Vitamin D deficiency...

was becoming a worry to me. That old Sunshine vitamin was taking an extended vacation in the Alps. Yes, it bothered me. 

Day One: Grimentz to Zinal

That all changed yesterday. The sun burst out from the curtain of clouds. I was so thrilled I performed an off-key rendition of "The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music," as I waltzed through the scenery. My apologies to Julie Andrews for violating her classic. My warbling was so bad, I caused those mellow Swiss cows to run to the butcher shop for slaughter. Poor bovines. 

Who cares that I got sunburnt,  I had BIG views.  Heaps of mountains, glaciers, waterfalls,  an odd colored reservoir and chillin' cattle. (I stopped singing to halt the mass suicides.) it was my favorite day of hiking so far. I was even wearing comfortable cotton after a week long hiatus. That's living large. 

Day Two: Zinal to Gruben

Alas, the provider of Vitamin D was only temporary. The clouds returned. The ambient light went dull and flaccid. The winds had an icy pinch. Today I required four cappuccinos to gird myself for another 4,200"of ascent. OY! 

Somehow through this day of cold sweat and toil, I crossed over an invisible barrier. Was it Forcletta Pass? Au Revoir to the gentle sing-song French language. Guten Tag to Swiss-German which doesn't sound quite as intimidating or guttural as Deutsch spoken by Germans from the Fatherland. If that makes sense. 

Now a Swiss factoid lesson:  Two-thirds of the Swiss speak German. One fifth speak French. One tenth speak Italian and a smattering converse in a language called Romansh. The ladder lingua has varying dialects based on what glacial Valley the speaker is from. Clearly the Alps are more than physical barriers alone. These verticals obstructions divide countries, languages and cultures. No wonder there's so much human history surrounding them. 

It's not an easy place to hike, but it sure is interesting. 

Day Three: Gruben to Grachen 

After a rough night of sleep, I went straight towards the coffee at the breakfast buffet. One pot later, I was thinking I had to eat something, although I had no appetite for another carb and cheese fix. Outside, it was cool, cloudy and damp. Other Haute Route hikers were already on their way by the time I chugged more coffee. You can say I was on a liquid diet. Eventually, I packed my meager belongings and headed uphill once again. 

The trail switchbacked gently. The grade was kind. I caught a few hikers and noticed steam wafting off them. Higher up a crunchy layer of frost covered the ground. Still higher, the sun broke out. At the pass, this is what met me. Somewhere down below was Grachen (not that I would see it). 

My guidebook said I would score views of nearby peaks with muscular sounding names. That didn't happen. I felt like I was walking through a Twilight Zone" episode. I couldn't see where I was heading nor where I had been. It was unnerving. Fortunately, the trail was well trodden and generally heading downhill. I knew I'd eventually come to a Swiss village with cheese! 

Somehow I stumbled the right way to the hamlet of Junger. A cable car was available to save my knees from undertaking an incredible 2,770" in a tidbit 1.8 miles. 

Pretty much a no brainer at this point. The cable car dropped like it was in free fall. I ended up in the now sunny, modern and large town of St. Niklaus. From the cable car, locals pointed out Grachen. It too appeared to be a good sized town. It was situated way up a nearby steep hillside. There was a trail heading there which bisected the roadway. 

It just so happened my fellow cable car riders were going to my day's destination. They were kind enough to offer me a lift. I readily accepted. My caffeine buzz was long gone and with it my Mojo.

I'm cutting a rest day out of my itinerary to beat an impending storm. In the Swiss Alps you make your kilometers while the sunshines. I have a great forecast for tomorrow. On the final long approach to Zermatt, I'll be absolutely wet and cold.

Upon my arrival in Zermatt, I'll celebrate with a hot beer and some cheese!

Prost!

Jeff

An Open Lonely Landscape...

is how I would describe today's hike from La Sage to Grimentz. 

With a forecast calling for 100% clouds, but thankfully no rain, I headed out.  It was hypothermia chilly, yet I only wore a lightweight fleece shirt and shorts. With another daily dose of ascent (4,200 feet) I knew I'd be toasty in minutes and meters. Not much later, a cold sweat descended down my back and brow. No fuss breaks today, I would have started shivering. 

The views were long. The light was flat and subdued. From my aerie I heard the melodic chiming of cow bells. Those four-legged musicians were mere black dots from my vantage point. 

Along the way, I noticed a Barley the Van sized chunk of limestone rock. (ancient seabed). An indication of the cataclysmic forces at work in the Alps. All this from the African tectonic plate steamrolling  into the Eurasian one. Uplifting happens. 

I passed three fellows with backpacks. They said Hello's in hushed tones. No one started a conversation. It was a day for turning inward. 

At Col de Torrents, I unslung my back, donned a jacket and took my first break. Bananas and nectarines were gobbled down. I was getting cold and needed to move. After a quick photo session I headed down to aquamarine colored Moiry Reservoir. The source of all that pretty water sat up upstream-Moiry Glacier. 

At a display on the Dam, I saw these photos. I couldn't understand the explanation, but the pictures told the story. In one person's lifetime the Glacier had receded a lot more than an arm's length. I suppose the notion of climate change is just like plate tectonics, both are fake science. 

The obvious reason a multi-ton chunk of compressed coral sat at 7,000" was a tough backpacker hauled it up there. Yeah! That's the ticket! 

Now I'm in the quintessential Swiss village of Grimentz. Its so Swiss, I wonder if the Swiss think it's over the top! Lovely place. Really.

Hark! I hear a Happy Hour Swiss lager yodeling for me.

Cheers!

Jeff

PS. For all you Labor Day Weekend folks who might have missed this.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ch/2017/09/all-swiss-alps-postcards.html

Last photo: I emptied out my Swiss Bank account to purchase this cool pad.

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