Mer de Glace & Charpoua

The Mer de Glace, the Charpoua and the Couvercle huts

September 13, 2019: first day. Hiking to the Charpoua refuge by the Mer de Glace.

Departure

On September 13, 2019, by a hot Indian summer morning, Pascal and I lifted early. After a breakfast caught in speed in half-sleep, We have been in the car, towards the Mont Blanc massif, to make a common dream, an Alpine hike that we have been talking about for years, for years that we know each other. The day before, we had taken information on the rise in the Charpoua refuge. The cast iron of the sea of ice causing its decline Regular height, the old scales, sealed in the rock above moving soil, are now too high and inaccessible to mountaineers. We have chosen to abandon them and set new ones upstream of the glacier. Although our matutinal raising had to allow us to spend the day walking in the mountains, we were already taking delay on the road. We had not planned the closure For work on the Arly Gorges Route. The deviation by Héry on Ugine took a narrow mountain road that alone, by bicycle, I appreciated, But which seemed to me, by its many laces, and this additional collar to pass, a waste of time as regrettable as they are indestable. However, the mountain roads are beautiful, The landscape is constantly changing, but by car this permanent modification of the position and the perspective can produce a form of vertigo. Here, the brevity of the deviation prevented me. We found the end of the Gorges road after a few kilometers. After Megève, Saint-Gervais-les-Bains, Then Chamonix, we arrived at the woods, the starting point for our pedestrian adventure.

The route of the first day, from the Bois to the Charpoua.

The Bois

The sun, which was only at the beginning of its race, lit us with a beautiful light surrounding everything with a halo that cannot be seen in the fall. We bathed in a pleasant sweetness. Time to prepare our bags for two days in the mountains, the one for me to go and fill our gourdes with fresh and tasty water from a fountain, to check a last time that everything was ready, and here we are on the path that would allow us to join the sea of Ice. Then began the successive spectacle of natural or artificial curiosities occupying these places, discovered during our walk. They were already the heliport of the platoon of rescue gendarmerie in the high mountains, where a helicopter seemed to rest, waiting for a customer sorry to have to call him, and yet happy to climb on board, Then the bridge over Arveyron and its tumultuous waves reminiscent of miniature the passion of the ancient river gods. We then plunged into a welcoming and dense coniferous forest. The trail was soon to rise in laces, that Pascal, seeming to obey, as always, an irresistible impulse, cut in the slope. Wanting to start a quiet hike, because I did not feel in good shape yet, rarely being at the beginning of the day, I tried to oppose it, But none of my jérémiades could overcome his desire, which is justified by the length of the planned exit and its elevation. I had to follow him. We joined shortly after the easy way to the Montenvers coming from Chamonix, where I could rest, although I preferred to double the herds of tourist walkers More attracted by social relations specific to their group, or by the beer they would soon offer themselves, than by the sublime of the premises. At this quick pace, we soon saw the famous Montenvers refreshment bar, often the only objective of tourists that can be met. For some, it is even an opportunity, after being quenched at the cost of a substantial alleviation of their wallet, to spend the money that could remain after the beer while dining, and even, for the wealthiest of them ready to pay a sum Exorbitant to spend an original night, to sleep there in the trees, in shelters with attractive strangeness although built in the economy (that is to say the significant profitability of the installation, which constitutes the first criterion motivating a Haut-Savoyard to take action whatever).

The Montenvers bar.

After a brief exploration of the place and the discovery, on the left of the station path, of the path descending to the glacier, indicated as dangerous, hesitant, We asked the waitress there to find out if it was possible to access the language of the sea of ice by this route, Or if it was necessary to go first to the Montenvers, then descend to the glacier by the scales. She told us that, according to our experience, the dangerous path was borrowed at our risk; The day before evening, a group going up in the opposite direction had remained stuck down, it had to light lights to help them find the path. Although always hesitant, we still chose the most direct route. Going to the Montenvers was a waste of time, we had to arrive at the refuge before the night. This path is also that which those who make the white valley in skiing to go back from the language of the sea of ice to the refreshment bar.

A lunar glacier.

Arrived by the Mer de Glace, I found him a strange appearance. It looked like a heterogeneous assembly of mounds of fine grayish earth melted in each other. We had to cross it, then go up on the opposite side. We moved this easy and quickly designed project, Then began to go up the glacier, which, at this location, is entirely covered with unstable rocks and flour. It was dangerous, but doable with a safe foot. Sometimes a miniature tree, pushing in a conducive place where the winds had brought a little earth, put life and green in this lunar and gray place. After a while, continuing to climb, we saw the Montenvers on our right.

A chaotic rocky part of the Mer de Glace.

We had made the right choice. We finally arrived on the almost flat part of the sea of ice, little covered with flour, stones or rocks, And walked over an hour in these good conditions, joining well on the ground without needing our crampons.

An icy mill.

Further on, a mill, due to the circulation of water on and in the ice, had widened its way without worrying about men. He prevented us from completely joining the edge of the glacier and the scales to be taken to go to the refuge. We looked for a place conducive to its crossing without crampons, without a strong slope preventing from joining the ice mixed with stones and a little rock powder. Another hiker had the good idea to show us the way crossing in front of us.

The Mer de Glace, a mixture of rock, ice and mixed rock flour.

We followed him and ended up joining him. The next day, we had to meet him again when we got off the cover of the cover. The mountain is large, but their real lovers are few. We meet Often the same people on steep trails where tourists do not venture.

Scales.

We continued to reassemble the sweet slope of the sea of ice, this time by being near its edge which, everywhere, is a cliff which can only be crossed by climbing in slippers, Or thanks to the scales placed to allow access to shelters located overhanging.

Photo by Pascal published with his kind permission. Find it here on his blog.

Leaving the Praz at 1062 meters above sea level, we found the scales exactly a thousand meters higher. We were finally able to leave the world of ice for the one of the rock. A long ascent began, with many scales, iron steps and handrails to ensure our safety. With a lanyard of via Ferrata fitted with three carabiners, including one attached to the harness, We place each of the other two carabiners in turn on the scales so that at least one of them attaches us to an element of metal anchored in the rock. At the beginning, on the wall that demarcated the side of the sea of ice, the ascent was purely vertical for perhaps a hundred meters. The void under our feet was impressive. Then, crossings alternated with sometimes vertical scales, but often inclined. The end of the ascent was long. Exhausted by altitude, walking hours, ascent effort and concentration, Always necessary in the face of the objective danger, my progression was made more and more slow, without me being able to change something. I heard Pascal say loud, while talking to himself, "then, like that, your limit is 1800 meters ..." Less tired than me, I slowed him down unnecessarily, when the day was starting to decline. He abandoned me shortly before arriving at the refuge. Finally, progressing as an automaton, exhausted but happy, I arrived myself at the Charpoua refuge, 2841 meters above sea level, with sunset.

An evening of refugees.

Pascal, and a dozen mountaineers and hikers, were already there. Tired, I looked up and their mouse painfully. I was happy and relieved to finally arrived. I was surprised to see so many people, while the refuge, although open, was no longer kept. Despite my weariness, I quickly examined the premises. To the right of the entrance were two levels of beds. A place was already occupied by additional stacked mattresses. There were enough mattresses for everyone, but two people should put theirs on the ground. On the left, the kitchen, with shelves and a gas stove, of which only two lights worked, gave us the guarantee of a hot meal, a real pleasure after the efforts and fatigue of the day. We both had a wolf hunger. But before, the sunset pressed us to come and contemplate it. In the high mountains, it's a wonderful moment when the weather is beautiful, The sky cleared like that evening. We were entitled to a majestic sunset behind the foothills of the Drus, the flames of stone flames, whose profile of a large block was detached, which our companions in an evening called "the candle". For lack of energy, my camera digned to work for a single photo. I thus immersed these bright colors and yet nuanced with the painting which was offered to us, Blue, yellow, orange, red and purple, while Eole horses led his tank on the other side of the earth.

The sun sets to the Drus.

The spectacle finished, the feast could begin. Pascal cooked a grated emmental raclette that I found delicious. A good part of a huge sausage was also a party. When everything was finished, we slept, without being able to choose our places, each on a different floor. I then felt my heart, to which I had not paid attention until then, beat faster than usual. No doubt an effect of altitude and fatigue, I thought. It prevented me from falling asleep. The modest size of the refuge forced us to hug each other. I could not turn around without disturbing my neighbors. Immobile so as not to disturb them, I remained awakened for a long time. Then I end up losing any notion, any perception, first of all of the hour, then of the passing time, Finally because of being aware ...

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