States I've Visited

I thought this was interesting. I've been through or in (at least a highway-blast-through or an airport-touch-down) more states than I thought.


visited 33 states (66%)

Create your own visited map of The United States.

“Ashland Nerds”

My wife and I have been travelling down to southern Oregon to visit the Oregon Shakespeare Festival every year since 1996, before we were even a couple. But it is only this year that we seem to have become “Ashland nerds.”

It might have been the fact that we made the trip twice this year, as our usual five-day trip, this time in June, wasn’t enough to get us the plays that everyone was talking about. We returned in October to catch this year’s version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Further Adventures of Hedda Gabler.

It might have been that we have stayed in the same bed and breakfast for the last three trips. Or that the proprietors of the Shrew’s House are particularly social and friendly.

Or, it might have been the arrival of a new Artistic Director and the inevitable speculation this change would create in the “regulars” about what changes this might bring to the Festival.

Whatever the reasons, I’ve found myself engaged in conversations with strangers about the Festival throughout the year. Our visit in the spring featured the usual talk around the breakfast table about the plays we’ve seen and are seeing, but it really didn’t get started until someone noticed the 2009 season’s list, which included The Music Man, which is something of a departure for the Festival. This, combined with the disastrous addition of songs to the season’s sad version of A Comedy of Errors, motivated the discussion of what this change could mean.

Weeks later, I found myself engaged in a similar conversation with another stranger, in a much stranger context – on the most remote section of the Pacific Crest Trail, according to Backpacker Magazine. One of my companions on an August trip to the Canadian border is also a regular at Ashland. He visits each year and writes about the plays for an alumni magazine. So we spent some time along the way, as we walked, talking about our experience with the Festival and our concern with what might be a different direction for the coming years.

In fairness, given all of this concern with the future artistic direction, I am told that the new Director is conducting community forums this year, which strikes me as a very good sign, considering how intertwined the town and the stage are.

My wife coined the term “Ashland nerds” during our visit two weeks ago, when we found ourselves spending an hour or two each morning discussing the Festival, our experiences, our likes and dislikes, and our questions about the new Director, with the innkeepers and their guests. It was the end of the season, everyone had seen most of the plays, sometimes more than once, and it was just cool to be member of this club.

Possibly more hooked than heretofore, we find ourselves considering another two trips next year. Apparently, once is no longer enough.

A Season of Backpacking

I intend to log more items here than I have over the last several months. I’ll start with this summary of my backpacking season.

It started during a favorite month for hiking: May. During May’s first weekend, a couple of Mountaineers and I hiked up to the beginning of the big patches of snow in the Elwha River, in Olympic National Park (ONP) – all told, 16.5 miles one way. (We were more than a little tired at the end and not much less tired the next day.) We had good weather (which means no rain, even a little blue sky) and saw lots of wildlife, which is why May is such a good month. There were several bears, lots of deer, a few elk, a pair of Mergansers, several Harlequin ducks, an eagle, hummingbirds, a Hairy woodpecker, and lots of song birds.

I extended Memorial Day weekend to hike the 24 miles of the wild Olympic coast, starting at La Push and exiting at Cape Alava to Lake Ozette, accompanied by three Mountaineers. This stretch of the ONP coastal strip is easier than the southern portion in that there are few required bluff climbs, but harder in that the footing is quite difficult. There were almost no stretches of sand, but we walked on every variety of rock you can imagine – rough, smooth, hard and soft, big and small, settled and slipping, sticky and slippery. This is a wild and beautiful coast and a good place to see bald eagles (and the occasional bear on the beach).

A month later in June, three of us Mountaineers hiked up the ONP’s Hoh River trail in the hopes of seeing Mt Olympus’s Blue Glacier from Glacier Meadows. We had good weather and a beautiful hike, but the creek crossing in the second avalanche chute stopped us. It wasn’t that the chute was steep, it was more that the creek banks were too unstable to safely cross. So, we hung out in the sun and headed back down, ready to return for another go as soon as we could. Maybe next year.

The highlight of my season was the trip along the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) from Harts Pass, in the far North Cascades, to Manning Park in British Columbia. This trip was organized by another Mountaineer leader, who couldn’t make the trip due to injury. He did, however, drive the four of us who weren’t injured to the trailhead. That’s generosity and that’s commitment. We had wonderful weather for all five days and the scenery was stupendous. This part of the PCT spends a good amount of time actually very near the crest itself, traversing ridgetops surrounded by the peaks of the North Cascades. Part way along, we fell in with a group of hikers who had been taking trips into the wilderness for the past 16 years, supported a string of good-sized donkeys. We also met a man near the end who had just completed the entire Crest Trail in several installments. The end of this trip, at Manning Park, offered an unusual opportunity to eat a meal in a restaurant, which we took advantage of twice, not to mention an afternoon beer on the day we arrived.

What should have been the highlight of the year (except for the weather) was my last backpacking trip: completing the last 33 miles of Mt Rainier National Park’s Wonderland Trail, from Longmire to Mowich Lake. I hiked the other 60-odd miles a few years back. My wife and I took the afternoon of Friday, Sept. 19, off to drive my car to Mowich Lake and then drive her car to Longmire, where we stayed in the National Park Inn. It’s a nice little inn with a good restaurant. That afternoon was pretty nice, with sun and some dramatic clouds showing off the Mountain. During the night, however, it started to rain and didn’t stop until early Sunday morning. I did enjoy the hike, but I never saw the Mountain again – I rarely saw the next ridge; nor was I dry until I changed at the end of the hike. Even without the views, I could see that it is a very dramatic stretch of trail, lots of ups and downs (10,000 feet over the distance), bridges over canyons and rushing rivers, or logs precariously perched over braided channels in broad debris beds.

I’m already thinking about the places I’ll go next year.

Hurray! Fafblog! is back!

Fafblog! back to save the universe.: "So for the last five years all the liberals and the hippies and the nattering nabobs of normalcy have been coming up to Giblets and going 'Was the war a mistake Giblets?' and 'Are we losing the war Giblets?' and 'Oh look at all the dead people Giblets, maybe we should stop the war.' And the correct answers to these questions have been 'Shut up,' 'Shut up you traitor,' and 'We'd be winning already if you'd just shut up.'"

A Perfect DC Morning

This is as good a way to break the silence of the last couple of months as any. I was in Washington, DC last weekend for the Winter Meetings of the National Association of Utility Regulatory Commissions (how's that for an awkward title?). I had a couple of hours to kill before the first meeting, so I walked down to the Mall from my hotel (which, while nice, wasn't as bright as the photos in the link suggest, nor do the photos do justice to the forty foot deep construction hole arrayed around two sides of the hotel, including the side that held my room's windows).

My first stop was the Canadian Embassy, which has Bill Reid's masterpiece, The Spirit of Haida Gwaii, on display in the courtyard (although it is somewhat jammed into the corner). I recommend a visit, if you're in DC; even better, if you are in the Vancouver, BC, airport, visit its version, which is displayed more fully, I think. While I was there, I noticed a group of young people at the other end of the courtyard playing in a raised circle railed into the end of the courtyard, so, when they left, I walked over to see what the fun was about. Above the circle of courtyard is a shallow dome, which, when you make a sound in the center of the circle, like stamping your feet, reverberates several times. Echo, echo, echo, echo... Pretty cool.

I crossed Pennsylvania Ave., and swung by the Apex Building, headquarters of the Federal Trade Commission. I love the deco building and sculptures around it, especially Man Controlling Trade, by Michael Lantz. It caused some reflections on a time when labor -- the construction of actual things -- was respected in this country. I walked west along Pennsylvania, past the John A Wilson Building, which houses part of the DC's government, and the White House, and then slid back down to Constitution Ave., at 17th, feeling better the farther from the center of the executive branch that I walked. I continued west along Constitution to 23rd, where I turned south and looped around the Lincoln Memorial, stopping to read the Gettysburg and the Second Inaugural addresses inscribed on the walls and to consider the view over the Reflecting Pool, imagining filled with hopeful Americans, listening for their dreams or for the wisdom to end a war. It was empty that day.

From there, I walked the length of the Mall to the National Gallery of Art, where I attended an interesting overview tour of the East Building, which houses the modern art collection. It was an expertly done tour, but only covered the building and a handful of works, though it included the wonderful Pollack they have in the collection. I did go back a few days later, when I had the chance. I finished up with a salad at the cafe, soothed by the sound of the cascade waterfall, and hoofed it back up to my meeting, a perfect morning, completed.

Climate Change as Homesickness

Clive Thompson on How the Next Victim of Climate Change Will Be Our Minds:

Australia is suffering through its worst dry spell in a millennium. The outback has turned into a dust bowl, crops are dying off at fantastic rates, cities are rationing water, coral reefs are dying, and the agricultural base is evaporating.

But what really intrigues Glenn Albrecht — a philosopher by training — is how his fellow Australians are reacting.

They're getting sad.

In interviews Albrecht conducted over the past few years, scores of Australians described their deep, wrenching sense of loss as they watch the landscape around them change. Familiar plants don't grow any more. Gardens won't take. Birds are gone. 'They no longer feel like they know the place they've lived for decades,' he says.

Our Second Snowfall

We're an inch from the month's worth of rainfall, and it's only the 9th of December. (Click on images for larger version.)

McMenamins Edgefield

My wife and I traveled down to Troutdale to spend the Thanksgiving holiday at McMenamins Edgefield. I struggled briefly with how to characterize this place, what to call it, and left it at "Edgefield." It's not exactly a resort, nor is it any one other thing that I can think of. It occupies the site and buildings of the Multnomah County Poor Farm, initially built in 1911. It now houses a hotel, brewery, winery, distillery, glass studio, pottery studio, spa, pitch-and-putt golf course, restaurant, theater, and a number of pubs, all on 38 (right now windswept) acres overlooking the Columbia River east of Portland.

All of the buildings are nicely refurbished and maintained in a sound, but relaxed, even fanciful, way. Nothing too polished or slick, but quite nice. Adding to the charm of the place is the amazing effort put into its decoration. Surfaces everywhere, even on the sprinkler pipes, are decorated with murals, paintings, and historical photographs. The paintings and decoration are in many styles, reflecting the work of many artists, but it all shares a lightness and fanciful appreciation of life's delights and the history of this place, which finished its social service life as a nursing home in the middle 80's.

This picture is an example of one of the prominent artists, on a coaster advertising our home town McMenamins location, The Spar.

We spent the morning walking all over the grounds and poking into the buildings (there's a pub in every shed, it seems). The strong down-gorge winds made it a cold walk (and are still buffeting the trees and our room's window), but the sun and the interesting sites kept us going. The golf course looks fun, but only a committed and unserious golfer (Are there any of those? We did see a few later along the walk.) would think today's wind an enjoyable golfing partner.

Electronic Books Have Their Uses

I had occasion to look into electronic books while preparing for my recent trip to the Alps. I wanted reading material for the train and plane coming home, but didn't want to carry a bound swatch of paper for two weeks before I could read it. Since I was taking a PDA, I looked into electronic books.

My first impressions were disappointment. The titles on offer at several of the vendors were limited and decidedly third-rate, for the most part. Anything of any quality at all was relatively expensive -- what you'd pay for a trade paperback edition of the same work. This was discouraging, but I did select a couple of Hemingway titles that I hadn't read before: To Have and To Have Not and For Whom the Bell Tolls. In spite of having been written over fifty years ago (are they in the public domain?), they were $10 each.

The next barrier was selecting a reader. There were three formats available from the vendor I selected and you bought the e-book version for the reader you selected. The readers are free. Thinking this was the simplest route, I chose the Microsoft Reader.

I downloaded the MS Reader and installed it. Next, I had to "activate" it, which Microsoft is very big on and can be a significant barrier to getting their software to work. I'm not sure why one has to activate free software. In any case, I was unable to successfully activate the software and was, therefore, unable to use it with the e-books I'd just purchased.

My annoyance was great enough that I worked my way through the trackless swamp of Microsoft's support pages to find a link to a support function for the Reader. From what I could tell, the Reader is something of a deprecated product. There is no Reader support page, so I used the closest thing, a more general Mobile page. To their credit, I did get a rather stilted message advising me to do a couple of things that didn't work.

By that time, however, I'd downloaded another reader, "Mobipocket," and contacted the e-books vendor, who very quickly and kindly shifted my subscription to that reader. I should have gone with the Adobe reader in the beginning. It shouldn't be that expensive, nor that hard to get an e-book to work.

In the end, I found that it worked surprisingly well. The reader I used worked in portrait or landscape mode, offered excellent text clarity and zoom control, and was quick to turn a page with just a button click on the PDA. It opened each time from the spot that I'd stopped the time before. There were lots of other features for searching and moving about in the text, but I didn't use them much, once I started reading. I turned off the progress bar at the bottom, because it took screen space and displayed a discouragingly high page count.

The first one, To Have and To Have Not, was made into a movie starring Humphrey Bogart, Walter Brennan, and Lauren Bacall and stands as one of my favorite movies. As a novel, though, it's something of a mess. Only the Bogart character, Harry Morgan, Brennan’s, Eddie, and a fragment of the plot where Morgan asserts that he won't carry human cargo, because that cargo can talk, made it into the movie. It's just as well, because William Faulkner made a fine screenplay out of those elements. Still, there is some wonderful writing in the book, especially when he's writing about the Gulf Stream and fishing upon it.

I found For Whom the Bell Tolls stunningly beautiful, a masterpiece. It is taut and focused. Its characters stand out, individuals. The language, aided by the transliteration of the formal address in Spanish to English, full of "thee" and "thou," is lyrical. And the action gathers relentless tension as the moment of the clash of armies arrives and breaks upon the characters. It must have been heartbreaking to write through the cruelty and waste of the Spanish Civil War, when it is so clear that the author loved the people and the country.

I found it easy to use an e-book in the same way I use a printed book. Once I got past the problem with buying and displaying the book on my PDA, the experience of reading was very similar. I'd use an e-book again, under similar circumstances, and more often if there were more, high-quality selections and they didn't cost so much.

Court of Honor

Last Sunday, I participated in the for my nephew's Eagle Scout Court of Honor. It has been years since I was around Boy Scouts and it was both new and familiar to me.

My son was involved with Cub Scouts, but declined to continue with Boy Scouts when he turned eleven. I, on the other hand, was certain that I wanted to continue from Cub to Boy Scouts. I remember coming home from an early Boy Scout meeting and declaring that I was going to become an Eagle Scout.

I had a wonderful time as a Boy Scout. My troop had a scheduled outing each month and in that way went on my first backpack at age eleven. I learned how to build a fire, cook a meal over flames, carry my gear over miles of muddy trail, sleep in a tent in the rain, and generally have a good time in the out of doors. From that early experience, I was able to become a confident hiker and backpacker. I've carried that with me for over four decades. I also made friends that I've kept all these years.

And, although it took longer than my father believed that it should have, I did earn my Eagle Scout award. For this reason, my nephew asked me to participate in the ceremony, reading the Charge and the Pledge, just before he received the award.

I was proud to be asked and happy to agree to do this. I did so, however, with some ambivalence, as I have problems with the national leadership of the Boy Scouts. To my mind, the national program has been taken over by narrow-minded fanatics who have turned their backs on the inclusive and (dare I say it?) liberal tradition of the best of the Scouts. The program I grew up with emphasized diversity (before it earned that name and became a cliché and lightening rod). In those days, of course, it was race. It's been a sad degeneration from those idealistic days.

But, I understand that all of these kinds of experiences are local -- much depends on the leadership of the troop -- so I went and participated.

There aren't enough of these kinds of events. There are so few that mark a young person's entry into a wider sphere of his community. I think a longing for this kind of recognized rite of passage is behind the proliferation of school graduation ceremonies. It's too bad we can't do better than that.

I was pleased with the whole ceremony. The portion of the troop that attended was diverse and reminded me of the kids that I consorted with as a Scout. The leadership clearly cared for the boys and everyone seemed very comfortable with each other. I was also pleased with the words that my nephew selected for me to read. They were wise and true.

I was proud to stand on that stage with him, in front of his family, his friends, his mentors, his troop members, and his fellow Eagle Scouts, and charge him with living up to the potential of his achievement.

Guide to Haute Route Posts

Preparation

How to you say “Haute Route”? (Aug. 5): Text

Haute Route: Find the Right Partner (Aug. 16): Text

Haute Route: Going Where And Going Long (Aug. 23): Text

Haute Route: Getting Psyched (Aug. 26): Text

Where is the Haute Route? (Aug. 27): Text

The First Week

Dispatch from Chamonix, France (Sep. 6): Text Photos

Dispatch from Argentière, France (Sep. 7): Text Photos

Dispatch from Trient, Switzerland (Sep. 8): Text Photos

Dispatch from Champex, Switzerland (Sep. 9): Text Photos

Dispatch from Le Châble, Switzerland (Sep. 10): Text Photos

Dispatch from Cabane du Mont-Fort (Sep. 11): Text Photos

Dispatch from Cabane de Prafleuri (Sep. 12): Text Photos

Dispatch from Arolla (Sep. 13): Text Photos

The Second Week

Dispatch from La Sage (Sep. 14): Text Photos

Dispatch from Cabane de Moiry (Sep. 15): Text Photos

Dispatch from Zinal (Sep. 16): Text Photos

Dispatch from Gruben (Sep. 17): Text Photos

Dispatch from Gasenried (Sep. 18): Text Photos

Dispatch from Europahütte (Sep. 19): Text Photos

Dispatch from Zermatt (Sep. 20): Text Photos

Munich and Home

Dispatch from Zermatt, Still (Sep. 21): Text Photos

Dispatch from Haar, Germany (Sep. 22): Text

Dispatch from München, Germany (Sep. 24): Text Photos

Conclusion

Impressions (Oct. 3): Text

What Worked and What Didn’t (Oct. 9): Text

Updated with new links on 11/15.

What Worked and What Didn’t

This will be the last of my Haute Route posts, in which I’ll sum up my experience and offer some advice to those who might be considering this, or similar, trips. I’m not done with the posts I have, however. Over the next couple of weeks, I’ll make some editorial corrections and additions, especially photos, other images, and links.

The one thing that I didn’t have with me that I would have liked was a towel. I hadn’t expected that it would be so easy to have a shower each day and so difficult to get a towel to go with it. I recommend taking a light-weight, quick-drying towel with you, should you try this hike or something like it. I made do with my t-shirt, which also dried quickly, but a towel would have made the marvel of a shower after a day’s hiking just perfect.

I took more stuff than I needed, making my pack heavier than it needed to be. It ran about 30 lbs (almost 15 kg), which was fine on the downhills, but it slowed me on the climbs. I took three quick-dry t-shirts and used two, four sets of hiking socks and used two, and I probably had more town clothing than I absolutely needed, but I did wear it all.

Another thing that I had, but probably didn’t need was reservations for all of the places I stayed. Most of the people I traveled with didn’t have reservations and none of the places that we stayed were full. I was happy that I had reservations, if only because I knew exactly where I was going each afternoon. But there were other good reasons, too. I was traveling alone and having reservations provided a specific contact in each of the places that I expected to be, each day – it seemed a useful precaution. I was concerned about the fact that I didn’t really have either of the languages of the places I was traveling. I was able, because I could look at Web sites for information, to book with places taking their rates into account. I’m sure that, without the look ahead of time, I would have missed the Restaurant Waldesruh in Gruben, which was the best deal of any place I stayed. And, though I didn’t know it when I did, my booking with the hotel in Zermatt gave me a nice upgrade, at the same price, when the hotel had problems with its water.

On the other hand, having reservations beforehand meant that I was more locked into a schedule. That wasn’t a problem for me, but many of the people I met had an extra day or two that they could use anywhere they decided along the way. I fully intended to walk the route straight through, but tarrying a day in Zinal or Arolla would be a pretty good way to spend some time. I would think that doing this early in the season might increase the need for reservations, especially in the bigger towns.

The experiment with writing a complete post for the Web each day worked very well. I used an HP iPAQ hx2495, running Windows Mobile 5. For writing paragraphs, I used an iGo Stowaway Ultra-Slim Bluetooth keyboard. Both devices worked fine, especially the keyboard. I was able to connect to a wi-fi network once (in the hotel in Zermatt, for free!), but I probably could have done so more often. Most of my posting was done at Internet cafés, using a Sandisk ImageMate 12 in 1 USB card reader to access the SD card from the iPAQ. That led to some interesting adventures with French keyboards, Open Office in French, and MS Word in French and German. On the whole, it worked quite well. What I wanted to do was to describe the events and impressions each day – to capture the immediacy. Writing each day, without the need to transcribe from my usual, handwritten journal, worked well.

My physical preparation was successful, as well. This is a strenuous hike and I experienced no soreness. I credit my regular walking, which averages 100 miles (160 km) per month, and the addition of the several trips up steep trails in my neighborhood, for preparing me for the effort. Because I was confident I could do it and didn’t suffer any consequences when I did do it, I was able to enjoy the experience more fully.

I had a German cell phone along, which I used a few times to check in with home. Were I more telecommunications-practiced, I could have done more with the pre-loaded dollar amount. I could have saved money by texting, instead of calling in messages. It would have been possible to use a cell phone to connect to the Web and post to my blog, though that was more technology than I wanted to deal with. Coverage wasn’t a problem. There was virtually nowhere where the phone couldn’t find a network. And, when it ran out of minutes, it was easy to find a pay phone that took my VISA card.

For more information about this trip, I recommend starting with the book that was in the hands of most everyone I met along the trail: Kev Reynolds’ Chamonix - Zermatt, The Walkers’ Haute Route (it’s now in a new, fatter, heavier, more colorful edition). I also found the following personal accounts of the trip useful, both for inspiration and information:

• Dawn DuPriest's report of a September 2002 trip is my favorite. She also has posted GPS waypoints, which I used to find Cabane du Mont-Fort. (Thanks, Dawn!)
  
  
• David Preston hiked the first half in July 2006 and finished in July 2007. He’s posted a lot of photos.
  
  
• Jo Collingwood describes a in September 2003 group trip.
  
  
• Alan White and Lesley Williams describe a September 2001 trip. No photos, but some good details.

Impressions

Now that it’s been a week since I returned home and started back at work and I’m well past the effects of jet lag, it’s time for some impressions and conclusions about the trip to the Alps. I’ll follow this up with another post more focused on lessons from the trip that might be of use to others considering hiking the Haute Route.

The first and strongest impression I formed along the way is that there is nothing like this in the US. The combination of the stunning scenery, the quality and abundance of the trails, the many comfortable places to stay, the good places to eat, and the availability of public transportation make hiking in the Alps (and much of Europe, I imagine) unlike anything you can find in my part – or any part – of the United States. I know there are huts in Maine, and maybe a few elsewhere, but there’s nothing like the network of them as in Switzerland, nor is there the combination of factors that make this a world-class trekking location.

The next is amazement at what the Swiss can do in and with the mountains. They can build anything anywhere, as far as I’m concerned. There wasn’t a plot of useful land anywhere that I saw on my trip that hadn’t been put to use. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t see how a road or even a trail could be built to it, there was a hut or hovel in place, if not a small herd of sheep. It was very impressive.

I also was impressed at how many of the old timber buildings – barns and storage – were still in use. Black, checked, and gap-filled though the timbers might be, the buildings still stood and were still useful. The photo is proof, showing an old building being given a new foundation.

Everywhere I went, I saw evidence of a walking culture in Europe that doesn’t exist in the US. There were people on the trails, people on the roads, and people on excursions to the high points, even if they rode a chair lift to get there. I saw young people, middle-aged people, and old people on the trails. I saw families of three generations, individuals, small groups, and large groups, all with their rucksacks and trekking poles, walking up and down those steep trails. You see it in the low lands and valley bottoms, too, with people on bikes along bike trails and people walking along walking paths. Almost everywhere that my route followed a road, there was a footpath that paralleled it and, usually, was far enough from the road that you could forget it.

And, while this was a great trip, and a great way to see a small part of a great destination, there are alternatives to walking fourteen days straight and topping a new pass each day. Some people on the trip skipped sections that had less interest or too much climbing or bad weather and took transit around to the next point. Others, like the two retired, Swiss gentlemen I met on the Col de Riedmatten and in Arolla later that day, were driving from promising town to interesting village, taking day hikes from those places each day. There were some towns, Zinal prominent among them, where you could easily spend several days day-hiking. There’s a lot to be said for sampling more fully what a single valley can offer, though, for my part, I liked the broader survey and the long-distance approach.

Dispatch from München, Germany

For breakfast, Stefan and I visited the local bakery (which is right next door) where Stefan enthusiastically purchased a variety of fresh and fantastic-looking baked goods. I was struck by how many of the items there can also be purchased in my home-town German bakery, Wagner's. I have to say, though, that this bakery presents their goods more attractively. I could hang out there every day.

My wife's nephew, Aric, came over shortly after breakfast, and we headed to München for Oktoberfest. First, though, he took me on a car tour of the north and east of the town, then he showed me his new apartment, which is very nice, and then we walked through town to Oktoberfest. Along the way, we detoured through the Englisher Garten, which is München's answer to NY's Central Park. It was a sunny day and there were thousands of people out on the grass and along the streams and walks.

The Oktoberfest grounds are huge and the whole thing is built from the ground up each year, in preparation for the festival. In some ways, it reminded me of a big state fair -- the rides, the multitudes of people, the food booths, the smell of fried food in the air. In others, it is nothing like a state fair in the US -- the shot and cocktail booths, the lack of a thousand acres of parking, and the "tents."

Of course, a good number of the people there (and in the town otherwise) were in traditional Bavarian dress: dirndls or similar full and frilly dresses and lederhosen. In a lot of ways, the dress reminded me of the clothing at a country-western dance in the US. The dresses the women wear are quite similar. There were a lot of bandanas, western-cut shirts, and even cowboy boots.

There are about a dozen big (and I mean big) buildings they call tents, but the only tent-like features of them are the soft roofs. Otherwise, they are giant barns, holding thousands of people each inside, with more seating outside. This is the heart of the Oktoberfest experience.

Which is: the enjoyment of beer, food, music, and the massive, celebratory energy in the room. Beer is sold by the liter. (No wimpy pints for Oktoberfest.) Well, there might be other sizes, but I didn't see any. Food comes hot and simple. Aric and I had a half-chicken each, along with a couple of liters. But that was outside where we could get a seat.

After that, we tried another couple of tents and got into one. We worked our way in, to the back, and found a couple of seats. We were in.

The place was packed and electric. It's an experience like no other I've ever had. The closest thing to it was that Grateful Dead concert back in '73. I spent most of the evening standing on the bench, which is pretty much how it works for about half the people there. There was a big, well-equipped pop band (no oompah band in this tent) occupying the raised stage in the middle, and they played for all of the three or four hours I was there. Amazing. But I mentioned the energy?

People danced, they drank, they talked, they made out, they sang along with a surprising number of the songs. Everyone was friendly: I saw several instant friendships formed right around me.

We practically closed the place. Thankfully, Aric can hold his better than I (because we'd had another couple of liters, at least). That meant that he could put me on the train and I got back to Haar safely.

I could say that I've felt better upon awakening, but after a bit of Stefan's homemade mueslix, I felt pretty good. I headed into München for the afternoon. After bidding Aric goodbye, I headed through the center of town to see what I could see.

I had the choice of several art museums and exhibits, but the Deutsches Museum had the pull on me. It's a fantastic museum of science and technology that Judy and I had visited when we were last here, in 1999, and I was sure that there was an important section I'd missed on that visit.

I was right. I spent almost all afternoon in the "maritime navigation" hall, which comprises a wonderful collection of models (most 1:50) and actual boats (a couple are 20m long). Great exhibits and very good text in English. Another thing that we'd visited in '99, but didn't really impress because it was cloudy, was the sundial garden, so I climbed up to the top floor and tested them out on this (one more) sunny day.

I'm so grateful for the opportunity to take this trip, and for the marvelous and generous hospitality that Stefan and Nancy have provided me, and for the friendship that Aric showed me while I was here. I am a lucky man.

Sept. 24 from a sidewalk table at the Maxxwell Restaurant, München: map.

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/18.

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Dispatch from Haar, Germany

So, this was a travel day -- all day on three trains to München and another to Haar, nearby. I finished packing up and dragged my stuff downstairs, checked out, and got an early breakfast. They were still setting up, but didn't bat an eye when I showed up, they just found me a seat and set me up with coffee. Great service.

The train down the Mattertal is a slow ride. The track is often steep, several segments have the cog wheel rail in the middle, and there are many turns. Still, it's not a bad thing, as the scenery is great. Seeing the big slide at Randa up close was interesting. The train now crosses the river and rides up onto the bench on the other side to get around the slide. It used to stay on the slide side of the river, but was buried in the slide, along with the highway.

I changed trains at Brig, in the the Rhone river valley. This was a faster train, through more populous country, and it had completely filled by the time we arrived in Bern.

I changed again in Zürich and had a bit of a layover, so I bought a sandwich and watched the scene. And what a scene! The station in Zürich is big and it was bustling. After a short time, the noise level began rising, so I went to see what it was. There was a demonstration or march beginning there, with flags, matching t-shirts, flyers, and whistles. By the time the marchers trooped out of the station, about thirty minutes later, the whistles were deafening. There was definitely a trade union theme, but I won't know what issues were motivating them until I can decipher the leaflet (which is printed in German, French, Turkish, and Italian, of course).

The train to München was even faster and not quite full. The country was pretty: green, rolling, productive. At some point, I crossed the border, but I didn't see any marking. The signs changed somewhere, but I didn't see where. Upon arriving at the Hauptbahnhof in München, I made my way through the many layers of floors and halls to the S-Bahn and took the S4 to Haar, where Nancy and Stefan, another extension of my wife's family, live. They had offered me their hospitality.

After greetings and some time to get my self organized, we went out to a German Sunday dinner at a restaurant they like: beer, a big, tender piece of pork roast, and a potato dumpling, all swimming in brown, savory gravy.

Now, because I have landed somewhere familiar, it seems time to reflect on what I did on this trip. I'd thought that I'd have a sense of accomplishment, and I do. But accomplishment doesn't seem to be the main feeling I have, even after all of the planning for the effort of the trip.

The most valuable part of hiking those many kilometers is not having done it, but what it was like while I was doing it. It was seeing those places that I'd only read about. It was meeting the people -- even those I just passed on the trail with a "bon jour." It was topping a ridge at a pass and having a new world, a new set of sights available to me. And what comes with that is the knowledge that I only saw a tiny piece of this small part of the world.

Sept. 22 from Haar, Germany: map.

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/18.

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Dispatch from Zermatt, Still

The hotel had a sumptuous breakfast buffet and very attentive and energetic staff. I had only to poke my head in the door for the very model of a German-style host to greet me, except that he smiled and seemed genuinely warm. He got me a table and before I could get organized, there was real, hot coffee placed in front of me.

Of course, it was a clear morning, so right after breakfast, I grabbed my camera and took the Gornergrat Bahn up to the 3200m ridge between Monte Rosa and the Matterhorn for the views.

This train is a cogwheel train or funicular that climbs the steep walls of the valley and up onto the ridge, adding views as it ascends each dozen meters, until it's climbed right up onto a giant viewing platform for over two dozen 4000m (13,123') peaks and more than a dozen glaciers. It rides on rails, but has a third rail in the middle which is basically a flattened out gear, a line of cogs, which a gear wheel of the train presumably contacts. The train can, therefore, climb pretty steeply -- and it does. Other than that difference, it's a regular commuter style train car and very quiet, as the motors are electric.

I'd been given a map with a bunch of walking tours for the hills above town and the guide lists several good ones, too. But, after fourteen straight days of walking, I was due for a rest day. So, I opted to get my views without breaking a sweat today. Don't feel at all guilty, either.

The views were worth every penny of the fare. It was truly amazing. For the first thirty minutes or so I just wandered in circles taking it in. The big peaks of the Berner Oberland to the north, Weisshorn (4506m) and Ober Gablehorn (4063m) and their neighbors to the left of the Mattertal, Dom (4545m) and her neighbors to the right. Then, turning to the west, the Matterhorn (4477m), tall, iconic, and dusted with the recent snow. To the south, Theodule Pass (3300m) and the Breithorn (4159m), and to its left, the Monte Rosa massif, at 4634m. Below them are a collection of glaciers that all spill their melt into the Mattertal. Once I oriented, I spent the next hour or more snapping panoramas, portraits, and vignettes. See the photo album for the results.

Upon descending back into the valley, I had a nice lunch and visited the Matterhorn Museum, which is a pretty nice little museum. It's built under a central square and has exhibits about the famous first ascent of its namesake mountain, but also about the climbers and guides, both foreign and local, who climbed the other local peaks and the routes they took and, in some cases, the deaths they met. It also had exhibits about how, before the advent of mountain tourism, the people lived in that tough and steep land. I enjoyed it a great deal.

Soon, it was time to meet a couple of fellows who'd been recommended to me through family collections and who were arriving on the train this afternoon. I had heard about Paul, because he's a long-time friend of my wife's family, and he was traveling with another member of that extended family, Steve.

After collecting them at the station and getting their bags to their hotel, we found ourselves a place to get a beer and got to know each other. That soon turned into dinner (I had a nice venison dish) and before long, the evening was late. It was a great meeting.

I had to leave a little earlier than I might have otherwise, because I had to pack and, I thought, make a 6:08 train the next morning. Just to make sure, I used the hotel's free wireless to check the Swiss Rail site for the schedule. Sure enough, there was a 7:30 train that would get me my connection down the line in time, without getting up and out before breakfast. Still, I'd looked at that timetable at home several times, and I never saw that. It always looked like the 7:30 and 8:30 trains arrived at the same time -- too late for me. Now, it was different, so I went downstairs and checked with the front desk.

It was true! The 7:30 would work. Since the train station is about two blocks from the hotel, that meant I could get breakfast. Always important.

Sept. 21 from Zermatt, Switzerland: map, 1606m (5269').

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/18.

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Dispatch from Zermatt

I awoke feeling better, though still sick, and, for a while, I wondered if I'd have a voice. (Not that there's that much need for it on the trail.) I let everyone else get up early, so by the time I got going there were just a few people still at breakfast. It was good, with a choice of cereals, bread with ham and cheese and jam, and good instant coffee. (This hut keeper knew her stuff.)

It was again cold, but clear. (In fact, it never did get above freezing above 2000m that day, even though it was sunny. There was ice in the shaded puddles even at 3:00. But the sun was warm.) I was about the last one out of the cabin, so I only saw a few of the slower hikers during the day. I wasn't in a hurry to finish this, just yet.

The trail starts downhill for a good way. (That's the uphill approach! In knew there had to be one.) Then, of course, it climbs back up. It continues this for much of the first half, as it moves into and out of slide-prone areas. At one point, the trail uses a tunnel to get around one particularly big chunk of rock. As it curves, there is no light in the middle, but the keepers have wired it with lights and a switch.

Another interesting section crosses a big slide area with avalanche protection. For the trail, this means a long set of overhanging rockfall shelves, which you walk under. These are punctuated by culvert tunnels that bend into and then out of the debris slope, to another overhanging shelf. These allow stuff -- water for instance -- to flow down and around the shelves. There were also bridges and ropes on this segment, but the whole tenor of this day was mellower.

It could have been the views. Weisshorn, of course, now directly across the valley. As it fell behind, it revealed some of its neighbors: Schalihorn, Zinalrothorn, Trifthorn, Wellen Kuppe, and Ober Gabellhorn. And, of course, the Matterhorn, growing larger and more impressive with each rib of the route turned. And, its neighbor, the Breithorn, sitting, as does the Matterhorn, on the Italian border.

With each rib, the trail improved as the ridge mellowed. By the time I turned into the deep valley which contained the Täschalp, it was a nice, high-ridge traverse. By now, too, I was seeing dayhikers, more as the day progressed. It was easy greeting people in the French-speaking portion of the trip -- "bon jour" would always do. But I received a variety of greetings, some of which I couldn't really even get, to my standard "guten tag."

I stopped at the restaurant in the Täschalp for a hot chocolate and a chance to gaze at some new mountains, including Rimpfischhorn, and its big glacier.

Another couple of hours hiking around ridges, in a steady, slow descent brought me to the village of Findeln, which has a terrific view of the Matterhorn, and a steep -- and being actively maintained as I used it -- trail down to the valley bottom and Zermatt.

I walked through town, because, of course, I entered at the high end, to the train station and the Tourist Information. In the square, there, I met four of the Americans I'd spent the Europahütte night with. Later, I met the couple from Boston.

I went into the Tourist Information bureau to find our where my hotel was. This hadn't been a problem any place else, as the other places were small enough that you could see everything at a glance. When I asked where the Le Petit Hôtel was, the young woman behind the desk asked my name, and then told me that Le Petit had problems with its water and couldn't take me. Instead, they'd booked me into the Hotel Butterfly, a three-star, at the same rate. Not only did this amount to a free upgrade, but the hotel was right around the corner, as opposed to halfway back to the other end of town, through which I'd just walked; downhill, I might add.

I had just completed the Chamonix to Zermatt Walkers' High Route!

After setting my damp clothes out to dry, taking a shower, and stretching out on the bed for a while, luxuriating in the space -- and the end of the walking -- I set out to wander the town.

Zermatt is posh. It is bigger and busier -- more international -- than Chamonix, at least in this season. There are lots of Japanese in town, and a surprising number of Indian tourists.

Gradually, as my wanderings began to focus on the restaurants' posted menus, I realized I was hungry. By that time, the Whymper had filled up, so I tried the Burgener Hotel Restaurant, which was very nice and uncrowded. I had a very good green salad and a chicken dish similar to the one at the Hotel de La Sage, but better (roasted, with a peppery rub). It came with steamed vegetables and a saffron risotto.

Sept. 20 from Zermatt, Switzerland: map, 1606m; accum. 183 km, 10,844m gain, 10,807m loss (5269'; accum. 113.7 mi, 35,577', 35,456')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/17.

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Dispatch from Europahütte

The morning dawned cold and cloudy. Breakfast helped my mood a bit -- lots of cereal, juice, bread, ham, cheese, and good coffee. And, the clouds thinning to the north also helped. By the time I started out, it looked promising. It was still cold, though, and there was frost in the woods.

This time, I bid Glyn and Elena goodbye for real, as they opted to use one of their extra days exploring the many trails around Gasenried and Grächen.

The trail starts with a climb up through the woods to the top of a ridge. By that time, the clouds had lifted and views, views! To the north, the Berner Oberland in more detail than ever (I'll have to stop just writing that and find out what peaks I'm looking at). The Weisshorn is gorgeous! And the first glimpse to the Matterhorn. Wonderful. And a real lift after yesterday.

I passed another group of four Americans who had taken the bus up from St. Niklaus this morning. That made nine of us along the trail.

Once the climb was accomplished, the trial pretty much keeps a gentle climb or drop. It's an amazing accomplishment. This isn't the high meadow kind of traverse that I've become used to. This trail runs across the less steep sections of the high ridge, perched above the 500m cliffs that line the lower valley. In some places, there is no place that is less steep, which makes for an exciting trail.

Much of the day was in the shade and where there was shade, there was frost. That was good for the dirt, because it made it solid and provided good footing. Bad news for the rocks, and there were many, because they were frosty and slippery.

I took it easy: because I had time, because it was slippery, and because the scenery was wonderful.

The first part of the traverse is through very steep, but stable conditions. Some fixed ropes, some tricky sections, but not too bad. Then, came the section that crosses the Grosse Graben, a huge slide area, with lots of loose rocks, treacherous trail, overhanging rocks, and officially-designated "danger areas." At one point, a little bushed, I paused to eat something and take a break -- it looked pretty secure to me. While I was there, I heard rockfall every few minutes.

It was during this section, which lasted quite a while (every ridge I turned, I hoped for an end), that I wondered how anyone could conceive a trail through here. Only later, once things settled down, did I remember the solid trail -- and incredible views -- before and after this stretch. They conceived the trail from each end and then just solved the problem of the slides as they came to them. There were other sections of bad terrain, but none as nerve-wracking as this one.
Eventually, the slopes moderated -- a bit -- and the trail became somewhat gentler, so I could relax a little.

The Weisshorn (4505m) dominates this section of the trail. It is truly a beautiful mountain, with three sloping ridges, glaciers scraping each of the three faces, and a regular aspect that just draws your eyes. And, of course, the Matterhorn (4477m), at the end of the valley, grows larger each hour.

As I came around a corner early in the afternoon, I came across Greg (one of the Americans I'd seen the day before, and at breakfast), who bid me to stop and look. There were a small group of chamois on the slopes below us. We watched them (and they watched us) for a while. They were close enough that just maybe they'll show on the photos I took. Later on the trail, a pair of chamois ran down the slope ahead of us. Just ran down a 40 degree slope and then just stopped. In five or ten seconds they moved down a slope that would have taken me twenty minutes. Amazing -- alpine gazelles.

Greg and I leap-frogged each other for the rest of the trip to the Europahütte. The rest of the trail, though there were some interesting bridges and roped sections, was easier and easier. We even approached the Europahütte from above! (That's got to be a first.)

We were the first ones there, so we got our showers and I took a large beer to the sunny deck and just grooved on the Weisshorn, the Breithorn, the sun, and the relaxation.

By dinner time, there were about thirty people at the hut. A large group of Canadians were traveling the Europaweg the other way, from Zermatt. There were eight Americans (one from one of the groups of four turned back on the trail and would meet the group in Zermatt). Two of those Americans, from Boston, followed us over Augsbordpass, about an hour, and enough snow to cover the trail, later. And there were a number of Europeans, too: a couple of Danes, a couple of French, and others.

Dinner was good. (I don't know how these hut keepers do it. There have never been more than two of them, but they serve refreshments, prepare three or four courses for widely varying numbers of people, and keep the buildings spotless.) It started with a nice, thick, hot soup. (Again, I couldn't identify the kind of soup. It was just welcome.) The main dish was a big plate of rice topped with the now familiar style of pieces of meat, usually beef, in a tasty, brown sauce. Sort of Swiss soul food. Dessert was vanilla pudding.

It was a lively evening, but I wasn't up to it. It was either the two large beers that I drank, or the cold that started with a scratchy throat in Gruben (maybe it was the wood smoke?), moved up to my nose for the hike over Augsbordpass, and settled into my throat again during the day's walk. Probably both.

The evening closed with a visit from a couple of ibex, who came around for something (a salt lick?) and triggered a rash of camera flashes.

Sept. 19 from Europahütte, above Randa, Switzerland: map, 2220m; accum. 165 km, 10,840m gain, 10,189m loss (7283'; accum. 102.5 mi, 35,564', 33,428')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/17.

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Dispatch from Gasenried

Of course, the day started with breakfast, early, with me all packed, because I wanted an early start to get over the pass in time to make the hike up the hill to Gasenried or to take the bus. This was the best breakfast in a while, with ham, cheese, bread, jam, and the best coffee yet.

I like this little place. The big hotel up the way attracts most of the business, including everyone I know, but I like the Restaurant Waldesruh. A comfy bed, a good shower, excellent meals -- all for 42 Swiss franks. That makes it the best value of the trip.

I left about ten to eight under cloudy skies, but no rain, as yet. As I walked past the Hotel Schwartzhorn, I looked at the dining room and was tempted to wave, but didn't. It turns out that everyone in the dining room was waving at me!

The trail starts right up the hill, through the woods, and gradually leaves the trees behind to enter an extensive alp above treeline. After about an hour, the rain began and I stopped next to an alp building to put on my rain gear. There was a hunter sitting in the open door of the building with a pair of giant binoculars. He approved of my choice to improve my wardrobe.

A few minutes later, I paused to look around and, to my surprise, saw Glyn and Elena coming up the trail. Since they have several extra days to use, they don't have to push on each day, so gorgeous valleys or forecasts of bad weather inevitably bring the notion of staying for another day. They told me that seeing me walk by was what did it for them. They packed up and left, catching me pretty quickly.

I was glad to see them. We all headed up to the Augsbordpass together. The trail climbed gently, which is quite unusual for the trails around here. All told, including steepness, but also including grading and clarity and surface, today's stretch was the best trail of the trip. There was a long, gently climbing traverse through a rock pile on the other side of the pass that was the best rockpile trail I've ever seen.

Encouraged by Glyn's suggestion that we "crack on," we steadily climbed up to the pass. At about 2600m, the rain turned to snow. By the pass, at 2894m, it was sticking and blowing.

This hike, up to the pass and, especially, down the other side, is supposed to be the scenic highlight of the trip. The guidebook writer waxes lyrical at the views in store for the hiker. Even the usual rocky upper valley, which he often disdains, is granted "austere beauty," presumably under the influence of the "lavish show of grandeur" and a "rare site that is so overwhelmingly powerful that all else is forgotten," a "stunning vision," etc. Today, none of this was visible, only rocks, snow, cloud, and the occasional faint outline of the next ridge.

I paused at the pass to take in the irony of the situation and, cooling fast, plunged on to the other side, neglecting even to take GPS reading.

After a few minutes, we'd left the ridgetop wind below, and, for a time, the clouds lightened, the rain let up, and we pulled off our hoods. We'd done it! After a few minutes more, and as we approached the first of the ridges that we'd have to traverse to enter the next valley and gain our exit from the pass, the snow returned and brought the wind, too; an unwelcome, nasty wind. We were not out of it yet. In fact, the worst was yet to come.

Although the trail was excellent, the weather was terrible and the the traverse across the series of ridges, often with significant exposure, was a trial. I was so glad that I had company. And, that I had the gear to keep myself warm.

We eventually worked into the right valley and began our descent. By the time we arrived at Jungu, perched on a sheer bluff 800m almost directly above St. Niklaus below, the sun was coming out, the valley floor was visible, and some of the opposite slopes were revealed, as well. I stopped a few minutes below Jungu to shed my rain gear.

The trail down to St. Niklaus was a wonder of trail making. Looking back up from the bottom, I marveled at how anyone could even consider making a trail up that series of 500m cliffs. But, someone did, and the trail was excellent, a very smooth grade down to town.

We arrived at the train station at 2:30, seriously better than guidebook time, but our motivation was obvious. We went to the train station because, by the time all three of us had worked ourselves only part way down from the pass, we had all decided to take the bus up the final 500m to Gasenried. I don't feel bad about it at all. We'd done enough that day.

While we were lounging in the sunny wall of the station, waiting for the bus, Swen arrived, having left shortly after Glyn and Elena and hiked over the pass, too. A stirring end to his trip. Also, while we were waiting, an up-valley train stopped and delivered a small group of Americans who are also doing the Haute Route. They took the train around the pass and the bad weather. So, I'll have more company for the final two days across the Europaweg.

The weather has continued to improve and the forecast is for no more rain/snow for the next few days. There was considerable blue sky this evening and even some of the peaks showed themselves, freshly coated with snow. I'm looking forward to some views tomorrow.

The proprietor of the hotel was waiting for the bus (there are only four a day that come this high), so I'm supposing that few people make the trip up on their own two feet. The bus ride is spooky enough: one-lane roads, hairpin turns, steep-steep drop-offs right at the edge of the paving (Shoulder? Ha!), even places where one lane is stacked on another, because there isn't room for two on the slope.

I took a nice room and scattered all of my wet stuff around and showered. I called Judy from the phone booth, because it had been a few days and the cell phone was used up. I tried to post a few dispatches, but the wireless in the building is a little flaky, at least in any rooms I could get to. Dinner was at a restaurant across the square and was quite good: good beef soup with barley, a carrot, beet, and lettuce salad, pieces of beef in a brown sauce with hash browns (twice in a row!), and grapes for dessert.

Sept. 18 from Hotel Alpenrösli, Gasenried, Switzerland: map, 1659m; accum. 151 km, 9899m gain, 9809m loss (5443'; accum. 93.8 mi, 32,477', 32,182')

Updated for links and photos on 11/17.

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Dispatch from Gruben

Breakfast at the Auberge Alpina was a good set up of mueslix, fresh bread, three homemade jams, and fresh coffee. The other person in the dormitory upstairs is named Swen and doing this segment of the Haute Route, so he, Glyn and Elena, and I set out shortly thereafter.

I was last, as usual, so I last saw Glyn and Elena just before they reached the pass, Forcletta. Swen and I made the pass at about the same time, but he headed up the ridge for the summit, rather than drop down to Gruben right away.

Swen's trip is an example of how hiking in this country, Europe, really, is different. He left his car in St. Niklaus and took transit to La Sage, where he started his hike. Where in the USA is using transit to get from one trailhead to another a viable option?

The first part of the hike was the usual climb up tracks and trails to gain the top of the cliffs forming the lower slopes of the valley (these are all glacial valleys, of course). Once that level was achieved, the trail was a wonderful walk through mixed alpine rock gardens and meadows. The views ahead, down the valley, extended all the way to the Berner Oberland. Views behind were the peaks and glaciers at the head of the Val d'Zinal. Above, a herd of twenty-five to thirty chamois ran through the rocks across the slope above me around the corner. Wonderful walking.

Along the way, I met a number of tourist-dressed people on a morning's walk from the Hotel Weisshorn. They were about an hour from the hotel, along a level path, near a ridge which would give them a stunning view of the peaks and glaciers up valley. It might be worth returning for a couple of nights at the Weisshorn and a couple of walks in the vicinity. It's supposed to be quite a place and it's certainly well-placed.

The climb up to the pass Forcletta (2874m) was not particularly steep and the trail was good (well-graded, smooth, and solid footing). It traveled through meadows below, past a large cow shed, with a road to it and a car parked there (all this walking to get to a car park), and then up into to rock field below the pass.

By this time, it was clear that the weather was changing. The peaks' backdrop was more cloud than blue, making photography more challenging. Rain was visible in the distance, over the peaks to the north. Clouds were blowing past as I made the pass. Still, it was pretty warm and not windy above a cool breeze.

At the pass, another valley and a new view of some of the snowy peaks I'd seen from the descent into Zinal. The valley, the Turtmanntal (note the German name -- we've entered German-speaking territory; at least I now know how to pronounce the names), is very steep and narrow, with a number of glaciers gathering at its head. According to the guide, it is essentially agricultural and I believe it, from what I could see.

Coming down from the pass, I walked through two groups of sheep, the first high in the valley. The lead ewe (what's the word for the boss ewe in a group of sheep?) was bold and walked right up to me and sniffed my pockets. She was wooly. Then, I scuffed my boot and spooked her, and consequently all of them. After the spook, she was behind me and the rest were ahead, so they all quickly scooted by and we parted.

There were a number of alp hamlets, with houses, barns, storage and other buildings. During the descent in the meadows, I met three hunters (two armed with guns and the third with the huge binoculars). I had thought I'd heard shooting earlier. No wonder the chamois were running earlier.

Gruben is a small place, and, according to the guide, empties at the end of summer. The Restaurant Waldesruh, where I'm staying, is probably the funkiest place yet, but is very cozy. The shower was great and the floor in the dormitory on the top floor squeaks in a very satisfying way. I was immediately attracted by the smoke coming out of the chimney.

So far, I'm the only one staying here. I walked up to the Hotel Schwartzhorn, the big place in town, to see if I could find someone. Sure enough, Glyn saw me walk up and came down to say hello/goodbye. Swen was there, too, so we had a beer and chatted. His trip ends tomorrow, in St. Niklaus. The Australians must have stayed in Zinal.

I'm at the Waldesruh because the Schwartzhorn Web form wouldn't give me a reservation -- groups only! -- and the site for Waldesruh was very nice. The proprietor speaks English easily, too.

Dinner was very good. First, there was a nice, thick vegetable soup, followed by a salad of lettuce, grated carrots, cabbage, and some good tomato slices. The main dish was a Swiss steak in a nice brown sauce with sautéed onions, peas and baby carrots, and a big slab of fresh hash browns. Dessert -- count them: four courses -- was pudding. Very nice, and quiet, too. Though there were people in and out during the afternoon, I was it for dinner.

The predicted rain began right on schedule, as I came out of the shower (which has a separate, outside door). It stopped a little later and became sunny up above, so if that's what rain is, it will be OK tomorrow. Even put a picturesque dusting of fresh snow on the peaks.

Tomorrow is a big day. The regular route has a 16 km length and a 1000 meter climb, with a long drop to follow. That would be enough, but there's a little hole in the regular route, which means another 4 km and 500 meters. At this point, I feel strong, but am also noticing signs of fatigue. The combination of the biggest day (20 km) and bad weather concerns me. We'll see what tomorrow brings, but I do have an option to take a bus up that last 4 km and 500m. If I'm beat, if the weather's been terrible, if it's late, I'll do that.

Fortunately, whatever the weather tomorrow brings, the prediction for the next day is for no rain. That will make the final two days, across the Europaweg to Zermatt, a better bet.

Sept. 17 from Restaurant Waldesruh, Gruben, Switzerland: map, 1822m; accum. 135 km, 8827m gain, 8042m loss (5978'; accum. 83.9 mi, 28,960', 26,385')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/17.

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Dispatch from Zinal

Breakfast at the Cabane de Moiry was particularly sad: dry bread and jam, warm, instant coffee, and that's all. I headed down, getting fresh water at a stream nearby (no cows above me on the ice or the peaks) and made the dramatic descent to the moraine.

The morning's walk was in the shade (as has been the pattern), and traversed along the steep, meadowed slopes above the Lac de Moiry for a couple of hours. A most delightful couple of hours it was, too, with huge views back to the icefall, north as far as the Berner Oberland, and down to the Lac de Moiry, which is a wonderful shade of blue. The Australians reported chamois, too, though I didn't see them.

All five of us sort of leapfrogged our way up to the Col de Sorebois, from which we entered the Val d'Zinal. It was an interesting transition from the wildness of the Val d'Moiry (though there was a dam and parking lot) to the heavy tourist use of this side. Zinal has a cable car up to Sorebois, which is near the pass we had just topped, so there lots of people on the trail, including a couple of Americans, up for the day.

The trip down from the pass, into Zinal, started with a walk under the chairlifts (not operating) and more cows to Sorebois, the terminus of the cable car. There's a big restaurant there, with a sunny terrace and spectacular views, so it was teeming. I took advantage of the bathrooms, snapped a couple of photos, and headed down.

The trail down was a nice walk back into treeline and I was soon in Zinal, which is a hopping little place. There are a bunch of nice-looking hotels, the giant cable car facility, two sport shops, two groceries, and lots of old-style buildings, too. The town is crawling with walkers, hikers, climbers, and general vacationers. Not only that, it's jingling-jangling with cows.

It's the season for the cows to come down from the high meadows. As I walked into town, I passed a small herd penned in some grass on the river, just below the tennis courts. A little while later, they were herded up the river, in a procession, to a meadow up at the upper end of town (where my auberge is). Right now, I'm surrounded by clanking and clanging bells, as they have moved to a big field right next door.

I met Glyn and Elena here at the Auberge Alpina. They were here when I arrived, because they rode the cable car down from Sorebois. The Australians are in town, too, more toward the center. The talk is of the change in weather due tomorrow evening, with rain forecast for the next day (my day 12). We'll see.

This town is in a deep valley, so it's hard to see them all, but is surrounded by huge, glaciated peaks. That's one reason there are so many walkers around here. You can see the Zinalthorn from here at the auberge.

Dinner was good, starting with a thick carrot soup, followed by a large, creamy lasagne, and finished by an apple tart. And, of course, a couple of glasses of wine.

Sept. 16 from Auberge Alpina, Zinal, Switzerland: map, 1675m; accum. 121 km, 7628m gain, 6990m loss (5495'; accum. 75.2 mi, 25,026', 22,933')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/17.

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Dispatch from Cabane de Moiry

After a good breakfast at the Hotel de La Sage, with mueslix, fruit, bread, croissant, and coffee, I started up the hill. Today would be a climb up to a pass, then down into the valley -- not too far -- and then up to the Cabane de Moiry.

The weather was very good, clear skies all day, and the trail was good all the way. That means with a regular grade, a fairly smooth surface, and good footing. It does not mean flat, for these trails are often very steep.

The day started with a steady climb through woods, small meadows with classic timber sheds, and cows. For about an hour, I heard the bells -- all different pitches -- ringing through the trees, but I didn't see the cows until I came across a group of them in the trees, with two minders and a dog. The sound is very musical and practical, as I knew there were cows ahead long before I saw them.

Once the trail reached treeline, it stretched out directly of the pass, through huge alpine meadows (which are called "alps", which is why we have the work alpine), with views back toward Pigne d'Arolla and Mont Blanc de Cheilon.

About halfway up through the alp, now traveling with Glyn and Elena, we met a couple of goats; or as is more likely, the goats met us. They immediately charmed us with their friendliness and interest in our sweaty skin. As we turned to continue up, they followed us -- all the way to the pass! They were pretty cute, but I was concerned that we'd lure them away from their home.

I needed have worried. At the pass, they showed no signs of interest in leaving their valley, yet showed considerable signs of comfort with the pass. Another couple arrived behind us and got out their lunch, which attracted the goats' interest, especially the banana peels. At that point the goats became a real nuisance for the new people and I left them to it.

I now think that the goats hang out on that path, to follow people up to the pass, where they can help them eat their lunches. Then, they head back down. Neat scam, and I bet their owner knows nothing about it.

The Col de Tsaté offered views over the next ridge to the beautiful peaks of the Weisshorn and Zinalthorn. As we dropped into the Val d'Moiry, through meadows and more cows, the view changed. My attention was turned up this valley, toward the dramatic ice fall of the Glacier de Moiry and its surrounding peaks.

The valley's and the glacier's stream is dammed to form the Lac de Moiry and at the head of the lake is a parking lot. I crossed the lot and headed up to the night's accommodation, the Cabane De Moiry, the highest sleep of the trip.

The trail works along the huge lateral moraine of the glacier, which is much larger than the glacier now creates, so it is being eroded, in places, by the glacier's action. Near the base of a cliff, the trail leaves the moraine and begins a steep, switch-backing climb of the cliff to a truly dramatic location for a cabane, on top of a rock, looking right at the upper ice fall of the glacier. Whew!

Because the walk is only an hour-and-a-half from the parking lot, the cabin gets a lot of day use, but there were probably forty people there for the night, too.

This night's stay was a reminder of the challenges of running these kinds of places in the locations that they are situated. The other cabins had made it look easy, but this one had its difficulties, not the least because of its dramatic and relatively inaccessible location. There was no road possible and I didn't see a suitable place for a helicopter pad. How they got stuff up there, I don't know.

This question became important, because the bathroom facilities were the most primitive. The toilets were holes, with nice porcelain, but dropping down the cliff. There were shower stalls, but there hadn't been any water for two weeks. That meant they had water for cooking, but none for washing or drinking. First day without a shower.

The location was a significant compensation, however, and they did have beer, so I wasn't without hydration. I spent the afternoon leaning against the stone building in the sun, staring at the glacier and its many peaks: Couronne de Bréona, Pointe de Moiry, Tsa de l'Ano, Pointe de Mourti, Dent des Rousses, Pointe de Bricola, Pigne de la Le, and, way in the back, Grand Cornier.

Dinner was good, family style with all of the English-speakers at one table (and in the same room upstairs), so Glyn and Elena, the Australians, and I spent our time together. We had a warm, salty, and tasty soup that we couldn't quite identify, a main course of rice, peas and baby carrots, and stewed beef, in nice, big pieces. Dessert was a canned, half-peach.

Sept. 15 from Cabane de Moiry, Switzerland: map, 2825m; accum. 107 km, 7613m gain, 5825m loss (9268'; accum. 66.5 mi, 24,977', 19,111')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/10.

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Dispatch from La Sage

The morning dawned partly cloudy, but showed no signs of trouble. The forecast is good. After breakfast of bread, jam, mueslix with yogurt, orange juice, and coffee, I used the Internet café to send a backlog of dispatches.

Arolla is a little town, but has pretty nice facilities. There were a lot of people out for walks in the meadows yesterday, as well as more ambitious folks, like the two Swiss gentlemen I met at the pass and in town. There's skiing in the winter and lots of climbing within view of the hotel rooms.

Wanting to make both of the kinds of guidebook mistakes there are, I under-believed the book this morning, and took the lower path to Lac Bleu. The upper path climbs a little at first and then traverses over to the lake. My path drops down nearly to the road in the valley bottom, meaning I had to climb an extra 150 meters to gain the lake.

It was worth it. Lac Bleu is a little thing, but it is an extraordinary blue color. Clearly, it is well-loved, over-much, really, as there are dozens of paths around it. No one path is without its versions and variations, so that the shores and many of the trees around it are nothing but path. There were quite a few people up there for the views and the trails to the mountains above.

After a lunch of dark, solid bread with nuts, local Swiss cheese, a slightly aged, but sweet yellow delicious, and a bite of Toblerone, I headed down the trail, back to the valley bottom.

The route down was nice, as there's a trail that follows the road, but at a nice distance, so you didn't know it was there, as it drops through the canyon to Les Haudères, at the junction with another valley. Through the afternoon's walk, first Mt Collon and then Pigne d'Arolla were in view behind me.

From Les Haudères, the route up works through town on paved road, then leaves town on a paved track, which becomes unpaved, and then reverts to trail for the rest of the way. It could have been a trail in Washington (except for the mountains behind me) -- the trees, though different, were familiar, the tread looked the same, and the undergrowth was very familiar. Along the way, I looked up to see the low-slung body and long, bushy, red tail with a white tip of a fox, as it plunged into the brush ahead.

The Hotel de La Sage is large and old, but is really quite nice, showing signs of active management, unlike the Hotel Gietroz (where I was locked out). The view from my window is tremendous, but the salon on the first floor has better than 180 degree views through tall windows. It's also equipped with a library, computer, and a pool table. My room isn't large, but it has four beds and I'm the only one in it, so it has lots of room.

The pattern of the walks has changed lately. For the first few days, it was climb up above treeline and then drop into the valley for the night. Day five started a different pattern: climb into the high country and stay, which we did between Mont-Fort and Arolla. Once to Cab. du Mont-Fort, I didn't see a tree for that afternoon, all the next day to Cab. De Prafleuri, and almost all the next to Arolla. Nothing but alpine plants and rocks and ice. As I dropped toward Arolla I remember noticing the junipers and was reminded that I'd been above treeline for days. Within a few minutes, pines and larches appeared and I was back below treeline.

Tomorrow, the pattern returns to climb out of the valley, over a pass and then into the next valley for the night. I'll be high in the valley, in a mountain hut, but will still have to climb up and out of the valley to the next stay.

At dinner, I sat at a table of English-speakers. Glyn and Elena are here. A retired couple from New Zealand, who spend a good deal of their time, from the sounds of it, walking in the Alps, using transit to get to a town and make interesting walks from there. They knew all of the trails and cabane that we were using. Also, there was another couple, from Australia, who are doing the Haute Route. I saw them in Arolla. They'd taken a rest day (which isn't a bad idea), so we caught them there.

Dinner was very good, with a rich mushroom sauce on a biscuit for a starter and chicken and noodles nicely done, with crème brûlée for dessert.

Sept. 14 from Hotel de la Sage, La Sage, Switzerland: map, 1667m; accum. 97 km, 5996m gain, 5366m loss (5469'; accum. 60.3 mi, 19,672', 17,605')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/6.

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Dispatch from Arolla

We had an early breakfast, though it was late for the hut. Because so many people stay there to climb, breakfast only runs from 5 to 7. So, I had mueslix, bread and jam, and coffee at 6:30 and made a start at 7:30.

The first stop was the Col des Roux, which it right above the cabin and only needed a thirty minute climb, though frosty -- and a little slippery -- rocks. From the top, you leave the quarries of the dam construction behind and see the result, the five-kilometer Lac des Dix, elevation 2364m. And, at the head, the huge north wall of Mont Blanc de Cheilon. That view would be the rest of the morning.

The trail drops down from the pass, passes two open but untended cabins (you just leave your money behind) in the broad meadows flanking the west slopes of Lac des Dix, and continues along a level track for the length of the lake. There's nothing on the lake -- no hotels or marinas or jet skis -- just huge meadows teaming with marmots, reaching up to snowy peaks and cliffs. What a marvelous route!

At the end of the lake, where I re-entered the frosty shade, the trail continues up the valley, first crossing the Pas du Chat on a suspension bridge. Cool.

For much of the rest of the morning, I worked up the valley, closer and closer the Mont Blanc de Cheilon, with the massive Glacier de Cheilon showing more and more of itself. Near the top of the route up the valley, the glacier was revealed, streaming down its huge lateral moraines and carrying a large medial moraine, too. And across the glacier, on a big rock on the other side of the valley, sits the Cabane des Dix.

From there, the task was uphill and out of this valley, into the Val d'Arolla. That meant another steep and tricky climb up to the Col de Riedmatten. At the top, the footing was poor, the gully was narrow, and the climb was spooky steep. I was glad to see that the other side was much nicer.

At the top were a couple of tri-lingual Swiss, up for the day from Arolla, and two sisters from Canada, who were headed down what I'd just come up. I later ran into the Swiss gentlemen in town, as they were staying in the hotel. They'd been to school together and then went off to different jobs (petroleum engineer and economics professor at the Technical University at Bern). Now, they were on a vacation to various mountain towns and seeing what hiking there was in each. Similar to my trip, without the walking between the towns. I hope that in my retirement I can be so active.

On the other side, I met many people up from Arolla for a climb or a hike or just to sit in the sun in an alpine meadow. It was a great descent on a good trail through beautiful meadows. And, there were mountains. Arolla has its own version of de Cheilon, the Pigne d'Arolla, with its own glaciers streaming down below its icy north wall. To the left, is Mt. Collon, which looks like an island of peak, surrounded by glaciers.

So far, I haven't had any trouble finding the places I'm staying, and this was no exception. Arolla is really just one street, about four blocks long, and the Hotel du Glacier straddles both sides of the street in what would be the third block, if there were any side streets.

The dormitory is very nice, it seems new, and has six bunks, a bathroom, and a shower. Strangely, the shower is in the room, so there's no way to get into and out of the shower in privacy. That wasn't a problem for me, because I'm the only one here.

Dinner was very nice. I showed up at the restaurant and they had a place all set for me. Glyn and Elena were there, too, having taken a room. We had a nice dinner of a baked shrimp and cheese dish, green beans, rice with mushrooms, and a light, curried chicken, with a panna cotta for dessert.

Sept. 13 from Hotel du Glacier, Arolla, Switzerland: map, 2006m; accum. 86 km, 5697m gain, 4728m loss (6581'; accum. 54.1 mi, 18,691', 15,512')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/6.

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Dispatch from Cabane de Prafleuri

Today was the first full day above treeline. It provided just what I came all this way for: sustained, high country travel, big views to big, snowy mountains, and wildlife sightings.

The route took me up onto the slope south of Mont-Fort and out to the point, where views of the cabin end and views of the huge and beautiful Grand Combin begin. The route continues across steep, lush meadows, to Col Termin, where we turn to the east and work our way up to Col de Louvie, and then down and back up to Col Prafleuri, and then down to the Cabane de Prafleuri.

It was a tough day. The distance wasn't huge and the elevation gain was certainly less than yesterday, but often the trail was bad. At first, it was nice trail sliding along steep meadow slopes, but in the climb to Col de Louvie, the trail started to become little more than a set of marks thought boulder fields. This became the norm for the rest of the day. That's tiring.

But to start at the beginning: breakfast was the usual bread, butter, jam and coffee, in quantity. The day started in the shade and with a bit of frost on the grass.

On the way to Col Termin, the views of Grand Combin were stupendous. In addition, we could also still see the Mt. Blanc group. The best, though, were the several chamois and ibex that we saw along the way. One ibex tolerated my efforts to get close enough for a portrait, so that I might have a good photo.

At Col Termin, we could now look to the east and see some of the peaks we'd work around though the day, most notably Rosabranche. Lac de Louvie was below, along with its Cabane, which looks right up the Glacier de Cobassière to the Grand Combin.

For a time, the traverse up to Col de Louvie was like the morning's traverse -- smooth trail, sloping meadows, ibex and chamois. But below the pass, it became a route, not a trail, and more difficult for that.

At the Col de Louvie, we entered the heart of the mountains, in a way that we hadn't been before, traversing along a high wall of a broad, inhabited valley. Behind us, down the valley, we glacial slabs and broken rock ridges, and less and less meadow. Ahead of us, only the leavings of a glacier in retreat -- a moonscape of piles of rocks and debris, with a couple of turquoise lakes in the bottoms. The Grand Désert glacier is clearly dying. Its terminal moraine is, literally, a couple piles of rocks two meters high and five meters across.

There were people here, again (we hadn't seen anyone close all morning, though a helicopter did land and then take off from the Cabane de Louvie at the lake below), most of whom had come up the river from lower in the Val de Nendaz.

Our goal was to leave this valley for the next one, the Val des Dix. So, we crossed the moonscape. Again, the trail was clear, but not real smooth. But as we got close to the Col de Prafleuri, which would get us to that valley, the trail became, again, only a route through rock piles. Tough.

Having reached the Col de Prafleuri, we were greeted by another moonscape, this time human-created. We saw a giant quarry, developed to build the huge dam just over the hill, which creates the Lac des Dix. One moonscape to the next, we plunged down the hill, this time on proper trail and made our way to the Cabane de Prafleuri.

The Cabane is in an ugly place, at the bottom of the quarry, but it enjoys the benefits of location. It's easily reached from below and offers easy access to some good climbing above. There are about 20 people here tonight -- hikers, climbers, and weekenders. It's a lively contrast to last night.

The dormitories are large and beautifully arranged. The present hut was completed in 2000, so it's very clean. Again, showers available and taken advantage of. Dinner was great: soup, mixed veggie and potato salad, macaroni, a savory stew of beef and mushrooms, and red cabbage, with fruit cocktail and wonderful whipped cream for dessert. I even had a couple of beers.

Just after sunset, a couple of ibex approached the hut and spent several minutes playing with the keepers' dog. The dog would approach the ibex and jump around and do a play bow. The ibex would reply by stamping its feet or making a little rush at the dog. At which point the dog would rush back to the terrace and dance around like it was all great fun. Then, they'd do it again. Very cool.

Sept. 12 from Cabane de Prafleuri, Switzerland: map, 2662m; accum. 71 km, 4962m gain, 3375m loss (8734'; accum. 44.1 mi, 16,280', 11,073')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 11/4.

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Dispatch from Cabane du Mont-Fort

Since no one had been around for me to ask, I assumed that breakfast might be ready as early as 7:00 AM. So, I got up and, just one more time, checked the PDA. It came on! It only needed to have its time reset and it was good to go. One annoyance removed.

The next was removed when breakfast was indeed ready at 7. The whole dining room, with one cup and plate, was ready for me. Compared to the standards of the last several days, it was meager (two good rolls with butter and jam, a small glass of juice, and coffee), but tasty. The coffee wasn't the typical, more acidic drip-style I'd gotten before, but was made with espresso, what we call an Americano in Starbucks-land. I liked it. The last annoyance was removed when I checked out and the owner apologized several times for locking me out the night before.

The weather clear, with some clouds on the peaks dissipating, I started up, through town, into a field, and through another town, through some woods and along a road, to another town. At this point, the trail entered the woods and climbed (and climbed -- this is the biggest vertical day of the trip) to a small village called Clambin. The guide mentioned an attractive restaurant -- even had a picture with the panoramic views available from the deck -- at which I'd hoped to get a lunch. At this point, I'd been going three hours and the meager breakfast was running out. Sadly, the restaurant was rather less attractive to me, on this day, as it was closed until mid-December. So, I took a break and ate some of the food I'd bought in the grocery below. The views are nice: across the valley to the mountains I'd come through the two days before. Down the valley to Sembrancher, showing its amazing glacial valley walls, and also showing the little chapel at St. Jean, above Sembrancher, where I'd been unable to see it, though only 50m away. Down the slope into a basin, where the surprisingly large town of Verbier lies. It's the big town around here, with Le Châble providing access and overflow capacity for what is an enormous ski area.

The trails today were steep, but much smoother -- and therefore easier -- than those a couple of days before, so I made better time. Above Clambin, the route follows a bulldozed ski track, switch-backing up the slope. Until the last turn, there had been signage to Mont-Fort, but once in the ski area, that changed and I missed the turn, traversing out of the basin I needed, and heading too far north. I knew there was trouble when the descriptions failed to match. I didn't see the trail features, the views didn't match the guide's, and the GPS was nervous about the location, too. Still, I wasn't sure I'd hit the right points if I turned back and I'd already climbed too far to go all the way back, so I continued climbing.

Eventually, I realized that I was too far north and worked my way around the top of the ridge to the south and saw the hut. I hiked across the meadows, through clanking cows, to the road leading to the hut. I probably added a good couple of kilometers and a couple of hundred meters of gain to the trip.

Still, I made it, and in good time. The "hut" is amazing, big and beautiful. It started, clearly, as a refuge, offering refreshments and rescue services. At some point, not too long ago, a dormitory addition was made, with very nice little rooms. There were even showers, with excellent, hot water. I hadn't expected that, but it was something I didn't pass up, especially since it came with a towel. (I know, it seems like a good idea, but it hasn't been universal at dormitory places. That's the one thing I have realized, so far, that I should have brought: a towel.)

This is the hut where, when I called to make a reservation and mentioned that I couldn't speak French, his response was something about how that was a problem. He did give me to understand that, since there was just one of me, there would be no problem. I was reminded of that when he reacted similarly when I arrived. Still, we've worked out the important things: the shower, hot chocolate, menu approval, breakfast time, etc.

The couple I met in town, Glyn and Elena, were here when I arrived and we're the only ones here for the night. There were a couple of motorbikers up for the views, and who stopped for a beer. One of them knew the trip we're on, having done it two years before.

Dinner was good and filling. It started with soup, which we all liked, as it was hot. The hut is cold. Next, a big mixed, green salad, then spaghetti bolognese, and pudding for dessert.

We closed the evening on the terrase, watching the sunset lighting up Mont Blanc, her acolytes, and the Grand Combin, while clouds filled the valley.

Sept. 11 from Cabane du Mont-Fort, Switzerland: map, 2457m; accum 57 km, 4293m gain, 2873m loss (8161'; accum. 35.4 mi, 14,085', 9426')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 10/30.

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Dispatch from Le Châble, Switzerland

I'm getting into the swing of this a little more. I got my stuff organized yesterday and I got a good night's sleep last night (the end of jet lag, I figure). Breakfast hasn't been a problem, including today, with the usual selection, and my taking mueslix, orange juice, a few slices of excellent bread with cream cheese and jam, and coffee. There were about a dozen people for breakfast.

Malcolm was headed south on the next leg of the Tour Mont Blanc (TMB), while Rob was taking the bus to here, Le Châble, to get a jump on the climb I'll take tomorrow, to Cabane du Mont Fort. He only has a week, so he wants to stay in the mountains.

Because, I suppose, I've left the TMB, the numbers of hikers are way down. With the exception of two trekkers just entering Champex as I was leaving, I didn't see another all day, at least along the trail. While I was having a beer (OK, two -- I was re-hydrating) this afternoon, a couple I'd last seen at the Fenêtre d'Arpette (the fellow had taken my picture) walked into the café. Seems we're on the same itinerary.

The day began as the others have, with clear skies and warm temperatures. (I have a report that this will continue through Friday.) I strolled through town, which seems to be doing very well, thank you, with a number of nice-looking resort hotels and another being built right in the center. There is a lake, with paddleboats, rowboats, and canoes for rent -- and fishing, as evidenced by the fishermen this morning. It's a small lake, though, so I wonder how many fish there are.

At the edge of town, I plunged down a steep, if not killer, path which alternately crossed and followed the old road to Champex (there was an interpretive sign). Soon the path moderated and I began to see views to the east, from above Osières, up the Val d'Entremont. Absolutely gorgeous! At the head of the valley is the famous pass of St. Bernard and flanking it are the Grand Combin massif and Mt. Vélan, on the Italian border. The sunbeams, the glistening snow, the green pastures: it all made me glad I wasn't carrying a film camera.

The guidebook's directions were very useful, but I got a bit confused above Sembrancher, at St. Jean. I tried the path to the right, then the one to the left, hitting gates on both, and never seeing the chapel, which was hidden in the trees at the top of the bluff. No road to it that I could see. Rather than return to the junction for the third option, I went through the gate, and down the meadow, where I saw a pedestrian sign. I followed that down to a wide path, which came from that third option. It was straightforward from there.

Sembrancher is a nice little town -- I made a circle of it, to the amusement of some street-hangers-out -- and headed out. The path went on roads past houses (one man was mounting his horse for an afternoon's ride with his friendly dog), the power station, and out into fields of corn along the La Dranse de Bagnes, draining the next valley on my journey. From there, I climbed through woods, around a ridge-edge, and back down to the river, where I learned what Kev, in the guidebook, described as "working Switzerland." I'd thought he was referring to the views of roads and farms (and sunbeams and greenness) from the ridge along the La Dranse d'Entremont.

No, he meant this -- and I have to agree, it was interesting. As I walked along the river to Le Châble, I passed a small logging landing, in the river bottom; a road expansion, again, into the river; a gravel pit, partially converted into a large dirt bike track; a municipal composting operation; and several other operations that I couldn't sort out. Accompanying these were a series of big display boards describing the various demographic, economic, and political aspects of Switzerland's regions. Why along this road, on which I saw nothing moving? I don't know.

I have a large room in the hotel, so I dried out my clothes, took a shower, and am charging up the electronics, as the next two nights are in mountain huts. As the day was easy, I had time to wander around town, too, and replenished my Swiss franks (do mountain huts take VISA?) and enter a grocery store to buy some fruit, bread, and cheese -- another milestone.

I had a superb dinner at a very nice and expensive) restaurant up the hill a ways. There weren't a lot of people eating there, so it was quiet and I got to use the no smoking section (there isn't always one). I had a big, varied salad and a wonderful entrée of a bunch of little perch fillets, wonderfully cooked and seasoned, on a bed of vegetables, including cooked potato wrapped in cabbage.

At this point, the wheels began to come off the cart of good feelings. I returned to the hotel to find it locked and empty. Ringing did not work. I looked, the only lights on in the whole building were in my room. I thought to call and easily found a phone both that would take a VISA, but there was no phone book -- all of my such information was locked in the room, of course. So, I went next door to Max and Milly's B&B, where I heard English spoken earlier. The guy there (was it Max? If so: Thanks, Max.) knew the people who ran my hotel and even had their mobile number (since no one answered at the hotel). Only a few minutes later, the owner showed up and let me in. The door was supposed to be left open.

Phew! Still a bit crabby, I entered my room and noticed that my PDA was still charging, which was strange because it was nearly done a couple of hours earlier. When I unhooked it and tried it out, it wouldn't come on. Damn!

I have a lot of information I use on the card in the PDA and am recording much of the information about the trip on it, as well, not to mention writing these posts up each night. While the PDA isn't essential, like a rain coat and hiking boots are, it is important.

My previous annoyance, once diminished, now returned. Fortunately, I brought paper backup for writing and was pretty sure I could remember where I'd planned to stay by referring to the guide book. Still, it was annoying.

Sept. 10 from Hotel du Giétroz, Le Châble, Switzerland: map, 821m; accum. 48 km, 2657m gain, 2873m loss (2694'; accum. 21.7 mi, 8717', 9426')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 10/30.

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Dispatch from Champex, Switzerland

Breakfast was the start, with mueslix and milk, bread and jam, and, of course, coffee.

A little more organized, I got an earlier start today, heading up before the sun had come over the steep walls of the valley. I walked up through town, past the cat staked out in it's little patch of grass and weed, in the same place it was last night when I walked past it. The trail starts up the hill just past the center of town and gains what must have been the original road up to Col De La Forclaz, just above town. The current road takes a longer and gentler route, but the old road makes a nice path, less steep than yesterday's.

After a while, it gains a level path, the width of a single lane road, that contours along the valley-side, with a pretty trough of water running on it's inside. This is a bisse, which moves water from one valley to another. It made a wonderful path, smooth and level, with evidence of frequent maintenance everywhere, with benches and chairs and even a fanciful waterwheel that makes a knock sound. This pleasant path took me to the Chalet du Glacier, from where the real climbing begins.

Now, well into the valley, the Trient Glacier comes into view. It's a remarkable sight, with a big ice fall at the horizon, which hides a huge icefield behind it. The trail climbs and twists its way up the valley, inching up the east wall, still in shade, for the first couple of hours. This is a tough climb, 1082m above the Chalet below and it took me more than the three hours mentioned in the guide.

There are compensations. The most substantial are the growing views to the north and south, especially the Trient Glacier, sparkling in the sun. And at the pass, the Fenêtre d'Arpette (2665m), the window opens to the east, where Grand Combin shows its snowy mantle and even the Matterhorn made a brief appearance.

A chough was working the pass as numbers of people clambered up from each side and headed down the other. This is a main route of the Tour Mont Blanc, so there was quite a bit of traffic. Along the way up, I caught and was left behind by Rob, the Dutch fellow with whom I'd shared dinner and breakfast in Trient. I also met an American couple, who are doing the Haute Route, though a non-Kev (the guidebook author) variation. Beautiful, wild country, reminiscent of home, but bigger.

The trip down was tricky at first, but soon resolved itself into a nice walk down an alpine valley, which ended in a farmer's field (cows, bells), then the village of Arpette (whose window I'd just descended from), and another stroll along a bisse, this one larger and steeper, with quite a number of strolling weekend vacationers, into the lake resort town of Champex.

The Pension en Plein Air, where I'm staying, is quite nice and is located at the end of town that I entered (tired, I was glad of that). The room I'm in is bigger than last night, but with only six beds. Partial walls and curtains offer more privacy, too. I was able to post three dispatches (the first two of which had bad map references, so I'll have to fix those and add them later). Another fellow, an Englishman named Malcolm, who was also at Trient last night, joined Rob and me here.

Dinner was for only seven of us (there are other options in town), so it was less a production than last night. It was good, starting with a Caprese-style salad and bread, continuing with a nice plate of ham with a mustard dressing, sauted vegetables, and scalloped potatoes. Dessert was a plain, panna cotta-type slice with blueberry sauce. Malcolm and I had a nice conversation with a Dutch couple, who are also doing the Tour Mont Blanc, but in the opposite direction from Malcolm.

Sept. 9 from Pension en Plein Air, Champex, Switzerland: map, 1466m; accum. 35 km, 2553m gain, 2124m loss (4810'; accum. 22 mi, 8376', 6969')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos: 10/29.

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Dispatch from Trient, Switzerland

Today was the first full day of hiking, 12 km and about a thousand meters of climb and descent. I had a nice breakfast in La Couronna (bread and jam, mueslix, cheese, orange juice, yogurt, and caffe noir).

The trail starts at the railroad tracks (the train in this valley is called the Mont Blanc Express and runs about a dozen times a day), at an underpass. From there, it climbs into the woods above town and begins to traverse up the valley. The trail is wide and well-graded, but steeper on the climbs than is the standard where I usually hike, unless it's a crazy climbers trail, like most of those that I trained on in August. These aren't that steep. After about an hour, the trail drops down into Le Tour, the last town in the valley.

Le Tour is small, but busy, as a lot of people use the trails above town for hiking and mountain biking. An added feature is the availability of a lift, to Charamillon, which is halfway, and another, which takes you almost to the pass. No reason to climb to get stunning views of the peaks that line this valley, including, of course, the white-crowned glory of Mont Blanc.

Of course, no lift for me, so I started up the trail, which switchbacks up a giant alpine meadow, in full late-summer lushness. I took a breather at the lift station halfway and prepared for wind at the pass. Another push and I was at the pass, the Col de Balme, (map, 2204 m), which was basically teeming and not as windy as I'd expected. There were large groups of distance hikers, small groups of day hikers, and lots of mountain bikers.

Now, I could see my way down, which zig-zags alongside a chasm running down from the pass to the east, again, through lush meadows, at first, and then into the trees, where it really started to drop. On, into Switzerland!

My left knee had felt a little loose coming up and even earlier, before I started walking, but a couple of hundred meters of downhill snubbed it right up, and I had no trouble with it. In about an hour and a half, I entered the small town of Trient, where I have a dormitory space for the night.

I got there pretty early, I guess, as I had pick of the bunks in my room of ten. But by evening, there was a crowd, though my room had only seven people with twelve bunks. Must have been forty at dinner. I've entered the core of the Tour Mont Blanc. There's even another guy doing the first week of the trip I'm on -- and there may be others, for all I know.

Dinner was good: bread, cheese, soup; salad; "meat" and rice with peas; ice cream. The meat's in quotes not because it was bad, but because I didn’t know what it was – some finely-ground meat rolled in bacon and cooked in a dark sauce. It was good.

Oh, yeah, and another day of perfectly clear skies.

Sept. 8, from Relais du Mont Blanc, Trient, Switzerland: map, 1279 m; 21 km, 1167 m gain, 925 m loss (4196'; 13 mi, 3829', 3035')

Updated for spelling and links: 10/29.

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Dispatch from Argentière, France

Today started, of course, with breakfast. The three people with whom I shared my room (who entered sometime the night before without making a sound I heard) were there -- bikers from Germany -- as well as the two older couples from the UK I met yesterday, as they finished their Tour Mont Blanc, and four others from the UK, probably climbers from their outfits.

After that I packed up, checked out, stashed my gear, and headed over to the Téléphérique platform for a trip up to Aiguille du Midi. I paid and got in line. When the line moved, I was the last one for that trip -- they literally closed the door behind me. Each car holds 65 to 70 people. At this point in the day, around 9:30, there was an almost 50-50 split between climbers and tourists.

The trip was amazing. The first segment runs up the lower valley, first in woods and then above the treeline, all of it very steep. The next segment is stunning. It starts on a ridgetop and then runs across a glacier and then it starts to climb, steeper and steeper, up a slope of ice and, increasingly rock, as the ice can't accumulate on such steep rock. At the end, it is heading straight up into the station.

The station is on one point. A catwalk -- broad and planked -- takes you to another. From there, you can take a smaller gondola lift, across the huge expanse of glacier to Italy. This is where the climbers head onto the glacier, too. There are a series of terraces for viewing. All of this is accessed in tunnels cut into the granite of the peak. You can reach to very top of the aiguille by an elevator, which takes you to platform at 3842m (12,605'), where you have a 360 degree view.

It was breathtaking, literally and figuratively. Rising 2800m in 20 minutes makes those first several minutes an effort to get enough oxygen. But the views! The views! Mt Blanc, all those famous aiguilles -- some of the most famous granite in the world -- enormous glacier fields, the triangular Grand Combin. I kept turning in circles. I could even see the Matterhorn, or Cervin, as it's known here. It looked a long way away, small enough that it didn't draw my attention very strongly, with so much else to see.

I spent about an hour, trying every viewpoint, watching climbers all over the area, looking at today's and tomorrow's routes, and glorying in this vantage point, gained so easily and built with such stunning courage.

At the bottom, the line was twice as long as it had been when I got there two hours before.

I returned to the Vagabond, where I'd stashed my gear in the gear locker, and prepared for the first walk. I started by walking through town. That was a treat, as I bought an iced cream cone along the way for my lunch. I liked that no one gave me and my pack a second glance, not with so many other walking sticks and mountain bikes and ice axes and fleece clothing in site.

And, what a way to start a hike: walking through a charming little town, high in the Alps, where so much mountaineering and skiing history has been made, eating an ice cream cone (coffee and coconut, for the record).

The walk started along streets and then I came to a segment that followed the river through Bois du Bouchet, a nice flat, park-like trail among the trees. I joined the road again as it crossed the river and followed it into Les Praz and down a hotel service road to a path along another river, next to the golf course. Crossing that river, I followed the river, now climbing a little to a junction, where the trail turned away from the river and climbed up onto the slope for a while before leveling out and proceeding into Argentière after several kilometers.

As I arrived in town, near the rail station, I realized that I didn't have the address to the hotel (an oversight that I forgot to address), so I headed up toward the center, in the hopes of finding the tourist information center. At the point where I saw the sign to the TI, I looked across the street and saw the hotel. It is centrally located, for sure.

The hotel is quite nice, especially after the rustic and off-season routine in the Vagabond. It is old and substantial, well-kept, but not fancy. I have a single room with a bath. The best is that there are towels, so I can shower in the morning. My room has a view of Mont Blanc, which is beginning to light up with sunset.

I had a beer at the Bar Rusticana down the street (they're all waiting for the rugby match with Argentina tonight -- I can hear shouting through the window). I had dinner at the Sports Bar across the street. The bartender noticed me looking at their board out front and waved me in. Worked. There were a bunch of English-speakers of mixed heritage in there, as well as three or four dogs. It was an unexceptional meal, but a lively spot.

So far, I've spent quite a bit of time around English speakers, though no Americans (there were a few in the téléphérique this morning). Both of the workers at Le Vagabond were English, as were eight of the twelve guests at breakfast. That's not mentioning the handful of workers -- all UK -- who hung around the young women working there, appearing for happy hour and for morning coffee. Similar at dinner: both workers and at least the eight guests there when arrived, though they weren't all from the UK.

Sept. 7, from Hotel de La Couronne, Argentière, France: map, 1266m; accum. 9 km, 238m gain, 0m loss (4154'; accum. 5.6 mi, 781', 0')

Updated for spelling and links: 10/22.

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Dispatch from Chamonix, France

The trip over here went very well. All the flights were on time, no airline weirdness interrupted the smooth flow of travelers. No security weirdness (though something was missing in Frankfurt -- I could have left the terminal without checking through passport control; on the other hand, the Swiss passport control didn't even look at my passport -- just a glance and a wave). As is usual, I was unable to sleep on the plane, but as long as I stayed hydrated and kept the blood sugar up, I was fine.

I arrived in Philadelphia around 4 PM yesterday (Sept. 5), Frankfurt at 10:30 this morning, and Geneva at 1 that afternoon. The Chamexpress delivered me to gîte Le Vagabond by 4:30.

Although Frankfurt was cloudy, we left the clouds as we flew south to Geneva and, though I was on the wrong side of the plane, I got a wonderful view of Mont Blanc and her sisters. As amazing as that view was, it was even better to catch glimpses of her growing larger and taller as we approached by car. From town, here in Chamonix, Mont Blanc is simply stunning, magnificent, and dominant. It is just amazingly close, rising steeply from the creek that runs through town to the highest point in Europe.

Vagabond is funky and fun. It's an old building with stone and stucco walls and wooden floors and finishing. Most of the windows are new and double-paned. The bar is right under my room, but I'm tired enough that I don't expect any trouble sleeping tonight.

Chamonix is a very charming little town, and well-equipped for its size (Chanel, Rolex, as well as ski wear), with lots of restaurants and stores. I had a beer in the bar (strictly for hydration purposes) and then had a nice fixed price, Savoyard dinner of salad, wine, Croûte Montagnard, and a Nougat a l'Italienne at Le Bartavel.

Tomorrow, weather permitting, I plan to take the Téléphérique to the Aiguille du Midi.

Sept. 6, from Gîte Le Vagabond, Chamonix, France: map, 1028m; accum. 0 km (3373'; accum. 0 mi)

Updated for spelling, links, and photos: 10/22.

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Where is the Haute Route?

Here's a map of the trip. You can zoom in and follow it from left to right. The little yellow houses are the places I'm staying, while the green hikers are points of interest.


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Haute Route: Getting Psyched

The last piece of advice Mark Jenkins has for those of us starting out in this adventure business is this:

Psych up your body and mind: "You will hate yourself if you’re out of shape. Besides, training for a big trip is a way to get psyched."

I took this one to heart. Besides all of the specific preparations (looking at maps, arranging transport and lodging, thinking about gear and how to stay in contact with friends and family), I spent some time making other kinds of mental preparation. I read a couple of books about the Alps, each useful in its own way. The first was The Alps: Europe’s Mountain Heart (Nicholas and Nina Shoumatoff), which was a useful and broad overview of the range, its geology, origins, climate, flora, fauna, and human history, including economics, literature, art, music, and the gradual discovery of the Alps as a special place, a place to visit – much as I’m doing. Very serviceable, if a little academic-feeling. The second was The Alps: A Cultural History, by Andrew Beattie. It’s written in a freer and more fluid style and was a fine second course. It covers the landscape and its history, but really hits its stride in the sections describing the place of mountains and the Alps in Europe’s imagination and the different waves and kinds of visitors who helped to define the place.

Along the way, I decided to revisit Thomas Wolfe, who wrote some interesting passages on Munich and the Oktoberfest, with which I will close my trip. As a young man, I’d read all of his novels and remember being transfixed by their power and poetry. A few years ago, I read a collection of short writings that reintroduced me to his writing. The problem is, he wrote essentially the same saga a couple of times, and I had to pick the novel that included the passages I remembered about Germany. As it turns out, I think I picked the wrong one. The Web and the Rock includes the story of the protagonist’s trip to Germany at the end of his stormy New York love affair, but it is perfunctory and not the one I remember. Along the way, I found myself alternatively transfixed by the power of his writing (the long series of scenes that tell the story of a black man – this is 1920’s North Carolina – erupting out of a seemingly normal and well-adjusted existence into a homicidal spree, ending in his lynching, were stunning), and annoyed by the careless, repetitive, and excessive over-writing of some of the passages. I may have to read them all again, but not before I leave for my own encounter with Oktoberfest.

I also worked on my body. This will be a strenuous hike, two weeks at a stretch with no rest days (unless enforced by the weather or abetted by public transportation) is a lot of walking. My base exercise is walking, so at the beginning of the year I resolved to average 100 miles a month leading up to the trip. This week, I topped 800 miles of walking the dog, walking the sidewalks at lunchtime, walking to and from work, walking errands around town, and hikes in the Olympics and Cascades. That part arranged, I began to notice that there’s quite a bit of up and down on this trip, while there is very little in my day-to-day walking practice. So, my concentration this summer has been to add conditioning hikes up some of the local steeps.

Here’s a summary:

April 14 – Mt Walker: 2000’ gain to 2800’. 2 mi up, 6 mi round trip. 2:25 overall. Totally socked in on top. Not sore at all.

June 16 – Mt Si: 3667’ gain to 4167’. 8 mi round trip. 3:05 walking, 3:30 overall. Totally socked in on top. Sore the next day.

July 1 – Mt Aix: ~4500’ gain to 7766’. ~11 mi round trip. ~6 hours walking, 7 overall. Views of Mt Rainier, Mt Adams, Mt St Helens, Mt Stuart, and the Goat Rocks. Not sore at all.

July 29 – Mt Rose: 3500’ gain to 4300’. 2.9 mi up, 6.4 mi round trip. 3:25 walking, 3:40 overall. Totally socked in on top. A little sore the next day.

August 5 – Wagonwheel Lk: 3250’ gain to 4150’. 5.8 mi round trip. 3:00 overall. Views (from the ridge above the lake) of Mt Washington, Mt Ellinor, Mt Lincoln, and Mt Cruiser. Sore the next day.

August 12 – Lake of the Angels via Putvin Trail: 3700’ gain to 5200’ on ridge above. 8 mi round trip. 5:25 overall. Socked in on top. Not sore at all.

August 19 – Mailbox Peak: 4000’ gain to 4841’. ~8 mi round trip. 4:10 overall. Totally socked in on top. A little sore the next day.

As I was coming down this last trail, I decided that I’d had enough of this kind of conditioning, especially the kind that provides no views and leaves a bag full of wet clothing at the end of the day. So, now my preparation is to rest for the next couple of weeks. I’ll keep walking, but I’m done “conditioning.”

I learned from this that much of the soreness I felt came from the intensity of the hike, which comes from either the steepness or the pace. Reducing the pace reduces the intensity and, with it, the soreness. With the work I’ve done and knowing that I can control the intensity, I should be able to hike without being bothered by sore muscles.

I’m psyched.

Haute Route: Going Where And Going Long

The next two points Mark Jenkins made about getting out into an adventure in the January issue of Outside magazine are these:

Go where you want to go, period: "If this is your big escape, don't be cheap. Do what you want."

Go Long: "Two weeks is the minimum. Any less and your head will never really disconnect from the office."

This isn’t so much an escape, but it is my trip. It’s possible that I could have found someone or ones to go with me if I’d changed the trip or the date. But, it’s only possible and I didn’t want to chance not going at all.

As soon as I read the description, I knew this was the trip for me. Miles of walking. Huge mountains with lots of high country. Starting at one of the premier centers for mountaineering in the world and ending at another, each with amazing history and drama. The huts and towns aren’t strictly necessary, but they do mean that I don’t have as much to carry, which is always a good thing.

I’ll be gone about three weeks, of which two weeks is walking, a few days in Munich, and the rest in travel overhead (though the train through Switzerland to Munich should, weather willing, be scenic).

Haute Route: Find the Right Partner

The first point Mark Jenkins makes about getting out into an adventure in the January issue of Outside magazine is this:

Find the right partner: "Everybody will say, 'Great, amazing, I want to go'; 90 percent won't. Line up a number of potential partners and hope that one will come through. If they don't, go anyway."

As thinking about this trip rattled around in my head through the several years between its germination and now, I collected names of people I thought would be interested and would make good companions. I talked to many of them about it, as well. By the start of this year, I had a group of over a dozen people whom I thought would make good companions for a trip like this.

Because I’m a member of the Mountaineers, I also thought about advertising within the club, but outside of the regular scheduled trip listings. In addition, others suggested that I list the trip as an international trip, of which there are several each year. In the end, I opted not to use either of those ideas.

It is important to me to have actually traveled with or hiked with the prospective participants. A phone conversation or a day hike aren’t really useful substitutes for spending this amount of time with someone, in knowing how committed they are to the trip or how they’ll act under the stresses of travel and trails.

Many of the people who sign up for my Mountaineers trips expect to be led more than I was willing to do for this trip. I don’t have the expertise in the region, nor in international travel, to serve as a typical leader. The international trips the Mountaineers list are planned and arranged by the leaders even more than a typical hike or backpack, with specific itineraries and a package price. I was looking for active, independent participants, willing to make their own arrangements to got to and from the hike, not tour members.

So, I contacted my collected group. They considered the invitation and, one by one, the eventually declined. For a time, I wondered if I had made a mistake by not casting the net wider. Perhaps I should have. But I spent no time thinking that this threatened my trip. After all, “if they don’t [come through], go anyway.” I’ll have to be my own “right partner.”

Test Post via mail-to-blogger

I've been trying to test the mail-to-blogger feature for months, now, but haven't been able to actually create the e-mail address needed for this. I read the support forums, but didn't see this problem. So, I sent a message to support and got a reply back (which I inadvertently deleted) which promised some action. Didn't hear for weeks and, as of last night, it still didn't work. So, I looked at the support group forums again. Still nothing useful, so I posted again and I sent another message to support. Still didn't hear anything, but now I can define that secret e-mail address. Don't know if my messages had any impact, which is not a good kind of support experience, but I'll take the functionality.

So, here goes...

An Internet Moment

I’d ordered an item from a local on-line retailer and had been following its progress using one of those handy package tracking sites. There was a gap in the record when it left Texas and headed out across the desert toward the green Northwest, so it slipped my mind for a day or two. When I next went to check it, I noticed that the last entry had the word “delivered” in it. Wait! It’s here? So, I opened the front door and, sure enough, that sneaky UPS guy had slipped past the canine alarm (she has a real thing for Brown) and dropped off the package in the last 30 minutes.


I had to check the Internet to find that out what had just happened on my front porch.

How to you say “Haute Route”?

Don’t know how to pronounce it, but in a month, I’ll be there, walking it. The route I’ll follow is the summer, hikers’ version of the famous ski mountaineering route between Mt. Blanc in France and the Matterhorn in Switzerland. I came across a description of the route years ago, in an Outside magazine article, and it’s been simmering in the back of my brain ever since. After missing a couple of earlier opportunities, I decided last year that this year was it.

The route begins in Chamonix, France and ends in Zermatt, Switzerland. It works its way into and out of valleys, over passes and alongside glaciers, skirting the northern side of the spine of the Alps between Italy and France-then-Switzerland, climbing up and down over the ribs bracing that backbone. The route is approximately 115 miles (187 km) long and amounts to over 37,000 feet (>11,000 m) of climbing, though none of it is technical. I plan to take two weeks, stopping each night in a town, village, or at a mountain hut.

I bought the recommended guide and read it through a couple of times. I loaned it out to friends I thought might be interested. I bought the maps recommended by the author and pored over them. (Beautiful maps, by the way.) I read every account of others who had made the trip that I could find. Along the way, I added the idea of taking in the start of the Oktoberfest in Munich, once the walking was over. And, as the year began, I started planning the trip.

This is quite a different kind of hiking than I’m used to, in some ways. The biggest difference is that most of my hiking and backpacking here in the Washington is in relative wilderness. If I’m to be out for several days, I won’t see anything approximating civilization for that whole time, unless I happen to catch a view of a distant town from some ridge top along the way. There is almost never a town or accommodation along the way. Nor is there ever anything like the public transportation that many of the towns along the Haute Route offer. These differences offer an increase in comfort and flexibility that, combined with the rich mountain history and the amazing scenery of the region, should make this a trip to remember.

Because of the relative availability of civilization, I won’t have to carry a tent, sleeping bag, stove, fuel, or cook set. At first, I thought that meant I’d be carrying essentially day gear, but with the travel to and from the end points of the walk and plans to spend a little extra time in Germany, I’ll have more. For instance, if I don’t want to wear my hiking boots every day of the three weeks I’m gone, I’ll need to carry another pair of shoes. Since I won’t be in the wilderness all of the time, I think I’ll need to observe higher standards of clothing cleanliness than a regular wilderness hike requires. That means more clothes.

And, since I intend to post dispatches to this blog along the way, as the availability of the requisite technology permits, I’ll be carrying a fair amount more in the way of electronics than I would bother with in the Cascades.

Over the next month, I’ll write about my preparations, starting with some advice I gleaned from another issue of Outside magazine, from Mark Jenkins, who was my favorite of their regular columnists, until they let him get away.

Portland Waterfront Blues Festival – Saturday

A little delayed in finishing this, as it’s more than a week ago, but I thought I’d finish up, even so. Saturday’s schedule was heavy with zydeco bands, especially on the stage with the dance floor. I can appreciate zydeco – and there were some good bands – but I sometimes tire of washboard polka, even with lyrics in French. There were plenty of other fans, though, and the dance floor was teeming with sweaty dancers. So, after a good sample of the beat, I spent most of the afternoon wandering the grounds and sampling the two larger stages, where there were other delights to be heard.

I got to hear the last part of Buddy Flett and The Bluebirds, who played excellent, electric blues, though I note from their Web site that their latest CD features acoustic work. They were rocking for this set and I want to hear more.

I’d not heard of Teresa James before that day, but I was glad I did hear her then. That woman can sing. She has a strong, earthy voice and can pull both the humor and the, well, the blues out of a song. Her band, the Rhythm Tramps, was an excellent support. Another find of the festival for me.

We took the street car into the Pearl district for a dinner at the Bridgeport Brewpub, where we met our friend’s son and had a nice dinner. We closed out the festival with the Dirty Dozen Brass Band and, best of all, Mavis Staples and the Staples Singers. Whew! What she lacked in voice, she more than makes up for in soul. And, as she performed, she took the time to remind us of what life was like for so many of our citizens while this music, her music, was being developed. It was a fitting closing to a wonderful experience. Great friends, great site, great music.

Portland Waterfront Blues Festival - Friday

We spent the better part of the day at the Festival, under hot skies moderated by a good breeze. While we waited for the "Delta Music Experience" cruise to begin, we wandered the grounds. S signed up for green power and cruised the samples at the Kashi booth (this is Ecotopia, after all). The Front Porch stage was hosting an amazing little band, fronted by Gunnar Roads (is that his real name?), a boy who looked to be fourteen, singing and playing guitar. The harmonica player also did some singing, but the kid was the hook. He could use some seasoning (maybe even a voice change) for the singing, but he played a pretty good blues guitar. I later saw him on the workshop stage with several other guitar players, hopefully soaking up what he could of their experience.

I enjoyed the cruise, up and back on the Willamette, on board the Portland Spirit. There was more security here (MARSEC 1), I suppose because we were on a boat, different and less flexible regulations applying. Once on board, that little unpleasantness was quickly behind us and it was music (and three bars) and scenery for the rest of the afternoon. We started on the top deck, for the scenery mostly, where the band was the Dylan Thomas Vance Trio, an acoustic slide guitar, violin, and drummer band. They played a rootsy, Appalachian-flavored blues vigorously and with passion. Vance played guitar and sang in a fine, deep voice, while the violin player really made that bow work. I bet he changes a lot of bow strings. The drummer did all his work standing up, using a series of drums hanging from his shoulder. Very good.

I listened to Too Slim and the Taildraggers, with Henry Cooper, for the return journey. I'd heard of them for years, mostly on Seattle radio adds, so it was cool to finally hear them, and up close. Very good rockin' blues -- a tight little trio, with Too Slim singing and playing a mean slide guitar, and a bass player and drummer. Henry Cooper joined for half the set, singing and playing a more blues-flavored slide guitar, too. They more or less repeated that set later that evening in the park.

There were a lot of people dancing on the cruise, but none of them could keep up with what looked to be a ten year old boy -- team jersey, long baggy shorts, and blocks of shoes -- who bopped and bounced and shimmied for the whole set, amazing everyone. His parents seemed amazed themselves, though this can't have been his first experience dancing. Too Slim, who was playing right in front of the kid for the whole set, seemed amazed himself, and gave him a Taildraggers logo t-shirt at the end of the cruise.

That evening, aside from Too Slim and Henry Cooper's set, was dedicated to some names from the past. Savoy Brown, who's name I only vaguely remembered from the sixties, played a really excellent set, I thought. The front man, Kim Simmonds really seemed to link up with the crowd, told some insightful stories, and played in a way that suggested that he was still in it for the music, rather than after that past glory. He played both old, some of which were familiar, and new songs.

The night's closer for us (though the Festival continued) was Eric Burdon and the Animals. I had never really connected with his music back in my youth, but he and his excellent band put on a good show. My youthful experience with his music was not, apparently, shared by most of the people around me, as they enthusiastically cheered and sang along to several of the old favorites. One neighbor remarked that "I've got to get our of here" was the unofficial anthem of his high school class. I enjoyed it, more for another example of how one can have a long career in music if you stay with the music. (Old hits don't hurt, but you'd better keep them fresh.)

Portland Waterfront Blues Festival – Thursday Night

I remember two things about the last time I attended the Portland Waterfront Blues Festival, in the late eighties or thereabouts. The first was seeing the somewhat grand, old man of British blues, John Mayall and his band.

The second is that I first saw and heard an Andean band. They were playing in a margin of the festival, but had drawn quite a crowd, and I was transfixed. I loved the exotic sound, the mix of roots and new, and the cheerful energy of the music. Not so different, in some of those ways, from the blues. Musically, that is the real memory of my first Festival.

From that time, and for the next several years, bands of itinerant musicians with lutes and little guitars and black derbies could be seen all over the country. I wonder what happened to them.

Thursday night's highlight, for me, was seeing Joan Armatrading. I've always admired her song writing and singing and it was good to hear that her voice is as strong as ever. She plays a mean guitar, too. I had a cassette of Me, Myself, I that I wore out. Time to get a CD or two.

I Can't Improve on the Professor

From Howard Zinn, on Alternet (thanks to Rick on OlyBlog):

On this July 4, we would do well to renounce nationalism and all its symbols: its flags, its pledges of allegiance, its anthems, its insistence in song that God must single out America to be blessed.

Is not nationalism -- that devotion to a flag, an anthem, a boundary so fierce it engenders mass murder -- one of the great evils of our time, along with racism, along with religious hatred?

These ways of thinking -- cultivated, nurtured, indoctrinated from childhood on -- have been useful to those in power, and deadly for those out of power.

Ashland 2007 – Day Three

Our final day was a day of comedy, starting with As You Like It, though it played a little darker than usual. The Depression era costumes and folk-blues songs helped to enhance the sense of hardship in the forest of Arden, even while the usurped Duke reminds his followers of the blessings in their situation. As usual, the company worked both the text and the situation – even without a clue from the text – for laughs.

Breaking our vow to eat at all new places, we had dinner at the Standing Stone Brewery for dinner. Outside, there was a jazz band playing, the same band as last year this time. They were very good, but left too soon.

As we like to do, we closed with a farce, Tom Stoppard’s On The Razzle, a confection, dedicated to the expression of every kind of joke, verbal and physical, available to the playwright. It was very funny, if not particularly lofty. A surprise for us, Emily Knapp, who appeared in several Harlequin productions a year ago, or so, played the Shop Assistant and the French Maid. This is the third young person we’ve seen in Ashland, whom we’ve also seen before in Harlequin productions.

Ashland 2007 – Day Two

Yesterday afternoon's play was Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard. This was the first time I've seen this play. I like Chekhov – one of my favorite speeches in drama is from Uncle Vanya (Sonia’s first speech in Act 1). I liked the interplay of character and situation, as the economic destruction of feudalism, begun with the "catastrophe" of the emancipation of the serfs, continues. It was not as emotional as yesterday's productions, but I don't usually find Chekhov to be particularly emotional. As a playwright, he's more of an observer of humans – of his characters – rather than a manipulator of his audience.

We had a nice, English pub-style dinner at the Black Sheep Pub. It's a big place, on the top floor of the big brick building (which appears in very old photos of Ashland) on Water Street. The menu hit all of the pub-food marks that you'd expect and there were a few English beers on tap, too. I had a Newcastle Brown and some good fish and chips. J had a steak and kidney pie and a glass of red.

The evening's play was our first foray into the world as reconstructed by August Wilson, the beginning of his grand cycle (which I just realized has no over-arching title; refreshing) of twentieth century, African-American history, Gem of the Ocean. It was fascinating and beautiful. The characters of Aunt Ester and Solly Two Kings were beautiful and wonderful recreations of historical archetypes. They represented, respectively, the African past and it's present uses, and the continuing (continuous?) struggle, in the present, to come to inherit and make use of the promise of freedom. Their solemn and warm affection bridged these two elements and created a powerful collaboration. And when Greta Oglesby, who played Aunt Ester, sang, there was nothing to say but, "Wow."