemetery for German war dead from the 1914 - 18 war. The Etang du Devin, a little further along the trail was no longer much of a lake having largely silted up. Beside it was a concrete bunker dug into the side of the hill, used to supply German soldiers with food and water. These and later structures were the result of major battles fought around the mountain of Tête des Feux in 1914 and 1915 as the French tried unsuccessfully to take German positions. Concrete bunkers remain, I noticed on one they had used rails intended for a railway to strengthen the roof. Rusted remains of barbed wire and the metal structures used to support it were still visible. As I came down from the mountain there was a neat cemetery for the French soldiers who died here. The thoughts of violence that such sights invoked contrasted sharply with the peace of the forest, its tall conifers silent above a carpet of moss and myrtilles and beneath a calm blue sky.

Remains of barbed wire beside a bunker.

War cemetery for French soldiers.

At Col du Calvaire the peace was disturbed by a major road. There was also a ski lift, a sort of dry luge track, tourist information, car parks, people on mountain bikes and most importantly for me, a café. Having  rested with a coke and a slice of myrtille tart I climbed a steep hill to reach a ridge. Here the character of my walk through Vosges mountains changed as I began to see views to my left and right as trees became sparse, small or absent. One of my first sights, seen only at certain places, was Lac Blanc (white lake) way below me as the land dropped steeply to the east. Later I would see Lac Vert (green lake). The Vosges mountains are not so wide that I could not see beyond them to both the east and west. To the east first there were lakes among the foothills, then the wide Rhine valley and in the blue distance, the mountains of the Black Forest. To the west the ground dropped more gradually and there were more forested hills but in the distance the plains of France stretched out into the haze. No doubt due to the beauty of the walk and because it is a Saturday many people were about (this and a lack of trees made it difficult to answer calls of nature). The whole area was a protected area for nature as the many signs asserted. We were told not to leave the path, and to make sure we obeyed, much of the track had wire strung between posts on one or both sides, to herd people in the right direction. My knee suffered as the path had many protruding lumps of granite which tried to force it in directions it did not want to go. I consoled myself that the path was heading south in a fairly straight line so I was making good progress towards my ultimate destination in Nice. Judging by the boundary stones marked "F" on the west side and "D" on the east side (where it was not defaced), the trail was following the 1870 to 1918 boundary between France and Germany. 

Open ridge path with steep drop to the east.

Stony path with wire each side.

View point on an outcrop of rock.

Col de la Schlucht was another major road crossing over the mountains., much loved by those on motor bikes. It also had a ski lift, a chapel, shops and cafes. After confirming that the hotel had no rooms I rested with a coffee and a quiche at a café (where the lady serving also filled my water bottle). I was waiting for darkness to approach as there were many signs indicating camping was not allowed. While the number of backpackers I passed clearly had camping equipment I suspected the rule was widely ignored but I did not want my camping equipment confiscated (a rumoured punishment). I continued on the trail still busy with people despite the approaching sunset, and wondered whether a signposted chalet belonging to Alpine club would have free beds. Thinking this unlikely on such a busy weekend, even assuming they were open for overnight stays, I continued on. Finding a clearing a little off the track I pitched my tent, thinking it would be invisible to anyone still out.

Ribeauville to l'Étang du Devin: Day 150

A long day with much climbing to summit multiple peaks of the forested mountains.

This morning my right-hand, lower back was stiff and painful. To see me walking to the toilets from my tent I doubt people would have thought I was about to complete a 32 kilometre (20 mile) day with 1500 metres of total ascent. Indeed it was probably unwise but it was necessary as I was struggling to find accommodation. Then late last night I had an email from one of the options I had been pursuing to say they had a room, an offer I accepted. It was only a few kilometres away from Le Bonhomme where I had planned to stay, however most of those kilometres were steeply uphill, this was on a day when there was already a large amount of ascent. In addition the campsite where I stayed last night was over a kilometre away from the GR5 on the other end of town, adding more length to the day.

One advantage of having to cross Ribeauville was that I could breakfast on coffee and croissants in a boulangerie cum café. Joining me as I walked through the streets were crowds of school children. Although I had started early, leaving the campers all still in bed, the youth of the town had already washed and dressed to arrive at school at around 8 am.

Children on the way to school in Ribeauville. 

My early start was rather wasted when I followed an attractive path around a hillside. Lovely in the morning sun but unfortunately the wrong path. I walked an extra three kilometres as a result of my error, consoling myself that as I was alone, no-one was going to get cross at my navigational mishap (except me who found a few choice swear words to berate myself).

By now the stiffness of my back had worn off and being the start of the day the first long climb to the large rocks on top of Koenigsstuhl (937 metres) was not too arduous. A good way up there was a notice saying "No Entry, Forestry Operations". There being no apparent alternative route and not hearing sawing I ignored the sign. It was evidently an old one as there was no equivalent sign marking the other end of the forbidden zone. At the summit of Koenigsstuhl the surrounding countryside was hidden by conifers of several species growing around the outcrop, but although there was no view there were some big rocks to walk over with rough steps, a change from forest paths.

Rocks by Koenigsstuhl.

Next event was arrival at the village of Aubure. Not expecting much, especially as the boulongerie was closed and up for sale, I was exceptionally pleased that a small shop beside the Mairie sold me a coffee, orange juice and kitkat. I enjoyed them on one of the seats outside while another gentleman managed two beers. A fluffy white dog ran in and out of the shop several times, stood on his back legs in an endearing fashion in front of the windows of the Marie, then barked furiously when I put on my rucksack to leave. A little outside the village there was a viewpoint in what looked like a rotunda from ancient Greece. Le Bonhomme had an arrow to where it lay, hidden in a valley, it did not seem too far. Grand Ballon, which I would cross in a few days time was in the far grey distance. A group of cyclo-tourists in bright yellow tops joined me admiring the scenery.

My attempt to reach the rocks by the next summit ("Pierre des Trois Bans") was thwarted by bigger "No Entry Forestry Operations" banners. This time there was a hand written notice advising walkers of an alternate route down a forest road on the left. Given this effort and the distant sound of power tools I thought I better follow the diversion (although the wording "left" was a bit ambiguous as it depended on which direction you were looking). However an arrow and a review of where different tracks went on my GPS map suggested I followed the correct one. Yet another "No Entry Forestry Operations" sign prevented me from reaching "Pierre des Trois Bans" from another route.

Continuing along the forested ridge to the next peak I was thinking how much more enjoyable ridges were when there were no trees to obscure the surrounding vista. Then a steep climb up to the next summit of Le Petit Brézouard (1203 metres) distracted me from such thoughts. From the top a more limited number of trees meant I could see ranges of blue grey hills in the distance. I could also see a lady sitting on a log beside her backpack. We exchanged polite "bonjours" and then she said something incomprehensible (to me) in French. I gave her my best smile thinking it might be a comment requiring no reply, so she tried again in English. After saying I was trying to get to L'Étang du Devin today she said that was a long way in a serious tone that implied I was foolhardy. That seemed a good reason to head off in a hurry, accidentally missing out the final summit of Le Grand Brézouard (1229 metres).

After a long descent I reached Le Bonhomme very tired and with my back aching again, not a good sign late in the day. After an attempt to reinvigorate myself with a Coke and a slice of plum tart at a bar (the only food that seemed immediately available) I began the long upward journey to L'Étang du Devin. The hotel was slightly before the lake but it was still are hard pull.

The hotel was very much for "randoneurs" (long distance walkers) and there was a big party at a long table for dinner, obviously an organised German group. I was given a table by myself to enjoy the green salad, thick slices of ham and "rosti" potatoes followed by ice cream which I enjoyed immensely despite the simplicity of the dishes.

Chatenois to Ribeauville: Day 149

A day of castles in the forested mountains of the Vosges.

As I was leaving Chatenois a few market stalls were setting up to sell cheese, fruit and vegetables. At the edge of town there were the remains of the town's walls and beyond them were the vineyards. A group of people of assorted ages and sizes were collecting ready to start picking grapes, some drinking take-away coffee, others chatting.

Soon I had climbed out of the vineyards into the forest following tracks and paths marked by the red rectangles of the GR5. The approach to Chateau du Haut-Koenigsbourg was particularly steep. Ahead of me was a large party of French ramblers. Moving slower than me and filling the path I had difficulty passing them. That I was moving faster at all was unexpected as I was not feeling energetic. After the final switchbacks I reached the castle and spotted a place selling coffee and cakes, I chose the "tarte aux myrtille" (blueberry tart) which I ate admiring the panorama over the Rhine valley below. I debated whether to visit the castle interior. Built of red sandstone the medieval castle was burnt and looted by Swedish forces in 1633. In the 19th century it was extensively restored to give the large castle visited by many people today. At the entrance gate a security man was checking bags and the thought of him completing a thorough search of my rucksack, together with a feeling that I had visited it many years before, made me decide to continue on my walk.

View over Rhine Valley from Chateau du Haut-Koenigsbourg.

Chateau du Haut-Koenigsbourg.

After continuing through the forest, and the village of Thannenkirch, I eventually reached my next castle, the Château Haut-Ribeaupierre, a ruin undergoing renovation work. A sign indicated access was not allowed. However there was an extensive view from the promontory on which it was built. After a steep, switchback path I reached Chateau St. Ulrich the second of three chateaux in the area. I briefly looked in but now the town of Ribeauville was spread out beneath me I was keen to continue. Steeply dropping, crossing outcrops of rock I made slow progress but eventually reached the edge of Ribeauville walking by the town's ancient walls. Unfortunately my campsite was at the other end and I was obliged to fortify myself with an ice cream to get there. Walking through this tourist town was no great hardship with it's old half timbered houses with coloured plaster panels.

View down to Ribeauville from Chateau St Ulrich. 

Street in Ribeauville.

Some 13 years earlier my wife and I stayed at this campsite. Its computer remembered us! I explained to the receptionist that I was not with my wife, then felt I had to clarify that actually I was still with my wife but that she was not with me on this trip. I was about to expand on the theme with an explanation but the bemused look from the receptionist made me decide against it. Lacking recent rain the ground at the campsite today was rock hard. I was struggling to get even one of my tent pegs into the earth. Fortunately the kind couple opposite lent me a rubber mallet to hammer them in.

Dinner was at one of the main restaurants on Ribeauville's main tourist drag. I tried the local speciality "choucroute", which is sauerkraut, served with sausage and a few types of pork. Bit filling.

Andlau to Chatenois: Day 148

As I crossed the forested hills of the Vosges today I encountered the mountain of Ungersberg and the ruins of two castles. 

At breakfast a large coach party surrounded the buffet. Large, slowly, shuffling bodies prevented access. I grabbed a few items briefly within my reach between gaps in their torsos and retired to allow the tide to ebb thinking I might be like them in ten or twenty years time. Patience rewarded me and after a few cups of coffee I visited a pharmacy, conveniently nearby, to explore their stock of dressings ("pansements") for the large blister that had encased my heel, communicating in a mixed words of French and English.

Andlau was another charming village of half timbered houses. In the square a statue of a bear was eating grapes, maybe a sign that wine making was very much the theme of the area. Another statue on the ursine theme was of St Richardis and a bear. A reference to the Abbey that was founded at Andlau in 880 at a spot where the saint saw a bear scratching in the soil.

Bear eating grapes at Andlau.

Leaving the town behind I was soon climbing among the trees. A final steep, zig zag ascent took me to the top of Ungersberg (901 metres). In order to admire the view a squat, stone tower had been built. From its top I could see down to the vineyards on the lower slopes and beyond, through the haze, across the wide plain of the River Rhine with its many villages of houses with white walls and red roofs.

The descent from Ungersberg was quite rapid in places causing my ears to pop. Moving fast with my poles for support I tried to reduce the stress on my knees, or at least keep the period they were suffering as short as possible. Rising and falling the GR5 took me through the forest. According to a sign some of the conifers were planted almost 70 years ago and have grown tall, ready for harvest. Shortly after a rocky outcrop (Rocher de l'Ane) I heard a loud hammering up in the trees. After much searching I found the source of the noise, a woodpecker attacking a pine tree where a branch had broken off.

Attractive woodland paths led me to the Chateau de Bernstein. I had visited the Vosges before and remembered enjoying a Black Forest Gateau in the café at one of Alsace's Chateau's. However Chateau de Bernstein was a ruin far from any refreshments. Dating from the 13th century the tower was still intact with steep and dark metal steps inside which I carefully climbed. From the top I could see the mountains of the Black Forest, just visible, rising in the far distance.  

View from Chateau de Bernstein.

Later I passed the Chateau de l'Ortenbourg also ruined with no café. As it was getting late I decided not to investigate inside but hurried down the hillside through oaks and sweet chestnut trees. After crossing the flat valley floor between electrified fences I reached Chatenois. Another charming town of half timbered buildings, at least in the centre. My Auberge for tonight was in a pink one. 

I have just finished my dinner in a nearby restaurant with a dessert of "fromage blanc", or white cheese. However this was runny stuff...

Le Hohwald to Andlau: Day 147

Over forested hills to St Odile's convent then down to the vineyards on the lower, eastern slopes of the Vosges mountains. 

Checking out of my hotel I was a little peeved. First in queue was a lady, part of a larger group, who spent a long time discussing with the easy going man on reception who had what drinks. Then two ladies jumped in ahead of me, one having a long discussion that seemed to be about the price of her room. I was ignored. Sometimes I feel older men are simply not seen, being neither a possible source of interest nor a threat. Either way the lady took her time while the middle aged man behind me checked the time on my watch. Needless to say, as a gentleman, I did not remind the ladies I was before them, even if I could manage to say it in one of the two languages being used (French and German).

Leaving I passed a Gite d'Etape where I checked a notice which stated it was for pre-booked groups only, so not a source of cheap accommodation for me. Climbing up the forested hills the wind was blowing, bending the treetops, rustling their leaves. Stronger gusts lifted last autumn russet leaves into the air or broke off new ones. Along the paths which threaded through the trees my feet sometimes crunched beech mast, other times their sound was muffled by a carpet of pine needles. Rock outcrops were an occasional feature today and I passed information boards, part of a geology themed path.

A forest walk.

St Odile's convent was the principal tourist site today. On its approach the GR5 ran below a modest cliff of the red sandstone and conglomerate typical of the area (displaying clear crossbedding I surmised it was deposited by a braided river). However the many people visiting were more interested in the buildings. Grouped around two courtyards were a hotel, café (which I patronised), the church (a minor basilica), chapels and unidentified rooms (it did not seem to be a "working" convent any more). In the smaller courtyard, with flower lined paths was a statue of St Odile. A 7th century saint born blind, on her baptism she miraculously gained her sight. There was a lot more to her story and her evil father as well. Many signs asked for quiet but it was difficult to pray or meditate in the church due to all the people vaguely shuffling about. The adjacent car park was full and there were a few tour buses. As the convent stands on a promontory there was a good view from the larger courtyard across the lower land to the east, or there would have been without the haze.

St Odile.

Before and after the convent I saw sections of the Pagan Wall, or what remains of it. Made of large, crudely squared off blocks of stone, it age and purpose is uncertain.

Remains of the "Pagan" Wall.

After Mount St Odile and its wall the trail looses height, passing a few shelters provided by Club Vosgien. On the lowest slopes I entered vineyards. Grapes had been harvested from some of the them leaving yellowing leaves, others still needed to be picked. 

Barr was an attractive town of narrow cobbled streets and old, half timbered buildings typical of Alsace. I had intended to stay at its campsite but a sign on the gate said "Complet", i.e. full. Although there looked to be a number of spaces maybe they had bookings. I was surprised as it was Tuesday and "out of season" when many campsites had closed, although maybe that was the reason this small site was full. If the office had been open I would have enquired but a sign indicated that would not happen for another two hours (it was only 3 pm when I arrived) and I felt I would have little chance of communicating effectively in French on the phone. Booking.com indicated there were hotels with vacancies in the area and two with prices of under €100 for the night, one of which I selected. It was in the next town of Andlau which seemed a good idea as it was still early and it would reduce the distance tomorrow.

Streets of Barr.

Barr among vineyards. 

Between Barr and Andlau the trail rose and fell through vineyards. At one corner a plaque commemorated an American soldier who died in 1944. A reminder that this trip was along the line of many conflicts. A little later a scary man in a tree turned out to be a dressed up mannequin.

For the last few days I have had a blister on my right heel, the first in four weeks of walking which I thought pretty good. I had been applying plasters to reduce rubbing but when I removed the plaster this evening to wash in the small hip bath in my room, a large piece if skin came away too. Unfortunately I did not bring the large dressings that it really needed, not having used any for many previous trips.

Schirmeck to Le Hohwald and rest day: Days 145 & 146

Revived by a rest day I climbed across tree covered mountains, but a Nazi concentration camp cast a dark shadow on an otherwise sunny day.

For my rest day in Schirmeck I did little except eat, rest, read and deal with correspondence, some of which related to a proposed extension of the E2 to John o'Groats. Suitably refreshed I started the long climb out of town after a short conversation with one of the owners of the Airbnb (one of those many occasions when I wished I had more French).

A short way (steeply uphill) out of town was Chateau Schirmeck, a small courtyard and towers of ancient foundation with the few remains restored in 1969. Looking down on, and hopefully looking after the town below was a statue of the Virgin Mary, her head ringed by golden stars.

Statue of Virgin Mary from the entrance to Chateau Schirmeck. 

The trail today was entirely under trees of many types, including some very tall ones. Being hot and sunny they provided welcome shade. Patches of sunlight played on the path ahead of me where shafts of light pierced the canopy of leaves. Club Vosgien, a hiking organisation over a 150 years old, takes responsibility for the waymarking and maintenance of the trails in this mountain range. Unlike elsewhere in France red rectangles mark the GR5, rather than the usual white and red stripes. They have made an excellent job, following footpaths as well as forest tracks. On my route, there were a couple of shelters they had built. Although there was much climbing and descent, with protruding rocks and roots in places, careful foot placement meant my knee did not suffer too much.

The Struthof concentration camp intruded on an otherwise bucolic day. A museum on the site describes life and death at this Nazi camp, which appeared to focus on political prisoners, members of the Resistance and others the Nazis wished to disappear. The building housing the gas chamber looked like an innocent house, I had always imagined them more threatening industrial buildings. After reading accounts of a few of those who died and some of the survivors, viewing an exhibition of ties with a medical establishment which conducted tests on prisoners, inspecting the double fence of barbed wire, the guard towers, the many crosses above the site, I left feeling depressed at the inhumanity the camp represented.

Barbed wire fences of Struthof concentration camp.

A more pleasant sight was the Champ du Feu, an open area of rough grass and the highest point on the trail today at 1098 metres. I looked back at the mountains I had crossed yesterday, now a whiter shade of grey in the summer haze. Three art pieces maybe made of solid iron graced the area, but did not stoop to explain themselves. A tower stood by the road.

An art installation on the Champ du Feu.

Towards Le Hohwald the GR5 crosses the top of a "cascade". I walked down to its bottom to view with a crowd of others the many thin threads of water dropping a good distance, splashing over rocks. Then I had to climb back up again.

The top of Le Hohwald cascade. 

Le Hohwald had a Germanic feel on a day when everything was closed. It is Monday. My hotel was a little out of town and thankfully open although with limited menu options for diner (risotto, but a good one with chorizo preceded by tomatoes and mozzarella, and followed by a slice of fig pie, together with a glass of the local Gewürztraminer wine).