Awhile back I was dealing with some symptoms of stuck-in-the-house-syndrome. I was time to get out. I texted my buddy Gino, who lives in Grenoble – France, on what his schedule looked like the coming weeks. As he travels a lot for work (he’s a geologist heading for super-stardom in academia), he shared with me several dates throughout which he’d be in his home in the mountains. I got online quickly booked my flight within a window he’d be home, not consulting him further on the specifics like my arrival date or length of my stay. Selfish right?
Not really though, for Gino is the most easygoing person I know.
After hopping on a bus from Lyon airport, I was warmly welcomed by Gino and we set off to his apartment along the Isère river. It was still quite lovely out. As such we didn’t waste any time to go out for an early evening balade up to the fort of Bastille, to enjoy the views looking out over Grenoble valley. The weather forecast for the upcoming days was less than stellar, with the exception of tomorrow. So that had to be the day, we’d don on the hiking shoes and conquer one of the seemingly infinite beautiful trails in the area. Gazing in west-ward direction, I pointed out an impressive feature, rising solemnly from the valley basin, sporting a gigantic jagged limestone crown.
“What is that beast?” I asked Gino. “That’s le Néron”, he answered “I have never hiked it, though…”
“Can we hike it?” I asked him.
“I suppose. I know people who have done it.”
“Looks pretty gnarly buddy. Do people really traverse the ridge?”
“Yes. Apparently there’s a trail up there”.
“My god. It looks insane.” I paused for a moment. “Do you wanna hike it?”
Let me tell you a little more about Gino. Gino is a bright light, he sees opportunity in everything. And he too has an insatiable lust for adventure. Among other things, he has cycled from the Netherlands to Istanbul (+4000 km), bike-packed through Kyrgyzstan and Kazachstan, lived in Turkey, Luxembourg, New Zealand, and France (Paris & Grenoble). With countless fieldwork trips and holidays abroad I can confidently say he’s a man of the world. Oh and every now and then he runs a marathon, triathlon or trailrun, just for the fun of it. His response to my earlier question should come as no surprise.
“Sure. Do you wanna hike it?”
“Oh yeah baby.”
Thus it was decided. Tomorrow we’d hike le Néron.
One might think that hiking the PCT would ingrain some sort of army-style discipline for the rest of a lifetime, and we’d be up and at it first thing in the morning.
Not so much.
Gino’s fully embraced several aspects of the French leisurely lifestyle, and I happily partook. This meant sleeping in, getting an unreasonably large breakfast with croissants baguettes and cheese (when in Rome… eh France right?). We’d figured out the logistics, and would be taking a bus up to Narbonne, a small village at the base of le Néron. Said bus would not leave until 11:47. We had all the time in the world.
The weather indeed was wonderful today. The blue skies laughed down on Grenoble, and there was hardly any wind. Temperatures excellent for hiking. We got on our bikes and peddled towards the bus stop. There, leisurely waiting in the sun, we looked up to the daunting rock face we’d soon venture onto. We were amped. Except.. the bus didn’t arrive. So we waited while enjoying a drink in the morning sun. Gino pondered aloud: “hmm.. I actually think it might be a school holiday week this week.” And sure enough, today an alternative bus-schedule was active… Which meant another 40 minutes of waiting. Anxious to get started we contemplated cycling up to the village of Narbonne. According to Google Maps, this would take us 25 minutes. However, it would also include an elevation gain of 300 meters. On bikes without gears. We shot a few glances up the road.
It looked steep.
Real steep.
I instantly realized that cycling up to Narbonne could get pretty brutal. “Feel like having a painful start of the day?” I asked, half-joking. “If we bike up there, at least we won’t need to depend on public transport or possibly hitchhiking on our way back” Gino answered. I agreed.
This way we’d be certain to get home without any hassle. And so we took off.
As predicted, it took all of about 5 minutes before our fear was realized. This was brutal. In all honesty, this was just plain stupid. Several locals in cars passed us by and I could almost hear their thoughts out loud: “Look at these tourist idiots, in the mountains, on their city-bikes“. We climbed along the narrow switchback roads at a snails pace and had to stop several times, to walk the bikes up the parts that were too steep. Not a single mile hiked, and already sweating like animals… I laughed though. I laughed a lot. With Gino, who has been my university partner in crime throughout several geology field-works in the burning Spanish sun, we’ve gotten in several pretty bizarre and rough scenarios together before. And we always had a blast. Today was no different. I could fully embrace the ridiculousness of the situation. “I bet you the bus will pass us before we arrive in Narbonne…”
It took a lot more than 25 minutes to finally arrive in Narbonne. I guess Google Maps doesn’t really account for altitude difference on these roads. Or maybe they do, but they used common sense and calculated it for the average velocity of riders on roadbikes. Somewhat shattered, we chained our bicycles to the bus-stop post and quickly found the trailhead. We didn’t commence however before carb-loading on a couple of delicious pain-aux-raisins we’d brought from the patisserie. The immediate alleviating effect of the sugary treat took me straight back to the PCT. I laughed some more: “Man, I’d almost forgotten how much better food tastes when your body really needs it.”
The trail led us through the forest on a wide trail. We’d be moving up along the softer geologic formation that formed the base of the le Néron structure, there where the trees could still take root in the softer soil. After about an hour, we neared the grey-white limestone ridge that towered high above us. Slowly but steadily we rose onto the flank of the ridge feature, now surrounding ourselves with rock and brush, leaving the trees below us. The vegetation grew tall in places, and every now and then we paused to scan the area for the blue stripes, painted on rocks or branches, showing us the way. “What an interesting job that must be” I murmured, “finding your way through this maze of rock and foliage with a bucket of blue paint and a brush, deciding the safest route to take”. We were appreciative of the mystery-mans work though, and whenever we temporarily lost track of the route, after a little scouting one could usually hear the other exclaim in relieve: “Ah, we’re still good, Mr. Brush-man shows the way yet again!”.
There was quite a bit of scrambling required, which added extra dynamic to the hike but this also meant we couldn’t maintain a speedy pace. The trail arced around the southern base of the limestone face and suddenly I noticed blue skies above me, as opposed to just rock.
We had made it on top of the lower part of the ridge.
The views of Grenoble valley were spectacular, and Gino pointed out several peaks in the vicinity that we had climbed in the past. The ridge of le Néron, which runs in North-South direction, was quite wide here, at its most Southern end. The ridge gradually ascended in the our North-bound direction. The image of a couple of tiny black dots, slowly moving over a giant caterpillars back, popped into my mind.
According to several hiking-routes we’d found online, a loop along le Néron, could take up to 6 hours. Having lost a chunk of time in our cycling debacle, we’d better step on it.
As we gained altitude, there was significantly more scrambling involved. Every once in a while we lost track of the blue markings, but the further we climbed, the more the limestone ridge narrowed. It became easier to keep track of where the trail went. We inched over another bump on the caterpillars back and, lo and behold: the enormous limestone slabs that rose into the sky, as gigantic cracked floorboards, succeeding another. The trail ran right on top of the cross-section of the uppermost tilted slabs, through a daunting labyrinth of crumbled rock. Large chunks of debris forced the trail up and down. In some places the trail ran so narrow there were barely two feet of spare space on either side, behind which the slopes of le Néron, plunged mercilessly into the deep. On either the East and West side of the trail we could peer into the depths of the Grenoble valley, some 900 meters below…
I love the mountains, and I love altitude, but this did not leave me unaffected. I was in awe, and felt waves of vertigo flow through me. I focused on my steps, and heard Gino speak from behind me: “I don’t scare easily, but I think a slight fear of heights is only human…”. We seemed to be on the same page here.
In silence I thanked the trail-gods for it being a windless day.
We progressed along the ridge until we encountered the foundation of another big slab. We gazed up, and saw the blue markings progress along the walls of a wide crack. This would require some more serious climbing. I went up first, and quickly got caught in the immersive flow that makes rock climbing so unbelievably satisfying. Losing all sense of time, and briefly forgetting that if I looked over my shoulder I’d loom straight into the dazzling abyss, finding the right holds with my feet and hands came perfectly natural. I gained altitude as if without effort. I pulled myself onto the small plateau and sat down, feeling refreshed, revived, and watched Gino follow my lead.
The trail flanked another body of rock closely. I had to hug the face of the limestone and slide my hands across its surface to find my way around. All the while extremely careful of my footing.
We’d been hiking towards a small cross, strategically placed atop the grey-white boulders, which we assumed had to be the high-point of the trail. We scrambled onto the rocks, very excited until… we looked to the North. To our disappointment, the next tooth of the saw-like structure of the le Néron ridge, was definitely higher.
We were almost there… just not there yet.
With a hint of annoyance we questioned aloud why anyone would place the signpost not on the actual highpoint of the ridge. Being so close now though, we coudn’t give up.
We climbed down the tooth on the other side, only to face our days biggest challenge yet…
Now we were standing in a depression between two large bodies of rock, having traversed almost 80 percent of the le Néron ridge. Just before we could reach our destination however, the trail disappeared. Where the trail should have been, was nothing but a heavily tilted slab of limestone, some two meters wide. On the East-side; a sheer cliff. On the West-side below the slab, the rocks and shrub continued at the same steep angle as the slab itself. It would be too steep to come to a halt if getting into a slip down… I carefully inspected the slab. The hand holds were fine; the top of the slab a thick ridge one could easily hook all fingers behind. There were several footholds visible too, be it not very deep. But I thought them solid enough to assure a safe grip with the feet. Since there was no other way to get to where we needed to go, and having seen a couple of other hikers precede us earlier along the ridge (now out of our sights), I went for it first. Gino was silent. We both felt this was the real deal. I felt my heart pounding, I felt the fear wash through me… but managed to stay with it. Deliberately, almost in an exaggerative manner, I breathed out heavily through my mouth. My hands firmly clasping the top of the ridge, I started inching across the surface. My feet found the right holds, my hands slid across the upper edge, caressing the rock before gripping on tightly again. I tried to look only at my hands, because aiming my gaze a little higher would mean staring right into 900 meters of nothingness, separating me from the valley-floor.
During those seven or eight moves on the limestone slab, I was completely present with the whirlwind of feelings rushing through my body.
I stepped off the face, safely at the other side. My heart still pounding heavily, the adrenaline rushing through my veins.
I rejoined the trail for a few meters, giving Gino his space and silence, and he too made it safely off the slab.
“This. Hike. Is. Not. For the feint of heart”, sighed Gino through his breaths.
“No it is not”.
We quickly scrambled on top of the boulders we believed to be the actual high-point of the trail.
We shot our victory photo’s.
Le Néron was ours!
Initially, we had planned to hike the entire length of the ridge, but near the cross signpost we had encountered a French couple. They had hiked le Néron before, and told us the last section of the ridge was quite technical. As we would be moving further away from our starting point, it would take us much longer to get back to our bikes. By now it was 1600 and the sun would start to set around 1730.
We were running out of daylight.
The French couple suggested an alternative trail down, which was hard to find if you hadn’t been here before. They were already on their way back, and suggested to wait at the junction to show us the way. Gino and I quickly considered and decided to take them up on their offer; we really wanted to prevent, if possible, hiking through the dark. This meant there was no time to bask in our victory, but instead had to face the treacherous slab. Again.
I would love to say that the having traversed it once, made the second time easier. It did not. But again we managed to get to the other side unscathed. Taking a moment to let the adrenaline effects wear off again, I now expressed my concerns about trying to beat the dark.
” I can think of one quick way down… ” Gino said with a grin, as he peered over the edge.
“Jezus…” I just thought, suppressing my urge to laugh.
For I figured the technical level of this hike warranted some sense of seriousness…
We caught up with the French couple who had kindly waited for us. They showed us the side-trail, hidden behind some thick brush. It indeed seemed unlikely we would have found it, based on a description alone. After a quick descent off the lime-stone ridge, we soon found ourselves approaching the canopy of the lower lying trees again. It was 1630, and we still hadn’t had any lunch. Figuring the risque part of the hike was now probably over, we decided to give ourselves a short break and both devoured half a baguette with cheese, while resting in the middle of the trail.
Time to book it downhill!
The trail was steep though, and quite slippery. It was asking a lot of the knees. I now felt how tired I was. The gnarly bike trip, the scrambling, the climbing, the adrenaline, and just general hiking had gradually exhausted my body. Not long after getting back into the forest, we encountered an ambiguous junction, but retraced the blue markings and set off again. In my opinion the trail stayed level for too long; I thought we really had to be descending from now onward. After about twenty minutes of hiking we ran into another hiker we’d too briefly seen earlier on the ridge. We asked him if we were going in the right direction.
Which ofcourse we weren’t.
Super sigh.
A quick 180 to rush back in the direction we just came from. The sun started setting, and of course none of us had brought a headlamp.. Naturally mother nature punished our ignorance immediately with more slippery trails, plenty of hidden tree roots, and simply the added worry of finding our way out of a pitch black forest. We could make out the city lights of Grenoble in the distance each time we encountered a clearing in the woods. Oh how badly I wanted to be down there… The darkness of the forest touched on my inner dark side, and I fell into a sour mood. My legs hurting, I really wanted to get down to our bikes. Just when I thought we couldn’t possibly descend any further, the side-trail rejoined the trail we had started out on earlier today. From here out I knew we were close, and I felt the tension that had been building up in my body, release.
After stumbling out of the forest onto the village road, I couldn’t help but express my relief to Gino with a big smile.
Later that evening at dinner, Gino and I reflected on the hike. Had it been too crazy a day? Had it been irresponsible? Had it been too dangerous? We couldn’t tell. Other hikers had preceded us, and they had been fine. It had been scary for sure, but we were fine. How to quantify risk or danger anyway? We never encountered anything we felt was beyond our capabilities. We fully supported each other with words, silence and camaraderie and I felt we approached today’s obstacles with very similar attitudes.
Being stuck in your head, not minding your surroundings, can get you hit by a car. So is walking through the city streets dangerous?
Today I was present.
Aware, awake and in my body.
I felt so very much alive. I have made some beautiful memories, which I share with a wonderful friend.
Nope,
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
