a night in the mountains

Last Friday I fulfilled a long-cherished ambition (why did it take so long?): to sleep out at Lac Fourchu. The lake is a favourite with me, and nearly everyone who has visited us in France will have been taken there. A shortish walk up is rewarded by awesome views from the knoll on the east side of the lake across to the Ecrins, Oisans and Grandes Rousses massifs. And the terrain – rolling, boggy, and craggy – allows for off-path walking, and gives a feeling of wilderness that is paradoxically harder to find in the Alps than in the UK uplands. This is because in the Alps, walking routes are largely determined by the paths running up and down the valleys and sometimes over the cols linking them. Walking anywhere else would be impossible because of the sheer steepness of the mountains.

We timed it carefully, Friday being a mega hot day. So we didn't leave the house until after 6pm and it was 7.30pm when we set off from the car park. I wanted to do the walk in an anti-clockwise direction, for the first time. And it was curious how unfamiliar the route was (especially since I had been there barely 2 weeks previously with my friend Kym), and how much steeper the path felt!



The sun was low as we approached the lake and then veered south along the GR that takes you to the Taillefer refuge.

So we had to make a quick decision about where to doss down. Juan wanted to be as high as possible and this fitted with my idea of a sun-rise breakfast. So we agreed on a spot, not too far from the river. Bivvying, rather than camping, had advantages. We had just lain down when a motorcycle stormed by only metres away. Camouflaged by the bivvies in a shallow depression, we were almost out of view. Just as well – camping is technically not allowed.

The stars were magnificent – only marred by the continuous air traffic. And we were well cushioned on the tussocky grass and blueberry bushes.

The following morning I missed sun rise but leapt out of "bed" to take some shots of the early-morning light, the reflections of the Taillefer group mesmerising...

We added a few blueberries to our breakfast cereal...

... then walked on a couple of kilometres to the refuge, for a cup of coffee. From there it seemed a pity not to take advantage of our proximity to the Grand Galbert, a dull mound of a peak that had defeated us twice when we had attempted it on snow shoes some years previously. We were unlikely ever to get nearer than this, so I was keen to swing towards it. You never knew...

Walking up the gully above the refuge (you can just see the refuge - a yurt)

Coming up over the saddle just below the summit we had one of those heart-stopping views. Across the Romanche to Belledonne. One step too many and it would be a humungous free fall down into the valley. Remind me to avoid this route in winter...

Coming down from the Grand Galbert we wove our way through the bogs and streams, cooling off in one tiny trickle.

We didn't see another soul. So it was gratifying, when we found a zillion cars in the car park on our return, to realise that one can be far from the madding crowd, even at this popular cooling-off spot. You just need to avoid the lake!