Start: Rifugio Maison Vielle/Finish: Rifugio Elisabetta, 10.0, +678, -464
Today my trail overlaps with the Tour de Month Blanc again. I've already hiked this part, two years ago, and I'm curious how different the experience will be like.
The first memory comes very early in the day. Two years ago there were wooden artifacts scattered along the trail, inviting hikers to take a moment and look at the view beyond their phone. This is what's left today:
With the Mont Blanc range on my right and Val Veny just below me, the path has more ups and downs than I remembered. I start on my own, having been the only one in the hut heading in this direction, but at about two-thirds of the way I start seeing people. A lot of people. There's pairs and couples and groups, and even a group with a guide and a mule. I wonder if it's the same mule I saw exactly here two years ago.
I walk by the first of several supply containers. This week is the UTMB week, with 8 races taking place around the Chamonix - Courmayeur area, and I'm guessing these are supplies for a refreshment stop. I find these races fascinating: I can't imagine being able to run field races. I find running difficult and boring. And these people, the ones who run the trails, I don't understand how we share a human DNA, surely we are different breeds.
Very soon I see a lake on the other side of the valley. It's Lago Combal, small this late in the season. A few more minutes and I see Cabane du Combal. I wanted to stay here tonight, but they were only selling rooms, not beds.
Cabane du Combal - doesn't this look inviting?
Soon I'm down at the valley floor, taking a left into a gravel road. Like many hikers, I prefer not to have long stretches of these wide roads, but I don't mind so much here. It's a beautiful marshy valley, with the mountains towering above on three directions. And it's beautiful.
Even the wind does not diminish the beauty, maybe even enhancing it. It howls and shrieks and makes progress rather difficult.
End of summer on the way to Rifugio Elisabetta
The tents on my left are another reminder that this is race week. Shortly after the gravel road takes a turn and starts the final climb into Rifugio Elisabetta. I remember how tough it was for me last time, and how embarrassed I was by it. After all, it's not a hard climb. But now I suddenly realize I'm ok, I can do it, no need for breaks to catch my breath. I'm getting better at this.
As I walk past the deserted army barracks half way to the rifugio, someone calls my name. Well, not exactly my name, but the name I give people instead - Emma. It's close enough to my own name, but much easier for people to say, and so much easier to spell over the phone. Letters, like numbers, are an indication of people's true first language. And across all the Latin languages, the names of the letters are different. So try and spell my phone name, with all of its n's and m's and a's, and see what comes up. So Emma it is.
It's the two lovely American ladies I've met the day before. I'm not clear as to how they are there, but they are, with their small group and their guide. They ask me to tell their guide what trail I'm hiking, and I can't not imagine that the look on his face is one of surprise, surprise that this women in front of him is attempting such a feat that is clearly beyond here capabilities. When will I get over this? Will I ever feel like I truly belong on the trails?
Rifugio Elisabeta is a busy one, being a popular stop for those doing the TMB in the traditional anti-clockwise way. Just like last time, it's too windy to sit outside, and the hut itself is bustling, full with families and groups having lunch, friendly banter and wine all around.
And just like last time, the lock on the stall in the woman's bathroom doesn't work.
I settle for lunch here, listening on people's conversations and watching their interactions as I (pretend) to read my book.
And then somehow it's already time for dinner. They put us all the singles together. On my left is a guy with a Walki-Talki, who is clearly distracted by something. I ask him about it, and he shares he is a volunteer in one of the UTMB races. We chat about the race, and he shares the sad news that a few days ago a runner has died not so far from here, falling during one of the more technical races.
There's also a Norwegian guy who is camping with his dog, a husky. He asks if he could take the meat I didn't eat for his dog, and I almost ask to feed the dog myself. I love huskies.
Mixing English and French the conversation around the table is flowing. I'm the only one who is not hiking the TMB. The only person who does not take part in the conversation is my roommate, a Japanese women who is quite as a mouse. As always with Japanese people, I wonder if it's a language barrier or a cultural one. I've yet to meet a chatty Japanese.
With this thought, and after a tasty and hearty dinner (food was good here last time as well), I retire to bed.
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