All the Swiss Alps postcards...

show nothing but blue skies and puffy clouds with dazzling mountain backdrops. Well, I'm finding out (the hard way) it's not always "Joy! Joy! Happy! Happy!" weather in this European mountain range. 

Day One : 

I left Villette early to beat the heat. The day's workout called for an astounding 5,577" of relentless uphill in not all that many miles. Fortunately, the path was user friendly. No boulders, scree or other obstacles. I passed chapels and hamlets precariously perched on "Black Diamond" steep hillsides. Picnic pavilions loomed higher still. Then the eventual ski lifts and gondola stations. On top of it all was the Monte Fort Hut. Silly me, the first thing I noticed was a sedan parked outside. I could have taken a taxi there. 

I checked in, ordered a meal and got out of my sweat-wet clothes. Apparently, the high season in the Alps is a done deal. I was given a room to myself.

Other hikers stumbled in one by one or in pairs. The demographics of the Haute Route has changed dramatically. Gone are most of the Europeans. (They are back at work/school). Now the trekkers  are Yanks or Brits on harried hiking vacations. 

Outside, the  weather was changing rapidly. Sun worshipping backpackers were chased inside around 3ish. By dinner time it was raining and cool. By bedtime I could hear and see lightening, thunder and a lashing rain on the roof. Winds blew open my window and whistled through the Hut. 

I went to sleep in a snug room wondering what the morning would bring. 

Day Two: 

In the morning, the weather was acceptable. It was warm and cloudy. Rain was in the forecast, but it wasn't upon us yet. There were three distinct Cols (passes) to negotiate on the day's hike. After a megadose of caffeine and a carbo loaded breakfast I was off. The first pass was virtually right outside the Hut. Near the top the footing consisted of boulder hopping from one to another. A few moved. No Bueno. 

The next two Cols weren't all that bad. For a change I was hiking in true European Wilderness. There were no roads, ski lifts, homes or high tension electrical lines obscuring the views. Glaciers, tarns and ragged mountains were everywhere. I only wish the forecast would have allowed me to dawdle more on the passes. It was scenery worth savoring. By then, intermittent showers caught me. I manipulated my poncho up and over my head and pack. 

I was making good progress toward my second Hut when I was enveloped in an almost touchable fog bank. Visibility went from miles to feet in no time. I squinted to see the reassuring painted way points telling me I was on course. I didn't like this part. Finally the Hut loomed phantom-like. I was almost at the door before I could see it. I was happy to be there. The weather was turning more malevolent. 

At dinner time, the staff informed us the forecast was for White Death on the Cols. 

Day Three: 

My Hut mates and I woke to clouds, fog and rain. The temperature had dropped to 39 degrees (4 degrees C). On a stage called the "toughest"  of the Haute Route, this wasn't a  jolly "Good Morning!" I looked for options. With two passes to deal with, I decided to quickly go up and over the first one. From there, I would have a better view of what my hiking future might hold. 

From the top my outlook wasn't too positive. A peloton of slow moving pregnant clouds were steadily advancing towards a glacial valley. The same one I was supposed to go up. I couldn't make out any mountains, glacier or a Col. I just saw gray. I did see lots of ibex though!! 

Eventually i dropped down to a reservoir. I had to make a choice. 

People make decisions on our own personal Rolodex of lifelong experiences. Hopefully we learn from our mistakes and dont repeat asinine events that could get us killed or maimed. I suppose this is Darwinism at work. So at that moment I asked myself.

"Self! Would you head up a high Colorado pass if you saw climatic conditions such as this?" My answer, "HELL NO!" 

I turned left towards the Dam, civilization and a bus to Arolla. 

Before you shake your head and exclaim, "What a Wuss!" I'll ask you this. How many burning buildings have you crawled into in your life? 

Case closed.

Day Four: 

I had a cool, cloudy, sullen and introspective mosey from Arolla to La Sage. Fortunately, I was below the White Death line. (Snow). I helplessly watched as the white line dropped lower as the day progressed. It was snowing on the Cols on September 2nd. WTF! 

Hikers I passed along the way were dressed more for skiing than hiking. The layered look was in. I saw whimsical looking Swiss homes spouting  wood burning smoke from their chimneys. Many restaurants in the villages were recently shuttered. The few left opened are now being reclaimed by the locals. I could almost hear a sigh of relief. Ahh, the summer high season is over. Goodbye outsiders. 

Day Five: 

Sunshine returned, although the morning temperature hovered near freezing. On a so-called rest day, I decided to make up for one missed Col. So I did just that. Now you can stop calling me "Wuss!" 

BTW: The early White Death is Obama's fault too.

Onward into the German speaking part of Switzerland. 

Prost!

Jeff

A Bucolic day of...

hiking before the storm. 

After a mellow respite in Champex, Switzerland (my favorite town so far), it was time to hit the Haute Route once again.

Today's ramble was mostly downhill through farms and valley villages. It was a slice of everyday Swiss life. I watched Grandma and Grandpa farmer rake fresh mowed clover. A school bus let out behind me. The kids shouted joyously as they ran past. A noisy quarry was busy crushing boulders or moving them about. Industrial strength sprinklers watered the fields. Black cows mooed about. I walked by the front and back yards of Swiss citizens. No one gave me a second glance. It was reminiscent of the Camino de Santiago minus the Pilgrims and frequent bar/cafe social stops.

This is my chill break before three stages of extreme hiking. Here's a few brief descriptors from my cue-sheets. "The most sustained uphill section of the Haute Route." (5,577" of climbing in 5.5 miles. OY!) "The going is particularly rocky and barren." And my favorite "Today is the toughest stage." 

My accommodations will be huts too. Yech! 

From my New Zealand Hut experience.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ch/2017/01/a-hut-too-far.html

With flashbacks of New Zealand's backcountry dorms boogying in my head. (NZ's huts were similar to Chinese opium dens minus the drugs). I Googled my upcoming Swiss huts. 

My first shelter got Chicago's Waldorf Astoria reviews. (*****). The second not so much. Out of eleven TripAdvisor reviews, seven rated the crash pad "poor to terrible." There's mentions of bedbugs and non-potable water too. The shack has only two toilets, two showers and two urinals for 59 occupants! Triple OY! 

Let's say I'm not excited about Hut # 2. 

AND... the weather forecast is skunky! Today's warmth will give way to rain, wind, lower temperatures and more rain. I'm thinking this is a meteorological event related to Hurricane Harvey. ((Which we all know is Obama's fault). 

So now, I'm lying horizontal in my hotel room in Villette. It's a non-quaint newish town with loud multilane traffic. I'm not inspired to take a gander about. I'll conserve my strength for the hikes and huts that await me. 

Though I'll  save some energy for tonight's Happy Hour. I have my priorities. 

Cheers! See you on the other side.

Jeff

Last photo: This wasn't the sexy French maid i envisioned from my previous post.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/08/bigly-version-of-i-stand-humbled.html

Biglier version of I stand...

Humbled by the Alps. 

My buddies who really know me will never ask "Jeff! Let's do this hike. It'll be challenging!" They know what my answer will be. "Hell! No!" 

I'm at the stage of my life where the biggest daily challenge I want to face is finding the "ON" switch for my coffee pot. I don't seek challenges. I'm a closet wimp. I want to breeze up passes because I trained for them. I like easy. 

That being all said, I'm physically suffering from the onslaught of the Alps. In my four days of hiking here, I've accumulated 17,191" (5240 meters) of uphill. That's 3.25 miles of ascent. OY! No wonder I'm  fatigued and cringe at the thought of a no-elevator third floor hotel room. 

All the tromping I did in Colorado's High Country failed to ready me for the sheer steepness of the Alps. I might as well have sat in an Iowan cornfield reading Harlequin Romance novels, munching on Bonbons, all washed down with gooey chocolate milk. I thought I came prepared!

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ch/2017/08/my-final-resting-place.html

I discovered on these four days of hiking, my three stages of extreme physical activity. Within fifteen minutes, my cotton t-shirt is just-got-out of the washing machine wet. In thirty minutes I'm exuding an "Eau de Sambur" scent. It's definitely not an expensive cologne. In an hour, I'm taking intermittent breaks to scrape the grit and grime off my tongue. Between the steep terrain and the exertions, I'm dragging that particular body part in the dirt. As the Aussies say, "this is hard Yakka!" 

Odds and ends musings: 

Upon meeting backpackers coming in the opposite direction, I notice they wear hollowed-eyed, vacant, Prisoner of War looks. I dare not ask them how's it going. Their personal countenance says it all.

A word about the trail conditions: In my past, I've heard "alternative facts" about the physical state of the Alps paths. From what I was told, I envisioned groomed and manicured tracks. I fantasized about seeing scantily clad French maids vigorously sweeping the trails with old fashioned corn brooms. Sigh! That's not the case. The trails are every bit as rocky, rutted and rough as the ones in America's wild places. (Maybe worse). There's no daydreaming on these hikes. You really must watch your step. 

A note about the trails vertically: I'm sure many of you think I'm over-embellishing the difficulty here. Unto those I say, "Au contraire!" Yesterday, I was hiking at eye-level to ground dwelling blueberry bushes. I managed to pluck a few anti-oxidants off before my next stumbling uphill step. 

So how am I doing? My legs have the feel of over-cooked spaghetti. My resting heart rate is averaging 10 beats/minute more than BTA (Before The Alps) time. Every once in a while, my heart forgets to work. Huh? Arrhythmias! While my energy output has gone Mount Everest, my appetite has taken a leave of absence. I'm losing more weight. At this present rate, I'll arrive in Zermatt the equivalent poundage of two Nalgene water bottles. 

The demographics here: Most of the trail's users are European or Asian. Senior citizens (like me) are an exception instead of the rule. My fellow Americans aren't prevalent at all. I did notice a few smirky Canadians with maple leaf flags attached to their packs. I suppose it's their snarky way of saying, "We're still in the Paris Climate Accord! Please don't compare us to our Southern neighbors. Eh?" Those hockey loving Canucks might add (since they are all so civil and polite) "We're sorry your glaciers are receding. Maybe you can make more beer with the melt water while you still can. Eh?" 

I'll sum up this lengthy post with this: A few days ago, I sat outside a cafe at the Col de Balme. This mountain pass serves as a border between France and Switzerland. (No Wall, no Border Patrol). From a proprietress as ancient as the Alps, I purchased an overpriced cheese sandwich (minus the cheese) and a half liter of water. I took my humble bread and water meal outside and looked into Switzerland for the first time in my life. I got giddy and began to laugh out loud. These mountains are whooping me! This is nuts! 

Then I calmed down and realized if Hannibal (the Carthaginian General) was able to get 40 elephants over these passes, I should be able to get my solo Jewish butt over them as well. 

It's all good.

Keep looking in, the Alps are amazing...

Cheers!

Jeff

I stand humbled...

by the Alps. 

My hiking buddies who really know me never ask, "Jeff! Let's do this hike. It'll be challenging!" They know what my answer will be. "Hell! No!" 

I'm at the stage of my life where the biggest daily challenge I want to face is finding the "ON" switch for my coffee pot. I don't seek challenges. I'm a closet wimp. I want to breeze up passes because I trained for them. I like easy. 

That being all said, I'm physically suffering from the onslaught of the Alps. In my four days of hiking here, I've accumulated 17,191" (5240 meters) of uphill. That's 3.25 miles of ascent. OY!

No wonder I'm  fatigued and cringe at the thought of a no-elevator third floor hotel room. 

All the tromping I did in Colorado's High Country couldn't prepare me for the sheer steepness of the Alps. I might as well have sat in an Iowan cornfield reading Harlequin Romance novels, munching on Bonbons, all washed down with gooey chocolate milk. I thought I came prepared!

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ch/2017/08/my-final-resting-place.html

I discovered on these four days of hiking, the four stages i experience from all this strenuous activity. In fifteen minutes, my cotton t-shirt is just got out of the washing machine wet. In thirty minutes I'm exuding an "Eau de Sambur" scent. It's definitely not an expensive cologne. In an hour, I'm taking intermittent breaks to scrape the grit and grime off my tongue. Between the steep terrain and the exertions, I'm dragging that particular body part in the dirt. As the Aussies say, "this is hard Yakka!" 

Now a word about the trail conditions: In my past, I've heard "alternative facts" about the condition of the Alps paths. From what I was told, I envisioned groomed and manicured tracks. I fantasized about seeing scantily clad French maids vigorously sweeping the trails with old fashioned corn brooms. Sigh! That's not the case. The trails are every bit as rocky, rutted and rough as the ones in America's wild places. (Maybe worse). There's no daydreaming on these hikes. You really must watch your step. 

A few days ago, I sat outside a cafe at the Col de Balme. This mountain pass serves as a border between France and Switzerland. From a proprietress as ancient as the Alps, I purchased an overpriced cheese sandwich (minus the cheese) and half liter of water. I took my humble bread and water meal outside and looked into Switzerland for the first time in my life. I got giddy and started to laugh out loud. This is so nuts! 

Then I realized if Hannibal (the Carthaginian General) was able to get elephants over these passes, I should be able to get my ass over them as well. 

It's all good.

Keep looking in, the Alps are amazing...

Cheers!

Jeff

The People Talk...

funny here and other first impressions.

I'm now in Chamonix, France where English is a second language. That's OK.  I'm so deaf  even if the locals were speaking my only tongue, I wouldn't hear them anyway. So I smile like an old docile clown and shake my head yes or no to make my point. If that doesn't work, I just smile until they feel sorry for me and figure out what I want. Most of the time, I'm successful. 

Today, I woke still groggy from a Jet-lag hangover. For me, the feeling manifests itself as having an out-of-body experience. For instance : This morning I cracked open a raw egg at the breakfast buffet. Silly me, it was a do it yourself hard boiled egg station. There was a vat of boiling water next to the tray of eggs. Somehow, I left out an important step in food preparation. 

After eating, I decided to see if I could decipher the  hiking directions sent by Alpine Exploratory Guide Services. They are written in the British English language which is more than a continent away from the American English language. On today's amble I figured out  I just need to follow the signs. That's my kind of hiking. Cut to the chase. Who has time to read when they are hiking! We're BUSY! 

Now I'm optimistic I won't make the Le Monde's front page news for getting farblondzhet (Yiddish for lost) in the Alps. Thank you Alpine Exploratory. 

The Alps are steep. It was a 4,400 foot climb to Lac Blanc in a scant 5.5 miles. 

Humidity lurks in the Alps too. In Colorado's dry high-desert climate, people don't age, they desiccate. Here there's plenty of nature's moisturizers. Sweat! No wonder, the only wrinkles I noticed were mine. 

Ahh, but the mountains themselves are cut-your-finger jagged. Islands of rock poker through the thick glaciers. Yet, people and ski gondolas climb up them. Simply amazing. 

My first impressions? So far, so good. Although I might have caught a bug in transit. OY! 

à votre santé! 

Jeff

My Final Resting Place...

will be on Mount Sneffels. (14,150') in Southwest Colorado.

My brother Mike owns a hand written set of directions on what's to become of my estate, and my ashes. The instructions are specific on where to place my four-six pounds of gray powder. (Mostly granulated bone).  One third of me will be spread facing east toward the rising sun. (I'm a morning person) The rest will be scattered toward the San Juan Mountains. I want a wind blown perspective of all those luscious acres of Federally-protected Wilderness Areas. It's all about the big views. 

The San Juan's are the most dramatic, steep, rugged and wicked-wild mountain range in Colorado. The Sangre de Cristo's mountains are close, but lack the depth and breadth of the San Juan's. The San Juan's possess more real estate to get lost in. I've been exploring the area for about 40 years, but barely broke the surface. 

My summer game plan was to hike heaps of Colorado. On a daily basis, I pushed this senior citizen body into dependable shape for my upcoming Alps journey. There, I'll be ambling the Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt.  I'll be ascending 5,000'/day on many of the stages. That's the equivalent of walking out of the Grand Canyon a few times a week. I'm pleased to say, mission accomplished. I'm feeling healthy and fit. I'm lean but not mean. I'm ready.

It's been a soggy summer in Colorado, more reminiscent of a typical Seattle winter. It's green, flowery and buggy. There was a stretch where I thought mud and mold would digest Barley the Van. Yet, I felt happy to be in the State which adopted me in 1978. 

During this sojourn, I thought a lot about things. There will come a time when life in Barley the Van won't be possible. I'll have to settle down. I think my next to last resting place will be in Southwest Colorado. By that time, I'll be looking up at the views instead of gazing down from the peaks, passes and basins. As for now, I'm not ready yet. There's that one-way ticket I have to Europe. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/07/in-2009-i-rode-my-bicycle-from-san.html

Who knows what my future or the World's will be? 

Which brings us back to the start of this post. Who will deposit what's physically left of me on Sneffels? 

I'm hoping Keith and Justin Sambur (my nephews) and maybe a few others who liked me will deposit my remains. (You guys better stay in shape to haul me up there!)  It'll be OK for them to anoint me with a Double IPA. I won't need to stay sober for the scree-lined descent. I'll be staying up there. 

All these photos were shot in the Centennial State. Thank You! Colorado for giving me sanctuary here. 

The last photo is me on incredible Mount Sneffels. Note the measuring cup in my hand. I want my nephews to get the portions right. 

Next stop...

The Alps.

Follow along, this could get interesting.

Cheers,

Jeff