It's a Marathon! (Swiss Alps - Part 1)

The Classic Walker’s Haute Route begins in Chamonix, so that is where this Swiss tale begins.

What is the Walker’s Haute Route you ask? According to the Hiking Club Blog, it’s only the most legendary hut-to-hut hiking trail that the Alps has to offer.

132 miles (213 km), 46k feet (14k meters) in elevation gain, 11 mountain passes.

Basically, 12 days of carrying my sh*t on my back and averaging 10+ miles a day by foot.

We are all mentally ill in our own way. This is my way.

How did this come to be? Well one late night I was watching a Netflix mountaineering documentary. The next day I put down a deposit to trek K2 (To base camp. I am still in the gateway drug stage of mountaineering). I would be leaving in about 40 days. Let’s not comment on my decision making. It’s a meticulous process that is not at all impulsive.

Though that last statement is dripping in sarcasm, I'm not a fool. I knew I shouldn’t just waltz into Pakistan with no preparation. Try as you might, the Appalachian mounds just don’t do it for me, so what better way to train than in the Swiss Alps? The Mont Blanc circuit is a popular option, but lodging was sold out in key stops on such short notice. When there’s a will, there’s a way, and that’s how I discovered the Haute Route. Of course it’s longer and harder, but that’s beside the point.

Chamonix is a quaint mountain town popular for hiking in the summer and skiing in the winter.

I woke up early to catch the train to Argentière, where I begin my trek. 20 minutes later I’m in another town. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I wonder where all the people are?

As it turns out, today is the annual Mont Blanc marathon.

Peachy.

The first hour of the trail was me trying to get out of the way of the runners.

I'm like the tractor trailer amidst a bunch of impatient Lamborghinis on a one lane road. Dressed too warm, a little slow in the morning, lugging 20 pounds on my back. Meanwhile they are dainty 90 pound featherweights with thighs literally the size of my arms. While they can run circles around me, I bet I could bench press any one of them. The gym bro logic makes me feel ever so slightly better as I trudge along.

Thankfully the trail splits off from the runners; leaving me on my own. “This is great”, I think. “I’m going to get over to the next village, hop on that gondola, then proceed down to Trient. Even with the gondola there’s a lot of mileage today”.

As the gondola comes into sight, I notice a couple strange things. No people. No benches. No cables. Not really a gondola to speak of actually.

It turns out, they are rebuilding it, to be open July 1. I’m just a week too early. So here we go, an additional brutal steep hour-long climb. What's worse than a steep uphill climb? A steep uphill climb with a broken gondola right over your head. I bet that gondola never heard so many curses aimed at it before.

The views up top from Aiguillette des Posettes are divine. Bright green fields of wildflowers surrounded by snow-capped mountain peaks.

The descent into Trient has scenes of glaciers and lakes abound. I make my first snow-patch crossing using my microspikes. Gratuitous, but I am determined to make use of every ounce of what I brought along this trip. That and I’ve gotten strangely fearful for my ACLs with age.

This section of the trail is also shared with mountain bikers, who almost ran me over. As they say, pedestrians hate cars and cars hate pedestrians, but everyone hates cyclists. Even on mountain trails.