I decended from the sleepy town of Bramousse, past 2 elderly hunters coordinating their early morning cull with mobile phones, Occasionally I heard the double 'crack' of them firing at their prey, only to see the rongeur make its speedy escape and almost to look back in jest at its lesser opponant in this battle of wits.
I made it to Chateau Queyras only an hour or so later and had coffee and croissant in the mid morning sun afterwhich I doubled back about 2 kilometres to take the mountain road towards Arvieux.
I passed through this little alpine town unscathed and was walking in meadows and fields of wheat up towards Brunissard and beyond the ski fields, lushiously green and without visitors. I had this entire valley to myself. It made the heart soar.
I decided to leave the road and take the mountain trail which would lead me up over the 2542 metre high pass of col des Ayes, instead of taking the 2361 metre Col d'Izoard often used during the tour de France.
Here the path narrowed into a trail that would humble even the cockiest of goats.
The GR5 rose from a gradient of 5:1 to 3:1 in no time at all and I found mysef looking down on the surrounding peaks, towards the south stood the jagged tooth of Monte Viso the tenth highest peak in the alps and its harem of snowclad brides,a dozen or so kilometres away, it was frighteningly spectacular.
But I had my own Alp before me, and the day was getting on, the altitude was begining to filch the warmth that the bright sunshine promised and it wouldn't be long before that too dipped behind the mountains.
I had to make it to Col des Ayes which would take me up between the 2779m Pic des Chalanches and the monsterous Pic de Beaudouis at 2843 metres and It was getting late.
Camping up here was not an attractive option, and going back down to Brunissard was equally unappealing.
Then disaster.....
I missed the sharp turn that would bring me up the steep south western slope of the beast, I had wandered along the trail breathing in my surroundings when I found myself on a different trail heading southwest away from the col.
I figured I was a half hour off track.
I decided to take the most direct route back to the GR5 a cross country hike on the slopes of Chalanches, accross the rock strewn Eychaillon, crossing the Torrent du Vallon and rejoin the trail at the exact same altitude without having to go down 350 metres and climb up again.
Much easier said than done, the wind picked up, my ears and fingers were freezing, the terrain was boggy and dangerous, All I could hear was the wind and the sound of my own heartbeat in my head, the sun was now out of sight, and the valleys below began to fall into darkness as the beast raised its curtain of shade on its lower neighbours at a visibly awesome pace.
Panic was begining to strike in my heart..my throat swelled up as I swallowed back unthinkable thoughts, I prayed to my ancestors for their strenght, the day had already been long without the climb, exhaustion was taking hold, I began to dream a waking dream, my water almost gone, my tongue felt like treebark in my mouth, and my mind wandered as I strugled to place one foot before the other.
I raised my head towards the col, it was close, but I knew at my pace it was a torturous 15 minutes away, it was already past 8 o'clock and the brighter stars were already begining to shine. Taunting me with their winking, an ageless knowing,of the frivolity of man.
I began to hear them, like bells in my head, follow, sleep and dream they called.....
The moon shone coldly to the north. Its waning cresent smiling crookedly as it neared the end of its libration.
Onward! the stars beckoned, my eyes began to well and my heart pounded,the quickening of my existance swelled, my chest heaved with the agony of apprehension more than the strain of the climb. my strenght I re-agained at reaching the top of the Col, and then a burst of emotion, joy, tears of happiness ran down my cheeks as my teeth chattered noisily with the cold.
Fear and anxiety gave way to relief and extacy, to the north I now looked towards Briancon a days walk away, and in the distance......Italy, I could see her in all her splendour, or maybe it was in my head, but maybe it was Italy, More peaks rose before me but I had climbed mine for that day, albeit a Col.
For the next 5 minutes I tried to film what I saw, the view was dizzying, I had climbed 2.5 kilometres up from sea level in a few weeks, my hands began to freeze, turning bright pink then a pale shade of blue, I fumbled with the equipment, eventually getting it back into the bag, I promised myself that once over the col ,I would run down the far side, something which I discovered to be an impossible task with the steepness of the trail the failing light and the weight of my pack.
Instead of the gracefull movement of a deer, I had more of a lateral motion due to the pendelum affect of the backpack, so that I had the hurridly gait of an elderly man with a gammy leg trying to make last orders in the pub on a sunday night. You know the run im talking about, all that motion that doesn't transfer to speed over ground.
Down in the valley on the northern side of the coll the wind for a while abated and in the distance again, the sound of bells, but of the variety attached to cows,which I followed in the halfdarkness to a sign pointing me towards a Randonners hut 800 metres away, which, I prayed would be open......it was.
Peacefull was my slumber at the Gite that night as I dreampt of stars ringing and a moon shining softly blue, with ghostlike clouds devouring the alps like Dragons and their companion the howling wind reminding me of what might have been had I not made it off the mountain.........enjoy the photos.
